Melinda Moustakis was born in Fairbanks, Alaska and raised in Bakersfield, California. Granddaughter of pioneers and niece of a trout fisherman, it is barely thirty years old dà Alaska and his first book has just been published. Alaska is a collection of stories but if it wasnt written on it, you would think that this is a novel, as the texts are interrelated. The dune life novel, evoked by flashes of memories or facts sétalant a long but indefinite current period. Under these conditions it is very difficult and I do not my venture, den summarize. Let's say that it is matter of fishing cabin in the woods and rustic toilets constructed separately, and dours délans, thick snow for the decorations. As for the actors, there is a family not very rich ("we are still forced to eat oat flakes, liver Delan and rabbits if we can catch"), a violent father when he drank a sacred good mother, wife, children of all ages including lun is mute, a grandfather and aunts and cousins were followed somehow difficult or painful adventures of each other. Somehow, as the most notable in this book, this is the style Melinda Moustakis. This is a book that contrasts with the rest of the editor catalog nen although I have not read anything of course, but many nonetheless. Melinda Moustakis pickled, according to his writing different texts but usually it surprises. Together words ("We scotchons râteaubalaipelle together."), Turns of phrases or gibberish denfants improbable, situations that sexpliquent Quà posteriori, not in characters input. All is not clear or comprehensible immediately. Some chapters are made of extremely short subchapters, mini-news. Sometimes however, one comes across a text to the writing much more classic. In this din emerge as beautiful and moving new Bite (p. 107) Another animal (p. 117) or the First Aid (p. 176) mini text. The first book that does not leave indifferent by its unusual shape and powerful images, the height of this American state where survival is full-time.
"The husband of the woman knocks on the door. They were looking for. Blood permeates the front of his shirt. They Nont not heard of detonation. Maybe an ax, but there are no injuries. A thick familiar smell calms them. He staggers on the doorstep and sécroule. Two friends Completion carry the boat, and he vomited a red liquid into the river. The woman looks at the boat moves away and leaves behind the island and blood. This is the last time, she said. She nods as she has often acquiesced, she throws towels on this disaster and wipes the blood from the tip of his boot. Then she plunged the towels in the river and spin. "
