Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Seven Minutes by Jay Stritch (Book Bash and Giveaway)

Jay Stritch is a student of English Literature at Cambridge University and a lover of all modes of storytelling. She has recently published ‘Seven Minutes’ told in the format of memory collections which trace the interweaving, highly eventful lives of a very interesting family. In her free time she enjoys skiing and adrenaline based sports.

Author Links -

Book Genre: Fiction
Publisher: -
Release Date: March 2014

Book Description: What are the memories that will define you when you're gone?

It is said that when you die your brain stays active for seven minutes, in which time you relive your most prominent memories.

'The Collector' of these memories has the most interesting story of all to tell. By following the intertwining lives of a group of characters we are taken on a journey through some amazing experiences: loss, love, guilt, failure, success and what defines us as human beings. The very essence of these people emerges from their memories.

But why is Will the one this collection of memories has been given to? What is he supposed to do with them? He already has enough on his plate, now that he’s unemployed with a farm and family to run while his wife is away working. However, he can’t seem to stop obsessing about this mysterious book or put it down and it begins to affect his life in more ways than one…


Seven minutes really isn’t that long. It’s often overlooked by people as an awkward amount of time in which nothing can be achieved. Indeed many groups of seven minutes are spent in people’s lives simply waiting. I, however, am a collector and it is my job to make every minute count. Everything can be revealed about a human life in seven minutes. Today has been a particularly interesting collection, as amongst them is the last Mangos.

I often look at my job like a card game – perhaps similar to ‘Happy Families’ – and I relish collecting full sets. Today the set has been completed by the life and death of Sabina Mangos.

I sometimes revisit the rest of these preserved lives and watch them intertwine with each other seamlessly again. I turn to the best bits, like one would dog ear a favorite book. Still the people I never knew in life haunt me in their deaths.

She is bent by the side of the river, the evening sun illuminating her cheek bones and her hair is plastered to her face. The memory at first is always startlingly beautiful until the scream begins. It is primal, guttural and echoes off the rocks surrounding her. Then the boy lying limp at her feet comes into focus. But this is my own memory. To understand it better, it’s only right that we delve into hers.

ANGELICA: 4.6 minutes

He died with his train ticket in his pocket and his hands clasped tightly around his necklace. I know because I was there. I start compressions frantically, unable to remember how many to do. One, two, three, four, trying to force the life back into him. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, my own breaths rasping, willing him to join me. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, I stop pressing methodically, the panic taking over and I begin to hit him wildly. Suddenly I am furious, illogically furious at him, and I begin to spit and swear as I return to compressions. What else can I do?

“Don’t die! Wake up! Bastard! Talk to me! Open your eyes now!” I stop suddenly staring rigidly at his face. “No,” is all I can think. This. Can’t. Happen. Mouth to mouth, my mind screams, I haven’t tried that yet and I know why. What if the kiss of life doesn’t work; what if it is the kiss of death? What if I can’t save him? I slam my hands either side of his head, pinch his nose and calmly breathe into his mouth. Once. Twice. Nothing. And that is when I rock back on to my knees and scream.

1 comment:

  1. Hi there - Thanks for posting. Very interesting for sure! :)
    D. Coto ( - Pit Crew


Google Analytics