There are eight houses on the circle, a pond at the bottom of the street,
and a summer’s worth of kids who believe Ben Pruitt’s stories
the way you believe weather. The grown-ups don’t. Ben is ten, and he
tells stories, which on that street means nobody has believed a word he
says in years. And this summer, something at the bottom of the street is
paying attention too. Not every wave is a greeting.
Be there at dusk.
Letters from the street, only when there’s something worth telling.
the author
Harriet V. Bronson grew up on a Florida street very much like this one,
in the last summers before everyone had a phone in their pocket. She
writes about the hour after the sun and before the dark, when the porch
lights come on and the parents call everyone in, and about the kids who
stay out one minute longer. The Violet Hour is her first novel.