Wednesday, April 7, 2021

The Angle of Flickering Light by Gina Troisi - Book Tour + Giveaway

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This is my stop during the blog tour for The Angle of Flickering Light by Gina Troisi. The Angle of Flickering Light is Gina Troisi’s debut memoir novel published by Vine Leaves Press.

This blog tour is organized by Lola's Blog Tours. The blog tour runs from 6 till 19 April. See the tour schedule here.

The Angle of Flickering Light

The Angle of Flickering Light
By Gina Troisi
Genre: Non-fiction/ Memoir
Release Date: 6 April 2021

Gina Troisi’s father moved out when she was five years old, but before he left, he insisted on telling her about his various affairs—with prostitutes, with her mother’s friends, and finally, with his secretary, Brenda, whom he had decided to marry.

By the time she reached adolescence, on a search for respite from her father's verbal abuse and Brenda's psychological torment, Gina spent hours doing Jane Fonda’s workouts, smoked cigarettes instead of eating food, became obsessed with her thinness, and with the notion of fading away. She began to find solace in restlessness—drinking hallucinogenic mushroom tea and inhaling crushed pills and powders—perching herself on the periphery of danger again and again.

As an adult, when she finally glimpsed a better life for herself, her grandfather, who had been a surrogate father to her, became terminally ill, and she fell in love with John, a stranger who was utterly familiar, but who was addicted to heroin. She moved from New Hampshire to California, crossing the country in an attempt to alleviate her selfdestructive tendencies, but found herself pulled back to New Hampshire, to John, a man with whom, despite his struggle, she could not deny the sense of home she felt. But what would it cost for a girl to run wildly and recklessly into womanhood, making instant, temporary homes? And would she ever find home within herself?

- B&N


I’d been back in New Hampshire for over a month

when John decided to quit heroin again. He’d been

trying to quit all summer while I was in California,

but he’d been unsuccessful. He told me he had not

been able to find a fix, so he interpreted this as yet

another sign. It was an exceptionally hot day for

early October. 

While I was away, John had finally moved out of

his ex-girlfriend’s place. Since his belongings were at

Jacob’s grandparents’ house, and mine were in the

cab of my truck, we bounced from one apartment to

the next, crashing on friends’ living room floors. That

week, our friend, Marie, offered us her vacant apartment.

She had moved across town, but her name was

still on the lease for a few more days. While you find

a place, she said.

The entire house was divided into four apartments.

Marie’s was on the far left, and the driveway

was behind the house. Inside, we brought a hiking

backpack filled with necessities: clothes, toiletries, a

boombox, cigarettes, and a trash bag. The apartment

had two floors, but we congregated on the first, using

only the bathroom, one bedroom, the living room,

and the kitchen that separated them. We claimed

the bedroom in the back corner of the apartment, the

room with the only shaded window. 

The walls were white. The tile floors had been

scrubbed clean with bleach. No furniture remained.

In order to be filled with spirit, feng shui theory

says one needs to be empty of worldly things. The

color white, I remembered, is associated with purity.

White is letting go. Surrendering. 

I had hope.

We stocked the refrigerator shelves with tomato

sauce and cheap champagne. We spread my insulated

sleeping bag on the floor of the bedroom. While

Jacob was at school, we made love on top of the

sleeping bag. The boombox played Pearl Jam’s song,

“Indifference,” the music soft and slow. I was on top

of John, my knees pressed against the carpet. The

twine chafed my skin. A small portable fan hummed

as my flesh peeled, but I didn’t mind the burning. My

body fit his, like when I lay on the beach, and warm

sand filled the folds of my skin. He swam inside of me

while I climaxed. Orgasm was the single consistency

of our relationship. Sex was the way we finished one

another’s sentences.

Afterward, John filled the ashtray with cigarettes

while I filled my journal with words. Still naked, I

sat up against the wall and began to shape a poem.

He tucked his feet in between my crossed legs. Damp

with sweat, I was content in this empty space. We

had a place to sleep tonight, and perhaps John would

have enough determination to beat his demon. Our

conversation would percolate throughout the rooms.

He would tell me about his fear, about feeling worthless

when he wasn’t high, and I would tell him about


“Are you hungry?” he asked.

About the Author:
Gina Troisi
Gina Troisi’s work has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies, including Fourth Genre, The Gettysburg Review, Fugue, Under the Sun, Flyway: Journal of Writing and Environment, and elsewhere. Her stories and essays have been recognized as finalists in several national contests, including the 2020 Iron Horse Literary Review Trifecta Award in Fiction, the 2018 New Letters Publication Award in Fiction, American Literary Review’s Creative Nonfiction Contest, 2018, and others. She has taught numerous classes and workshops in both traditional and nontraditional settings, including writing workshops for female adult survivors of sexual assault. She lives in coastal Maine.

Author links:

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There is a tour wide giveaway for the blog tour of The Angle of Flickering Light. US Only. These are the prizes you can win:
- 1 winner wins a prize package as well as a $20 gift card for
- 3 winners win a prize package

The prize package includes a bookmark, mini journals with a photo of the cover, and wine glass charms.

For a chance to win, enter the rafflecopter below:
a Rafflecopter giveaway

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