The Great (Hidden) Brooklyn Novel by Nathan Ward
By Nathan Ward
Of all the Brooklyn books I like, my favorite is one that does not exist on its own: it’s buried in a much larger novel about World War II and the death camps.
Of all the Brooklyn books I like, my favorite is one that does not exist on its own: it’s buried in a much larger novel about World War II and the death camps.
“Matt is impossible today,” his teacher said when she wearily passed him off to me. I could only see a 4-year-old whose large, frightened eyes were wet with tears. He looked lost and lonely and I immediately found myself wanting to shelter him. I was a 23-year-old kid myself, barely paying rent on a rundown railroad in Bushwick. This was the first real job I had landed, yet I was only a novice, an uncertified preschool librarian in Brownsville.
This essay by Heather Kristin is the first in our non-fiction series The New 8 Million, chronicling the lives of New Yorkers in their own words. Besides being a native of this fair city, Heather Kristin is a memoirist, novelist, playwright, violinist, composer, ex-actress, former subway performer and new mom who is currently writing a memoir about growing up in New York City. Here is an excerpt.
Throughout the five-boroughs, the aliens leveled all apartments, condos, townhouses, brownstones, high-rises, and houses systematically with top-of the line laser death-rays. Afterward, new buildings were constructed, and nearly everyone was relocated to a new apartment; a 10-foot by 10-foot living space with an incredibly low ceiling and a sliver of a window. That is, except for a few railroad apartments in Bushwhick.
Life is tough working a shift at the Park Slope Food Coop.
DEPTH OF FIELD—I didn’t really mind being assigned the class. I guess I’ve developed a reputation for being good with the ED kids, and pretty much all the kids at Automotive are emotionally disturbed, so I was surprised when Mr. D took the time to run it by me beforehand.
Nola squints in the sunlight that has just spilled over the rooftops and illuminated Williamsburg’s McCarren Park in all its dewy spring splendor. Slipping her Chanel sunglasses down over her eyes, she sips her latte and makes a sweeping gesture toward the jogger-strewn park, its busy dog run, and the new high-rise condos that have sprung up along its borders.
“There is no way I’d be living here without my nurse hat, if you know what I mean. This place is going to look like Park Slope in a few years. They might dress like hipsters, but they’re just yuppies with vintage wardrobes.”
