I'm Trying to Reach You

I'm Trying to Reach You
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* The Believer Book Award Finalist* One of the Best Books of 2012 — BuzzFeed “I was in Zagreb the day that Michael Jackson died. When I heard the news, the first thing I thought was, That’s it. That’s the first line of my novel. ‘I was in Zagreb the day that Michael Jackson died.’” First Michael Jackson, then Pina Bausch. Next is Merce Cunningham. Gray Adams, a former dancer with the Royal Swiss Ballet at work on his dissertation at NYU, has a theory spurred by countless hours of YouTube-based procrastination: Someone is killing these famous dancers! (And he may bear an uncanny resemblance to Jimmy Stewart, circa  Vertigo .) I’m Trying to Reach You  is a moving and candid contemporary look at how we process grief, as well as how we love and communicate with one another. "A provocative novel… that blurs the boundaries between life and performance, dance, art, and viral video. The novel is also framed in the world of performance art and is itself its own kind of performance… and feels rightly reflective of a moment when dance is pushing the boundaries of what constitutes a performance space." — Slate

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Barbara Browning. I'm Trying to Reach You

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Table of Contents

Title Page

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I know, doesn’t sound so upbeat, does it?

I looked back at my paper, unnerved. I’d written the first draft two and a half years ago. I’d just managed to move a comma or two, but it clearly wasn’t going to be much improved before my panel at 3:00. This reappearance of Jimmy Stewart also wasn’t exactly helping my concentration. I saved my changes, closed the document, and ejected my flash drive. I hesitated for a moment, and then opened up the Internet browser, heading straight for YouTube. I typed in “michael jackson moonwalk modéré satie.” Up she popped: the tiny dancer. I watched her quietly sink and rise in her mechanical little demi-pliés, with her little mudra-hands hanging at odd angles off her wrists. I watched it again. Evidently somebody else had, too: it was up to nineteen hits. I saw from the clock on the corner of the screen that it was really time for me to be heading over to the Faculty of Architecture to test my a.v. before my panel. But I couldn’t resist quickly scrolling down to check on the comments. There was a new one, from “quothballetcarper”: “Not bad, little lady. Keep practicing.” To which falserebelmoth had responded, in a language as peculiar and indecipherable as her choreography: “And I sneered – softly – ‘small’!”

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