UNDERCOVER

Beth Kephart history-infused and lyrical (but hopefully with some strut and pop)

photo credit: William Sulit

Author Biography

Beth Kephart is the author of five memoirs, an autobiography of a river, a young adult novel, and a newly released corporate fable called ZENOBIA: THE CURIOUS BOOK OF BUSINESS (co-authored with Matthew Emmens); four new books are forthcoming.
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Influences

Michael Ondaatje

Pablo Neruda

Alice McDermott

Gerald Stern

Web Links

Synopsis:

UNDERCOVER is the story of a young, nature-loving aspiring poet, during a year fraught with a father's absence and social invisibility. Narrated by Elisa herself, the book is a modern Cyrano de Bergerac enriched by a wise English teacher, a book of words, a frozen pond, and a boy named Theo.

Book Excerpt:

ONE Once I saw a vixen and a dog-fox dancing. It was on the other side of the cul-de-sac, past the Gunns, through the trees, where the stream draws a wet line in spring. There was old snow on the ground that day, soft and slushy, and the trees were naked; I had my woolen mittens on. I was following the stream, and above and between the sound of the stream was the sound of birds, brown birds, mostly, and also nested baby squirrels. The foxes, when I found them, were down by the catacombs, doing a slow-dance shuffle. Standing upright, I swear, palm to palm, with black socks on, red coats. At school, I didn’t tell Margie about the fox dance, or David, or Karl. I didn’t even tell Mr. Sheepals, in science, because it was what he’d call a non sequitor. My fox-dance story was an animal-kingdom story, and this was two years ago, second semester, eighth grade, when we were stuck on photosynthesis. I have a sister, but she reads fashion magazines all day. My mother doesn’t care for the woods. I kept my fox-dance story to myself, and I won’t share it even now. It is my secret. It’s the other stuff I give away — the way I read the sky, the way I watch the sun, the 42 flavors of breeze. It’s the stuff people don’t look for until it’s too late, until they need a metaphor or simile to help promote their love. They don’t have to come to me, but they almost always do. They know I’ve got it covered. Dear Sandy, I’ll write, pretending I’m Jon. I came to the track meet to see you run, and it was like watching the lead bird in a migrating V. You were something else. Again. Then I fold the paper like an origami bird and I slip in a feather from my Stash O’ Nature box. The next day Jon will sail the thing through the vents of Sandy’s locker, and a week later, I’ll see them — Sandy and Jon, so all-in-love together — going down the hall. He’ll keep his eyes down, as conspirators do. “Hey,” I’ll say. “Hey,” he’ll mumble. It’s interesting to me, what others cannot see. For example: the precursors of leaves on trees, which can only be seen just in front of dusk, in March, when the setting sun turns the branches pink or some primary shade of green. Then there’s the neon glow of the eyes on bees, and also the way a gerbera daisy starts out thinking it’s yellow before it turns pink. Nature, you see, has a mind of her own. She’s mysterious, and mystery is romantic. Dear Lori, I write. Last night I left my window open and a firefly flew through. So much light and all I could think of was you. Love Matt.

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