The story is set in a small town of Georgia, a disparate bunch of people come together under court-ordered integration. What follows is unique blend of humour, power, irony, and love. Excerpt: "Death is always the same, but each man dies in his own way. For J.T. Malone it began in such a simple ordinary way that for a time he confused the end of life with the beginning of a new season. The winter of his fortieth year was an unusually cold one for the Southern town—with icy, pastel days and radiant nights. The spring came violently in middle March in that year of 1953, and Malone was lazy and peaked during those days of early blossoms and windy skies."

“I want to turn back the hands on the clock and change it all, make it different; three friends who meet up by chance in an old city and share a beer and laugh at old stories and jokes. But it wasn’t like that; and the clock has no hands, so I can’t turn them back.” [p.171] Alex Carlise has returned to a place he thought he’d never see again, outside of his dreams. As he walks the ochre-dusted road to the house in which he grew up, the memories of his young life in a small Italian town push all other thoughts out of his head: thoughts about the major exhibition of his artwork opening soon in London, thoughts of the myriad things he should be doing in preparation–everything subsides to make room for the warm flood of a time long past. When he opens the door to the now-deserted house, he is suddenly seven again. There is Jamie, his first friend, his best friend; Anna, his first love; and the delicious days they spent exploring the valley and swimming in the cerulean blue Mediterranean Sea. It all comes back to Alex in a way he can neither control nor discern. But the memories are insistent, demanding. Soon Alex loses entire hours to the past, overwhelmed by the haunting memories of a youth turned tragic. Alex remembers the day he, Jamie, and Anna went to their favorite place, an abandoned church far up in the hills. There they stumbled upon a man, injured and sick. From this discovery, a series of events tumbled forth that would change them all forever. Alex now realizes that he must confront the truth about himself, about the echoes of the past that still haunt him, and about the friends whose legacy has meant only devastation. Guy Burt’s vision of youth is piercingly accurate, and his sense of how time can play tricks on the mind is startling. Haunting, eerie, and remarkably assured, The Clock Without Hands will resonate with the child that hides inside your own memories.

Poetry. The poems of A CLOCK WITH NO HANDS celebrate, with all the rust and anger in a dying mill town, the author's memories and experiences growing up in Lowell, Massachusetts in the 1940s and 50s. "His language is clear, without tricks or fancy moves, yet his directness is powerful, and the effect are human" - Paul Zimmer. "In these poems there is a finite and definable portrait of a time and a city. The city was the ethnic Lowell, Massachusetts where and when both Jack Kerouac and Anne Sexton attended high school. The poetry itself is a terrific read and I had both the nostalgic and the proverbial time of my life reading this book, including the contents page, twice over. Further, for those Kerouac fans not lucky enough to be from Lowell, the book is a must buy, must have, must read" - Michael Casey.

Learn to tell time with Winnie-the-Pooh.