Undermajordomo Minor

Undermajordomo Minor

by Patrick deWitt

Narrated by Simon Prebble

Unabridged — 7 hours, 45 minutes

Undermajordomo Minor

Undermajordomo Minor

by Patrick deWitt

Narrated by Simon Prebble

Unabridged — 7 hours, 45 minutes

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Overview

From the bestselling, Man Booker-shortlisted author of The Sisters Brothers, comes a brilliant and boisterous novel that reimagines the folk tale.

A love story, an adventure story, a fable without a moral, and an ink-black comedy of manners, Undermajordomo Minor is Patrick deWitt's long-awaited follow-up to the internationally bestselling and critically acclaimed novel The Sisters Brothers.

Lucien (Lucy) Minor is the resident odd duck in the bucolic hamlet of Bury. Friendless and loveless, young and aimless, Lucy is a compulsive liar, a sickly weakling in a town famous for producing brutish giants. Then Lucy accepts employment assisting the Majordomo of the remote, foreboding Castle Von Aux.

While tending to his new post as Undermajordomo, Lucy soon discovers the place harbors many dark secrets, not least of which is the whereabouts of the castle's master, Baron Von Aux. He also encounters the colorful people of the local village-thieves, madmen, aristocrats, and Klara, a delicate beauty whose love he must compete for with the exceptionally handsome soldier, Adolphus. Thus begins a tale of polite theft, bitter heartbreak, domestic mystery, and cold-blooded murder in which every aspect of human behavior is laid bare for our hero to observe.

Undermajordomo Minor is an adventure, a mystery, and a searing portrayal of rural Alpine bad behavior, but above all it is a love story and Lucy must be careful, for love is a violent thing.


Editorial Reviews

The New York Times - John Williams

Where we are, when we are, or why we're there are all afterthoughts. What matters is Mr. deWitt's imagination, which is a forceful train that ignores the usual tracks.

The New York Times Book Review - Daniel Handler

Undermajordomo Minor…is…quick and funny and thoughtful and moving and super…balancing its narrative whimsy and rhetorical flourish with bona fide heart. For every comic digression, there's a breath of quiet stillness; for every bout of old-fashioned frippery, there's a time for authentic and moving introspection, so the entire project of Undermajordomo Minor feels less like a postmodern exploration…and more like the genuine article, a tale that engages us and haunts us just like the best tales of yore…Rising over its self-consciousness, Undermajordomo Minor not only salutes the literature of a bygone era but fully inhabits it, and the result is a novel that offers the same delights as the fairy tales and adventure stories it takes on, while reminding us that in the long game of literature, what lasts is what thrills. My take on Patrick deWitt is that he is a thrilling writer likely to last past our own soon-to-be-bygone time.

From the Publisher

Undermajordomo Minor wears a fairytale cloak, but at its wondrous and fantastical heart lies an unexpectedly moving story about love, home, and the difficulty of finding one’s place in the world. Elegant, beautifully strange, and utterly superb.” — Emily St. John Mandel, author of Station Eleven

“Patrick deWitt has an untrammelled and utterly original imagination. I cannot think of anyone else who could pull off so beautifully this controlled explosion of drollery, mischief , sly fun and tenderness.” — Neel Mukherjee, author of The Lives of Others

“An electrifying adventure, both tender and profane. Nervy, hilarious and utterly unpredictable, Patrick deWitt has served up another dazzler.” — Maria Semple, author of Where'd You Go, Bernadette?

