In this evocative debut, the accidental murder of an eight-year-old forces a working-class community to face its demons. “McGevna’s debut novel captures the familiar rhythms of summertime, following young people on the edge of violence.” ― Kirkus Reviews “A serious, searing debut novel by a wonderful new writer.” ― Book Riot The latest from Akashic’s Kaylie Jones Books imprint. Turnbull is a working-class town full of weary people who struggle to make ends meet. Evictions, alcoholism, and random violence are commonplace. In the heat of July 1983, when eight-year-olds James Illworth, Dallas Darwin, and Felix Cassidy leave their homes to play in the woods, they have to navigate between the potentially violent world of angry adults and even angrier teens. Little do they know that by the end of the summer, one of them will lay dead, after a bit of playful bullying from older teens escalates to tragedy. Loosely based on a real crime that took place on Long Island in 1979, Little Beasts is a panorama of a poor, mostly white neighborhood surrounded by the affluent communities of the East End. After the murder, the novel’s main characters must come to grips with the aftermath, face down the decisions they’ve made, and reestablish their faith in the possibility of a better world. Kaylie Jones is the award-winning author of five novels and a memoir. She teaches writing at two MFA programs and lives in New York City. "The reader knows one of the three will be a victim, but not which one, and we read with our hearts in our throats as we grow closer to each boy. . . . In the aftermath of that day, McGevna shows us how the brutality and tragedy of that event affect the families . . . There will be justice, of some sort, and even redemption. But, as in real life, there is no happy ending." ― Reviewing the Evidence "A gripping exploration of teenage alienation and temporary depravity." ― East Hampton Star "All it takes is one or two characters to carry you through to the heartbreaking end―a finale that offers enough hope and redemption to equal the book’s climatic horror." ― The Chattanoogan "Tremendously affecting . . . . A powerful story about redemption . . . . McGevna is tremendously talented, and created a vivid picture of place and time, populated by characters who are far more complex than you think." ― It’s Either Sadness or Euphoria "Perhaps we could all use a moment to stop and breathe sometime, before we say or do something we regret. You might find yourself thinking back to this book, long after it’s done. And that is the mark of a good book. " ― A New Day MATTHEW McGEVNA was born and raised in Mastic Beach, Long Island. Born of Irish descent, he attended fiction and poetry workshops in Galway, Ireland, through the University of Arkansas Writing Program. He received his MFA in creative writing from Long Island University’s Southampton College in 2002. An award-winning poet, McGevna has also published numerous short stories in various publications, including  Long Island Noir, Epiphany, and  Confrontation . He currently lives in Center Moriches, New York, with his wife and two sons, Jackson and Dempsey.  Little Beasts  is his first novel. Little Beasts By Matthew McGevna Akashic Books Copyright © 2015 Matthew McGevna All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-61775-347-3 CHAPTER 1 This is the town of Turnbull. In the month of July, in the sweltering town, the heat reminds its people of their limits. There are the day's demands and not much else. The smell of salt from the ocean to the south is faint in the hot air. The people wipe their brows, try to sit still when they can. Damp rags draped over the back of necks. The Pennysaver , usually left rotting off the edge of the mailbox until replaced by the next one, is taken out of its plastic sleeve. Its glossy pages make for hand-held fans. Though hardly a square foot of paint exists not spotted with rust, the men go out to wash their cars anyway and spray their children with hoses as they run by screeching. They silently lament their move from the city, where hydrants were made to be opened. In Turnbull block parties are never spontaneous. They never evolve from a stream of water pouring from a spigot. Turnbull, a stretch of land on the south shore of Long Island that juts out into the Great South Bay like a sore thumb, has one road in, one road out. Turnbull Road runs north and south, an artery of potholes. On the shoulder the workers huddle near the westside of their yellow truck to grab what little shade they can. Water from their lunch boxes is poured through their scalps rather than their lips as they watch the steam rise from the mound of blacktop and tacitly curse their lot. White tank tops, greased with tar, line up like dirty daisies along the runner of the truck. The road moves north and south, while a narrow creek cuts the thumb in half by running east and west. And when the heavy rains come, the puddle where Tur