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The first book in bestselling author Howard Fast's beloved family saga
"A most wonderful book...there hasn't been a novel in years that can do a job on readers' emotions that the last fifty pages of The Immigrants does."
-Los Angeles Times
In this sweeping journey of love and fortune, master storyteller Howard Fast recounts the rise and fall of a family of roughneck immigrants determined to make their way in America at the turn of the century. Quick to ascend from the tragic depths of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, Dan Lavette becomes the head of a powerful shipping empire and establishes himself among the city's cultural elite. But when he finds himself caught in a loveless marriage to the daughter of San Francisco's richest family, a scandalous love affair threatens to destroy the empire Dan has built for himself.
The first of a compelling family saga, The Immigrants is a fast-paced, emotional novel that captures the wide range of relationships among immigrant families during the tumultuous events that defined the early twentieth century in America.
"A non-stop page-turner...moving, vivid...a splendid achievement!"
"Howard Fast is fiercely American. He is one of ours, one of our very best!"
-Los Angeles Times
"Warmth...Power...Tenderness...Excitement...Readers will find themselves anxiously awaiting the sequel."
theaters. The newspaper did not boast that according to the most reÂ�cent count, there were over two thousand saloons of one description or another and half as many whorehouses. Well, that too was a sign of life and vigor. Once again, the great 3 6 Ho wa rd F a st jewel of a city sat white and gleaming upon its great hills, with the magnificent blue expanse of the bay beneath it and around it. For two hours, Feng Wo, a Chinese man in his mid-thirties, had been waiting on the wharf. He was a
talked me into that. You were all for it.” 1 0 4 Ho wa rd F a st “And I was right. But I want nothing to do with it. I hate business. I hated it when we had the store. I hate it more now.” “Then you hate what I do with my life!” he cried angrily, and she proÂ�tested, “No, no, no—I love you, and you are doing what you must do.” All of which was reasonably unreasonable, and, anyÂ�way, she adored Dan, who could do no wrong. She didn’t have to face his explosive energy, his endless schemes, his
reason Dan did not entirely understand, the room, a hodgepodge of so many things, came together and gave him a feeling of comfort and intimacy. It was not familiar but neither was it strange; 1 3 4 Ho wa rd F a st and across the room, facing him, a young woman stood, giving the place a final touch of magic, of Oriental wonder that transformed it from a melange of the cheap and ordinary to a place of mystery and exÂ�citement. She was not a beautiful girl, certainly no more than eighteen or
to you, and I can’t.” “You don’t have to think about what to say to me. Can’t we just talk?” “That’s it,” he muttered. “Well then,” she said, “I shall deliver a short lecture on the birth and history of the San Francisco Public LiÂ�brary.” And when she finished, she said, “There, Mr. Lavette. We are not simply librarians. We inherit a traÂ�dition.” 1 4 6 Ho wa rd F a st “Will you please call me Dan!” he snapped at her. “Are you angry at me?” she asked, puzzled. “No, no. I’m not sore at you,
prayers, they were mine. I am reÂ�sponsible for the most confused Catholic priest in the Peninsula, who twice a week would see a pregnant Chinese lady at the altar rail next to your mother. Now I am going to leave the two of you. I’ll see you later.” When she had left, Stephan said, “She’s beautiful—and charming. What a delightful woman!” “I know.” “Look, it’s none of my business. The thing is, well, you’re both here, and I’m here, and we’re alive. I never understood the virtue of simply being