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    Beating Heart
    Beating Heart
    Beating Heart
    Ebook220 pages1 hour

    Beating Heart

    By A. M. Jenkins

    3/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    This house

    is mine

    and

    I am

    its beating heart.

    She is a ghost: a figure glimpsed from the corner of your eye, a momentary chill, and a memory of secret kisses and hidden passion. He is 17 years old: Evan Calhoun, warm and alive, and ever since moving to this big abandoned house, he has dreamt of her. Ghost and boy fascinate each other–until her memories and his desire collide in a moment that changes them both.

    Combining verse fragments with chiseled prose, A. M. Jenkins captures the compelling voice of a long–dead ghost and the perspective of a modern teen, twining mystery and romance in this evocative, sensual, and unrelentingly engrossing novel.

    Ages 14+

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperTeen
    Release dateAug 25, 2009
    ISBN9780061964558
    Beating Heart
    Author

    A. M. Jenkins

    A. M. Jenkins is the award-winning author of Damage, Beating heart: A Ghost Story, and the Printz Honor Book Repossessed, and lives in Benbrook, Texas, with three sons, two cats, and two dogs. Jenkins received the PEN/Phyllis Naylor Working Writer Fellowship for night road.

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    Reviews for Beating Heart

    3/5

    53 ratings5 reviews

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    • 3/5
      Pertinent issues for teens are examined in an new way through this ghost story.
    • 1/5
      The adage you get what you pay for rings very true when describing this book. Purchased for $1.49, the description seemed intriguing -- a teen aged boy struggling with the definition of relationship, a new house, a small sister, a mother recently divorced, an absent father, and a lovely 16 year old ghost who has haunted the house for 100 years.It sounded promising, especially when the cover stated the author was a Printz honor winner. I'm disappointed. The writing is choppy and interspersed with lyrical poetic voice of the ghost and then the random thoughts of Evan who is increasingly visited in his dreams.The good news is the book is small. The bad news is even $1.49 was too much to pay for it.Not recommended.
    • 3/5
      Great concept--mixing verse and narrative. But, the poetry is a lot better than any of the narrative or character dialogue. The verse is engaging with words of passiona and unfulfilled desire and a visual structure evoking the transitory existence of a ghost. As for the storyline, Jenkins creates a lot of reader interest as Evan unknowingly becomes involved with a ghost who yearns for him in the same way she did for a young man back at the turn of the 19th century.
    • 4/5
      I found the ghost poetry dialog somewhat annoying...it seemed like it went on too long. The love story between Evan and his girlfriend is what will attract my high school readers. The little supernatural touch will be an added attraction.
    • 4/5
      After the divorce, Evan and his family move into a house that begins evoking some erotic longings. Are these feelings safe? Jenkins uses poetry to serve as the voice of the ghost. The ramblings across the page are chaotic, with a lot of white space. As the ghost assumes more of a presence, so does the poetry on the page. Evan uses prose to explore his feelings about the house and the divorce. As with the ghost, readers will notice a shift in his style as the ghost comes closer. I won’t say, “This book will haunt you” or other ghastly puns. I do recommend this one for high school libraries. This is a good book to use to discuss form and function in high school writing classes. It also has the teen attraction of being a very quick read. Teens will love the sections with the ghost.

    Book preview

    Beating Heart - A. M. Jenkins

    A. M. Jenkins

    Beating Heart

    Dedicated to the memory of

    Bill Morris, a man with a heart

    for both books and people

    Contents

    Begin Reading

    Acknowledgments

    About the Author

    Other Books by A. M. Jenkins

    Credits

    Copyright

    About the Publisher

    I doze

    content

    this house

    is mine—

    beloved, familiar.

    I am

    this house

    the air is still

    an unopened present

    untouched

    safe

    wind rakes the roof tiles

    plucks at the eaves

    drops of rain

    break

    against the windowpane

    run

    formless

    down

    the

    glass

    scattered dreams

    of

    people

    scurrying

    about the house

    flecks of dust

    float in sunlight

    warm,

    silent

    light makes its way

    under

    the

    wide

    porch roof

    softened, blurred

    gentled

    by its journey

    the wide hall

    is flanked by rooms

    washed in silence

    voices

    turn to echoes,

    fading away

    before

    they can

    become

    words

    pleasant

    unpinned

    the rooms and I

    drifting

    we have no names

    This house

    is mine

    and

    I am

    its beating heart.