DeWitt uses familiar tropes to lull the reader into a false sense of grounding, delivering with abundant good humor a fully realized, consistently surprising, and thoroughly amusing tale of longing, love, madness, and mirth.” — Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Undermajordomo Minor is brutal, brilliant, sly, absurd, and poignant. It’s both gripping tale and hilarious subversion. Once again Patrick deWitt proves his wild, original talent, generous wit, and exquisite control.” — Sam Lipsyte, author of The Ask

Undermajordomo Minor is a wonderfully wry and wise novel, and reading it is like coming across some twisted classic-Cervantes by way of Louis C.K. I marvel at all that Patrick deWitt is able to do on the page.” — Jess Walter, author of Beautiful Ruins

“In his previous novel, The Sisters Brothers, deWitt discovered brutal humanity and coal-black humor behind the façade of a recognizable genre, and now he’s done it again. UNDERMAJORDOMO MINOR bursts with exchanges begging to be read aloud in the village square.” — Esquire

“Patrick deWitt novels don’t sneak up on you; they’re the kind you love instantly. His latest...is no exception. From the moment you tumble into its strange world, there is no other world... [A] fairy tale, although one with plenty of room inside for thoroughly modern, adult complications.” — BookPage

“[A] well thought through modern take on folkloric storytelling…. The tale shifts, subtly, from Tolkien to Stoker with a dash of Conan Doyle, but with plenty of humorous touches… DeWitt’s yarn is playful and pleasing… Smart entertainment that blends lighthearted moments with more thoughtful reckonings of the human condition.” — Kirkus Reviews

“deWitt has another askew masterpiece on his hands... deWitt has delivered another intriguing, compelling, and thought-provoking winner that will appeal to anyone who wants to be captivated by a smart, entertaining read.” — Booklist (starred review)

“[A] deliciously off-kilter coming-of-age story... a detached levity dances through every moment….Alongside the humor lies a wry wisdom about the hidden strengths of the perpetual outsider. Take special note of this delightful, wickedly sharp gem.” — Shelf Awareness

“Throughout the novel, [deWitt] seeks to play against our expectations, to take the moral lessons inherent in his chosen form and rewire them, give them additional dimension and heft… The result is a novel that carves out its own amusements, much as its protagonist does.” — Los Angeles Times

“deWitt is the master of episodic structure. In his hands, the pseudo-simplistic fable form becomes a game of dense social and psychological complexity.” — The Oregonian (Portland)

“A fun, galloping read that’s appealingly silly at times and fully engrossing at others. …[It’s] a kids’ story for grownups, and I mean that as the highest possible compliment.” — Portland Mercury

Out of all the thieving and warring and heartbreak and, yes, the occasional half-eaten rat—[deWitt has] crafted something worthwhile: humor, and hope.” — NPR.org

“[A] charming vision of a Never-Never Land for adults. It’s an entertaining read, complete with its own implication that distraction from the mundane travails of life is sometimes exactly what one needs.” — Dallas Morning News

“Undermajordomo Minor” not only salutes the literature of a bygone era but fully inhabits it, and the result is a novel that offers the same delights as the fair talks and adventure stories it takes on.”” — New York Times Book Review

“’I don’t subscribe to amusements, Lucy. Laughter is the basest sound a body can make, in my opinion,’ says the valet…. As I read the book, I more than once made the sound the valet finds so base and unpleasant.” — Wall Street Journal

“Compulsively readable sentences, oscillating between the prosaic and the lyrical, the modern and the arcane…” — San Francisco Chronicle

“This novel is compulsively readable. DeWitt’s facility with point of view and narrative style is astounding …Undermajordomo Minor has been engineered by a master craftsman. The pacing is superb and, as I read, I kept thinking how grateful I am to writers who can make me laugh.” — Boston Globe

“Relentlessly wry and often outrageously funny … In Undermajordomo Minor, deWitt has somehow created a fable in which the comic narrative voice is impossibly accomplished, and nearly every word is funny… a gut-busting and satisfying tale.” — Paste

“A fun, galloping read that’s appealingly silly at times and fully engrossing at others.” — Stranger

“[In Undermajordomo Minor], geography and era are purposely abstracted. Where we are, when we are, or why we’re there are all afterthoughts. What matters is Mr. deWitt’s imagination, which is a forceful train that ignores the usual tracks.” — New York Times

