It begins in a hospital room, under a flat, humming light. A fall at eighty-two has told a man something the floor will not let him argue with. “This was not a crisis,” he says. “It was a notice.”
From that bed, Stanford “Sandy” Weiner moves backward into memory and forward into whatever is left. He takes us to a wood-frame house in Brooklyn, to a deaf mother who ran a home by sight, and to a father who walked out of Ukraine as a boy and never fully trusted the ground again. He tells us about love and mistakes, the wives he had, the children they made, and the chairs at his table that are full and the ones that are empty.
First he shows us who kept the lamp lit. Then he takes us into the hard rooms.
A novel drawn from real life, written without tidiness and without excuses. It is the record of a man trying to keep faith, family and dignity standing when his balance is no longer something he can count on.
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