John Parras

“Sure-handed and always interesting because each page raises the spirit into the next dimension, as all books of high worth do.”
Firefighter Matteo Arteli battles survivor’s guilt after five men in his brigade perish in a vicious forest conflagration. Amid reports of flawed firefighting operations, mismanagement of state lands, underworld involvement and serial arson, Matteo comes to suspect that Nico Fowler, an enigmatic volunteer firefighter he has befriended, may be involved. But on his quest to find the truth and be faithful to his deceased comrades, Matteo must struggle with the culpability of his own fire-squad and, ultimately, himself.

Winner of the Peter Taylor Prize for the Novel

Finalist in the Associated Writing Programs
Contest in the Novel, 2005

Finalist in the William Faulkner - William Wisdom Creative Writing Competition, 2005

Finalist in the Independent Publisher Book Awards, 2006

Silver Prize in the ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Awards, Literary Fiction Category, 2006

The University of Tennessee Press, 2005
ISBN 1-57233-445-2


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Novel excerpt

The fire offers no resistance: penetrating it is like passing from shadow into a shaft of sunlight, and for the first moments it not nearly as hot or as difficult as I imagined it would be. It is like entering a sauna fully clothed: a bit ridiculous, somewhat uncomfortable and heavy, but not unbearable. The flames are wings brushing against my body, caressing me. It is as though I have walked into a flock of birds. I am a sparrow fluttering through a puff of chimney smoke.

There is some kind of tunnel which appears and disappears, is revealed to and hidden from me by whorls of smoke and flickering flames. I stumble on at a precarious pace, carried dumbly forward by my legs.

A great flame lurches in front of me, blocking my path then swerving aside maliciously like the red cape of matador. I think I hear people laughing, the malicious cheer of a bloodthirsty crowd. It has suddenly grown unbearably, blistering hot.

I reach a space of ground, a little clear patch, and think I have made it through. But the heat is still intense and it grows more intense every second.

Looking about, I find myself stilled hemmed in by a circle of flames. And yet I want to remain in this coffin-sized clearing, this pocket of burnt ground. I fall to the earth, where there’s more oxygen, and press my lips to the dirt, taking a few breaths, loving the hot air even as it scorches my throat, enters hotly into my lungs. I want desperately to sleep.... Then suddenly it is as though some crazed mob were striking at me with heated irons. I jump to my feet, raising my arms to shield my face, and am struck on the ribs and legs. Spun hither and thither by hot bursts of pure fire, I am no longer sure from which direction I have arrived. I am sure my lungs are melting.

Over what seems a great distance I hear Nico calling my name. Tossed over the hot gusty blasts, his shouts reach me ragged and frayed, torn into shreds by the conflagration. It is my mother calling to me at the seashore, chastising me for playing too long in the surf. It is the April caterwaul of alley-cats, car tires screeching just before the accident, the wails at my father's funeral.

Then, just once, my name rings out clearly through the thunderous roaring and I blindly, instinctively, toss my panicked body toward it.

There is no tunnel, no air, only a horrific clamor, a cacophonous din and babel in my ears. I lose track of Nico's call. The fire is playing tricks with me.

I am running, running. My chest is afire.

I break wildly into darkness.