Darkroom
Autor Joshua Grahamen Limba Engleză Paperback – 30 apr 2012
After scattering her mother’s ashes in Vietnam, photojournalist Xandra Carrick comes home to New York to rebuild her life and career. When she experiences, in her darkroom, supernatural visions that reveal atrocities perpetrated by American soldiers during the Vietnam War, she finds herself entangled in a forty-year-old conspiracy that could bring the nation into political turmoil.
Launching headlong into a quest to learn the truth from her father, Peter Carrick, a Pulitzer Prize laureate who served as an embedded photographer during the war, she confronts him about a dark secret he has kept—a secret that has devastated their family.
Her investigations lead her to her departed mother’s journal, which tells of love, spiritual awakening, and surviving the fall of Saigon.
Pursued across the continent, Xandra comes face-to-face with powerful forces that will stop at nothing to prevent her from revealing the truth. But not before government agencies arrest her for murder, domestic terrorism, and an assassination attempt on the newly elected president of the United States.
Darkroom is a riveting tale of suspense that tears the cover off the human struggle for truth in a world imprisoned by lies.
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9781451654691
ISBN-10: 1451654693
Pagini: 384
Dimensiuni: 140 x 214 x 28 mm
Greutate: 0.45 kg
Ediția:Original.
Editura: Howard Books
Colecția Howard Books
ISBN-10: 1451654693
Pagini: 384
Dimensiuni: 140 x 214 x 28 mm
Greutate: 0.45 kg
Ediția:Original.
Editura: Howard Books
Colecția Howard Books
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Notă biografică
Joshua Graham earned his doctorate from Johns Hopkins University, and a master's degree from Juilliard. He has performed as a soloist and principal cellist domestically and internationally. Today he lives with his wife and children in San Diego. Graham has served on the faculties of Columbia Union College, Western Maryland College, Shepherd College, and Brooklyn College.
Extras
1
XANDRA CARRICK
Binh Son, Vietnam: October 2008
This was her wish. Dad kept saying that from the moment we boarded our flight at JFK to our first step onto the fertile soil of Bình Son, which in English means “peaceful mountain.”
En route to our penultimate destination, Tran, our middle-aged guide, tells us all about the scenery through lively gesticulations and nasal broken English.
“This place all rice field now.” He lifts both hands and spreads them wide. Enthralled by the verdant fronds and the sound of exotic fauna, I hardly notice the weight of my backpack. “But during war, Vi?t Nam C?ng S?n come here in Bình Son.”
Perhaps it’s because I appear more Vietnamese than American that he breaks into the native tongue. Ironically, Dad, an American, knows more about this country than I do. He’s quiet and has been holding the urn under his arm, staring out at the hills.
Out in the lush green paddy fields, a boy prods his water buffalo with a bamboo stick, distracting me from Tran’s narrative. “Viet … what?” I’ve had enough years in weekend Vietnamese language classes to read and write. But this term escapes me.
“Vi?t Nam C?ng S?n. V.C.” Tran laughs. “You know, Vietcong? Charlie?”
I glance over to Dad, to whom this would hold more meaning.
He shrugs.
That same emptiness in his eyes, which have grown darker and more profound since I was a child, evokes a blunt pang. It's been over a year. Rather than drawing closer, he's grown more distant.
Of course, Tran has no idea that he’s hiking with Peter Carrick, Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist who earned coveted accolades for his on-the-spot photos of the massacre at Hu?. Nor does Tran realize that his daughter, Xandra Carrick, is a respected photojournalist in her own right. I may not have won a Pulitzer—not yet, anyway—but at twenty-seven, working for the New York Times is not too shabby.
“Vietcong fight American soldier here,” Tran explains, stopping to catch his breath.
I can take some pictures, which I do more out of responsibility to my craft than anything. “Now just rice farm family and water buffalo. Even water buffalo part of family. You know, Ch?ng c?y, v? c?y, con trâu di b?a.” Which means, The husband plows, the wife sows, water buffalos draw the rake. A proverb Mom taught me years ago, but it’s lost on Dad, who keeps staring at the hills.
“You okay, Dad?”
“I’m fine.”
The boy driving the long-horned beast is at most twelve years old. His loose pants are rolled up past his calves and his feet are submerged in ankle-deep water.
Narrow, peaked hills stand over the horizon, Titans guarding this remote village nestled in the manifold waterways of the Mekong. Palms sway in the earthy breeze blowing through the window and brushing through my now unruly hair.
