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Speak

Laurie Halse Anderson, 1999

Νεανικά Σύγχρονη πεζογραφία

Ατμόσφαιρα: λαχτάρα.

Μια σελίδα από το βιβλίο

It’s easier not to say anything. Shut your trap, button your lip, can it. All that crap you hear on TV about communication and expressing feelings is a lie. Nobody really wants to hear what you have to say.
Απόσπασμα από το «Speak», Laurie Halse Anderson 1999. Παρατίθεται για να γνωρίσεις το βιβλίο. Πηγή Δικαιώματα και αφαιρέσεις

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Βρες το βιβλίο · Στο Public

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Ερωτήσεις αναγνωστών

Πώς είναι το «Speak»;
Ατμόσφαιρα: λαχτάρα.
Τι να διαβάσω μετά το «Speak»;
Αν σου άρεσε το «Speak», δοκίμασε «How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories» (Holly Black), «Better Than the Movies» (Lynn Painter) και «One Golden Summer» (Carley Fortune).

Μια γεύση από τη ροή

  1. The honest case for villainy, from someone raised on fairy tales.

    Villains were wonderful. They got to be cruel and selfish, to preen in front of mirrors and poison apples, and trap girls on mountains of glass. They indulged all their worst impulses, revenged themselves for the least offense, and took every last thing they wanted. And sure, they wound up in barrels studded with nails, or dancing in iron shoes heated by fire, not just dead, but disgraced and screaming. But before they got what was coming to them, they got to be the fairest in all the land.

    How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories · Holly Black

  2. A mother, a sundress, a stolen base: the anatomy of a kept memory.

    All the neighborhood kids played kickball in the street for hours that night, and the adults even joined us for a game. At one point, my mother was high-fiving Michael after stealing home base in her floral sundress and wedge sandals. That moment was pressed in my memories like a yellowed photograph in an antique album.

    Better Than the Movies · Lynn Painter

  3. The house that can swallow a childhood and hand it back whole.

    Nan lives in Leaside, a leafy neighborhood in midtown Toronto. During those first hectic years after the twins were born, Heather and I slept at Nan and Grandpa’s on the weekends more often than we did in our own beds. Our home was a few streets over, but I loved this house best. The plump peonies that line the walkway. The homemade paisley curtains over the leaded glass windows. The doorbell that tolls as if announcing a newlywed couple. You can hear its thunderous ring in every corner of the redbrick Georgian, but to me, it’s the sound of calm and quiet. No screaming babies. No overwhelmed mother. A bedroom of my own.

    One Golden Summer · Carley Fortune

  4. Διάβασε σελίδες από βιβλία σαν αυτό, μία τη φορά

    Συνέχισε στη ροή

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