The Possibilities

Informationen zum Autor Yael Goldstein-Love is the author of The Passion of Tasha Darsky and the co-founder of the literary studio Plympton . She also practices psychotherapy with a particular interest in the transition to parenthood and is working toward her doctorate in clinical psychology. She lives with her son in Berkeley, California. Klappentext "Hannah is having a bad day. A bad month. A bad year? That feels terrible to admit, since it's been eight months since her son, Jack, was born, and she loves Jack more than anything. But ever since his harrowing birth, she can't shake the feeling that it could have gone the other way. That her baby might not have made it. As her cozy, claustrophobic days with Jack begin unraveling, Hannah can't tell whether the strange things happening are just new mom anxiety or if something truly weird and sinister is afoot. What if Hannah really did see something she wasn't supposed to during childbirth? Did she somehow get a glimpse of another path her life could have taken? When Hannah's worst nightmare comes true and Jack disappears from his crib, she discovers that her reeling mind has extraordinary powers that she must tap into in in order to save her child: she has the ability to enter the multiverse-and she must visit different versions of her life while holding onto what is most important to her in this one, in order to bring her child back home"-- Leseprobe Chapter One Eight Months Earlier That was when the worlds split. When she was open on the table, paralyzed from the waist down. When they held her child up for her to see. You, she thought, but the sight of him, twisted rigid in a howl that never came, cut off the thought. Then he was gone. Someone had taken him. Instead of his cry, there was the tinny hospital PA paging one neonatal team and then another. Instead of his cry, the voices of competent, confident people creeping toward alarm. A doctor's narrow head was bent in concentration, sewing her back into a body. What's happening? she asked. They're trying, Adam said, from somewhere behind. Then he was just above and kissed her forehead. His lips felt dry and chapped. The room was small, too small for all these people. She didn't know the situation but understood that it was dire. Someone had held her child up, then taken him away, and he hadn't made a sound yet, and the room kept filling with more people. It's cold in here, she said. They need to wrap him. It's warm, Hannahbelle, said Adam's voice, but not from near her ear where she expected. They've got him warm, don't worry, they're doing everything correctly. He must have been straining to see, must have been craning, she could hear it in his voice. It was happening near the door, she was almost certain, somewhere past her feet, whatever they were trying, and the door was letting in a draft; she felt it blowing over her. She didn't try to see. She wouldn't have been able to, her view partially blocked by the paper draping meant to shield her from an eyeful of her insides. But also seeing had never been a part of what they shared, she and this child. In their nine months together, she had only ever seen him for an instant: tiny body twisted rigid in a silent howl, eyes not yet open. That was seconds ago or minutes or hours and every second without oxygen killed more of him, the tiny brain that had been growing all along inside her, the one she somehow felt she knew, so much so that the unfamiliar look of him surprised her. The situation seemed to her quite obviously, quite awesomely a bad one, but also somehow muted, in the way that time mutes even the worst pain. It felt to her this had been going on for longer than the life she'd lived until now. In the corner of her vision, something moved. She tilted up her chin and caught the blu...

Autorentext
Yael Goldstein-Love is the author of The Passion of Tasha Darsky and the co-founder of the literary studio Plympton. She also practices psychotherapy with a particular interest in the transition to parenthood and is working toward her doctorate in clinical psychology. She lives with her son in Berkeley, California.

Klappentext
A new mother ventures into parallel worlds to find her missing child in this mind-bending novel that turns the joys and anxieties of parenthood into an epic quest, “a powerful page-turner with deep wisdom” (People).

“An original take on motherhood, The Possibilities taps into those primal feelings every nurturer feels—and fears.”—Good Morning America

What if the life you didn’t live was as real as the one you did?

Hannah is having a bad day. A bad month. A bad year? That feels terrible to admit, since her son Jack was born just eight months ago and she loves him more than anything. But ever since his harrowing birth, she can’t shake the feeling that it could have gone the other way. That her baby might not have made it. Terrifying visions of the different paths her life could have taken begin to disrupt her cozy, claustrophobic days with Jack, destabilizing her marriage and making her husband concerned for her mental health. Are the strange things Hannah is seeing just new-mom anxiety, or is something truly weird and sinister afoot? What if Hannah really did unlock a dark force during childbirth?

When Hannah’s worst nightmare comes true and Jack disappears from his crib, she must tap into an extraordinary ability she never knew she had in order to save him: She must enter different versions of her life while holding on to what is most important to her in this one to bring her child back home.

From the intimate joys of parenthood to the cosmic awe of the multiverse, The Possibilities is an ingenious and wildly suspenseful novel that stares down into the dizzying depths of maternal love, vulnerability, and strength.

Leseprobe
Chapter One

Eight Months Earlier


That was when the worlds split.

When she was open on the table, paralyzed from the waist down. When they held her child up for her to see.

You, she thought, but the sight of him, twisted rigid in a howl that never came, cut off the thought.

Then he was gone. Someone had taken him.

Instead of his cry, there was the tinny hospital PA paging one neonatal team and then another.

Instead of his cry, the voices of competent, confident people creeping toward alarm.

A doctor’s narrow head was bent in concentration, sewing her back into a body.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“They’re trying,” Adam said, from somewhere behind. Then he was just above and kissed her forehead. His lips felt dry and chapped.

The room was small, too small for all these people. She didn’t know the situation but understood that it was dire. Someone had held her child up, then taken him away, and he hadn’t made a sound yet, and the room kept filling with more people.

“It’s cold in here,” she said. “They need to wrap him.”

“It’s warm, Hannahbelle,” said Adam’s voice, but not from near her ear where she expected. “They’ve got him warm, don’t worry, they’re doing everything correctly.”

He must have been straining to see, must have been craning, she could hear it in his voice. It was happening near the door, she was almost certain, somewhere past her feet, whatever they were trying, and the door was letting in a draft; she felt it blowing over her.

She didn’t try to see. She wouldn’t have been able to, her view partially blocked by the paper draping meant to shield her from an eyeful of her insides. But also seeing had never been a p…

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