Βιβλία σαν το «Μαθήματα χημείας»

A voice in my head, echoing softly: America hates angry women. The Lord hates angry women. You hate angry women. Do not be an angry woman.

It was hard not to compare Mrs Elm to her mother, who treated Nora like a mistake in need of correction. For instance, when she was a baby her mother had been so worried Nora’s left ear stuck out more than her right that she’d used sticky tape to address the situation, then disguised it beneath a woollen bonnet.

Not that there would be anything wrong: sex work is legitimate work, and people who engage in it are just as deserving of respect as ballerinas, or firefighters, or hedge fund managers. But ten months ago, when I graduated with a Ph.D. in theoretical physics from Northeastern, I figured that by now I’d have a reasonably remunerated academic position. I did not imagine that at twenty-seven I’d be paying my water bill by helping adult men pretend that they have dating lives. And yet here I am, fake-girlfriending my way through my student loans.

Τα λεπτά πόδια ακρίδας που διέθετε η Λόπη έβαλαν φτερά. Ο φόβος πως θα την κυνηγούσαν και θα της χαλούσαν το κουτί την έκανε να τρέχει σαν δαιμονισμένη. Έτσι έτρεχε μια μέρα όταν την είδε ένας κύριος και είπε πως τρέχει σαν αντιλόπη. Τα παιδιά που τον άκουσαν της κόλλησαν το παρατσούκλι και έπαψαν πια να τη φωνάζουν Πηνελόπη. Την κορόιδευαν «Λόπη-αντιλόπη», κι εκείνη δεν είχε ιδέα τι είναι αυτό, μέχρι που κάποια μέρα έκανε κουράγιο και πήγε και ρώτησε τον δάσκαλο. Άνοιξε εκείνος ένα βιβλίο και της έδειξε τι είναι η αντιλόπη. «Μμμμ», σκέφτηκε η Λόπη, «δεν είναι κι άσχημη. Σίγουρα πιο όμορφη από κατσίκα». «Χαρακτηριστικόν του ζώου αυτού είναι η ταχύτης του, διά της οποίας αποφεύγει τους εχθρούς του», είπε ο δάσκαλος, και η Λόπη κατάλαβε πως το να τρέχεις είναι ένας τρόπος να αποφεύγεις τους εχθρούς σου.

Either way, I’d fully intended to read the letter. I’d just been waiting for the right time, hoping the worst of my anger would settle and those last words from Dad would be comforting. Instead, a full year had passed and the dread I felt at the thought of opening the envelope grew every day. It was so unfair, that he should get the last word and I’d have no way to reply. To scream or cry or demand more answers. Once I’d opened it, there’d be no going back. That would be it. The final goodbye.

I have been called Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe the Arcane, and Kvothe Kingkiller. I have earned those names. Bought and paid for them.But I was brought up as Kvothe. My father once told me it meant “to know.”I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned.I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.You may have heard of me.