On the morning the last Lisbon daughter took her turn at suicide-it was Mary this time, and sleeping pills, like Therese-the two paramedics arrived at the house knowing exactly where the knife drawer was, and the gas oven, and the beam in the basement from which it was possible to tie a rope. They got out of the EMS truck, as usual moving much too slowly in our opinion, and the fat one said under his breath, “This ain’t TV, folks, this is how fast we go.” He was carrying the heavy respirator and cardiac unit past the bushes that had grown monstrous and over the erupting lawn, tame and immaculate thirteen months earlier when the trouble began.
The Virgin Suicides Jeffrey Eugenides
I’d be hard pressed to pick just one scene from The Virgin Suicides. It’s a fantastic book, so I have chosen the opening to give you just a taste. It infects you with a nostalgia for a place you never visited and people you never knew, which I think is a sign of great writing.