9780152063689

Medford lives on a neat, orderly island called simply Island. Islanders like names that say exactly what a thing (or a person) is or does. Nothing less. Islanders like things (and people) to do what their names say they will. Nothing more. In fact, everything on Island is named for its purpose, even the people who inhabit it. But Medford Runyuin is different. A foundling, he has a meaningless last name that is just one of many reminders that he's an outsider. And, to make matters worse, Medford's been keeping a big secret, one that could get him banished from Island forever. When the smelliest, strangest, unruliest creature Island has ever seen comes barreling right into his rigid world, Medford can't help but start to question the rules he's been trying to follow his entire life. A whimsical fantasy debut about belonging, the dangers of forgetting history, and the Usefulness of art. The Unnameables is one of the funniest stories of friendship you'll ever read, with a cast of characters you'll never forget.

ELLEN BOORAEM worked for two decades as a reporter and editor at small-town weeklies, until she quit her day job to write The Unnameables. She lives in Brooklin, Maine.

Prologue	p. xi
Cropfodder	p. 1
Book Learning	p. 14
Essence Is Gone	p. 25
Bog Island	p. 36
Mistress Learned	p. 47
Pinky	p. 59
The Goatman’s Wind	p. 70
Rambles and Tales	p. 80
Grass Tunes	p. 92
Once a Runyuin	p. 101
Prudy’s View of the World	p. 113
Nutcakes	p. 124
Cold Nutcakes	p. 133
The Constables	p. 143
Jail	p. 156
Stinky Returns	p. 168
Up to the Archives	p. 181
Jeremiah Comstock	p. 191
The Map in the Dark	p. 203
The Last of Alma	p. 217
The Naming	p. 228
Morning at Cook’s	p. 239
The Council	p. 252
Twig’s Surprise	p. 265
Constance Learned	p. 276
A Runyuin and a Carver	p. 289
Risk and Beauty	p. 297
Another Useful Gust	p. 304
The Unnameable	p. 310
Acknowledgments	p. 317
Table of Contents provided by Publisher. All Rights Reserved.

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CHAPTER ONE Cropfodder A Pumpkyn may remayne Wholesome the Winter through. Gut the Fruit, then cut in Pieces and String it. Twill drie lyke Apples. A Frugall Compendium of Home Arts and Farme Chores by Capability C. Craft (1680), as Amended and Annotated by the Island Council of Names (17181809) When medford thought about it later, that day in Hunters Moon was a good example of Before. Before Transition. Before the Goatman. Before life changed forever. Before, before, before. He and Prudence Carpenter were on the beach, watching the Farmers gather seaweed for winter mulch. Grover Gardener, Councilor for Physick, was there, too, hands red with sea slime. So was anyone whose kitchen garden needed mulching, which was almost everybody. That mornings sky, the departing birds, and Emery Farmers bones had announced that seaweed gathering soon would be a chore rather than a pleasure. Youd gather the seaweed anyway, of course, pleasure or no. Seaweed was Useful and that was that. The Book even named specific types: Cropfodder, the kind most people were after today; Windbegone, which Grover gave to patients who had digestive troubles; Bone-mend, which he dried for chewing when youd broken your leg. Medford and Prudy were ignoring seaweed. It was still Before, and they were being Useless. Run, run when young, the Book said. Later in the day, settle and stay. Time enough to be Useful after Transition. They were knee-deep in sea-foam, bare feet numb, clothes salt-spattered. Waves hissed in over the sand, then sighed back out again. The sun-drenched air was warm but sharp. The winter winds had come early this year, whipping up the waves. Two weeks from now the sea would be stone gray and the monthly Mainland Trade would be over until spring. Boats would hunker down on shore and people would eat salted Common Fish. Medford stood still and let the retreating water slip over and around his frozen feet. It ate away the sand at his heels until he teetered and almost fell over. Fifty feet out, a Nameless brown bird made a clumsy splash landing in the water while a Nameless gray bird swooped over its head, laughing. Medford flailed his skinny arms to keep his balance, laughing himself, his scraggly brown hair wild in the breeze. Skinny and lanky and practically Nameless, he had a lot in common with that brown bird. Seabirds had no names, regardless of color. No Use, no Name, the Book said. And names were what mattered here, thirty-five chilly miles east of Mainland. Mainland maps called the place Fools Haven. But the people who lived on it called it Island. Island was ten miles long, north to south, and seven miles wide, west to east. Its principal town, on the western shore closest to Mainland, was called Town. The town hall was called Town Hall and said so on a plaque over the door. Town Hall was on the main street, which was called Main Street. Islanders liked names that said exactly what a thingor a personwas or did, and nothing

Excerpted from The Unnameables by Ellen Booraem
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The Unnameables

The Unnameables

0152063684

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