Excerpt from Held by Anne Michaels, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

There was no one to care if he slept all day. He lived on terrible takeaway from the place on the corner, because they were willing to walk the few steps and leave it at his door, each greasy bag miraculous. He knew the moment would come when he would be ready to start again and, until then, he would sink like a frozen toad in its stinking hibernaculum, heart slowed almost to death, hardly needing any oxygen, letting everything he had witnessed rot in him. It was self-pity and a reeking indulgence but he didn't care. It was what he needed, he was used to it now. But, he thought, this time, it might truly be the last.

He locked himself in and lay there, until he was absolutely certain he could not live without her.

He wondered if he would be able to hope in the total and depthless way necessary to make it work, to not let go. He knew he must not let go. Not her.

One November morning, almost two months after his return, Alan walked to the end of his street and posted the letter. He noticed the blotting-paper sky absorbing the dusk, the bronze leaves soaked and shining, halfbare branches in the wind. He was wearing his father's sweater. It smelled as it always did, of oiled wool and cedar-scented aftershave. He was not quite warm enough but was glad of the cold.

His father had been a compact man, always tidy and contained. But unashamed to express his love, and to cry when necessary. He had witnessed his father cry three times. After Alan's mother's funeral, when Alan had left for his first war and when Alan had returned that first time. It seemed long ago.

He pushed the letter, irretrievable, his single chance, into the dark chasm of the post box. Irrevocable, he thought, as a grave. He did it quickly, as if he were throwing away all the hope left in the world.

Excerpted from Held by Anne Michaels. Copyright © 2024 by Anne Michaels. Excerpted by permission of Knopf. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.