“one of the best books [I] read this year”

Thanks to Goodreads reviewer Pam Foster for these words that made me feel like I’ve done what I set out to do with The Longest Night:

The tensions in this book are amazing – slow-growing, flaring at appropriate moments in the plot, almost all character-driven and all moving relentlessly to a climax that was surprising, understandable, just perfect. The time (1959-1961), place (Idaho Falls) and event (nuclear accident) were so well written that they became a character in and of themselves.
But it was the development of Nat, her husband Paul, co-workers Master Sergeant Richards, his wife Jeannie and Esrom that made this one of the best books read this year. Real people, real emotions – couldn’t put the book down and so sorry to have it end.

Debut Novels of 2016

“The Longest Night by Andria Williams – I can’t put my finger on exactly why, but Andria Williams’s debut novel is one I have thought about a lot this year. Maybe it’s because it’s from a different era than many historical fictions. Maybe it’s because of the imagining of the Sand Point nuclear meltdown. Or, maybe it’s because of the brilliant portrayal of a marriage in trouble. Whatever it is, The Longest Night is one of the books I have most recommended to friends this past year!” — Susie, ‘Novel Visits,’ “Ten Best Novels of 2016”

Literary Hub

An excerpt from The Longest Night (Nat’s first chapter) was featured on Literary Hub yesterday. Fun to be in such good company!

A sample:

paperback-coverPaul shook his head. “You didn’t know what was under the water there. What if you dove down and hit something and never came up, right here in front of your little girls?”

“I knew it would be fine,” she said. And while she’d never admit it to Paul, the relief of not striking anything—that moment of plunging into the water and feeling herself go down, down, unimpeded, the cold exploding past her face and neck and body until her own air pulled her up again— was part of the fun. It had to be a little scary to count for anything.

She remembered that swimming was a different thing for him than it was for her; he’d grown up poor and never learned to swim until he got to boot camp, practicing every night, he’d said, in a pond near Fort Dix. This was one of the few concrete details she had of his youth, and it was a curious, poignant image: thin teenage Paul easing himself into the shallow dark, thrashing quietly along the shoreline until he could glide two strokes alone, three, four. Even then he passed the entrance test by the skin of his teeth, just enough to fill a pair of boots destined for Korea. It was no wonder, really, that the mild risks Nat liked to take scared him: the long swims to clear her head, cliff jumping, diving. But he acted as if she were doing it just to spite him, when in fact it had nothing to do with him at all. Which maybe, from his perspective, was even worse.

What if you never came up? She always came up.