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Excerpt from MR. FOX by Helen Oyeyemi

Not Yet Rated
Voice Over • Audiobooks


An excerpt from Helen Oyeyemi's hypnotic novel.

Vocal Characteristics



Voice Age

Middle Aged (35-54)


North American


Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
blues man kept her waiting while he tried to get Brownback. He put up posters with photographs of Brown all around Paris, asking if anyone had seen her. But the wind blew the posters away into the sun, and he saw people take the posters down and make off with them a different person each time. And he would give Chase shouting out for an explanation. But no one explained, and no one helped him. He knew it was all coincidence. He told himself it was coincidence, because it was horrifying to think that, having made a decision, he was now being actively prevented from changing it. Blue was by his side at all times, and she was devoted and affectionate. Instead of asking annoying questions while he was working, she was attending to her own affairs. Brown began to seem like a strange dream. He had had. She would never come back, and it was perverse to chase her like this. Blue Blue was no trouble at all, so we turned to her. It didn't work. He kept it up for a couple of years, saying, Yes, I'm very lucky to anyone who complimented him on his improved circumstances, But it didn't feel like look, it felt arranged. Blue was a stranger, and she never became a friend. One evening, the man stood by the fireplace in their living room, looking at a photograph in a magazine. It accompanied an article about Blue and himself, a profile of them as an artisan couple. The man tried to read the article as if he were someone else, someone who didn't know them. The couple in the photograph complemented each other beautifully, her glossy head on his shoulder, his arm tucked around her and his cuff drawn up over his fingers. So he held her through the linen of a sleeve. That was how precious she was to him. She couldn't be touched with the naked hand. He built dollhouses, and she people, then with dolls, film stars and sports stars bought them for the Children. The couple in the photograph hoped for Children of their own. Soon quoting a poet, the artist in man said that their love was a lifelong love. I love for all the lives they might ever have. Had he read that again. Had he really said that he repeated the words aloud that he threw the magazine onto the fire and didn't stay toe watch it Burn Blue was in her studio making eyes for her dolls, letting a single drop of guy fall from a pipette into each glass ball, watching it until it soaked through. She didn't greet him. She was lost in detail. He picked up a brown I and was impressed. As always, the dye floated in the center of the sphere. Surrounded by clarity, he handed the doll's eye back to his wife. Ah, woman. His friends gazed at with awe and admiration, Ah, woman whose flaws were far out balanced by her virtues. And he told her, Leave me. She looked up. I think your pardon go, he said. Leave me, please, for how long he turned away, so as not to have to look at her shock so as not to have to watch her patients take form. He knew that he was bringing ruin upon himself. You're talking nonsense, she said to his back. We work well together. We have a life together, I know, he said. But if you don't leave, I will. Is this about her? She didn't ask angrily. She sounded curious, wistful, still after all this time. No, he lied. I don't understand you. Her love was bad. You told me so yourself. When he turned to face her, he saw that she had picked up her pipette and returned to work drop after immaculate drop. Whatever you're feeling now, it will fade. I'm not leaving and neither are you, she said. I see, he said, and he nodded. He went to his own studio, where he fell into a stupor he couldn't wake up from.