Where the Crawdads Sing
Delia Owens, 2018
Ιστορικά μυθιστορήματα Αστυνομικά και θρίλερΣύγχρονη πεζογραφίαΛογοτεχνική πεζογραφία
Ατμόσφαιρα: μελαγχολία, λαχτάρα και ανησυχία. Μιλά για τη φύση, τη μοναξιά και την οικογένεια.
Μια σελίδα από το βιβλίο
Ma always looked back where the foot lane met the road, one arm held high, white palm waving, as she turned onto the track, which wove through bog forests, cattail lagoons, and maybe-if the tide obliged-eventually into town. But today she walked on, unsteady in the ruts. Her tall figure emerged now and then through the holes of the forest until only swatches of white scarf flashed between the leaves. Kya sprinted to the spot she knew would bare the road; surely Ma would wave from there, but she arrived only in time to glimpse the blue case-the color so wrong for the woods-as it disappeared. A heaviness, thick as black-cotton mud, pushed her chest as she returned to the steps to wait. Βιβλία με παρόμοια αίσθηση
Πού θα το βρεις
Από κάποιους από αυτούς τους συνδέσμους παίρνουμε μια μικρή προμήθεια, χωρίς επιπλέον κόστος για σένα. Έτσι το BookFeed μένει δωρεάν.
Ερωτήσεις αναγνωστών
- Πώς είναι το «Where the Crawdads Sing»;
- Ατμόσφαιρα: μελαγχολία, λαχτάρα και ανησυχία. Μιλά για τη φύση, τη μοναξιά και την οικογένεια.
- Τι να διαβάσω μετά το «Where the Crawdads Sing»;
- Αν σου άρεσε το «Where the Crawdads Sing», δοκίμασε «Island of the Blue Dolphins» (Scott O'Dell), «Everything I Never Told You» (Celeste Ng) και «One Hundred Years of Solitude» (Gabriel García Márquez).
Μια γεύση από τη ροή
What it costs to be the only one not counting the dead as profit.
Many of our tribe went to the cliff each night to count the number killed during the day. They counted the dead otter and thought of the beads and other things that each pelt meant. But I never went to the cove and whenever I saw the hunters with their long spears skimming over the water, I was angry, for these animals were my friends.
Island of the Blue Dolphins · Scott O'Dell
The moment you realise time isn’t passing but turning in circles.
—Qué quería —murmuró—, el tiempo pasa. —Así es,—dijo Úrsula—, pero no tanto. Al decirlo, tuvo conciencia de estar dando la misma réplica que recibió del coronel Aureliano Buendía en su celda de sentenciado, y una vez más se estremeció con la comprobación de que el tiempo no pasaba, como ella lo acababa de admitir, sino que daba vueltas en redondo.
One Hundred Years of Solitude · Gabriel García Márquez
How a father explains race to a child using nothing but the chickens.
Could I be your girl, too?“ I asked quickly. The large, broad-shouldered man looked away before he answered. ”Well, now,“ he said, as though he had given it deep thought, ”I sure do think I would like that.“ ”But,“ I said, concerned that he hadn’t noticed, ”I don’t look like your other girls.“ ”You mean because you white?“ I nodded. ”Abinia,“ he said, pointing toward the chickens, ”you look at those birds. Some of them be brown, some of them be white and black. Do you think when they little chicks, those mamas and papas care about that?
The Kitchen House · Kathleen Grissom
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