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    A Fine White Dust
    A Fine White Dust
    A Fine White Dust
    Ebook81 pages1 hour

    A Fine White Dust

    By Cynthia Rylant

    3/5

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    About this ebook

    How much do you have to give up to find yourself?

    When Pete first sets eyes the Man, he's convinced he's an ax murderer. But at the revival meeting, Pete discovers that the Man is actually a savior of souls, and Pete has been waiting all his life to be saved.

    It's not something Pete's parents can understand. Certainly his best friend, Rufus, an avowed athiest, doesn't understand. But Pete knows he can't imagine life without the Man. So when the Man invites Pete to join him on his mission, how can Pete say no -- even if it means leaving behind everything he's ever loved?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAtheneum Books for Young Readers
    Release dateApr 1, 2002
    ISBN9780689848629
    Author

    Cynthia Rylant

    Cynthia Rylant is a Newbery medalist and the author of many acclaimed books for young people. She's well known for her popular characters for early readers, including Mr. Putter & Tabby and Henry & Mudge. She lives in the Pacific Northwest. cynthiarylant.com

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    Reviews for A Fine White Dust

    3/5

    4 ratings2 reviews

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    • 5/5
      Rylant is just amazing. She's got a lot to say about some intense themes, but she doesn't hit you over the head with it all. Nicely developed characters.
    • 3/5
      A Fine White Dust follows our main character Pete who has devoted himself to God and to church since a very early age even though he doesn't necessarily come from a religious family. One day his whole life insight change when a man he calls 'Preacher Man' arrives in his town.

      The story is very brief and certainly never gets to the core.
      Personally, I had no clue what the story would hold when I got to it but it seemed to me as it was mostly, very flat.
      The execution was supposed to contain some higher moral about how to treat life but after stumbling upon the last couple pages, my reaction was a mere 'meh' because honestly, not much can be said about it at all.
      I would have wished the family connection had been further explored and also the friendship aspect.

      Nevertheless, the writing is very beautiful and engaging, and I might pick something up by the author again.

    Book preview

    A Fine White Dust - Cynthia Rylant

    A Fine White Dust

    CYNTHIA RYLANT

    ALADDIN PAPERBACKS

    New York London Toronto Sydney

    ALADDIN PAPERBACKS An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

    www.SimonandSchuster.com

    Copyright © 1986 by Cynthia Rylant

    All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

    ALADDIN PAPERBACKS and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

    Also available in an Atheneum Books for Young Readers hardcover edition.

    The text of this book was set in 12-point Imprint.

    Manufactured in the United States of America

    First Aladdin Paperbacks edition March 1996

    This Aladdin Paperbacks edition May 2007

    10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

    The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

    Rylant, Cynthia.

    A fine white dust.

    Summary: The visit of the traveling Preacher Man to his small North Carolina town gives new impetus to thirteen-year-old Peter’s struggle to reconcile his own deeply felt religious belief with the beliefs and nonbeliefs of his family and friends.

    ISBN-13: 978-0-698-84087-6 (hc)

    ISBN-10: 0-689-84087-X (hc)

    [1. Religious life—Fiction. 2. Conduct of life—Fiction.

    3. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 4. Friendship—Fiction.] I. Title.

    PZ7.R982fi 1986 [Fic] 86-1003

    ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-4828-5 (pbk)

    ISBN-10: 1-4169-4828-7 (pbk)

    eISBN 978-0-689-84862-9

    Contents

    1 • Dust

    2 • The Hitchhiker

    3 • The Saviour

    4 • The Joy

    5 • The Change

    6 • The Telling

    7 • The Invitation

    8 • The Leaving

    9 • The Wait

    10 • Hell

    11 • The Messenger

    12 • The Light

    Amen

    Dust

    I’ve got these little bitty pieces of broken ceramic in my hands, and some of that fine white dust is coming off them, like chalk dust. There are some flecks of green paint on a few of the pieces. And some blue here and there. You’d never know to look at it that this mess used to be a cross.

    I’ve been trying to forget it, keeping it in a paper bag in my bottom drawer for nearly a year now—since the summer of seventh grade.

    But here’s June again. Another summer ready and waiting for me. And old Rufus just itching for us to get into something.

    I guess it’s time to throw this mess away.

    So if it’s time, how come I still can’t do it? How come I pour these pieces on my desk and look at them and roll them in my fingers and can’t bring myself to chuck them?

    I figure it’s got something to do with finishing things up. Maybe if I just tell the story, tell it all from start to end, I’ll finish it. Tell it right to the end, then chuck these pieces. Chuck this cross and put the Man to rest.

    Before last summer, before the Man ever came to town, I figure I was getting ready for him. I bet I was even getting ready in first grade, when I threw up all over Billy Winfred in Sunday school.

    I guess I was getting ready for him all those years, those years I was loving church. I can’t say why exactly, but I loved church from the start. My folks were never much interested, which makes it all the harder to understand why I was. When I was little, they’d take me to services now and then—like the day I threw up—but mostly on Sundays they just stayed home. And in our little North Carolina town, where the Baptist church is the biggest building of them all, with the Methodist second, it gets noticed when you’re not a churchgoer.

    But my folks went right on staying home and reading the Sunday paper all morning, just popping into church every now and then for Easter or Christmas. Never once fearing the wrath of God.

    What was happening to me inside, I can’t say exactly. But I didn’t want to stay home Sunday mornings. So when I was in second grade, I just invited myself to go to church with the Fosters, who lived next door. Then about fourth grade, I started going on my own. Mother and Pop must have thought me slightly touched, but I went on anyway. And when I’d come back after services they’d say, How was church? and I’d say Fine and they’d say Good and that was that.

    I guess it was sometime during fifth grade that I got more serious about church. I don’t know why, but some part of me just got religious and there’s no other way to explain it.

    I remember one Sunday that year, I got to church kind of early and slid into the middle of a pew, waiting for the place to fill up. I was looking around, trying to act like I’d really meant to be early, when my eyes stopped on this picture of Jesus. I’d seen it before, but never really looked at it.

    It was a big one, up behind where the choir sat. Jesus was wearing the crown of thorns, blood dripping down His head, and His heart was showing, like one of those pin-on hearts. It was bright red and glowed like it was burning.

    And His eyes. They were like those brown ponds you sometimes see in the woods. So dark and shining—but when you try to see yourself in them, you can’t. You look, and maybe you see a shadow of your head, but you don’t see you.

    I sat there that morning, looking up at that picture of Jesus, and I liked Him. I started liking Him that morning and I’ve never stopped. I can’t figure it out. Before I was ever taught heaven and hell with any understanding of it, I liked Jesus.

    And I liked Him so much that I guess as I got older, I got afraid of hell just because of Him. Those preachers telling me He’s going to come back to judge me, He’s going to cast me out, He’s going to send me to hell.

    Lord have mercy.

    Why, the thought of standing there and having Jesus look at me, then point His finger away, just point me right away from Him … the thought shook me to my toes. Please, I could see me begging Him. Please. I like

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