ADVANCE RE ADING COPY
JUNE 2022
Dear Reader, A few quick notes off the top: Thank you so much for reading. Really and truly, thanks. This work is entirely fictional; if any inspiration has been drawn from real life, it would only be from my many, many failed attempts at acquiring a driver’s license. And that I did, in fact, work at a bowling alley. While I’d like the book to speak for itself, I’ll simply mention that, at its core, this is a story about connection. To that end, my hope is that the joy I’ve experienced in writing it, and these characters, translates and extends beyond the page to you. If I can accomplish that, even a little bit, then I’ll consider the work a success. Sincerely,
Sara Flemington
EGG ISLAND Sara Flemington Two laconic teenage runaways plunge deep into remote Northern Ontario, searching for an extraordinary place that may or may not exist. Publication: CANADA June 21, 2022 | U.S. July 19, 2022
FORMAT 5.5 in (W) 8.5 in (H) 184 pages
Paperback 978-1-4597-4935-1 Can $22.99 US $19.99
EPUB 978-1-4597-4937-5 Can $9.99 US $9.99
PDF 978-1-4597-4936-8
KEY SELLING POINTS A contemporary female-driven Huckleberry Finn story, blending the eccentricity and dark
humour of The End of the F**cking World with the raw sentimentality and prose style of Murakami’s Norwegian Wood Two teens road trip across Northern Ontario on their way to Manitoba in the late 90s, encountering hippie hostels, Hutterite colonies, diners, and bears A debut novel
BISAC FIC043000 – FICTION / Coming of Age FIC066000 – FICTION / Small Town & Rural FIC071000 – FICTION / Friendship
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Sara Flemington’s stories have appeared in several journals, including subTerrain, The Humber Literary Review, and The Feathertale Review. She is a graduate of the University of Guelph Creative Writing MFA program. Egg Island is her first novel. Sara lives in Toronto.
EggIsland
saraflemington.wordpress.com
MARKETING AND PUBLICITY Publicity campaign to targeted media and influencers Representation at international trade shows and conferences Consumer, trade, and/or wholesaler advertising campaign Social media campaign
and online advertising Email campaigns to consumers, booksellers, and librarians Advance reading copies available: NetGalley, Edelweiss, Catalist Goodreads giveaway Launch event, Toronto
RIGHTS World, All Languages ABOUT THE BOOK On the move for who knows how long, or how much longer still, Julia, age unknown, walks into a gas station. There, the tall, ominous kid with a studded belt and crusty eyebrow ring stocking cans into the fridge stops his work, and leads her out back to the restroom. What happens next is technically grand theft auto. Part Huckleberry Finn, part Wizard of Oz, Egg Island is the peculiar and darkly humorous story of Julia, a runaway in search of the elusive locale known as Egg Island, a place where, she has been told, the sky breaks the exosphere and the path to a new home will be revealed. Julia’s journey is the story of the shy camaraderie between two bruised teens, stretching beyond roads, forests, and outer space, as they learn to reconcile their histories with the big, open future.
For more information, contact publicity@dundurn.com Orders in Canada: UTP Distribution 1-800-565-9523 Orders in the US: Ingram Publisher Services 1-866-400-5351
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I By the time I arrived at the first gas station my shoulders were rubbed raw from the straps of my backpack. My T-shirt and bra all soaked through with sweat. The old man behind the counter asked where I was headed and why the heck I was walking to get there on a day hotter than heck. I answered, “Because I have feet. Can I use your washroom?” He pointed past me, where a tall kid about my age with messy brown hair and a studded belt stocked dripping cans of Sprite into a fridge. The old man said, “Colt, show her the washroom.” Colt looked over his shoulder. He looked me in the eyes like he was going to love me then murder me, then spend the rest of his life building a shrine for me. “This way,” he said. He led me out back and around the corner to a busted white door with a hole at the bottom. Kicked it open, just above that hole. I stepped past him and let the door shut behind me. There was no lock. I held my breath, rinsed my face and armpits in the
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sink, ran some water through my hair, then pulled my shorts to my knees and squatted over the toilet. Colt kicked at the gravel outside the door. I hovered, waiting. Then he started humming. I started to pee, and he hummed louder until I’d finished. The only toilet paper there was laid sideways and unrolled across the floor, which’d probably at some point also been white. I stuck my foot through the hole to pull the door back and exhaled. Colt was crouched over his heels, tossing stones out into the parking lot. He stood once he realized I was behind him. “I was guarding the door,” he said. “Thanks.” I walked toward the entrance of the store. He followed. “Hey,” he said. I turned around. “What’d you say your name was?” he said. He pushed his hair back from his face. It caught in his eyebrow ring. “I just forgot,” he said. “I didn’t tell it to you.” I turned back around. He ran in front of me and blocked the door, either smiling or grimacing. I couldn’t tell which. “Tell me,” he said. “You know mine.” “Could you move, please?” I said. He didn’t. “It’s Julia,” I said. “Julia,” he repeated. Then he turned inside, went back to his fridge. I walked to the counter, dumped some change from a plastic sandwich bag on top of the scratch tickets, and asked the old man for a jelly doughnut.