    Evan is not impressed when he first walks into the house. There is no electricity; the only light comes in through the open door, and through the windows in rooms on either side of the hall. The wallpaper has been eaten away in patches. The wooden floors are gritty underfoot. Ivy has actually curled its way over a windowsill into the house, through one unevenly fitted sash. At the end of the hall, a wide staircase rises and seems to disappear into gloom.

    Evan’s mother is brimming with quiet satisfaction, and Libby, who is five, prances with excitement. But Evan feels skeptical. This is it? he asks.

    Mom nods. Isn’t it beautiful?

    Libby skips toward the stairs, craning her neck to look up. She runs her fingers along the dusty scrolled banister. It’s like a castle!

    Mom smiles, then turns to Evan. What do you think? she asks him.

    Evan looks around at the dirt, the dust, the whole derelict, falling-apart thing. You want me to be honest?

    Of course.

    I think it’s the biggest dump I’ve ever seen.

    Mom shakes her head. You’re not looking at the potential.

    Mom. Evan can’t believe she’s oblivious to what this place looks like. "The walls are peeling off."

    Yes, she says fondly. "You can see the original wallpaper. Very ornate, isn’t it? Doesn’t it make you feel like we’ve traveled back to the 1890s? We’re going to love living here."

    Evan gives a snort of disbelief.

    Whatever, he says.

    a voice

    like a hand

    shaking me

    out of sleep

    deep

    raw

    young

    male

    Has he come back?

    the front

    door

    is

    open

    the air

    moves

    fresh

    aroused

    his voice has pricked

    the layers of my peace

    now bristles are

    popping the seams

    of my silence

    sawdust

    paint

    clatters

    metallic

    shoutings

    thuds

    thumps

    bangs

    screeches

    buzzes

    my walls,

    faded and friendly,

    are stripped

    ripped and gutted,

    worse than naked.

    I will not look.

    my floors, my rooms, my companions, are littered with boxes weighted with furniture

    I am unsettled

    shelves strain under books

    paintings like wounds on my walls

    frames like scars

    rugs smother my floors

    more and more boxes

    opening

    spreading their contents like a stain

    That voice again.

    He is back.

    Upstairs—

    he will come upstairs

    into his

    room.

    I will wait

    for him here

    where

    floorboards

    recall

    furniture and footsteps

    walls

    remember

    words and breath

    air

    retraces

    sweat

    and

    kisses

    he belongs here

    So do I.

    On official moving day the place still seems shabby to Evan, even though repairs have been going on for several months now and the house is supposedly ready. The air smells like paint, but underneath that is the musty odor of old wood, varnish, and neglect. Evan knows they don’t have nearly enough furniture to fill the house, and that many rooms will remain empty. He has a sneaking suspicion that Mom’s burned most of the divorce settlement getting this heap even halfway livable.

    The movers are bringing the last load. Mom, Evan, and Libby come in together. Evan, ever practical, is carrying a box of his own belongings. Mom and Libby, empty-handed, prefer to let the movers do all the work.

    Mom is the happiest Evan can remember. She stops in the hallway, hands on Libby’s shoulders. Oh, she says, I can’t believe we’re finally here.

    She has not been like this in a long time, light and smiling and excited about the future. Evan knows she’s living out her lifetime fantasy of owning a big romantic old house. And the move doesn’t really affect him much—same school, same friends. Besides, the apartment was crowded, with the three of them. So Evan has decided to at least try to keep his thoughts to himself.

    Isn’t it gorgeous? Mom asks Evan and Libby.

    "It’s big!" Libby agrees happily.

    Mom’s hand squeezes Libby’s shoulder. "It’s ours! she says, the words soft and intense like a prayer. And then she grins. Forget my bedroom, she says. I’m going to start on my office!"

    Libby heads for the stairs. "I’m going to explore."

    Evan says nothing. Sometimes he thinks he’s the only adult in this family.

    Mom notices Evan’s silence. She glances at him; his feelings are written all over his face. You know, Evan, she says with a sudden, detached calm, if you come into this with a negative attitude, it’s going to feel like a negative experience. Can’t you try to project some positive feelings here?

    Evan’s used to counselor-speak. He’s grown up with it. He doesn’t want to crush his mother’s excitement. But he’s not going to pretend he’s in love with this place, either.

    He answers in his

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