The Golden Spur
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IF A YOUNG MAN finds his own father inconveniently ordinary, can he choose another? Jonathan Jaimison, the engagingly amoral hero, comes to New York from Silver City, Ohio for exactly such a purpose. Combing through his mother’s diaries and the bars and cafés of Greenwich Village, Jonathan seeks out the writer or painter whose youthful indiscretion he believes he might have been, all the while committing numerous indiscretions of his own. By the end of the novel, Jonathan has figured out not only his paternity, but his maternity, and best of all, himself. Published in 1962, The Golden Spur was Dawn Powell’s last novel.
real opera, in which there was no part for her. It annoyed her that her hands shook as she drew on her rose-colored gloves and that Jonathan's friend should be watching her now. "Pretty rough crowd for you, I'm afraid," he said. "Not for me, Mr. Turner," Claire said with dignity. "I find the people most attractive. The blond girl you bowed to looks fascinating." "Fascinating indeed!" Earl said. "She just got back from Greece, where she's been living on money she got from selling her baby.
child of eight generations of solid, substantial, bumbling Americans, born back in their rent—back eight generations with compound interest, the way old George Terrence, for instance, was born on top of eight generations of trust funds, so that he was honored as a success in his career before he'd made a dollar. He and Alvine used to sneer in the old times when their roommate, old George Terrence, would complain of being broke—less than fifty bucks in his wallet, maybe—might have to sell a bond,
virtues sickened him, and it depressed him that his friend could find any trace of them in him. He made up his mind to tell the doctor the circumstances that made him definitely non-Jaimison, though Earl Turner had advised him against confiding in anyone else for fear it would block useful information. He opened his mouth to give a mere hint, but the doctor's delighted interest brought out everything Jonathan could remember from his mother's documents. When the doctor lifted a skeptical eyebrow
other through her that they hardly thought of her as a person but as an intercom. "Your mother had a charming habit of being late for appointments when I was courting her." George now addressed his daughter. "While I waited in her living room her roommate very graciously entertained me. Naturally I remembered her kindness." "I'm sure she was trying to get herself invited," Hazel said to her daughter. "Poor Connie didn't have many beaux as I recall her. At any rate I cannot understand why I
word Darcy never heard, as Lize and the Spur regulars knew full well. "It's the awful shock that gets me!" "But he hadn't showed up at the studio for weeks!" Lize reminded her. "I knew how to find him," Darcy muttered, for she had the same talent Lize herself had for tracking men; their itineraries lit up like the arteries on an anatomy chart the first time she met them. "But now he's really gone, don't you understand?" Good thing you understand it at last yourself, old thing, Lize wanted to