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Outside the gas station, I sat on the curb licking every last trace of powder and purple goo from my fingers. It was the first thing I’d eaten all day. I could have eaten seventeen more. “Julia.” I turned sideways, looking way, way up to the spotty stubble beneath Colt’s chin. He held out a can of Sprite. “Wash down that doughnut,” he said. I didn’t move. “Take it. It’s on me. Well, the gas station. Which way are you going?” I pointed. “I could drive you,” he said. A tornado of dust and cigarette pack cellophane blew up in front of us, then settled back down as fast as it had started. “I mean, some of the way,” said Colt. I cracked the can and sipped. “Are you going somewhere?” I asked. “I wasn’t.” “Are you going to kill me?” He made that weird face again. “Do chickens fly?” he said.
II Far ms rolled out like sleeping bags on both sides of the road. Every time we passed sheep, I’d say, Sheep. Every time we passed cows, Colt said, Milk. “Is this your car?” I asked him. “Is now,” Colt answered. “Did you tell your boss you were leaving?” “He’s my grandpa.” “Did you tell your grandpa you were leaving?” “He’ll see I’m not there.” He picked some crust from around his eyebrow ring, wiped it on his shirt. “Do you have a grandpa?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “Okay. And, what are you doing in my car right now?” “You offered me a ride?” “But, what are you doing? Where are you going?” I pointed at some horses coming up on the left. “Horses,” I said.
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It was quiet for a moment. “What about allergies? Do you have one of those?” “I don’t think I do.” “You should know if you have an allergy.” “Well, I don’t know.” “Can you eat peanut butter?” “Yes.” “Can you walk up to pretty much any kind of flower and smell it?” “I think so.” He nodded his head as if there were music playing, which there wasn’t. Drummed his hands on the steering wheel. “Do you smoke cigarettes?” he said. “No.” “Me neither,” he said. “Not for real.” · · ·
Hours passed. The sun went down. The forests on either side of us grew thicker, and the roads turned rocky and began to wind more and more. There were no houses or streetlights for miles. No McDonald’s or pit stops. Just headlights and black road, and some growing car sickness. I thought of all the times I’d been told there was nothing more dangerous than a teenage boy. Except, of course, a teenage boy with a car. Yet here I was. Alone in the middle of nowhere with both. Then the turn signal began to click. Colt pulled to the curb. He turned off the ignition and turned toward me. Mouth agape, a black hole, hair falling over his eyes. He looked like a frightening muppet. I held my breath, holding the seat belt buckle.
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“Gotta piss,” he said. He opened his door and jumped out. I let go. Glanced up at the rear-view mirror. At the back end of the car, he faced the ditch and unzipped. I looked away, out at the road ahead curving sharply out of sight. They can’t all be bad, I thought. Maybe he’s a nice boy. Then a sudden smack against the window beside me. Colt had both hands pressed to the glass. I screamed. He screamed back. “Please don’t,” I shouted, hitting the lock on the door. “You don’t,” he shouted back. I struggled with the buckle. Colt laughed. “Don’t be scared,” he said. “Be normal. I just wanted to tell you something.” I moved over to the middle of the car. Locked the driver’s door, too. Colt had backed away now, was standing in the ditch. He bent slightly to wave at me through the window. “If I wanted to hurt you I would have opened the back doors by now.” I held my beating heart with one hand. Rolled the window down a crack with the other. “Did you go?” I said. “Yes.” I rolled it down a little more. “So, let’s go,” I said. “Come see this first.” “See what? It’s dark.” “Just come.” I waited. Then, finally, unlocked and opened the door. “There’s probably, like, wolves or coyotes, or witches out here, watching us right now,” I said.
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“I’m not afraid of animals,” said Colt. “Or witches.” He held out his hand. I took it, and he helped me down into the ditch beside him. “This way,” he said, leading me around to the back of the car. “You want to show me your piss puddle?” “No.” Then he turned around and grabbed hold of my forearms. Was trying to pull me onto the road. I screamed and pulled back. “What are you doing?” I shouted. “You gonna throw me in front of a truck?” “No, of course not. That would be morbidly insane.” Headlights lit the trees as a car towing a trailer sped around the curve. I pulled back harder, and we both fell into the damp ditch. “See?” I said. “See what?” I stood, wiping the dirt from my backside. “I better not have landed in your piss puddle.” He stood up, too, then looked both ways and ran out to the centre of the road on his own. “Okay, come,” he said. “No.” “Come see,” he said. I stood there for a long time, it seemed. Waiting for something to change. Nothing changed. Eventually, I took one step onto the road. Once I’d done that, he ran back over to me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me farther out. “Let me go,” I said. “Just look, Jules.”
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Dark was pressing from all sides but up. So I looked up. A pool of Milky Way beamed between the treetops, orange, yellow, and white like the end of a bowl of marshmallow cereal. I reached up my other hand instinctively, like I could touch it. “Wondrous, right?” said Colt. A horn blared and headlights flooded the road again. Still holding me, he hurled us both back into the ditch. We fell forward onto our hands and knees, and just as fast as it had appeared, the vehicle was gone. I pushed myself up, went straight for the passenger door. “Don’t call me Jules,” I said.
III Colt promised I could trust him not to smother me with my own backpack if I fell asleep. I didn’t believe him, but crawled into the back seat anyway. Stuffed one of my shirts, the thickest, warmest flannel one, beneath my head like a pillow. At times I’d wake up, from a muscle cramp, or the noises in my dreams, and expect to find myself upside down, limbs crushed, in a wreck off the side of a cliff. But there he’d be. All peaceful looking with one hand resting on the wheel, the other flicking a lighter. And, pretty quickly, I’d fall back to sleep.