The Substance of All Things: a novel

"Harris' new novel tells the remarkable life story of a modern-day miracle worker. He expertly and adroitly plays each plotline against the other to create a gripping sense of narrative momentum. The slow, controlled portrayal of adult Theo's progress toward personal redemption is commanding...and culminates in a series of chapters with hefty emotional impact. THE SUBSTANCE OF ALL THINGS is a dramatic and cumulatively powerful tale of one man's healing." -- Kirkus<br/><br/>5 out of 5 stars - A must read. "A fine debut novel...touching...healing...a powerful story." - Indie Reader<br/><br/>"Poignant and devastatingly evocative, this story about faith, frauds, fear, and finding peace will win over any fan of heartbreaking and heartwarming 20th-century Americana literature. A mesmerizing novel." Editor's Choice - Booklife/Publisher's Weekly<br/><br/>Theo Dalton is six years old when his hands are irreparably damaged in a horrific car accident that takes his mother's life. Six years later, during the sweltering summer of 1968 in rural Oklahoma, Theo meets Frank, a Native American outcast, and learns that he has the ability to heal through his disfigured hands.As he explores the extraordinary, Theo desperately attempts to remain an ordinary boy. But when word of his gift spreads, Theo is shunned by the church for doing "the devil's work." He is immediately swept away by his Auntie Li, and into a world which ultimately threatens his life as he saves others'. Told from Theo's perspective some fifty years later, it is through his work as a therapist with a broken woman that he musters the courage to relive the summer that haunts him.<br/><br/>The Substance of All Things is the gripping, heart-wrenching, and often humorous tale of mentors and mothers and fathers, love and redemption, prophets and charlatans, miracles and faith.<br/><br/>From "The Substance of All Things:"<br/><br/>Suddenly, I felt a twitch in the palm of my left hand. Just the slightest tingle, a prickling really, so that I couldn't quite discern if the feeling was painful or stimulating--like when water is so hot on the skin that it might be cold, the distinction cannot be made. Then my right hand twitched, sparkling to a tickle that felt like a fortune-teller following the lines of my destiny with a fingernail. The current splayed to my fingers, tiny jolts of something--something charged, even voltaic. But there was something more--a feeling inside of me that couldn't be located in my physical body, as if a door which had always existed but had always been locked suddenly opened, slowly, to a secret place, and whatever was within engulfed me like a color I'd never seen; a feeling almost too large for my body, and my knees buckled at its enormity, but I would not fall. I knew that something beyond myself was happening like a dream and I dared not peek for fear that it would end.