“A deliciously off-kilter coming-of-age story…Take special note of this delightful, wickedly sharp gem” — Shelf Awareness

“This kinda-sorta fairytale has humor and quirky, undeniable charm… The story is surprisingly straightforward and unadorned, though the prose oozes with that odd DeWitt charm that makes it compelling.” — Washington Independent Review of Books

“Patrick deWitt is masterful at crafting this oddball, adult fairy tale.” — Read It Forward

“DeWitt takes on familiar tropes just to turn them on their heads, and the results are by turns funny, fascinating and often plain weird.” — NPR, Best Books of 2015

“In its quirky, melancholy charm it’s not leagues away from The Grand Budapest Hotel. (In fact Dewitt may have written the greatest Wes Anderson movie never made.)” — Time magazine, 10 Best Fiction Books of 2015

“DeWitt’s third novel breezes along in staccato chapters, a mix of dark comedy and twee world-building that reads like Roald Dahl for the Wes Anderson generation.” — San Francisco Chronicle, 100 Best Books of 2015

Emily St. John Mandel

Undermajordomo Minor wears a fairytale cloak, but at its wondrous and fantastical heart lies an unexpectedly moving story about love, home, and the difficulty of finding one’s place in the world. Elegant, beautifully strange, and utterly superb.

Booklist (starred review)

deWitt has another askew masterpiece on his hands... deWitt has delivered another intriguing, compelling, and thought-provoking winner that will appeal to anyone who wants to be captivated by a smart, entertaining read.

Esquire

In his previous novel, The Sisters Brothers, deWitt discovered brutal humanity and coal-black humor behind the façade of a recognizable genre, and now he’s done it again. UNDERMAJORDOMO MINOR bursts with exchanges begging to be read aloud in the village square.

Sam Lipsyte

Undermajordomo Minor is brutal, brilliant, sly, absurd, and poignant. It’s both gripping tale and hilarious subversion. Once again Patrick deWitt proves his wild, original talent, generous wit, and exquisite control.

BookPage

Patrick deWitt novels don’t sneak up on you; they’re the kind you love instantly. His latest...is no exception. From the moment you tumble into its strange world, there is no other world... [A] fairy tale, although one with plenty of room inside for thoroughly modern, adult complications.

Maria Semple

An electrifying adventure, both tender and profane. Nervy, hilarious and utterly unpredictable, Patrick deWitt has served up another dazzler.

Jess Walter

Undermajordomo Minor is a wonderfully wry and wise novel, and reading it is like coming across some twisted classic-Cervantes by way of Louis C.K. I marvel at all that Patrick deWitt is able to do on the page.

Neel Mukherjee

Patrick deWitt has an untrammelled and utterly original imagination. I cannot think of anyone else who could pull off so beautifully this controlled explosion of drollery, mischief , sly fun and tenderness.

Boston Globe

This novel is compulsively readable. DeWitt’s facility with point of view and narrative style is astounding …Undermajordomo Minor has been engineered by a master craftsman. The pacing is superb and, as I read, I kept thinking how grateful I am to writers who can make me laugh.

The Oregonian (Portland)

deWitt is the master of episodic structure. In his hands, the pseudo-simplistic fable form becomes a game of dense social and psychological complexity.

San Francisco Chronicle

Compulsively readable sentences, oscillating between the prosaic and the lyrical, the modern and the arcane…

Stranger

A fun, galloping read that’s appealingly silly at times and fully engrossing at others.

Wall Street Journal

’I don’t subscribe to amusements, Lucy. Laughter is the basest sound a body can make, in my opinion,’ says the valet…. As I read the book, I more than once made the sound the valet finds so base and unpleasant.

New York Times Book Review

Undermajordomo Minor” not only salutes the literature of a bygone era but fully inhabits it, and the result is a novel that offers the same delights as the fair talks and adventure stories it takes on.”

|Los Angeles Times

Throughout the novel, [deWitt] seeks to play against our expectations, to take the moral lessons inherent in his chosen form and rewire them, give them additional dimension and heft… The result is a novel that carves out its own amusements, much as its protagonist does.

