Excerpt Isabel Banta June 24, 2024 The following is from Isabel Banta’s debut novel Honey . Banta is a writer, book publicist, and indie bookseller based in Brooklyn. She graduated from the University of Virginia. A week later, I am watching Daria , a new show on MTV. My mom walks in front of the television, scowling at the cartoon. “I hate this crap,” she says. “Someone on the phone for you.” I jump up and race over to the landline. Before I press the phone to my ear, I close my eyes and take a breath. I tell myself it could be anyone—Lindsey, Rachel, a telemarketer. But my heart is an insistent fist pounding on a door. “Hello?” I breathe. “This Amber Young?” The voice on the other end has a Long Island accent and is midchew. “Yes, this is she.” “It’s Sandy Anderson from Anderson Management. Honey, I’ve got to tell you, this is the best tape I’ve listened to in a long time.” “Really?” He laughs. “Don’t bullshit me with that false humility, hon. You know you can sing.” “Loads of people can sing.” I am not bullshitting him, not even close. Many people have talent like mine. The tragedy is wasting it. Sonny then says my tape is in the hands of an A&R representative at Siren. Artists and Repertoire, he clarifies. These are the people in the music business who weave careers together. They scout the artists, choose the songwriters and producers, craft the albums. “He’s looking for the last member of a girl group. He’ll need a demo tape of the four of you.” “But I don’t have a demo tape.” “Well, you’ll go to New York to audition for the label first. You’ll record one there.” “Today?” “Next week.” “I have school.” Sonny laughs. “What’s school for if you want to sing? Are you going to ace choir?” And the line goes dead. * Early morning. I’m woken by a crash from the kitchen. It’s my mom, collapsed on the floor. Her taupe lipstick is smeared across her face. There’s an open […]
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