The King Is Always Above the People
Longlisted for the National Book Award for FictionAn unforgettable collection of stories from Daniel Alarcón, one of the New Yorker’s 20 best writers under 40, and one of the best storytellers of our time.Migration. Betrayal. Family secrets. Doomed love. Uncertain futures. In Daniel Alarcón’s hands, these are transformed into deeply human stories with high stakes.In ‘The Thousands’, people are on the move and forging new paths; hope and heartbreak abound. A man deals with the fallout of his blind relatives' mysterious deaths and his father's mental breakdown and incarceration in ‘The Bridge’. A gang member discovers a way to forgiveness and redemption through the haze of violence and trauma in ‘The Ballad of Rocky Rontal’. And in the tour de force novella, ‘The Auroras’, a man severs himself from his old life and seeks to make a new one in a new city, only to find himself seduced and controlled by a powerful woman.Richly drawn, full of unforgettable characters, The King is Always Above the People reveals experiences both unsettling and unknown, and yet eerily familiar in this new world.
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4th Estate
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
This eBook first published in Great Britain by 4th Estate in 2018
Copyright © 2017 Daniel Alarcón
Cover design by Heike Schüssler
Cover images © plainpicture/Mira/Conny Ekstrom
Daniel Alarcón asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
The following stories have been published previously, in slightly different form: “The Thousands” (McSweeney’s); “The King Is Always Above the People,” “The Provincials,” and “The Bridge” (Granta); “Abraham Lincoln Has Been Shot” (Zoetrope); and “República and Grau” (The New Yorker).
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins
Source ISBN: 9780007517367
Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 9780007517374
Version: 2018-01-02
‘Alarcón is an empathic observer of the isolated human, whether isolated by emigration or ambition, blindness or loneliness, poverty or war. His stories have a reporter’s mix of kindness and detachment, and perhaps as a result, his endings land like a punch in the gut … His purpose isn’t to approve or condemn, or to liberate. He’s writing to show us other people’s lives, and in every case, it’s a pleasure to be shown’
NPR
‘Superb … Throughout the collection, Alarcón writes with a spellbinding voice and creates a striking cast of characters. Each narrative lands masterfully and memorably, showcasing Alarcón’s immense talent’
Publishers Weekly
‘Alarcón is a truly impressive writer’
Boston Globe
‘Alarcón throws his characters into high-stakes situations to draw out humanity where it seems little hope is left’
Washington Post
‘Polished and poetic’
Vanity Fair
‘Elegant’
San Francisco Chronicle
‘Smart, political and incredibly engaging … Alarcón introduces readers to countless unforgettable characters along the way’
Nylon
‘Dynamic novelist and journalist Alarcón delivers a collection of loosely affiliated short stories, each buzzing and alive … Alarcón’s gift for generating real, tangible characters propels readers through his recognizable yet half-real worlds’
Booklist
‘Showcases his talent as a master storyteller’
Buzzfeed
FOR THE THREAD™
Contents
Copyright
Praise for The King Is Always Above the People
Dedication
The Thousands
The Ballad of Rocky Rontal
The King Is always Above the People
Abraham Lincoln Has Been Shot
The Provincials
Extinct Anatomies
República and Grau
The Bridge
The Lord Rides a Swift Cloud
The Auroras
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Daniel Alarcón
About the Publisher
THERE WAS NO MOON that first night, and we spent it as we spent our days: your fathers and your mothers have always worked with their hands. We came in trucks, and cleared the land of rock and debris, working in the pale yellow glow of the headlights, deciding by touch and smell and taste that the land was good. We would raise our children here. Make a life here. Understand that not so long ago, this was nowhere. The land had no owner, and it had not yet been named. That first night, the darkness that surrounded us seemed infinite, and it would be false to say we were not afraid. Some had tried this before and failed—in other districts, on other fallow land. Some of us sang to stay awake. Others prayed for strength. It was a race, and we all knew it. The law was very clear: while these sorts of things were not technically legal, the government was not allowed to bulldoze homes.
We had until morning to build them.
The hours passed, and by dawn, the progress was undeniable, and with a little imagination one could see the bare outlines of the place this would become. There were tents made of tarps and sticks. There were mats of woven reeds topped with sewn-together rice sacks, and sheets of pressboard leaning against the scavenged hoods of old cars. Everything the city discarded we’d been saving for months in preparation for this first night. And we worked and we worked, and for good measure spent the last hours of that long night drawing roads on the earth, just lines of chalk then, but think of it, just think … We could see them—the avenues they would be—even if no one else could. By morning, it was all there, this ramshackle collection of odds and ends, and we couldn’t help but feel pride. When we finally stopped to rest, we realized we were cold, and on the soft slope of the hill, dozens of small fires were built, and we warmed ourselves, each taking comfort in it, in our numbers, in this land we had chosen. The morning dawned pale, the sky scoured clean and cloudless. “It’s pretty,” we said, and yes, the mountains were beautiful that morning.
