Home Is Not Physically, No

The novel begins with a journey, both physical and emotional; the Brennans are physically moving houses and towns, but also moving into new, unfamiliar territory. The leaving of ‘home’ is synonymous with the leaving of what id known, familiar and comfortable, in a literal and metaphorical sense.

Lee’s writing is littered with descriptive and flowery visuals that truly capture both the environment and his emotions. In one such case, he recalls an evening where he “[stared] at the brightest star, viewing it not so much on this night as a beacon, something [he] wanted to believe would lead [he] out of this dark tunnel, but instead as a place [he’d] rather be” (155). His juvenile wistfulness is tangible in the words and the reader can almost feel the chill of the night air. He continues, wishing to be “anywhere but here…[wishing to have] been born anywhere but here.” (155). His yearning twists the heart with sympathy for his lonesome and pitiable plight. This moment is but a minute fraction of the incredibly intimate tale that Lee

Memories of the night before became a vivid memory in the recesses of his dimly lit mind, underneath the sunlight's intruding yet blissful gaze and the sensation of silk against his bare skin felt like a euphoria, a river of midnight encased his slender figure and with the scrunch of his refined nose and furrowed knit of his thin eyebrows, he rose from his slumber. Delicate fingertips leisurely danced across the silken sheets which lost its assuaging warmth only to discern that he was gone, Padding through the spacious house far too big for two alone to fill, and too much of a burden for one to find comfort in. To see his lover, clad in a suit that managed to take his breath away immediately

He waited until the night’s 11th hour. By now the Princess rested in the highest tower of the castle, locked away from the dangerous world, yet so oblivious to the dangers that which fated the rest of her life. Silently the peasant journeyed outside, where he stopped at the wall of the tower where she lay. He watched her in the darkness from below, lifting his face to her, letting the light rest on his every surface of darkness. The night was cloudless. The winds wailed between the motionless oak trees as its thin branches clawed out, ever so slightly disturbing the leaves with its hostile screeches. Not the thick moss of the trees nor the damp leaves squirming in his toes could distract the peasant from so enticing a scent. All that encircled him was the sweetness of lavender and rosewood, filling his entire being as he sunk into the grass, like sand washed over by the water, with every breeze passing

Its call to its mate caused him to long for Allie. Although they had only been husband and wife a week now, he felt as if they had always been together… she was the breath in his lungs… the blood in his veins, the beat of his heart… she was all those things and more. He did not want to endanger her by moving her out of Charleston, but he would have to figure a way for them to be together more often. As he stood, staring out into the darkness, the quietness of the night resonated deep within him. In the distance, he thought he heard the low bump of a drum and then the sound of a flute trembling through the night its soothing sound wavering upon the light breeze that blew from the west…

Rainsford had hardly tumbled to the ground when the pack took up the cry again. “Nerve, nerve, nerve!” he panted, as he dashed along. A blue gap showed between the trees dead ahead. Ever nearer drew the hounds. Rainsford forced himself on toward that gap. He reached it. It was the shore of the sea. Across a cove he could see the gloomy gray stone of the château. Twenty feet below him the sea rumbled and hissed. Rainsford hesitated. He heard the hounds. Rainsford threw himself off the tall cliff. The wind rushing past his face and threw his hair, he had a split second on just peace flying down the cliff preparing to hit the water. The water crashed around Rainsford swallowing him whole, as he started to swim to shore he heard a mysterious yet familiar voice.

For once, she wandered toward him with no children in tow. Today, she wore no linen coif, and her elbow-length, blond hair hung down loose. Percival had not realized how thick and glossy it was. And instead of wearing her typical nanny uniform of a stiff beige tunic dress, she wore a pale blue dress, more fitted at the top, and cinched at the waist with dark leather girdle belt. The belt accentuated the curve of her hips, and he color of her dress brought out the light honey color in her eyes. She was even more beautiful than he recalled, and in that instant, her presence was the balm he needed to soothe his agitated soul. He realized that he’d had but one brief interaction with her earlier in the day, yet her presence was exactly what he needed.