I reach for Dad’s hand. One can only speculate on the reason for his reluctance to make this trip. As for me, this is my first time in Vietnam and I’m taken by its overwhelming beauty. “Was it like this when—?”
“Xandra, please. Don’t.”
“But there’s so much I want to know about this place, about you and Mom.”
“You know my answer.” The same for years, from the moment I first developed an interest in his career and experiences during the war.
“Even now?”
“Your mother would understand.” Dad’s gaze returns to the hills. “She knew how I felt about coming back here, but …” His gaze wanders off, draws him away to a time, a place, far off and forbidden. I know that look.
“Never mind, then.” I kiss his hand, lean into his chest.
For the next fifteen minutes, we continue quietly along the trail. Finally, Tran turns around and smiles, a gold tooth glinting in the setting sun. “Okay, we here.”
Still in awe of the breathtaking landscape, I set my pack down, and stretch. The ground is soft and moist, but at the same time it’s as solid as the sidewalk outside my apartment on Central Park West.
Beyond the hilltops, the sun falls to rest in a poignant wash of amber. The chrink-chrink of Rain Quails rings out invisibly behind an emerald veil of bamboo in the distance. Every thought arrested, every word, no one speaks.
The light is perfect, though it won’t last much longer. And despite the somber occasion, I simply cannot forsake the scenery. These shots will help me to remember.
The shutter sounds from my Nikon ripple the silence like a stone tossed into a glassy pond. Still transfixed on that same spot up in the hills, Dad lets out a pointed breath. “Probably not the best time.”
“Just a couple more. For Mom.” A twinge works its way up and lodges in my throat. As Charles Kuralt so aptly put it: “There is melancholy in the wind and sorrow in the grass.”
“Make it quick, will you?” He pads over to Tran and hands him a roll of greenbacks. “Cám ?n nhiêu l âm.”
With both hands, Tran receives his payment and bows. He waves and returns to the trail from whence we came.
All is tranquil as the sun passes her mantle to the rising moon. We are serenaded not only by the Rain Quails’ ditty but by a chorus of frogs and crickets as well. Farmers and their water buffalo slosh back to their huts about half a mile downstream of us. Yet they can be heard as though a mere stone’s throw away.
For the first time in this journey, Dad puts his arm around my shoulders, warming my heart as nothing else can. He points to a vacant hut, with a kerosene lamp glowing in the window. Leaning into the security of his strong shoulder, I nod and take a moment to consider the significance of this place. Both to him and Mom.
“We start at daybreak.” He takes our bags and approaches the hut. “Let’s settle in.”
As I follow him into the hut, an unexpected irony arises: I’ve never traveled so far just to say good-bye. But I am glad to have made the trip. Mom would be pleased.
This was her wish.
XANDRA CARRICK
Binh Son, Vietnam: October 2008
This was her wish. Dad kept saying that from the moment we boarded our flight at JFK to our first step onto the fertile soil of Bình Son, which in English means “peaceful mountain.”
En route to our penultimate destination, Tran, our middle-aged guide, tells us all about the scenery through lively gesticulations and nasal broken English.
“This place all rice field now.” He lifts both hands and spreads them wide. Enthralled by the verdant fronds and the sound of exotic fauna, I hardly notice the weight of my backpack. “But during war, Vi?t Nam C?ng S?n come here in Bình Son.”
Perhaps it’s because I appear more Vietnamese than American that he breaks into the native tongue. Ironically, Dad, an American, knows more about this country than I do. He’s quiet and has been holding the urn under his arm, staring out at the hills.
Out in the lush green paddy fields, a boy prods his water buffalo with a bamboo stick, distracting me from Tran’s narrative. “Viet … what?” I’ve had enough years in weekend Vietnamese language classes to read and write. But this term escapes me.
“Vi?t Nam C?ng S?n. V.C.” Tran laughs. “You know, Vietcong? Charlie?”
I glance over to Dad, to whom this would hold more meaning.
He shrugs.
That same emptiness in his eyes, which have grown darker and more profound since I was a child, evokes a blunt pang. It's been over a year. Rather than drawing closer, he's grown more distant.
Of course, Tran has no idea that he’s hiking with Peter Carrick, Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist who earned coveted accolades for his on-the-spot photos of the massacre at Hu?. Nor does Tran realize that his daughter, Xandra Carrick, is a respected photojournalist in her own right. I may not have won a Pulitzer—not yet, anyway—but at twenty-seven, working for the New York Times is not too shabby.
