By Gwendoline Riley
Carmel McKisco is wry, unstable and whole of longing: a twenty-year-old woman operating nights in a Manchester dive bar. bring to a halt from her relations, and from Tony, her carefree ex, she forges unusual alliances along with her consumers, and daydreams, half-heartedly, approximately escaping to Cornwall.
Cold Water is a poignant picaresque of barmaids and barflies; eccentric participants all someway tethered to their previous - now not least Carmel herself, who's nurturing mordant fixations on either her misplaced love, Tony, and her washed-up adolescent hero: a singer from Macclesfield. As she spins out the times and nights of an unrelentingly wet wintry weather she reveals herself forced to confront her romantic preoccupations, for higher or worse.
Betty Trask Award (2002)
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Carmel McKisco is wry, risky and whole of longing: a twenty-year-old woman operating nights in a Manchester dive bar. bring to a halt from her family members, and from Tony, her carefree ex, she forges unusual alliances together with her clients, and daydreams, half-heartedly, approximately escaping to Cornwall.
Cold Water is a poignant picaresque of barmaids and barflies; eccentric participants all by some means tethered to their previous - no longer least Carmel herself, who's nurturing mordant fixations on either her misplaced love, Tony, and her washed-up adolescent hero: a singer from Macclesfield. As she spins out the times and nights of an unrelentingly wet iciness she unearths herself forced to confront her romantic preoccupations, for higher or worse.
Betty Trask Award (2002)
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Additional resources for Cold Water
Imagine that. I still couldn’t. I’d been living in this one-room efficiency, sharing a bathroom with four sour men. I expected the cabin to disappear as soon as I touched the door handle. An illusion. A trick. A game. Can you guess that I’m a bit of a skeptic? Doubt has a long history with me. Lake returned with my duffel bag. Hanging from his index finger, it looked as small as a fanny pack. ” I reached the steps that led up to my cabin, just a few. I touched the wooden door. A brass number hung on the front: 9.
The driver had opened one of the luggage bays. Now many of the passengers got out of their seats. Even one old woman whose snore had been louder than the bus engine. I’d thought for sure she was asleep, but she stopped in the middle of a snort and got up to take a peek. Even the nut leaned over an empty seat to take a gander. The old woman smiled at him. ” “It don’t matter,” he said. He sneered to seem defiant, but already his voice had weakened. It looked cold out there. The bus driver disappeared inside the luggage bay.
I reached for the wall with my right hand and shaded my eyes with the left. There, in the dim room, sat an enormous circular dining table with tall candles lit in its center. For a moment the table looked like a giant radio telescope, the kind scientists use to survey outer space, and the candles were its great antennae. I watched the flames flicker rhythmically as if messages were being received. I walked around the table, but didn’t touch. Wouldn’t even brush the tops of the chairs. There was a plush gray tablecloth that draped all the way to the floor.
Cold Water by Gwendoline Riley