Shelf Awareness

[A] deliciously off-kilter coming-of-age story... a detached levity dances through every moment….Alongside the humor lies a wry wisdom about the hidden strengths of the perpetual outsider. Take special note of this delightful, wickedly sharp gem.

Time magazine

In its quirky, melancholy charm it’s not leagues away from The Grand Budapest Hotel. (In fact Dewitt may have written the greatest Wes Anderson movie never made.)

Dallas Morning News

[A] charming vision of a Never-Never Land for adults. It’s an entertaining read, complete with its own implication that distraction from the mundane travails of life is sometimes exactly what one needs.

Best Books of 2015 NPR

DeWitt takes on familiar tropes just to turn them on their heads, and the results are by turns funny, fascinating and often plain weird.

New York Times

[In Undermajordomo Minor], geography and era are purposely abstracted. Where we are, when we are, or why we’re there are all afterthoughts. What matters is Mr. deWitt’s imagination, which is a forceful train that ignores the usual tracks.

NPR.org

Out of all the thieving and warring and heartbreak and, yes, the occasional half-eaten rat—[deWitt has] crafted something worthwhile: humor, and hope.

Read It Forward

Patrick deWitt is masterful at crafting this oddball, adult fairy tale.

Portland Mercury

A fun, galloping read that’s appealingly silly at times and fully engrossing at others. …[It’s] a kids’ story for grownups, and I mean that as the highest possible compliment.

Washington Independent Review of Books

This kinda-sorta fairytale has humor and quirky, undeniable charm… The story is surprisingly straightforward and unadorned, though the prose oozes with that odd DeWitt charm that makes it compelling.

Paste

Relentlessly wry and often outrageously funny … In Undermajordomo Minor, deWitt has somehow created a fable in which the comic narrative voice is impossibly accomplished, and nearly every word is funny… a gut-busting and satisfying tale.

Los Angeles Times

Throughout the novel, [deWitt] seeks to play against our expectations, to take the moral lessons inherent in his chosen form and rewire them, give them additional dimension and heft… The result is a novel that carves out its own amusements, much as its protagonist does.

Wall Street Journal

’I don’t subscribe to amusements, Lucy. Laughter is the basest sound a body can make, in my opinion,’ says the valet…. As I read the book, I more than once made the sound the valet finds so base and unpleasant.

San Francisco Chronicle

Compulsively readable sentences, oscillating between the prosaic and the lyrical, the modern and the arcane…

Paste

Relentlessly wry and often outrageously funny … In Undermajordomo Minor, deWitt has somehow created a fable in which the comic narrative voice is impossibly accomplished, and nearly every word is funny… a gut-busting and satisfying tale.

Washington Post

[T]he novel proposes somewhat gently that the pursuit of a painful thing might just be the point, rather than the moment the quest is over--and deWitt illustrates that sweetly. The trip then might be enough for us: funny, sad, violent and illuminated by a minor light.

Product Details

BN ID: 2940173671615
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date: 09/15/2015
Edition description: Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Undermajordomo Minor


By Patrick deWitt

HarperCollins

Copyright © 2015 Patrick deWitt
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-06-228120-3


CHAPTER 1

Part 1 Lucy the Liar

Lucien Minor's mother had not wept, had not come close to weeping at their parting. All that day he'd felt a catch in his throat and his every movement was achieved in chary degrees, as though swift activity would cause a breach of emotion. They had eaten breakfast and lunch together but neither had spoken a word, and now it was time for him to go but he couldn't step away from his bed, upon which he lay fully dressed, in coat and boots, sheepskin cap pulled low to his brow. Lucy was seventeen years old, and this had been his room since birth; all that he could see and put his hand to was permeated with the bewildering memories of childhood. When he heard his mother positing unknowable questions to herself from the scullery downstairs he was nearly overcome with sorrow. A valise stood alertly on the floor beside him.

