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By Sara Gruen

Sam, Bonzi, Lola, Mbongo, Jelani, and Makena aren't any usual apes. those bonobos, like others in their species, are able to cause and wearing on deep relationships—but not like such a lot bonobos, additionally they understand American signal Language.

Isabel Duncan, a scientist on the nice Ape Language Lab, doesn’t comprehend humans, yet animals she gets—especially the bonobos. Isabel feels more well-off of their global than she’s ever felt between people . . . until eventually she meets John Thigpen, a really married reporter who braves the ubiquitous animal rights protesters outdoors the lab to determine what’s fairly happening inside.

When an explosion rocks the lab, seriously injuring Isabel and “liberating” the apes, John’s human curiosity piece becomes the tale of a life-time, one he’ll hazard his occupation and his marriage to keep on with. Then a truth television convey that includes the lacking apes debuts below mysterious conditions, and it instantly turns into the biggest—and unlikeliest—phenomenon within the heritage of contemporary media. hundreds of thousands of lovers are glued to their monitors staring at the apes order greasy take-out, have beneficiant quantities of intercourse, and signal for Isabel to come back get them. Now, to save lots of her family members of apes from this parody of human existence, Isabel needs to hook up with her personal sort, together with John, a green-haired vegan, and a retired porn megastar along with her personal schedule.

Ape condo gives you nice leisure, however it additionally opens the animal global to us in methods few novels have performed, securing Sara Gruen’s position as a grasp storyteller who permits us to work out ourselves as we by no means have ahead of.

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LiteraryAwards
John Llewellyn Rhys Prize Nominee (2007)
Somerset Maugham Award (2008)

Additional info for Ape House

Example text

My back was a wall of singing flame. I was turning. I watched her take the long fork in one hand, to tap the loaves. In the other hand she gripped the black poker to hook the pans. “Help me,” she said again, and I thought, Yes, this is part of it. I put the mittens on my hands and swung the door open on its hinges. The oven gaped. She stood back a moment, letting the 52 first blast of heat rush by. I moved behind her. I could feel the heat at my front and at my back. Before, behind. My skin was turning to beaten gold.

I heard the valve opening, the hissed intake of breath, and knew that I should not have spoke. 48 “You lie,” she said. “You’re cold. There is a wicked ice forming in your blood. You don’t have a shred of devotion for God. Only wild cold dark lust. I know it. I know how you feel. I see the beast . . the beast watches me out of your eyes sometimes. ” The urgent scrape of metal. It took a moment to know from where. Top of the stove. Kettle. Lessons. She was steadying her­ self with the iron poker.

Because I don’t have that much Indian blood. And they never thought they’d have a girl from this reservation as a saint they’d have to kneel to. But they’d have me. And I’d be carved in pure gold. With ruby lips. And my toenails would be little pink ocean shells, which they would have to stoop down off their high horse to kiss. I was ignorant. I was near age fourteen. The length of sky is just about the size of my ignorance. Pure and wide. And it was just that— the pure and wideness of my ignorance— that got me 40 up the hill to Sacred Heart Convent and brought me back down alive.

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