Eight Hundred Grapes: A Novel, by Laura Dave
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Eight Hundred Grapes: A Novel, by Laura Dave
Free PDF Ebook Online Eight Hundred Grapes: A Novel, by Laura Dave
Heralded as “impossible to put down” (Elle), and named a Best Book of the Summer by Glamour, Good Housekeeping, Cosmopolitan, Elle, Marie Claire, and Us Weekly, Eight Hundred Grapes is a heartbreaking, funny, and deeply evocative novel about love, marriage, family, wine, and the treacherous terrain in which they all intersect.There are secrets you share, and secrets you hide… What if your beloved fiancé, he of the crinkly smile and irresistible British accent, had kept a life-changing secret from you? And what if, just a week before your dream wedding, you discovered it? Georgia Ford, bride-to-be, hops in her car and drives through the night, from Los Angeles to Sonoma, to her safe haven: her family, and the acclaimed family winery. Georgia craves the company of those who know her best, and whom she truly knows. Better yet, it’s the eve of the last harvest—the best time of the growing season, and Georgia knows she’ll find solace—and distraction—in the familiar rituals. But when Georgia arrives home, nothing is at all familiar. Her parents, her brothers, the family business, are all unrecognizable. It seems her fiancé isn’t the only one who’s been keeping secrets… Eight Hundred Grapes is a story about the messy realities of family, the strength (and weaknesses) of romantic love, and the importance of finding a place to call home. “This winning tale will both satisfy on a literary level and encourage oenophiles to pour themselves a glass of a recent vintage to enjoy while reading; it’s a tasty treat for wine lovers and teetotalers alike” (Publishers Weekly). You won’t be able to put this “addictive” (Us Weekly) novel down.
Eight Hundred Grapes: A Novel, by Laura Dave - Amazon Sales Rank: #3595 in eBooks
- Published on: 2015-06-02
- Released on: 2015-06-02
- Format: Kindle eBook
Eight Hundred Grapes: A Novel, by Laura Dave Review “I couldn't put Eight Hundred Grapes down! Laura Dave writes with humor and insight about relationships in all their complexity, whether she's describing siblings or fiancés or a couple long-married. Eight Hundred Grapes is a captivating story about the power of family, the limitations of love, and what becomes of a life's work.” —J. Courtney Sullivan, New York Times bestselling author of Maine and The Engagements“Laura Dave paints Sonoma County and its inhabitants with both warmth and smarts in this delicious novel. Eight Hundred Grapes is fun and thought-provoking, and is guaranteed to make you deeply thirsty for some Pinot Noir.” —Emma Straub, New York Times bestselling author of The Vacationers
About the Author Laura Dave is the international bestselling author of Eight Hundred Grapes, The First Husband, The Divorce Party and London is the Best City in America. Her novels have been published in fifteen countries and optioned as major motion pictures. Dave's writing has appeared in The New York Times, Glamour, Self, Redbook, and Cosmopolitan. She lives in Santa Monica.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Eight Hundred Grapes Sebastopol, California. Six months ago My father has this great story about the day he met my mother, a story he never gets sick of telling. It was a snowy December morning and he was hurrying into his co-worker’s yellow Volkswagen bug parked in front of Lincoln Center, holding two cups of coffee and a massive slew of newspapers. (His first wine, Block 14—the only wine in his very first vintage—had gotten a small mention in the Wall Street Journal.) And between the excitement of the article and the steaming coffee, Daniel Bradley Ford didn’t notice that there were two yellow bugs parked in front of Lincoln Center. That his East Coast distributor was not the one huddling for warmth in the yellow bug’s driver’s seat. But, instead, his future wife, Jenny. He had gotten into the wrong car to find the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen, wearing blue mittens and a matching beret. Her long, blond curls seeping out from beneath. Her cello taking up the whole backseat. The legend goes—and knowing my parents I almost believe it—that my mother didn’t scream. She didn’t ask who my father was or what he was doing in her car. She offered one of her magical smiles and said, “I was wondering what took you so long.” Then she reached out her hand for the cup of coffee he was ready to give her. Synchronization, my father would say. This was a very big word for him. Synchronization: The coordination of events to operate in union. A conductor managing to keep his orchestra in time. The impossible meeting of light reflection and time exposure that leads to a perfect photograph. Two yellow bugs parked in front of Lincoln Center at the same time, the love of your life in one of them. Not fate, my father would add. Don’t confuse it with fate. Fate suggests no agency. Synchronization is all about agency. It involves all systems running in a state where different parts of the system are almost, if not precisely, ready. For my father, it was the basis of how he approached his work: first as a scientist, then as a winemaker. He was one of the first biodynamic winemakers in America, certainly in his little corner of it. He considered not just the grapes themselves, but—as he liked to espouse—the ecological, social, and economic systems that needed to be synchronized in order to properly grow them. My