O t?n?r? care ??i pune prietenul s-o ?ncuie ?ntr-o cu?c? ?n propria ei buc?t?rie; un b?rbat locuind singur pe o planet? ?ndep?rtat? dintr-o galaxie necunosct?; un scriitor ?nc?run?it, ?ntr-un pat cu gratii, devenit piesa principal? a arhivei propriei sale opere postume; ?i mai e ?i Lilly, care, ?dup? o zi lung? ?i grea la birou, a constatat c? i-au crescut aripi pe omopla?i: ni?te excrescen?e de piele roz murdar, cu un aspect vulnerabil, care-i d?deau m?nc?rimi ca acelea ale ?n?ep?turilor de ??n?ar“. Sunt doar c?teva dintre personajele stranii ale acestui volum de proz? scurt? al t?n?rului scriitor austriac Clemens J. Setz. La apari?ie, Dragostea ?n vremea Copilului din Mahlstadt a fost o revela?ie pentru critic? ?i public deopotriv?, prin fine?ea ?i rafinamentul limbajului, prin iscusin?a cu care scriitorul ??i pune personajele s? se descurce ?n situa?ii bizare sau de-a dreptul grote?ti, prin inser?iile nea?teptate de fantastic ?i comic ?ntr-un cotidian marcat de banalitatea ?i stresul obliga?iilor sociale.

S? mori ?n momentul cel mai nepotrivit. Ce poate fi mai r?u dec?t ca amanta al?turi de care vrei s? petreci o noapte s?-?i moar? ?n bra?e? Nimic, ar zice un cititor care nu-l cunoa?te pe Javier Marías. Scriitorul spaniol ?tie ?ns? ce poate fi mai r?u. Ca ?n apartamentul unde se ?nt?mpl? totul s? se afle chiar copilul ei. ?i de aici ?ncepe povestea. Deciziile incredibil de grele pe care b?rbatul trebuie s? le ia, remu?c?rile ce-l urm?resc apoi, r?sturn?rile neprev?zute de situa?ie, interven?ia regelui Spaniei ?i farsele pe care destinul pare s? le joace personajelor sunt ingrediente marca Marías, care te vor l?sa cu gura c?scat?.

Ethel, a fiatal francia grafikusn? úgy tudja, hogy zsidó származású. Egy furcsa véletlennek k?sz?nhet?en felfedezi, hogy családja t?rténetébe kitalált szálak sz?v?dtek. Minden jel arra mutat, hogy nagymamája, a mindenkinél jobban szeretett Marie, akire egész identitását felépítette, hazudott neki. Vajon azért, hogy érdekesebb életet kreáljon magának, mint amilyen a sajátja volt, vagy más, ennél titokzatosabb okokból? Ethel lázasan kutatni kezd, de nagyanyja, aki válaszolhatna kérdéseire, Alzheimer-kórral küszk?dik, és már meg sem ismeri Csillagot, ahogy unokáját szólította magyarul. Az ?nmagával, a szerelemmel és párkapcsolataival is vívódó Ethel nyomozása során egymásba forduló sorst?rténetek bontakoznak ki üld?ztetéssel, háborúval, elnyomással, meneküléssel, a ?sehova tartozás” gy?trelmeivel, családi titkokkal, szenvedélyekkel, szerelmekkel és árulásokkal. A Csillag egy hazugság t?rténete, amely máshova vezet, mint gondolnánk... Clara Royer els? regényét magyar származású nagymamájának ajánlja, aki gy?kereit?l rég elszakadva, távolra vet?dve az ?hazától, Csillagomnak szólította unokáját, pedig már elfelejtett magyarul. Marie alakját ? ihlette a 2011-ben magyar címmel megjelent k?nyvben, amellyel a fiatal szerz? berobbant a kortárs francia irodalomba, és a megindító t?rténet mesesz?vésével, sajátosan új nyelvhasználatával elismer? kritikai visszhangot vívott ki. Clara Royer egyetemi oktató, kutatási területe a két világháború k?z?tti magyar irodalom.

Virág harminc elmúlt, de sem az álommeló, sem az álomotthon, sem az álompasi nem akar valósággá válni. ?nbizalma, optimizmusa mégis t?retlen. Pedig van kivel ?sszemérnie magát. Alig pár évvel id?sebb n?vére, Judit már régen révbe ért. Jókép? férj, három gyerek, anyagi gondokról nem is hallott, de még rettenetes f?n?k sem igyekszik pokollá tenni az életét. Aztán váratlanul Juditot elhagyja a férje egy fiatalabb n? miatt... Hogyan tud újra magára találni a n?vér? ?s hogyan tud ebben segítségére lenni a kelekótya húg? Talán els? lépésként azzal, hogy pici albérletébe k?lt?zteti n?vérét a z?r?s kamaszlánnyal, az iskolát kezd? k?zéps?vel, és az épp járni tanuló egy éves unoka?ccsel. ?s míg a két testvér azon van, hogy Judit szívét ?sszeragasszák, Virág élete is a feje tetejére áll.

Lumea este plin? de ?ntreb?ri pentru Hans Thomas, un b?iat de doisprezece ani care pleac? ?mpreun? cu tat?l lui la Atena, ?n c?utarea mamei sale ?r?t?cite ?n lumea modei“. Un personaj enigmatic ?i d?ruie?te pe drum o lup?, apoi b?iatul prime?te o carte minuscul? ?n care cite?te o poveste av?nd similitudini bizare cu detalii din propria-i via??. Misterul c?r?ilor de joc este o poveste ?n interiorul altei pove?ti, un joc la grani?a ?ntre realitate ?i fantezie demn de Lewis Carroll.