Hefting himself from the mattress, he rose, stomping his feet three times: stomp stomp stomp! Gripping the valise by its swiveled leather handle, he walked downstairs and out the door, calling to his mother from the base of the steps before their homely cottage. She appeared in the doorway, lumpily squinting and clapping flour dust from her knuckles and palms.

"Is it time?" she asked. When he nodded she said, "Well, come here, then."

He climbed the five groaning stairs to meet her. She kissed his cheek before peering out over the meadow, scrutinizing the bank of storm clouds roiling up behind the mountain range which walled in their village. When she looked back at him, her expression was blank. "Good luck, Lucy. I hope you do right by this Baron. Will you let me know how it turns out for you?"

"I will."

"All right. Goodbye."

She re-entered the cottage, her eyes fixed to the ground as she closed the door — a blue door. Lucy could recall the day his father had painted it, ten years earlier. He'd been sitting in the shade of the anemic plum tree marking the inscrutable industries of an anthill when his father had called to him, pointing with the paint brush, its bristles formed to a horn: "A blue door for a blue boy." Thinking of this, and then hearing his mother singing an airy tune from within the cottage, Lucy experienced a dipping melancholy. He dissected the purposelessness of this feeling, for it was true he had never been particularly close with his parents; or rather, they had never cared for him in the way he had wished them to, and so they'd never had an opportunity to achieve any stable partnership. He was mourning the fact that there was nothing much to mourn at all, he decided.

He elected to linger, a favored pastime. Sitting upon his upended valise, legs intertwined fashionably, he removed his new pipe from his coat pocket, handling it with care, much in the way one holds a chick. He had purchased the pipe only the day prior; having never used one before, he took a particular interest as he filled it with the chocolate-and-chestnut-smelling tobacco. He lit a match and puffed, puffed. His head was enshrouded in fragrant smoke, and he felt very dramatic, and wished someone was watching him to witness and perhaps comment on this. Lucy was spindly and pale, bordering on sickly, and yet there was something pretty about him, too — his mouth was full, his black lashes long, his eyes large and blue. Privately he considered himself comely in an obscure but undeniable way.

He adopted the carriage of one sitting in fathomless reflection, though there was in fact no motion in his mind whatsoever. Holding the pipe head in the basin of his palm, he rotated the mouthpiece outward so that it rested between his middle and ring fingers. Now he pointed with it, here and there, for this was what the pipe-smoking men in the tavern did when giving directions or recalling a location-specific incident. A large part of the pipe's appeal to Lucy was the way it became an extension of the body of the user, a functional appendage of his person. Lucy was looking forward to pointing with his pipe in a social setting; all he needed was an audience for whom to point, as well as something to point at. He took another draw, but being a fledgling he became dizzy and tingly; tapping the pipe against the heel of his palm, the furry clump clomped to the ground like a charred field mouse, and he watched the blurred tendrils of smoke bleeding out through the shredded tobacco.

Staring up at the cottage, Lucy cataloged his life there. It had been lonely, largely, though not particularly unhappy. Six months earlier he had fallen ill with pneumonia and nearly died in his bedroom. He thought of the kindly face of the village priest, Father Raymond, reading him his last rites. Lucy's father, a man without God, came home from working the fields to find the priest in his home; he led the man out by the arm, this accomplished in a business-like fashion, the way one shepherds a cat from the room. Father Raymond was startled to find himself treated in such a way; he watched Lucy's father's hand on his bicep, scarcely believing it.

"But your son is dying," Father Raymond said (Lucy heard this clearly).

"And what is that to do with you? I trust you can see yourself out, now. Be a good chap and shut the door when you go." Lucy listened to the priest's hesitant, shuffling steps. After the latch caught his father called out: "Who let him in?"

"I didn't see the harm," his mother called back.

