A Map Of The Harbor Islands J G Hayes by J. G. Hayes 3d7a0642-b8eb-49a8-9a0d-4239941bb0d8, 3D7A0642-B8EB-49A8-9A0D-4239941BB0D8 instant download after payment.

A moving story about friends-one gay and one not-and the power of redemption, growth, and love! A Map of the Harbor Islands is the long-awaited novel from J. G. Hayes, the critically acclaimed bestselling author of This Thing Called Courage and Now Batting for Boston. This book charts the turbulent life courses of two South Boston friends, Danny O'Connor and Petey Harding, from their childhoods through their adult lives. 'Golden Boy' Petey has it all going for him-brains, charisma, and his close friendship with Danny. Then an accident on the baseball field changes everything. Petey wakes from a coma a different person, completely different from the boy Danny knew and loved. Gone are the old habits, the old joy of baseball, the old way of thinking. Petey is left with a stutter and a new appreciation for life that Danny sometimes just cannot understand. Petey begins to tell stories and make maps-dragging a grudging Danny along. Over the years Danny begins to understand Petey, and slowly, he also begins to learn more about himself. Then Petey confesses that he is gay, which sends Danny on an odyssey he never dreamed could happen. Petey's map is one of hope for Danny and him, to escape the urban ghetto of South Boston. They are two wayfaring "bestest friends" who swear a love for one another until the very end. A Map of the Harbor Islands carries the reader on a journey into the beauty of the world, physically and emotionally, along a current of love, friendship, self-growth, and redemption. The prose is all J. G. Hayes-metaphysical, moving-and always real. Of the book, Steve Susoyev, author of People Farm writes, "This has touched me in a way only two or three othershave -- full of hope and heartbreak and love and realness. An amazing work." From the novel: It was deep in the green tangle of June. Not that there were any more trees in South Boston then than there are now-it's the least vegetated part of the city, I read that just recently. So what there was of green stood out all the more. Shimmery. The neon tufts of grass beside the buckled continental plates of sidewalks, and you'd always have to look, like pubic hair on the very young and the very old, that much of an emerald surprise. The explosion of sumac and ailanthus from ends of alleys, from mere fissures in industrial parking lots. Squirming unstoppable some of the up from miasmic subway vents and where are their roots, you ponder. Springtimes, you'd almost swear the smokestacks and asphalt roofs, the soot-draped fill trucks that rattle-roared through the West Side at night, took on a softer color in sympathy with the reputed rebirth of the world, elsewhere. But we lived in community then. Find A Map of the Harbor Islands and chart a journey with two friends you will never forget.