Revolver

“A memorable tale, one that will appeal to fans of Gary Paulsen, Jack London, and even Cormac McCarthy.” ― The Horn Book, Starred Review “Sedgwick lures his readers into deeper thinking while they savor this thrillingly told tale.” ― Publishers Weekly, Starred Review “A chilling, atmospheric story that will haunt readers with its descriptions of a desolate terrain and Sig's difficult decisions.” ― Kirkus Reviews, Starred Review “The bleak setting and ominous circumstances will draw immediate comparisons to a Jack London tale, but in a more accessible, spare style. Reluctant readers will be riveted by the suspense and the short chapters.” ― School Library Journal, Starred Review “A carefully crafted story effectively rigidified by taut plotting and the crystalline atmospherics of its isolated setting.” ― Booklist “An elegant, brilliantly executed tale. . . . This novel of only 167 pages is packed with more excitement and wisdom than many twice its length.” ― The Times (London) “A gripping thriller.” ― The Guardian Marcus Sedgwick was born and raised in Kent in South East England, but now lives in the French Alps. His books have won and been shortlisted for many awards; most notably, he has been shortlisted for Britain’s Carnegie Medal six times, has received two Printz Honors, for Revolver and Ghosts of Heaven , and in 2013 won the Printz Award for Midwinterblood . Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Revolver By Marcus Sedgwick Square Fish Copyright © 2011 Marcus SedgwickAll right reserved. ISBN: 9780312547974 Chapter 1Wash Day, duskEven the dead tell stories.xa0xa0xa0xa0 Sig looked across the cabin to where his father lay, waiting for him to speak, but his father said nothing, because he was dead. Einar Andersson lay on the table, his arms half raised above his head, his legs slightly bent at the knee, frozen in the position in which they’d found him; out on the lake, lying on the ice, with the dogs waiting patiently in harness.xa0xa0xa0xa0 Einar’s skin was gray; patches of frost and ice still clung to his beard and eyebrows despite the warmth of the cabin. It was only a matter of degree. Outside the temperature was plunging as night came on, already twenty below, maybe more. Inside the cabin it was a comfortable few degrees above freezing, and yet Einar’s body refused to relax from its death throes.xa0xa0xa0xa0 Sig stared and stared, in his own way frozen to the chair, waiting for his father to get up, smile again, and start talking. But he didn’t.xa0xa0xa0xa0 They say that dead men tell no tales, but they’re wrong.xa0xa0xa0xa0 Even the dead tell stories.xa0Excerpted from Revolver by Marcus Sedgwick.Copyright © 2010 by Marcus Sedgwick.Published in 2010 by Roaring Brook Press.All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher. Continues... Excerpted from Revolver by Marcus Sedgwick Copyright © 2011 by Marcus Sedgwick. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site. Read more