Then, “the air all around the town limits is so thick that sometimes a soul cannot rise and instead attaches itself to a stranger, landing right between the shoulder blades with a thud that carries no more weight than a hummingbird.” May is the worst month, when the natives go a bit mad and even the dead are restless. Two sentences into “Turtle Moon,” you’ll wonder why anyone would choose to live in Verity, Fla., where the humidity is so high that people start their day with iced coffee before going out to scrape squashed strangler figs off the roofs of their cars.
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