“Vietcong fight American soldier here,” Tran explains, stopping to catch his breath.
I can take some pictures, which I do more out of responsibility to my craft than anything. “Now just rice farm family and water buffalo. Even water buffalo part of family. You know, Ch?ng c?y, v? c?y, con trâu di b?a.” Which means, The husband plows, the wife sows, water buffalos draw the rake. A proverb Mom taught me years ago, but it’s lost on Dad, who keeps staring at the hills.
“You okay, Dad?”
“I’m fine.”
The boy driving the long-horned beast is at most twelve years old. His loose pants are rolled up past his calves and his feet are submerged in ankle-deep water.
Narrow, peaked hills stand over the horizon, Titans guarding this remote village nestled in the manifold waterways of the Mekong. Palms sway in the earthy breeze blowing through the window and brushing through my now unruly hair.
I reach for Dad’s hand. One can only speculate on the reason for his reluctance to make this trip. As for me, this is my first time in Vietnam and I’m taken by its overwhelming beauty. “Was it like this when—?”
“Xandra, please. Don’t.”
“But there’s so much I want to know about this place, about you and Mom.”
“You know my answer.” The same for years, from the moment I first developed an interest in his career and experiences during the war.
“Even now?”
“Your mother would understand.” Dad’s gaze returns to the hills. “She knew how I felt about coming back here, but …” His gaze wanders off, draws him away to a time, a place, far off and forbidden. I know that look.
“Never mind, then.” I kiss his hand, lean into his chest.
For the next fifteen minutes, we continue quietly along the trail. Finally, Tran turns around and smiles, a gold tooth glinting in the setting sun. “Okay, we here.”
Still in awe of the breathtaking landscape, I set my pack down, and stretch. The ground is soft and moist, but at the same time it’s as solid as the sidewalk outside my apartment on Central Park West.
Beyond the hilltops, the sun falls to rest in a poignant wash of amber. The chrink-chrink of Rain Quails rings out invisibly behind an emerald veil of bamboo in the distance. Every thought arrested, every word, no one speaks.
The light is perfect, though it won’t last much longer. And despite the somber occasion, I simply cannot forsake the scenery. These shots will help me to remember.
The shutter sounds from my Nikon ripple the silence like a stone tossed into a glassy pond. Still transfixed on that same spot up in the hills, Dad lets out a pointed breath. “Probably not the best time.”
“Just a couple more. For Mom.” A twinge works its way up and lodges in my throat. As Charles Kuralt so aptly put it: “There is melancholy in the wind and sorrow in the grass.”
“Make it quick, will you?” He pads over to Tran and hands him a roll of greenbacks. “Cám ?n nhiêu l âm.”
With both hands, Tran receives his payment and bows. He waves and returns to the trail from whence we came.
All is tranquil as the sun passes her mantle to the rising moon. We are serenaded not only by the Rain Quails’ ditty but by a chorus of frogs and crickets as well. Farmers and their water buffalo slosh back to their huts about half a mile downstream of us. Yet they can be heard as though a mere stone’s throw away.
For the first time in this journey, Dad puts his arm around my shoulders, warming my heart as nothing else can. He points to a vacant hut, with a kerosene lamp glowing in the window. Leaning into the security of his strong shoulder, I nod and take a moment to consider the significance of this place. Both to him and Mom.
“We start at daybreak.” He takes our bags and approaches the hut. “Let’s settle in.”
As I follow him into the hut, an unexpected irony arises: I’ve never traveled so far just to say good-bye. But I am glad to have made the trip. Mom would be pleased.
This was her wish.