"But who summoned him?"

"I don't know who, dear. He just came around."

"He sniffed out the carrion, like a vulture," said Lucy's father, and he laughed.

In the night, alone in his room, Lucy became acquainted with the sensations of death. Much in the way one shudders in and out of sleep, he could feel his spirit slipping between the two worlds, and this was terrifying but also lovely in some tickling way. The clock tower struck two when a man Lucy had never met entered the room. He was wearing a shapeless sack of what looked to be burlap, his beard trimmed and neat, brown-to-black in coloring; his longish hair was parted at the temple as though it had just been set with a brush and water; his feet were bare and he sported caked, ancient dirt running to the shinbone. He padded past Lucy's bed to sit in the rocking chair in the corner. Lucy tracked him through gummy, slitted eyes. He was not afraid of the stranger particularly, but then he wasn't put at ease by his presence, either.

After a time the man said, "Hello, Lucien."

"Hello, sir," Lucy croaked.

"How are you?"

"Dying."

The man raised a finger. "That's not for you to say." Now he fell silent and rocked awhile. He looked happy to be rocking, as though he'd never done it before and found it fulfilling. But then, as one troubled by a thought or recollection, his rocking ceased, his face became somber, and he asked, "What do you want from your life, Lucy?"

"Not to die."

"Beyond that. If you were to live, what would you hope might come to pass?"

Lucy's thoughts were slothful, and the man's query was a restless puzzle to him. And yet an answer arrived and spilled from his mouth, as though he had no control over the sentiment: "Something to happen," he said.

The man in burlap found this interesting. "You are not satisfied?"

"I'm bored." Lucy began to cry a little after he said this, for it seemed to him a pathetic statement indeed, and he was ashamed of himself, his paltry life. But he was too weak to cry for long, and when his tears dried up he stared at the candlelight and shadows stuttering and lapping against the pale white seam where the wall met the ceiling. His soul was coming loosed when the man crossed over, knelt at the bedside, put his mouth to Lucy's ear, and inhaled. And as he did this Lucy felt all the heat and discomfort leaving his body. The man exited holding his breath and walked down the hall to Lucy's parents' room. A moment later, Lucy's father suffered a coughing fit.

By dawn the color had returned to Lucy's face, whereas his father's was paler, his eyes rimmed red where the lids sprouted lash. At dusk his father was bedridden, while Lucy took heedful steps around his room. When the sun rose the next morning, Lucy felt perfectly well other than a tenderness in his joints and muscles, and his father was dead in bed, his mouth a gory sneer, hands stiffened to claws. The undertakers came to remove the corpse and one of them slipped going down the steps, knocking Lucy's father's head against the edge of the tread. The violence of the blow was such that it punched a triangulated divot in the skull at the forehead, and yet the wound did not bleed, an oddity which the undertakers discussed and commented on in Lucy's presence. Lucy followed the trio out the door and watched as his frozen father was loaded into an unclean cart. The cart departed and the corpse rocked to and fro, as if under its own impulse. A spinning wind swooped under Lucy's nightshirt and the frost from the earth breathed coolly up his ankles. Dancing back and forth on the balls of his feet he waited for a feeling of remorse or reverence which did not arrive, not on that day or any other day, either.

In the months that followed, Lucy's mother's attitude toward him soured further. Eventually she admitted that, though she knew Lucy was not explicitly at fault, she felt him part-way responsible for his father's death, as he had unwittingly transferred his illness to an otherwise healthy man, and so had struck him down before his time. Lucy wanted to speak to his mother of the visitor in the burlap sack, but he had a sense that this was something he mustn't discuss, at least not with her. The episode proved a nagging burden, however, and at night he found himself starting in his bed every time the house settled. When he could no longer bear this feeling, he sought out Father Raymond.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Undermajordomo Minor by Patrick deWitt. Copyright © 2015 Patrick deWitt. Excerpted by permission of HarperCollins.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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