San Francisco, the early 1920s. Edward R. Williams wanders through a city of stunning beauty but feels utterly adrift. Deaf since childhood, he moves through dinner parties and social gatherings with a painful awareness of his own otherness, reading lips, missing jokes, longing to be understood. When he encounters Emily, something cracks open in him - a desperate, almost tender hope that perhaps connection is possible after all. Stella Benson writes with extraordinary sensitivity about the geography of loneliness. Her Edward is no pitiful figure but a man of sharp mind and aesthetic hunger, caught between the world he observes and the world that excludes him. The novel unfolds in luminous San Francisco scenes - crowded rooms where he feels most alone, quiet moments of unexpected grace. This is a quiet, aching book about the things we cannot say and the connections we cannot stop wanting.