Earl turned onto Main Street of his new home, Lyme Connecticut and was immediately struck with a child-like sense of wonder. The cobblestone road was lined with white shops packed side to side; everything from toys to mannequins stare back at him from the windows. As he, his mother, and his father continued down the road, a beautiful shimmering bay could be seen from the distance, the August sun reflecting brilliantly off the ocean water, seemingly calling for him to jump in. They continued, taking many turns and different road for about 15 minutes until they arrived at their new home in a small neighborhood of about 20 houses. Earl exited the car and took his suit case out of his family's black hatchback Volvo and walked towards the house,

“I grew up there, thought I’d spend my entire life calling that city ‘Home.’ But it didn’t workout that way. I learned to love it here too,” Dustin told his neighbour’s grandkids, remembering the horrific event that tore him away from his home and ended his career. His neighbour, Sally, and her family were the only people who accepted Dustin; they shared something in common, the disaster. Sally lost her husband in the tragedy that destroyed Dustin’s once handsome face.

Mother, Father, Den, Home. Racing through the forest under a shining moon, snow crunching beneath his paws and the taste of his prey’s fear on the wind. Heart pumping, lungs heaving, ALIVE.

He couldn’t see her too well with the sun setting behind her, but he admired her curvaceous legs and generous chest. A number of erotic thoughts filled Charles’ mind in a matter of seconds. He filed away the sun dappled profile of the unknown woman for later fantasizing. She seemed to sense him staring at her, and stood up straight; staring at his direction. Charles met her gaze for a few seconds and that was all it took. In that mere frame of time, the sun had decided to set – with a mind of its own. He felt as if there were forces down below that caused this. From what Charles could see; raven hair; and ruby lips. His favourite. Turning quickly back to the water in sheer embarrassment, Charles feigned the notion and looked out towards lake. He let out a long sigh – wishing he could gather up the courage to just ask her out for a cup of coffee; just to have a decent conversation with another human being. Charles was desperate for a woman’s scent. He longed for the touch of a woman; the warm embrace of their welcoming chest; the touching breath on his cheek. He desired everything a woman had to offer but had unfortunately experienced very little of it. He reprimanded himself for his timidity and grimaced at his reflection below him. Upon turning his heels, intent on drinking himself to sleep for the night, Charles was confronted by the small child that was with the woman. But where was she? He felt a slight tap on his shoulder and slightly craning his neck, Charlie laid eyes on her beckoning face – making out her features for the first time. Desperate to break the awkward silence, Charlie began to open his mouth. He was about to mutter his signature, squeaky ‘hey’, right before she pressed her finger to his mouth. She rested her finger on his face for what seemed like an eternity for Charles. Strawberries, he thought. She smells like strawberries. Acting purely on instinct, Charlie opened his

Hooks highlights the contrast of the uneasy feelings when she is on the streets compared to the comfort of being in her home. “Such a contrast, that feeling of arrival, of homecoming, this sweetness and the bitterness of that journey, that constant reminder of white power and control”(42). This contrast is what separates the home place from reality. The household provides a security that could be compared

A sliver of light poked through the curtains and a magpie warbled from the porch. Other birdsong also filtered through-- a soft chorus yet to reach its peak. JB lay awake, observing Poppy’s back, and the slow rise and fall of her slumbering breath. Twice this week he’d woken to such a sight, the skin of her shoulders smooth and pale compared to the red marbled version of his own. Her hair hung down her spine in blonde tousled curls; enticing enough for him to entangle a finger.

HE RIVERFRONT BUSTLED WITH ACTIVITY. She sat on her favorite bench and absorbed her surroundings. The warm, humid breeze across her face felt heavenly. The brilliant blue, cloudless sky created the perfect Louisiana morning. A flash of white caught her eye. An egret began its graceful descent. This was where she grew up, where her life changed forever. Loneliness has become a permanent part of her life now. She was among the living, but not really with them. It was time to leave the pain behind and search for true love once again.

What is home? If one looks in a dictionary the answer would come out to be, “The place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.” However, for anyone who has had an actual home, they would know that such a term goes much beyond its concrete description. It is an impassioned aspect filled with values and foundation of nurturing. A home is not just an abode built to live in; in fact, that is just a definition of a house. Home is a place where one not only feels comfortable, but a place they look forward to opportunely live in every day. A home is built not by bricks or wood, but with the bond of family. A home is a place that reminds a person of countless memories and values when he walks through a