Red Sky at Morning: A Novel (Perennial Classics)

Red Sky at Morning: A Novel (Perennial Classics)

“ Red Sky at Morning is a minor marvel: it is a novel of paradox, of identity, of an overwhelming YES to life that embraces with wonder what we are pleased to call the human condition. In short, a work of art.”  — Harper Lee Hailed by the Washington Post Book World as “a sort of Catcher in the Rye out West,” Richard Bradford’s Red Sky at Morning is the classic coming-of-age story set during World War II about the enduring spirit of youth and the values in life that count. In the summer of 1944, Frank Arnold, a wealthy shipbuilder in Mobile, Alabama, receives his volunteer commission in the U.S. Navy and moves his wife, Ann, and seventeen-year-old son, Josh, to the family’s summer home in the village of Corazon Sagrado, high in the New Mexico mountains. A true daughter of the Confederacy, Ann finds it impossible to cope with the quality of life in the largely Hispanic village and, in the company of Jimbob Buel—an insufferable, South-proud, professional houseguest—takes to bridge and sherry. Josh, on the other hand, becomes an integral member of the Sagrado community, forging friendships with his new classmates, with the town’s disreputable resident artist, and with Amadeo and Excilda Montoya, the couple hired by his father to care for their house.  Josh narrates the story of his fateful year in Sagrado and, with irresistibly deadpan, irreverent humor, describes the events and people who influence his progress to maturity. Unhindered by his mother's disdain for these "tacky, dusty little Westerners," Josh comes into his own and into a young man's finely formed understanding of duty, responsibility, and love.  “A sort of Catcher in the Rye out West....What makes the book a true delight is the deadpan, irreverent humor with which Josh tells the story... No brief review can do justice to Mr. Bradford’s book.” - Washington Post Book World “Bradford’s book has bite as well as beauty and graceful wit. . . . To my mind it is precisely what a novel ought to be--an entertainment, a book to read for the plain joy of reading. In short, a delight.” - H. Allen Smith, humorist “A refreshing book, straightforward, funny, touching and, despite the caricatures and wisecracks and passed-over problems, true.” - New York Times Book Review “ Red Sky at Morning is a minor marvel: it is a novel of paradox, of identity, of an overwhelming YES to life that embraces with wonder what we are pleased to call the human condition. In short, a work of art.”  - Harper Lee “A terribly funny book with some of the richest characters I’ve read about in some years.” - Groucho Marx The classic coming-of-age story set during World War II about the enduring spirit of youth and the values in life that count. Richard Bradford was an American novelist, best known for his 1968 novel Red Sky at Morning , a film version of which was released in 1971. He also wrote a second novel, So Far From Heaven . He died in 2002, in Santa Fe, NM. "A sort of Catcher in the Rye out West...What makes the book a true delight is the deadpan, irreverent humor with which Josh tells the story...No brief review can do justice to Mr. Bradford's book." Red Sky at Morning By Bradford, Richard Perennial Copyright © 2004 Richard Bradford All right reserved. ISBN: 0060931906 Chapter One We were using the old blue china and the stainless steel cutlety, with place mats on the big oval table and odd-sized jelly glasses for the wine. The good stuff was all packed and stored, and the Salvation Army was due the next day for the leftovers. My mother called this last dinner a picnic, but she didn't wear her overalls to it. She had on the blue hostess gown with the purple flowers. Dad looked four sizes smaller in his newly delivered summer uniform, and the tight stock collar was giving him trouble. He kept swallowing and twisting his neck. The two and a half stripes looked good, though; they made a nice contrast with Jimbob Buel's civilian seersucker. He was holding a glass of my father's Tavel rose', looking at the candlelight through the wine, the perfect Virginia connoisseur. He was probably thinking a seventeen-year-old snot like me was too young to know its virtues. Well, I do know its virtues, Jimbob boy. Paul and I knocked off a bottle of it just last week, warm, a refined accompaniment to cornbread and beef cracklins. Courtney Ann Conway squeezed my leg under the table. "Ah bet you'll be sorry, leavin' Mobile with all the pawties and all comin' up." I didn't answer right away. I was figuring how to get Jimbob into the Bankhead Tunnel, and pump a little mustard gas in there. If I could block the exits, and use two pumps, maybe.... "Josh, are you listenin' to me?" "I'm sorry, Corky. I know I'll miss a lot of parties, but I really have to leave town. You know: the war and everything." "You're such a brave and manly chap," said Jimbob. "I think it's charming of you to defend your country off there in Uta