Releases / Literary Fiction
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Naomi Vance
"She kept every receipt from the year they stopped speaking, like she was building a case. I didn't understand it was evidence until I read the dates."
I bought this book on that one sentence, before I'd finished the query letter. Naomi doesn't explain the silence — she lets you sit in it the way her narrator has to, for three hundred pages, until the shoebox finally makes sense. It's the best acquisition I've made in four years here.
— Theo Marsh, Editor, on championing The Weight of Small Rooms
Read an Excerpt
The apartment still smelled like her — not perfume, nothing so obvious, just the particular staleness of a room that has been closed against the weather for exactly as long as it takes a person to stop expecting someone to come home. I stood in the doorway for eleven minutes before I let myself step onto the carpet. I know it was eleven because I was counting, the way I count everything now, the way she taught me without either of us noticing.
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