The Accidental Tourist

385 Pages·2016·2.17 MB·English

by  Tyler Anne

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THE ACCIDENTAL TOURIST
ANNE TYLER
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The Accidental Tourist 2
Copyright
The Accidental Tourist
Copyright © 1985 by Anne Tyler Modarressi, et al
Cover art and eForeword to the electronic edition copyright ©
2004 by RosettaBooks, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles
and reviews.
For information address [email protected]
First electronic edition published 2004 by RosettaBooks LLC, New
York.
ISBN 0-7953-3005-7
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The Accidental Tourist 3
Contents
eForeword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
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Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About this Title
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eForeword
Anne Tyler has published seventeen novels over the past forty
years and won the National Book Critics Circle Award in 1986 for
TheAccidentalTouristand in 1989 the Pulitzer Prize for
BreathingLessons.Her fans see a modern-day Jane Austen and are
addicted to her writing style and marvelous sense of humor. But
most of all, they fall in love with the genuinely quirky characters
Anne Tyler so skillfully evokes, and her ability to make you care
about them as they face the small triumphs and tragedies of
everyday life.
TheAccidentalTouristis Anne Tyler’s best known and most loved
novel. Macon Leary is a travel writer who hates both travel and
anything out of the ordinary. He is grounded by loneliness and an
unwillingness to compromise his creature comforts when he meets
Muriel, a deliciously peculiar dog-obedience trainer who up-ends
Macon’s insular world–and thrusts him headlong into a
remarkable engagement with life.
TheAccidentalTouristwas made into a highly regarded film
directed by Lawrence Kasdan and starring William Hurt, Kathleen
Turner and Geena Davis.
RosettaBooks is the leading publisher dedicated exclusively to
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To experience The RosettaBooks Connection for The
Accidental Tourist
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The Accidental Tourist 7
One
They were supposed to stay at the beach a week, but neither of
them had the heart for it and they decided to come back early.
Macon drove. Sarah sat next to him, leaning her head against the
side window. Chips of cloudy sky showed through her tangled
brown curls.
Macon wore a formal summer suit, his traveling suit—much more
logical for traveling than jeans, he always said. Jeans had those
stiff, hard seams and those rivets. Sarah wore a strapless terry
beach dress. They might have been returning from two entirely
different trips. Sarah had a tan but Macon didn’t. He was a tall,
pale, gray-eyed man, with straight fair hair cut close to his head,
and his skin was that thin kind that easily burns. He’d kept away
from the sun during the middle part of every day.
Just past the start of the divided highway, the sky grew almost
black and several enormous drops spattered the windshield. Sarah
sat up straight. “Let’s hope it doesn’t rain,” she said.
“I don’t mind a little rain,” Macon said.
Sarah sat back again, but she kept her eyes on the road.
It was a Thursday morning. There wasn’t much traffic. They
passed a pickup truck, then a van all covered with stickers from a
hundred scenic attractions. The drops on the windshield grew
closer together. Macon switched his wipers on. Tick-swoosh,they
went—a lulling sound; and there was a gentle patter on the roof.
Every now and then a gust of wind blew up. Rain flattened the
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long, pale grass at the sides of the road. It slanted across the boat
lots, lumberyards, and discount furniture outlets, which already
had a darkened look as if here it might have been raining for
sometime.
“Can you see all right?” Sarah asked.
“Of course,” Macon said. “This is nothing.”
They arrived behind a trailer truck whose rear wheels sent out arcs
of spray. Macon swung to the left and passed. There was a
moment of watery blindness till the truck had dropped behind.
Sarah gripped the dashboard with one hand.
“I don’t know how you can see to drive,” she said.
“Maybe you should put on your glasses.”
“Putting on my glasses would help you to see?”
“Not me; you,” Macon said. “You’re focused on the windshield
instead of the road.”
Sarah continued to grip the dashboard. She had a broad, smooth
face that gave an impression of calm, but if you looked closely
you’d notice the tension at the corners of her eyes.
The car drew in around them like a room. Their breaths fogged
the windows. Earlier the air conditioner had been running and
now some artificial chill remained, quickly turning dank, carrying
with it the smell of mildew. They shot through an underpass. The
rain stopped completely for one blank, startling second. Sarah gave
a little gasp of relief, but even before it was uttered, the hammering
on the roof resumed. She turned and gazed back longingly at the
underpass. Macon sped ahead, with his hands relaxed on the wheel.
“Did you notice that boy with the motorcycle?” Sarah asked. She
had to raise her voice; a steady, insistent roaring sound engulfed
them.
“What boy?”
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