This beautiful new edition features unpublished notes for the novel and other illuminating documentary material, all of which is included in a new Afterword by Tappan Wilder.
"On Friday noon, July the twentieth, 1714, the finest bridge in all Peru broke and precipitated five travelers into the gulf below." With this celebrated sentence Thornton Wilder begins The Bridge of San Luis Rey, one of the towering achievements in American fiction and a novel read throughout the world.
By chance, a monk witnesses the tragedy. Brother Juniper then embarks on a quest to prove that it was divine intervention rather than chance that led to the deaths of those who perished in the tragedy. His search leads to his own death -- and to the author's timeless investigation into the nature of love and the meaning of the human condition.
This new edition of Wilder’s 1928 Pulitzer Prize winning novel contains a new foreword by Russell Banks.
have none,’ said Pepita. She added hastily: ‘I must go downstairs and get you the new charcoal.’ ‘But, my dear, you have one for… Madre María del Pilar. Wouldn’t you…?’ Pepita pretended to be busy over the brazier. ‘No, I’m not going to send it,’ she said. She was aware, during the long pause that followed, that the Marquesa was staring at her in stupefaction. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’ ‘I know she would like a letter from you, Pepita. It would make her very happy. I know.’ Pepita was reddening.
are both unfriendly. Neither of you ever comes to see me. Here I sit learning stupid lines all day and no one ever comes to see me but a lot of pedlars. It is because I am an actress, no?’ This was not very artful, but for Manuel it was unspeakably complicated. He merely stared at her from the shadows of his long hair and left her to improvise. ‘I am going to engage you to write a letter for me, a very secret letter. But now I can see that you don’t like me, and that to ask you to write a
letter would be as good as reading it aloud in all the wine-shops. What does that look mean, Manuel? Are you my friend?’ ‘Yes, Señora.’ ‘Go away. Send me Esteban, You do not even say Yes, Señora as a friend would say it.’ Long pause. Presently she raised her head. ‘Are you still there, Unfriendly?’ ‘Yes, Señora… you can trust me to do anything for you… you can trust…’ ‘If I ask you to write one letter for me, or two letters, you promise never to mention to a human being what is in them, or
geographers, my treasure, though it may make them a little uncomfortable, for he is the diamond of sincerity. They will never see anyone who has travelled so far. Last night he described to me some of his voyages. Imagine his pushing his prow through a sea of weeds, stirring up a cloud of fish like grasshoppers, in June, or sailing between islands of ice. Oh, he has been to China and up the rivers of Africa. But he is not merely an adventurer, and he seems to take no pride in discovering new
year to live with me in Lima. Let me be his teacher. Let me teach him the Castdlian. Here he is left among the servants. He is learning nothing.’ ‘No.’ ‘Camila, what will become of him? He has a good mind and he wants to learn.’ ‘He is sick. He is delicate. Your house is a sty. Only the country is good for him.’ ‘But he has been much better these last few months. I promise you I shall clean out my house. I shall apply to Madre María del Pilar for a housekeeper. Here he is in your stables all
