Monday, December 26, 2011

Forbidden loves destined to collide, drawn together by fate, torn apart by war, forced to confront their darkest fears. Only the secrets of a sage can unite them and reveal the truth. Inspired by true events and a postcard found in a museum, The Purpose, is the first novel set in the wake of Lithuanian complicity in the Holocaust, a journey awash in mystical love.

It is 1941. Davie, is a downed American pilot with a secret mission and Leah, the leader of a band of partisans who save him in the Panerai forest on the outskirts of Vilnius. Hunting them is the ruthless Algimantas Lutikis, leader of the SS sanctioned Lithuanian Ypatingas Burys death-squad.

Worlds apart, evading capture in the brutal conflict, there is only one thing the wild American and the beautiful leader cannot escape ... each other. Their only hope are the lost secrets of the great sage and his words that could save them. But first, they must decipher their meaning, as the the hidden providence of the world rests unknowingly on their shoulders. With the Ypatingas Burys on their heals, only the secrets of the Gra can help them survive.

The Purpose is an adventure for those souls who know that darkness is the absence of light. It is a mystical exploration into the depths of human nature in a story that will touch the hearts of those who are interested in the mysteries of love and war ...

Praise for The Purpose:
The poetic narrative is written in a style remnant of some of the best authors of the last century, namely Michael Ondaatje; additionally, a feminine quality to Abraham’s diction and syntax, similar to Barbara Kingsolver’s writing, only adds to the beauty of the narrative and the love story at the core of the novel. This is a love story that should not be over-sentimentalised, nor should its sentiment be trivialised. I feel that Abraham handles this balance adeptly, and this is one of the major strengths of the narrative. Finally, there are a few action scenes and moments of conspiracy and mystery that create heightened tension within both narrative and reader, and the ability of Abraham to weave a story of both fact and fiction into a highly plausible plot can be compared to the similar ability of the late Stieg Larsson.

- Claire Strombeck

Thursday, November 24, 2011

EXTRACT 51: Kindness

Her thoughts were fragmented, incoherent, overlapping, distorted pixelated images.

Malaxophobia. Conidae. Jacqui. Piano. Zulu Jew. Ravi. Ivan.

A pitch black void, save for a dull slither beneath the door, received her slow senses. Her head staccatoed from side-to-side, twisting then stopping as she searched into the darkness. A gargantuan hangover proscribed her thoughts as bright whimsical images spun. Kenneth. Café. Yossi. Da Vinci. A foul gag and the stench of bile caused her to wretch. The ties that strapped her wrists bit harder with each wriggle; and as panic set in, she lost control of her quivering jaw. Her eyes darted hysterically, hunting further into the gloom.

“Help,” she cried. Only a dull murmur escaped, parching her already dry throat and tightening the gag. Her restrained arms unable to move, unable to check her watch, unable to scratch her nose, flick her hair or release the muzzle touching her tongue. She swallowed. Help.

Every perilous breath was at the expense of a heartbeat. Earthy odours, sweet insecticides and surgical smells seeped into her, while strange thoughts leached her mind activating more uncertainty.

Carcharodon carcharias, myocardial infarction, malignant neoplasm, exsanguination.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

twenty : Shanti Lighthouse

The lighthouse, on its small rocky island in the middle of the bay, was always her subject, never wildlife or people. She had often wanted to swim out to it; visualised each stroke, each breath and each kick. For fear of witnessing what lurked below, she wondered if she would swim with her eyes closed or with her head out of the water. She shuddered as the panic of a two-note progression of a tuber rasped in her mind, sound that always accompanied her whenever danger loomed, slowly gaining tempo as the vision of a dark mass with menacing rows of razor teeth raced towards her, then erupting in a speckled clamour of a French horn. At that point, with her eyes closed and heart racing, she abandoned that fantasy. But she never stopped wanting to feel the thrill of the accomplishment of racing across the water and pulling herself out of the icy cold and sit on those barnacled rocks, under that lighthouse and look back towards land where she sat now. She had always wanted that.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

EXTRACT : Let us to the battle

The flaming plane halted in a semi-circle at the end of the airstrip. Davie reached above to slide the canopy which miraculously opened freely. Wilcox didn’t wait. He jumped from the burning plane and dashed towards safety spewing vomit. But Davie remained motionless in his seat, his head bowed. The fire trucks arrived and began spraying the fiery plane dousing the flames. Private Scott appeared on the wing tugging at Davie and calling him with urgency. But still, Davie sat there, oblivious, his mind empty of almost everything except for Adele’s words that rummaged through the static and chaos. 

“Promise you’ll fly for me too,” she said. “Promise me …” 

He had never had the chance to reply to her that day. “I promise,” he said. And with those words, he finally let her go.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

EXTRACT : Let us to the battle

A flashing caught Davies attention. “What’s this?” he muttered, flicking the gauge next to the red light, but it made no difference. The engine temperature had shot up, the needle was in the red. Next, the oil warning began to flash too. 

Calmly, Davie spoke. “Wilcox, who packed your parachute?”

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

EXTRACT: CH 12 Crashes & Landings

“Captain Ryan, can you hear me? Can you hear me? Hey?”

The voice was soft, the accent coarse – very coarse, but precise. Their meaning - undetermined.

Slowly he opened his brown eyes to see a grey set peering back. The foreign eyes blinked – he sensed a level of surprise and for no reason, his body was filled with excitement. Can’t be dead, he thought. He traced the outline of her face to the flair of her nose. He watched the plump upper lip purse to make more sounds then looked back at the eyes. He was bewildered and slightly confused at the surroundings. He watched the mouth begin to move again, but it uttered sounds his throbbing head failed to recognise. 

She turned to the man behind her. “Jurgi, he’s awake. Captain Ryan can you hear me?” she said turning back to him, “You are safe. Can you hear me? Get some more rest. I’ll wake you when it’s time.” 

He tried to reach for her, but his arms failed him. He tried to speak, but the words were lost too. Finally, he closed his eyes and felt a warm calmess overshadow him. As the dawn of slumber fell, it was like being back at the river with Adele. He was holding the rope on the side of the bank then leaping off towards the sky and flying through the air, arms aloft.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

EXTRACT : CH 41 On love and hate

She felt his gaze and wanted to look up to see his salience radiate, but she was afraid … afraid she might embarrass him, because what she really wanted was to feel his embrace. She wanted to feel engulfed in his powerful shelter. To have the shield of his arms protect her from the cruel strange world, protect her from Catherine and her lies; and from Kenneth who always ran from danger. She wanted him to provide her that respite. But, as it was her character, she had managed to chase him away that day in the coffee shop, and now she couldn’t find the courage to undo it. She felt her gaze dissipate in her lack of courage. She was at the mercy of her fears. She closed her eyes and pulled herself up from the table. Then she left.