Welcome to 1984 and the town of South Wakefield. Chris Lane is 14 and he's sure that he can see the future, or at least guess what's inside of Christie Brinkley's mind. But he can't foresee the closing of Joyland, the town's only video arcade. With the arcade's passing comes a summer of teenage lust, violence, and a search for new entertainment. Never far away is Chris's younger sister, Tammy, who plays spy to the events that will change the lives of her family and town forever. Joyland is a novel about the impossibility of knowing the future. Schultz bring the Cold War home in a novel set to the digital pulse of video games and the echoes of hair metal. Joyland is illustrated throughout by graphic novelist Nate Powell, whose work has been praised by Sin City creator Frank Miller as "observant, intimate cartooning [that] surgically cuts to the bone." The Cold War comes home in a novel set to the digital pulse of video games and the echoes of hair metal. Emily Schultz is an award-winning writer living in Toronto. Her first book, Black Coffee Night was shortlisted for the Danuta Gleed Award for Best First Fiction. A story from that collection was adapted by Lynne Stopkewich, director of Kissed. Schultz is the former editor of Broken Pencil magazine, and current editor of This Magazine. The girl who was flopped on the carpet knew cities of jacks, terrains of kitchen crumbs, the dumb wooden legs of furniture, and all that lay between them. The worn spot beside the right pedal her father's piano foot had stamped and thumped, and vigorously rubbed off. The catalogues and as-yet-paperless presents beneath her mother's side of the bed. The jagged letters of her brother Chris's name gouged white into an underlying beam of the playroom table (which had since become a study table), though he would not now admit that the letters had any association with him. The difference in vibration of footfalls - the hesitancy of her mother's, the severity of her father's, the singular triumphant stomps issued by Chris. The place to look for a lost Lite-Brite peg, a kicked Tinker Toy, a clumsy fallen Battleship, an elastic-shot chunk of Lego. The stretch of linoleum where a marble or HotWheels would stall. Whether or not a doll's shoe would fit beneath the door. First, second, third, and fourth grade accumulated between individual grains of shag. When Tammy rose up, she was halfway through Grade Five, she would soon start Six. She had witnessed the beginning of her life from this fixed, ground level. She teetered through the house off balance, unaccustomed to being vertical. By her eleventh birthday, she had found her footing. Eventually, she became addicted to height, learned to climb. That summer, Tammy Lane was brave enough and strong enough to reach the very top of the maple tree in her backyard. From there, she could see the cars on St. Lawrence Street shooting past. She could see her brother flying away down the sidewalk on his bmx. She could see him flying away from her, away from everything she had ever known. Tammy watched afternoon lapse into evening and waited for him to come home. Chris zigzagged through the grocery store parking lot, his butt in the air as the front tire cleared the curb and dropped him into the street. He disappeared through the branches. According to Tammy's Big Book of Spy Terms, he was "in the gap." When he reappeared, he was at the corner near the donut shop. Tammy lost him then - longer, "in the black" - and when she spotted him once more, he had doubled back through the grocery lot, riding hard and quick with his head down

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