John L’Heureux, Whose Novels Wrestled With Faith, Dies at 84
Read the obituary in The New York Times
Read the obituary in The Boston Globe
Read John’s article in The New Yorker on Death and Dignity
Read John’s stories in The New Yorker
The Escape
May 6, 2019 issue
Eddie Prior, age twenty-one, with his black hair slick and his blue, blue eyes, enters this story with a great clatter.
He is about to go down the Pavilion’s long, curving staircase to the dance floor when the leather heels of his dancing shoes meet the polished parquet and he stumbles forward . . . but, instead of plummeting down the stairs, he finds his balance, commandeers the momentum of his downward plunge, and—upright, smiling, his heels clacking—he creates a kind of musical descent, tapping out the tone of each new step as he makes his entrance. Continue reading…
The Rise and Rise of Annie Clark
October 8, 2018 Issue
Annie Clark is a modern woman. It’s 1950, smack in the middle of the century, and she knows that the Second Great War is over and women were the real winners. Everywhere, women are taking charge of their lives. But Annie is Catholic, so she has to go slow. Continue reading…
The Long Black Line
May 21, 2018 Issue
Finn said an awkward goodbye to his parents and watched them drive off in the new Buick they had bought in case he changed his mind. They were pleased, of course, at Finn’s decision to study for the priesthood, but they were wary, too. It was 1954, and priests were still thought to be holy, and Finn . . . well . . . Finn knew that he wasn’t holy, but during a retreat in college he had succumbed to a fit of piety and, dizzied by the idea of sacrifice, applied to join the Jesuits. They had put him through a series of interviews, and let him know that he seemed altogether too caught up in theatre, but in the end they had accepted him. So now here he was, almost a Jesuit, and this annoying Brother Reilly kept calling him Brother. Continue reading…
Three Short Moments in a Long Life
May 21, 2018 Issue
Beverly and I were second graders at New Carew Street School and we both hated recess. She hated recess and she cried the whole time and nobody knew why, so everybody made fun of her. I hated recess because it wasn’t really school and we weren’t learning anything. It was a waste of time. I knew Beverly only by name and by what I could tell from spying on her. Her last name was LaPlante, which was strange and therefore wrong, and she was known for being a crybaby. She was not even pretty. Her crying all the time frightened me, so I never spoke to her. Besides, I didn’t want anybody to think I was her friend. She didn’t belong. And, secretly, I feared that I didn’t belong, either. Continue reading…