father said that doing it any other way was lazy. As for me, I had trouble seeing the role synchronization played in my own life. The role it was supposed to play. Until it went and destroyed my blessedly ignorant, willfully optimistic life, in a way I couldn’t ignore unless I ran from it. So, on that fateful Friday, I did just that. I ran from it. With only the clothes on my back and a hastily packed suitcase, I drove from sunny Southern California—the place that had been my home for the last fourteen years—to the small town in Northern California on the edge of the Russian River Valley. The place that’d been my home for my entire life until then. Nine hours, five rest-spot stops, two terrible milkshakey coffee drinks (one vanilla, one strawberry), and a roll of Rolos later, I arrived in Sonoma County. I should have felt relief, but as I passed the familiar sign for Sebastopol—its wiry hills visible behind it—I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview. My hair was falling out of its bun, my eyes were deeply unsettled, and I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was about to walk into a new kind of hell. So I turned around and started driving the nine hours back to Los Angeles. But it was getting late, and I hadn’t eaten (save the Rolos), and the rain was coming down hard, and I was so tired I couldn’t think. So I pulled off Highway 12, getting off at the exit for downtown Santa Rosa, knowing where I was going before I admitted it to myself. The Brothers’ Tavern was something of a Sonoma County institution. The original owners—and brothers—had opened the doors seventy-eight years ago with the idea that it would be the place in the county that was open late, and the place that served the best beer. The subsequent owners had stuck with the plan, taking the bar and grill to another level, brewing award-winning beer on site that drew people from all over the state. Of course, the current owners of The Brothers’ Tavern were my brothers. Finn and Bobby Ford. And the jig would be up as soon as they saw me. They would see it on my face. What I had been through. But when I walked into the bar, Finn was the only one standing there. No Bobby. Bobby was always there on the weekends, so this was the first confusing thing. The fact that my father wasn’t sitting on the corner bar stool having a drink with them was the second. My father came by every Friday—the only way to start his weekend, he liked to say, was to have a drink with his boys. My heart dropped in disappointment, realizing that this was really why I had shown up, despite the ramifications. So that my father would have a drink with his girl, jig up or not. But it was only Finn standing behind the bar, looking at me like he didn’t recognize me. And, for a minute, I wondered if he didn’t. My hair was in a disheveled bun, my smile fake and forced. And it was late. Maybe I looked like another straggler, trying to get a drink before he closed down for the night. To his credit, Finn didn’t call me out on any of this. He walked past the other customers, who stared at me as I took a seat at the end of the bar—the one close to the fireplace. My father’s seat. I sat down, ignoring their pseudo-casual glances, Finn drilling them with looks so they’d stop staring. This was Finn, the perpetual big brother. He was ready to protect me even before he knew what he was protecting me from. He offered a big smile. “What are you doing here?” “Took a drive.” “A nine-hour drive?” he said. I shrugged. “Got carried away.” “Clearly.” He paused. “No speeding ticket?” “No, Finn,” I said, knowing Finn thought I was an awful driver. Like running-out-of-gas-while-getting-a-speeding-ticket awful. It’s hard to lose that reputation. Even if it only happened once. “Glad to hear that, at least,” Finn said, sincerely. Then he nodded, trying to decide how hard to push, keeping his eyes on me. Finn was my good brother. They both were pretty good, but Finn was the truly good one in my book, even if he wasn’t the good one in anyone else’s. Bobby was more ostensibly impressive: The captain of the high school football team, a local legend, a successful venture capitalist with a full life in San Francisco. A beautiful town house, beautiful cars, beautiful family. He was five minutes younger than Finn, but in every other way he seemed to always come in first. Bobby had bought the bar as a hobby and to give Finn something to do. Finn believed less in employment. He owned the bar so he could drink for free and so he could keep taking photographs. Finn was a great photographer, but he seemed to only work—weddings, family portraits—when the mood struck him. He was a little like my father in that way, adhering to a code of purity that only he understood. “I missed Dad?” “He didn’t come in tonight.” Finn shrugged, as if to say, Don’t ask me. “We can call him. He’ll come now, if he knows you’re here.” I shook my head, keeping my eyes down, afraid to meet Finn’s eyes. Finn looked so much like my father. Both of them had these dark eyes, with matching piles of dark hair. They were handsome guys, all American. The only obvious difference was that Finn liked to keep that mane of hair under a backward baseball cap. Usually a Chargers cap. It made it hard to tell him what was going on without feeling like I was about to disappoint my father too. Finn cleared his throat. “So they don’t know you’re here? Mom and Dad?” “No, and I’d appreciate if you don’t tell them, you know, the circumstances. It wasn’t planned, obviously.” “Obviously.” He