Here we go with the second installment of Spot the Classic.
Every day I will post three passages of fiction in English: one from a classic twentieth century novel or short story, and one each from fiction that is independently published, and traditionally published.
Your job is to decide which one is the classic.
Any comments correctly spoiling the answer with a title and author will be held until the commenting period is over.
Leave a comment to be entered into a drawing for an Amazon gift card.
And by the way, if you Google the answer, let me know. The point is to read and appreciate; getting it right is second.
Answers and commentary tomorrow.
#1 Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red-and-white Georgian Colonial mansion, overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran towards the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens-- finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as if from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm, windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with legs apart on the front porch.
#2 The linoleum floors glow white under the fluorescent overheads. Sometimes it seems like we're standing in a flashlight. I wait next to Louis. He's thirty, which to me seems young and old at the same time. He has the blondest hair and the greenest eyes and a dimple right in the center of his chin. He is a college graduate, strong and handsome, someone I never would have talked to out in the real world. I would have rung up his groceries, bagged his tomatoes and eggs, handed him the coupons that printed with his receipt.
#3 As the young god entered the woods, the sky seemed to darken. Here in the woods, the gods took no responsibility for encouraging or discouraging the trees from doing whatever they wanted, although the Town Council had talked about it often enough. One tree in particular-- the Old One-- was the subject of perennial discussions. The tree's big offense was having attained a height so great that some complained it blocked the light in the Northeast Quadrant. An exaggeration, perhaps, but that didn't explain why no one ever volunteered to take it down.