New York Times bestselling author and “the reigning champ of nostalgia noir” ( The New York Times Book Review ) James Lee Burke returns with a powerful novel in the Holland Family series set in 1950s Texas, as the specter of the Korean War looms. On its surface, life in 1950s Houston is as you’d expect: stoic fathers, restless teens, drive-in movies, and souped-up Cadillacs. But underneath that surface lies a world shifting under high school junior Aaron Holland Broussard’s feet. The underlying class war between the haves and have nots is growing steadily, along with the menace of conflict overseas in Korea, providing a harrowing backdrop to his growth to manhood. But when Aaron spots the beautiful Valerie Epstein at a drive-in, he steps in when he sees her fighting with her boyfriend, Grady Harrelson. Aaron’s newfound confidence helps catch Valerie’s eye, and the two begin dating. Grady is a live wire though, and presents a looming problem for Aaron. You will recall the feelings and inspirational power of your first love, and empathize with Aaron’s extraordinary challenges to protect himself and the ones he loves in “this dark, atmospheric story” ( Publishers Weekly ). The Jealous Kind illustrates how first loves, friendship, violence, and power can alter what traditional America means for the people trying to find their way in a changing world. "What brings the myth-laden story to life is Burke's lyrical prose and his ability to use description to mirror emotion. That and what is perhaps the best last paragrapgh in this author's landmark career."" Booklist, Starred Review"" "A gorgeous prose stylist." Stephen King" Burke has a hit with this dark, atmospheric story. " Publishers Weekly "" Burke s evocative prose remains a thing of reliably fierce wonder. "Entertainment Weekly"" Burke's gritty coming-of-age tale is a typically entertaining read that may cap a trilogy but also begs for a sequel. "Kirkus"" For five decades, Burke has created memorable novels that weave exquisite language, unforgettable characters, and social commentary into written tapestries that mirror the contemporary scene. His work transcends genre classification. "Philadelphia Inquirer"" James Lee Burke is the heavy weight champ, a great American novelist whose work, taken individually or as a whole, is unsurpassed. Michael Connelly" James Lee Burke is the reigning champ of nostalgia noir. "The New York Times Book Review"" Mr. Burke has crafted another epic tale in an unforgettablelandscape about an imperfect man s search for redemption. Once again, everymember of the sprawling cast of characters, minor to major, makes animpression, and rings true Mr. Burke s novels always offer a compelling story.But, the reader is rewarded with a multitude of haunting themes that run deepand wide. Pick and choose the ones you wish to explore. They are skillfully andnon-intrusively woven into the narrative. But these layers are what alwayselevate a James Lee Burke novel above any genre tale. Pittsburgh Post-Gazette" James Lee Burke is a New York Times bestselling author, two-time winner of the Edgar Award, and the recipient of the Guggenheim Fellowship for Creative Arts in Fiction. He has authored forty novels and two short story collections. He lives in Missoula, Montana. The Jealous Kind Chapter 1 THERE WAS A time in my life when I woke every morning with fear and anxiety and did not know why. For me, fear was a given I factored into the events of the day, like a pebble that never leaves your shoe. In retrospect, an adult might call that a form of courage. If so, it wasn’t much fun. My tale begins on a Saturday at the close of spring term of my junior year in 1952, when my father let me use his car to join my high school buds on Galveston Beach, fifty miles south of Houston. Actually, the car was not his; it was lent to him by his company for business use, with the understanding that only he would drive it. That he would lend it to me was an act of enormous trust. My friends and I had a fine day playing touch football on the sand, and as they built a bonfire toward evening, I decided to swim out to the third sandbar south of the island, the last place your feet could still touch bottom. It was not only deep and cold, it was also hammerhead country. I had never done this by myself, and even when I once swam to the third sandbar with a group, most of us had been drunk. I waded through the breakers, then inhaled deeply and dove into the first swell and kept stroking through the waves, crossing the first sandbar and then the second, never resting, turning my face sideways to breathe, until I saw the last sandbar, waves undulating across its crest, gulls dipping into the froth. I stood erect, my back tingling with sunburn. The only sounds were the gulls and the water slapping against my loins. I could see a freighter towing a scow, then they both disappeared beyond the horizon. I dove headlong into a wave and saw the sand