paused, like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. “They’ll be happy to see you,” he said. “That you came. Whatever the reason. None of us thought you were coming home for the harvest, you know?” The harvest of the grapes—the most important five weeks in my father’s year. I’d arrived home under duress the very weekend he always held most sacred—the last weekend of the harvest. Every year I came home for it. We all did. We returned to the family house: The brothers slept in their old rooms, I slept in mine. Our various spouses and partners and children filled up the rest of the house. And all of us joined my father to harvest the final vines, to drink the first sips of wine. We all stayed for the harvest party. But this year was supposed to be different. For a variety of reasons, I wasn’t supposed to be there. Finn, realizing his error in raising this, shifted from foot to foot. “What do you want to drink?” he said. I pointed at the entire bar behind him. The bourbon and scotch and whisky were like Christmas presents. Finn smiled. He put a glass of bourbon in front of me, and a glass of red wine. “What you think you want,” he said, pointing to the first. “What you’ll actually take more than two sips of.” “Thank you,” I said. “My pleasure.” I sipped at the bourbon. Then I turned, almost immediately, to the wine. Finn put the bottle on the table so I could see what he had poured. It was a dark and grippy Pinot Noir. The Last Straw Vineyard. B-Minor 2003 Vintage. One of the wines from our father’s vineyard. My favorite wine from our father’s vineyard, mine and Bobby’s. One thing we had in common. “This is a great bottle,” I said. “You should take it away and save some for Bobby.” Finn nodded, tightly. Like there was something he didn’t want to say, not out loud. Then, just as quickly, he softened. “You hungry?” Finn said. “I could get the kitchen to fix you something.” “They’re not closed?” Finn leaned against the countertop. “Not for you,” he said. It was the nicest thing he could have said, and I gave him a smile so he knew how much I appreciated it. Then he walked back toward the kitchen, taking a sip from the bourbon as he went. I sat taller on the bar stool, more aware of the looks I was getting, now that Finn was moving away. Finn turned back for just a second. “Hey, Georgia . . .” he said. “Yeah?” “You know that you’re still wearing your wedding dress, yes?” he said. I looked down at the sprawling lace, dirty from the five-hundred-mile drive and the run across The Brothers’ Tavern parking lot. And what looked, sadly, like a lost Rolo. I touched the soft skirt. “I do,” I said. He nodded and turned back toward the kitchen. “All right, then,” he said. “One grilled cheese coming up.”
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50 of 55 people found the following review helpful. Full-Bodied with a Long Finish By Diana Faillace Von Behren In "Eight Hundred Grapes," Laura Dave pours her readers a sweet, robust and highly aromatic bouquet of complicated family dynamics whose ingredients include a small biodynamic vineyard in California's Sonoma wine country, an accomplished British architect, a screen star with an adorable four-year-old, two competitive brothers, a wife contemplating an affair, a long-term marriage teetering towards dissolution and a young woman poised to embark upon the adventure of a lifetime, yet unsure of just what that adventure is. Dave invites you to poke your nose into the glass, swirl the liquid, breath in the fragrance and finally take a sip. Do it; you won't be sorry--you'll finish the glass, savor it and want more.First person narrator Georgia Ford seems to know what she wants without the usual coming-of-age realizations that smack of insecurity or self-consciousness. Nonetheless, when she witnesses something she can't quite rectify in her mind, she literally runs from the scene without much of her trademark confrontation and heads straight back to the life she left behind in the rolling hills of Sebastopol at The Last Straw Vineyard owned by her parents. What follows is a series of revelations that continually keep Georgia's world off-kilter--family secrets that threaten to disembowel her very notion of family and relationships and force her to reexamine intricate bonds that perhaps she takes--as we all do--for granted.Dave treats the reader to an intimate look at the winemaker's lot--always at the fickle mercy of the weather, the soil, the fruit and the happenstance of life. Her vineyard and its labors become a metaphor of great finesse and wisdom that gets to the heart of what people really want from relationships and for themselves. Her breezy, intimate language instantly propels the reader into the story which at first glance from the first scene may seem pop movie trite--the exodus in the wedding gown reminiscent of Runaway Bride and Smokey and the Bandit. Don't let the familiarity of this image scare you off; the rest of the story with its subtle wisdom more than makes up for it.Dave offers a background look to the vineyard's history written in a third person voice in short chapters that provide insight into the present day problems. At first, this seemed incongruous in the light of Georgia's narration; eventually it all makes sense as the novel draws to its close.One complaint: "Eight Hundred Grapes" is such a savory read it should include the recipes Dave describes with such gourmand gusto. Georgia's mother creates a lasagna so delicious it barely makes its way out of the oven before it is instantly