This is the writer's voice, new fiction from the New Yorker. I'm Deborah Treisman,

fiction editor at the New Yorker. On this episode of the writer's voice,

we'll hear Louise Erdrich read her story The Stone from the September 9th 2019 issue of the magazine.

Erdrich is the author of more than two dozen works of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry.

Her novels include La Rose and The Roundhouse, which won the National Book Award in 2012.

Now here's Louis Erdrich.

The Stone. Her family drove north every summer to stay at the end of an island in Cold Lake Superior,

and it was there that she found the stone.

It wasn't on the beach, where stones are usually found, but in the woods.

She was wandering in the brush behind the cabin, uncurling ferns, kicking up leaves,

snapping the heads off mushrooms.

She sat down beside a birch clump, and after a few moments, her neck prickled.

She had the distinct feeling that someone was staring at her.

Looking around, she saw the stone.

It was black and rounded, nestled in the crotch of a birch clump.

Water had scoured two symmetrical hollows into the stone,

giving it an owlish look, or a blind look,

or anyway some quality that was oddly attractive.

At first she was startled and a little spooked, but then she ran her hand over the stone,

and it felt like a normal stone. It was about half the size of a

human skull and very smooth. The girl's mother called to her and she got up, holding the stone and carried it into the cabin.

At first she put it beside her palate in the bedroom she shared with her siblings.

...