Synopsis

It is 1990 and, while the country stands on the brink of war with Iraq, Kirby Russo is finally at peace with the world. At seventeen years old, he’s figured out some important lessons: how to stay out of trouble with the authorities; how to write muck-raking articles that expose the hypocrisy of said authorities; and, most importantly, how to avoid obsessing about his long lost girlfriend Izzy (who has run away and may be in trouble in Chicago). But when a rich classmate snags the editorship of the school newspaper out from under him, Kirby knows his brief career as a conformist is over. An opportunity to reestablish his hell-raising bona fides arises when his long-lost father shows up with a shady past and a half-baked scheme. Together, they embark on a cross-country road trip to connect with a family he never knew, and maybe even track down Izzy. Kirby soon realizes, however, that life’s biggest lessons – the ones that really matter – never happen according to plan.

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Praise

I couldn’t stop reading The Prince of Infinite Space. I read it in one sitting because I cared about the characters. The people in this story are credible and flawed. The novel is a journey of a young man to himself. We root for him. The writing is clean and engaging, designed to carry us along. We go with it. It’s worth the ride into infinite space. —Angela Jackson, poet, novelist, playwright

O, Kirby Russo, Prince of bad choices! Why do I still love you so? Is it your gadfly sense of humor, the way you turn a phrase, or how you keep making brave misguided plans in the face of adult hypocrisy and compromise? Thank you for letting me see the vulnerability you hide from everyone around you. Most of all, last-chancer, I love you because Giano Cromley created you too complex and contradictory to be pigeon-holed. You are always true and vitally alive. —Diane Lefer, author of Out of Place and California Transit (winner of the Mary McCarthy Prize)

Reading Giano Cromley’s fabulous new novel, The Prince of Infinite Space, is a little like taking a road trip with Holden Caulfield. Kirby Russo, Cromley’s narrator, is young and intelligent, and like Holden, he’s quick-witted and damaged. But Kirby is kinder and more vulnerable than Salinger’s narrator; he’s a young man searching for purpose, for love, and for family. In this engaging, funny, and moving love story/road story, things go right and things go wrong. Ultimately, though, they keep on going like the grumbling but mostly reliable Crown Vic that carries Kirby, his newly found father, and by extension us, toward Chicago and self-discovery, toward grief and toward grace. Once in these pages, we have no choice but to sit back enjoy the ride. —Patricia Ann McNair, author of Responsible Adults

In The Prince of Infinite Space, a sequel to The Last Good Halloween, Giano Cromley revisits his wise-beyond-his-years protagonist Kirby Russo, always whip-smart and disarmingly honest, now in military school with America about to enter the Gulf War. When Kirby’s estranged dad shows up to take Kirby on a road trip to heal old wounds, you’ll be hooked by this big-hearted tale that’s full of wit and vulnerability. You’ll want to follow Kirby to a third book as he grows up to inevitably ask: Do any of us ever really grow up? —Leland Cheuk, author of No Good Very Bad Asian

There may be no pot of gold at the end of all the various rainbows that Kirby Russo tracks down in his well-meaning misadventures, but there is for the reader who engages with Giano Cromley’s entrancing, comedic, and at times poetic coming-of-age-story which is true story-telling gold. —Joseph G. Peterson, author of The Rumphulus

With Cromley’s clear vision, a road trip to find a girl transforms into a quest much more meaningful and profound. Kirby Russo is an engaging and relatable anti-hero who can’t decide if he needs to blow up his life or put it back together. By turns funny, charming, sad, and beautiful, Prince of Infinite Space is a delightful read. —Darrin Doyle, author of The Girl Who Ate Kalamazoo and The Beast in Aisle 34

Excerpt

Chapter 6

[Context: It’s the first day of Kirby Russo’s senior year at Haverford Military Institute. His journalism teacher, Mr. Lombardi, is about to announce who will be named executive editor of the school newspaper, a position Kirby is expecting to be named to.]

My eyes are chalky, and there’s a gross film in my mouth. Plus, my nerves are making my stomach squirm like a net full of eels. There are maybe twenty bekhakied boys sitting around the two long wooden tables.

Andrew Thetford is sitting near the front of the room. Somehow, his khaki service uniform fits him better than anyone else’s. He says something to the guys sitting around him, and they all bust out laughing. Then he crosses his legs and laces his hands behind his head.

I’m sitting across from Marcus Greely, our staff photographer, who’s tinkering with some new lens he got over the summer. Mr. Lombardi walks in and everyone self-shushes.

“Welcome back, gentlemen,” Mr. Lombardi says. “I hope you all had productive summer vacations. I’m sure you’re geared up for what will be a rewarding year with the Haverford Bugle. The first order of business will be naming our new leadership team.”

The room goes silent. I can hear the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

“We’ve got a lot of talented individuals on staff, so choosing these positions was extremely difficult.” He pauses and looks around the room.

Across the table, Marcus hoists his camera and starts spraying photos around the room. With each shot, the aperture makes a grinding noise that sets my eyes twitching.

“I won’t hold you in suspense any longer,” Mr. Lombardi goes on. “For the position of Executive Editor, I’m naming someone who I’ve watched for a while now, and who I’ve really seen grow as a journalist.”

My face is burning. My hands are gripping my thighs. When he calls my name, should I stand up and wave? Will people start clapping? I hope I won’t be expected to make a speech, though I’ve got a rough outline in my head of what I might say, should the need arise. Marcus keeps snapping photos.

Mr. Lombardi takes one last breath and says, “I’m pleased to name Andrew Thetford as your next Executive Editor.”

People do indeed start clapping, but I can’t hear it because someone has sucked all the oxygen out of the room. I turn my head toward Andrew in time to see him put on a fake-surprised expression. The boys next to him pat him on the back. He high-fives the kid across the table.

“Your face looks blue,” Marcus says. He’s peering through his camera at me, squeezing off a fusillade of photos. “I don’t think it’s this lens. That might be, like, a health thing.”

My vision swims for a moment. “Andrew’ll do a great job,” I say, to no one in particular. “A really, really, really, really great job.”

Mr. Lombardi is droning on, naming the rest of the staff, but it’s all just noise.

Part of my brain is telling me to snap out of it, to be gracious in defeat. It tries to latch onto some aphorism about finding the true measure of a man when the chips are down or some other tripe they feed to losers when they lose. But another part of my brain is telling me to burn this place to its foundations, to plow its fields with salt.

I have no idea how long these two factions duke it out in my head. The next thing I know, the room has cleared and I’m sitting alone at the table. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Mr. Lombardi is hovering over me, a hangdog look on his face. I can see from here he hasn’t shaved in a few days. His beard is coming in gray.

“I know you’re disappointed, Kirby.”

“Try something stronger.”

“It wasn’t an easy choice,” he says, as if that’s supposed to help.

“Take your fucking hand off my shoulder,” I snap.

He pulls back as if he’s been bitten. It’s a fearful gesture, and knowing that I caused fear in him gives me an ounce of strength. I stand up abruptly, knocking my chair over backwards.

The hallways are empty. I’m adrift, unable to latch onto anything other than my own pain. And it’s telling me one thing: They’ll regret this. All of them.

About the Author

Giano Cromley is the author of the novel, The Last Good Halloween and the story collection, What We Build Upon the Ruins, both of which were finalists for the High Plains Book Award. He is the recipient of an Artists Fellowship from the Illinois Arts Council and was a BookEnds Fellow with Stony Brook University. He is an English professor at Kennedy-King College in Chicago, where he is chair of the Communications Department and sits on the committee for the Center of Equity for Creative Arts. He lives on the South Side of Chicago with his wife and two dogs.

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