devoured; its secret besides the fresh ingredients? A sprinkling of chocolate chips amongst the bottom layer of noodle. Yum. The pancakes that she eats at a cafe in Sebastopol, California are made with five types of chocolate chips: white, milk, dark, semi-sweet and espresso, drenched in maple syrup and dusted with powdered sugar. Double yum. The pot roast Jen feeds her family for dinner is rich and robust, stewed in too much brandy and adorned with roasted tomatoes and onions. Triple yum! Laura Dave does the wine country of California proud--not just with her descriptions of the wine and its process, but the undeniable partnering of it with good food. The rich breakfast Dave describes brings this reviewer back to a little restaurant in Graton which served fresh seasonal fare; the pot roast and lasagna reminiscent of the fare that might be savored at Mustard's Grill in Napa. Dave does a great job of creating a food lover's ambiance--and needs to provide recipes at least on her blog!Bottom line? "Eight Hundred Grapes" is a fun fast read with a poignant lesson about life and relationships. Set in the wine country of California it marries making wine with larger themes of compromise and letting go, succeeding nicely in creating a rare vintage of enjoyable reading. Recommended.Diana Faillace Von Behren"reneofc"
36 of 40 people found the following review helpful. Boring and Indecisive Characters By Cynthia Parten I am honestly not sure how to review this book because I was a bit underwhelmed with it. I didn’t have any strong feelings about it one way or the other. The book starts with Georgia running out on her wedding dress fitting when she discovers a secret her fiancé was hiding. Yeah, she didn't run out on her wedding. She ran out on a fitting. I guess that was the excuse for why she showed up at her brother's bar in a wedding dress. The secret was that her fiancé had a child and never told her. This isn't really a spoiler because the reader is informed of this within the first chapter. He didn't cheat on Georgia; he just found out about the child shortly after they became engaged and never told her. I didn't understand why she didn't stick around to at least hear an explanation. She saw him with his child and then took off. Yes, it was a major red flag that he lied to her. But here's my issue with Georgia: she sat around twiddling her thumbs about a decision regarding their future despite the fact that their wedding was five days away. She basically ran away and refused to talk to him. And when he did show up at her family's place, she heard the explanation and then refused to make a decision about whether she actually wanted to marry him. At this point, I didn't even care whether she married Ben or not. Just make a decision already. But no, she just let everyone continue making her wedding plans around her while acting like she didn't know what she wanted to do. I did not care about Ben one way or the other. He seemed wishy washy and spineless. And he was a liar, so that was that. Of course Georgia kept being surprised when she found out about another lie. Come on Georgia . . . wake up! Okay, I guess I did have some strong feelings about this book. I kind of hated Georgia's indecisiveness.The book also had chapters from Dan's POV (Georgia's father). These chapters went back to the very beginning, when he first started the vineyard. His chapters talked about the problems they had, both with the vineyard and with their marriage. I found myself so bored with those chapters. I even skimmed them a little. I also did not care about the problems with Georgia's parents' marriage or the problems between her brothers. There was no character at all that stood out for me. I feel like a black sheep because I have seen so many rave reviews about this book. But I just didn't get it.I received this ARC from NetGalley in exchange for my honest review.
29 of 32 people found the following review helpful. I thoroughly enjoyed this book By Lizz A. Belle I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It has all the nuances of the emotional spectrum in relationships between spouses, siblings, and friends without being overly dramatic. The pace of the storytelling is steady with enough suspense to keep me turning pages until the end. I was sorry to have the book come to closure.Georgia Ford grew up in Sonoma CA on her parent's vineyard - a labor of love her father pursued as a second career. Just a week before her wedding, as she stands in the window of the dress shop for a final fitting of her wedding gown, she sees her fiancé with another woman and a small child walking down the street. To her dismay, she finds that he has kept secret a child he had with this famous, beautiful woman. Georgia's resulting confusion and emotional turmoil sends her home to the vineyard and family to sort things out and to decide what she really wants.Upon arriving home, Georgia discovers that not only is her relationship in shambles, but that her parents are basically separated and that her brothers are at odds over one brother's wife. The security and stability of the family home/business is further shaken when she learns that her father is selling the vineyard he so patiently and lovingly nurtured to a big business that produces wine for the masses.All of these story lines are woven together with satisfying resolution at the conclusion of the book. I highly recommend Eight Hundred Grapes and look forward to reading more offerings by this author.
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