Recenzii
“Darkroom comes complete with a great mystery, unearthed secrets, and beguiling adventure. Joshua Graham mines an emotional landscape through an entourage of fascinating characters. Read this one—and take a walk on the perilous side.” —Steve Berry, New York Times bestselling author of The Jefferson Key
"Darkroom is a fascinating, fast-paced, beautifully written story of love and war, murder, terrorism, and a dark conspiracy.” —Douglas Preston, New York Times bestselling coauthor of Cold Vengeance and The Monster of Florence
"Crossing time and continents, this thrillers puts one of the most divisive eras in recent American history—the Vietnam War—into the public eye via a 40-year-old conspiracy that can no longer remain buried. Xandra must discern between truth and lies, love and hate, protection and danger in this taut tale sure to engage readers and challenge their understanding of God's truth and love." —Christian Retailing (top pick)
"This gripping novel has it all: faith, hope, conspiracy, legal thrills, heart-pounding scenes of action, political intrigue and well-rounded characters. Graham has created a novel that thriller fans will devour." —Associated Press
“Mixing the end of the Vietnam War with a young woman’s paranormal visions of a murder in today’s New York, Graham has created a modern political thriller wrapped in a historical puzzle inside a tale of redemption. The short chapters, told from the point of view of the various characters, give it a cinematic feel and a breakneck pace.” —Author Magazine
“Bravo! Graham takes characters and puts them inside each other’s lives in such a way that it’s impossible to put his book down until the last word is read. . . . [His] power with words is absolutely incredible and paints one of the most powerful pictures I’ve ever seen, anywhere.” —Suspense Magazine
“A vivid retelling of historic events [that] bring the Vietnam War to life in alarming detail. If you like thrillers . . . then grab this book when it’s released. You’ll enjoy every minute of it.” —Rhodes Review
“A spellbinding and riveting tale of suspense with international flavor . . . Wrapped in authentic history, but woven into a tale of mystery and intrigue . . . full of twists and turns . . . this riveting tale will keep readers on edge. A book that I highly recommend.” —East County Magazine
"Graham takes us on a ride full of twists and turns in this emotionally charged quest to find the truth. . . . I actually found myself holding my breath at times and sympathizing with the characters, feeling outrage when they were wronged, hating the villains or even forgiving them. When it was all said and done, I didn’t feel like I had finished a book; I felt like I had been on a journey." —The Top Shelf Book Reviews
“The intensity and heart pounding thrills you'll feel as you read each page [of Darkroom] will leave you breathless. Blending history with current events, Mr. Graham is a talented author who can wrap the reader in a cocoon of emotions, from bitterness to redemption, and leave the reader feeling as if they were in the story, as if they were the ones plotted against. A fantastic job!” —Partners in Crime Book Reviews
"Darkroom is a fascinating, fast-paced, beautifully written story of love and war, murder, terrorism, and a dark conspiracy.” —Douglas Preston, New York Times bestselling coauthor of Cold Vengeance and The Monster of Florence
"Crossing time and continents, this thrillers puts one of the most divisive eras in recent American history—the Vietnam War—into the public eye via a 40-year-old conspiracy that can no longer remain buried. Xandra must discern between truth and lies, love and hate, protection and danger in this taut tale sure to engage readers and challenge their understanding of God's truth and love." —Christian Retailing (top pick)
"This gripping novel has it all: faith, hope, conspiracy, legal thrills, heart-pounding scenes of action, political intrigue and well-rounded characters. Graham has created a novel that thriller fans will devour." —Associated Press
“Mixing the end of the Vietnam War with a young woman’s paranormal visions of a murder in today’s New York, Graham has created a modern political thriller wrapped in a historical puzzle inside a tale of redemption. The short chapters, told from the point of view of the various characters, give it a cinematic feel and a breakneck pace.” —Author Magazine
“Bravo! Graham takes characters and puts them inside each other’s lives in such a way that it’s impossible to put his book down until the last word is read. . . . [His] power with words is absolutely incredible and paints one of the most powerful pictures I’ve ever seen, anywhere.” —Suspense Magazine
“A vivid retelling of historic events [that] bring the Vietnam War to life in alarming detail. If you like thrillers . . . then grab this book when it’s released. You’ll enjoy every minute of it.” —Rhodes Review
“A spellbinding and riveting tale of suspense with international flavor . . . Wrapped in authentic history, but woven into a tale of mystery and intrigue . . . full of twists and turns . . . this riveting tale will keep readers on edge. A book that I highly recommend.” —East County Magazine
"Graham takes us on a ride full of twists and turns in this emotionally charged quest to find the truth. . . . I actually found myself holding my breath at times and sympathizing with the characters, feeling outrage when they were wronged, hating the villains or even forgiving them. When it was all said and done, I didn’t feel like I had finished a book; I felt like I had been on a journey." —The Top Shelf Book Reviews
“The intensity and heart pounding thrills you'll feel as you read each page [of Darkroom] will leave you breathless. Blending history with current events, Mr. Graham is a talented author who can wrap the reader in a cocoon of emotions, from bitterness to redemption, and leave the reader feeling as if they were in the story, as if they were the ones plotted against. A fantastic job!” —Partners in Crime Book Reviews
Descriere
A thrilling suspense novel about a man's dark past, his daughter's mysterious visions, and a psychopath who wants to kill them both that reaches into domestic terrorism and the presidency.