This is the writer's voice, new fiction from The New Yorker.

I'm Deborah Treasman, fiction editor at The New Yorker.

On this episode of The Writer's Voice, we'll hear Joseph O'Neill read his story, The Paltroon Husband,

from the March 12th, 2018 issue of the magazine.

O'Neill has published four novels, including Netherlands, which

won the Penn Falkner Award for Fiction in 2009, and The Dog, which came out in 2014.

He's also the author of the nonfiction family history, Blood Dark Track. Now here's Joseph

O'Neill.

The Paltroon husband.

Five years ago, we sold the Phoenix House and bought Landon Flagstaff and built a house there,

our final abode, I called it.

Jane objected to this designation, but I defended myself with what I termed an argument from reality,

which was also objected to by Jane, who said I was using an argument from being really annoying.

Are you saying, this isn't going to be our final abode, I said, and don't talk to me about

hospices or nut houses. You know what I mean.

This is the last place you and I will call home. This is our final abode. I looked up,

abode. It refers to a habitual residence, of course, but it derives from an old English verb,

meaning to wait. The expression,

Abide with me, can be traced back to the same source. An abode is a place of waiting. Waiting for

what? Not to be a downer, but I think we all know the answer. When I shared my research with Jane,

she said, I see that your darkness is somewhat useful to you, but it's a bit intellectually weak.

This delighted me. The final abode is on a wooded, intermittently waterlogged double lot

...