By Brad Land
Reeling from a terrifying attack that has left him bodily injured and psychologically shattered, nineteen-year-old Brad Land also needs to take care of unsympathetic neighborhood police, mom and dad who can slightly speak about "the incident" (as they name it), a brother riddled with guilt yet not able to decelerate adequate for Brad to maintain, and the sensation that he'll by no means be common back. while Brad's brother enrolls at Clemson college and pledges a fraternity, Brad believes he's being left in the back of as soon as and for all. eager to belong, he follows. What occurs there-in the identify of "brotherhood," and with the meant aim of forging a pupil and a gentleman from the uncooked fabrics of boyhood-involves torturous late-night hazing, heartbreaking estrangement from his brother, and, ultimately, the dying of a fellow pledge. finally, Brad needs to weigh overall alienation from his newfound neighborhood opposed to accepting a sort of brutality he already is aware too good.
A searing memoir of masculinity, violence, and brotherhood, Goat presents an remarkable window into the emotional panorama of younger males and introduces a author of unusual grace and power.
From the Hardcover edition.
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Extra resources for Goat: A Memoir
Sample text
We know this Chinaman has some stuff stashed, and we try every way to make him tell us Where it is. We have him tied to a chair. I light matches" -- he made a gesture of lighting a match -- "and put them under his feet. He won't say nothing. I feel so sorry for that man. " He put his hands over his face and drew them down to indicate the flow of blood. "When I see that I turn sick at my stomach and I say, `Let's get out of here and leave the man alone. '" Louie was a shoplifter who had lost what nerve he ever had.
My legs ached and twitched so that any position was intolerable, and I moved from one side to the other, slashing about in my sweaty clothes. " Voices drift& back and forth. "Forty years! " At twelve that night, my old lady bailed me out and met me at the door with some goof balls. Goof balls help a little. Next day I was worse and could not get out of bed. So I stayed in bed taking nembies at intervals. At night, I would take two strips of benzedrine and go out to a bar where I sat right by the jukebox.
I could feel my face swelling. I sat down on the bed next to Herman. My fingers were puffed up double size. " "No," I said. My lips were numb like I'd been hit across the mouth. I had a terrific headache. I began to pace up and down the room, since I had a vague theory that if I got the circulation going the blood would carry away the codeine. After an hour I felt a little better and went to bed. Herman told me about a partner of his who passed out and turned blue after a shot of codeine. " I demanded.