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ASYLUM - a novel in weekly parts

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I'm serialising on my blog my novel Asylum. Here's a taste. If you like what you've read please follow the link below for more.


Asylum

Seeking asylum from the wreckage of her life, Yvette Grimm arrives in Australia on a holiday visa. She applies for permanent residency with no hope of success. Resisting advice that she marry to stay in the country, Yvette invests her hopes in a palm-reader’s prophecy that she would meet the father of her children before she’s thirty. She’s twenty-nine.
Set in the excoriating heat of an endless Perth summer, Asylum is a gripping tale of one woman’s struggle to stay in Australia. Dark, absurd and hilarious by turns.

PART ONE

1.1

Dents in the loop-pile carpet marked the legs of once-present furniture. The walls, bare, rendered an insipid peach. There was a faint smell of acrylic paint. Shutting herself in, she closed the bedroom door behind her, the slap-back echoes jeering, a clamour of recriminating voices.
She would never be enamoured with shoulds.
It was a shrine in here. A room for storing the past. A box of a room, smaller then with all the clutter. When Yvette was last here, a teak-veneer wardrobe and a white melamine chest of drawers took up one wall. A single bed occupied the full length of the other. Hanging above the bed was a whimsical print of a young girl in a shabby brown dress, standing in a cobbled street beneath an industrial-grey sky, walled in to either side by flat-faced Victorian terraced houses receding to a point behind her. That print hung in all of her childhood bedrooms. The chest of drawers was crowded with artefacts. The gaudy vase she bought for her mother’s birthday one year. The pink jewellery box with the plastic ballerina that still twirled shakily to fleur de lis when she opened the lid. A contented Snoopy lying atop his money-box kennel. The generous-faced alarm clock her mother gave her when she was ten and she wound so tightly it never ticked again and has stayed stuck between eight and nine ever since. Yvette had been too ashamed to tell her.

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Updated 16th November 2014 at 09:25 AM by Isobel Blackthorn

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Politics , Novel Collective , isobelblackthorn

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