Gómez Herrera este un gaucho, un haiduc al pampasului argentinian, scos parc? din revistele motiva?ionale ?i de self-improving. ?tie ce poate ?i ce vrea ?i are la ?ndem?n? arme imbatabile: cinismul, pref?c?toria, falsitatea ?i calomnia. Demn de Juan Moreira, str?mo?ul s?u, Herrera ofer? re?eta perfect? pentru ob?inerea unui scaun ministerial ?ntr-o ?ar? european?. Comedia inocent? devine astfel o satir? bine regizat?, iar r?sul un z?mbet sarcastic. Hazliile ispr?vi ale nepotului lui Juan Moreira este un tabloul al arivistului, pe fundalul societ??ii argentiniene de la sf?r?itul secolul al XIX-lea ?i ?nceputul secolului al XX-lea.

A New York Times bestseller szerz?je, a feszültségteremtés királyn?je, 100 millió eladott példánnyal a valaha volt legnépszer?bb szerz?k egyike.Legújabb, nagy siker? krimije éppúgy felkerült a legfontosabb sikerlistákra, mint Clark szinte minden m?ve. A fiatalon meg?zvegyült Lane Harmon, az ?téves Katie édesanyja lakberendez?, fény?z? otthonokba bejáratos. Egy alkalommal, amikor f?n?ke megbízza, hogy rendezzen be egy szerény sorházat, meglepve tapasztalja, hogy a megbízó nem más, mint egy híres-hírhedt pénzember felesége. A férj, Parker Bennett, két éve t?nt el a Karib-tengeren hajózva. A cégben lév? ?tmilliárd dollárral együttVajon él-e még? Vajon k?ze van-e a milliárdokhoz? ?s vajon mit tud a feleség?Lane egyre jobban belebonyolódik az ügybe, és egyre k?zelebb kerül Bennették fiához, míg végül már megszállottan próbálja bizonyítani a család ártatlanságát. Azzal azonban nem számol, hogy ezzel magát és kislányát is veszélybe sodorja Botrány, csalás, árulás és szerelem a kritikusok és az olvasók szerint ez az ?tvenk?tetes Clark életének egyik legjobb regénye. El?sz?r a pénz a tét. Utána?a szerelem. Végül az életed.

Perechi ?n formare este romanul unei iubiri ai c?rei protagoni?ti, desp?r?i?i timp de ?aisprezece ani, ajung s? se reg?seasc? ?n ?mprejur?ri dramatice. Andreas Lüscher este un psiholog care ?ncearc? s? p?streze o distan?? profesionist? fa?? de pacien?ii s?i. Dar c?nd destinul i-o aduce ?n cale pe Meret, fosta lui iubire din tinere?e, b?rbatul descoper? c?t de fragile ?i imperfecte sunt cuvintele atunci c?nd ?ncearc? s? refac? o leg?tur? pierdut?, acum mai puternic? dec?t a fost vreodat?.

Umorul, absurdul ?i tenta?ia suprarealist? sunt aduse aici la rang de repere pentru fic?iune. Blues pentru o pisic? neagr? este o colec?ie de povestiri ?n care Boris Vian ??i m?rturise?te pe spa?ii mici pasiunea pentru firescul r?sturnat cu susul ?n jos ?i pentru jocurile infinite cu limbajul ?i literatura. Pe fondul celui de-al doilea R?zboi Mondial, lumea a luat-o razna, dar toate personajele se lupt? pentru a salva aparen?ele. Protagoni?tii sunt dintre cei mai ciuda?i, iar ac?iunile lor ?n acord cu lumea ?n r?sp?r. Pescari de timbre, sculptori de pietre de morminte, motani-negri-vorbitori-englezi iubitori de b?uturi fine sunt reprezentativi pentru stilul lui Boris Vian.

Két év telt el ,,a nap", vagyis a világ t?bb országát egyszerre sújtó ?sszehangolt, elektromágneses hullámokat (EMP) gerjeszt? támadás óta. ?ramszolgáltatás híján az Egyesült ?llamok kontinentális területeinek nagy részén k?zépkori állapotok uralkodnak, s becslések szerint az offenzívát, valamint az azt k?vet? káoszt az ország lakosságának csupán húsz százaléka élte túl. Az észak-karolinai Black Mountain városa - lakóinak h?sies helytállása folytán - nem semmisült meg teljesen, de a halál és az emberfeletti megpróbáltatások ?ket sem kímélték. Vezet?jük, John Matherson otthona porig égett, és az inzulinkészletek kiapadása miatt a férfi elveszítette egyik lányát, a cukorbeteg Jennifert is. A Bluemontban újjászervez?d?tt amerikai kormány látszólag mindent megtesz annak érdekében, hogy feltartóztassa az országba humanitárius segítségnyújtásra hivatkozva benyomuló idegen katonai er?ket. Az új vezetés tervének részeként John egyetlen életben maradt lánya, a tizennyolc éves Elizabeth is megkapja a katonai behívóját...

Marianela este varianta spaniol? a pove?tii din copil?rie R??u?ca cea ur?t?. Satul Socartes este locul unde se petrece trista poveste de iubire a protagoni?tilor lui Pérez Galdós; numele localit??ii nu este ?nt?mpl?tor, romanul dezvolt?nd epic teoriile despre frumuse?e ale lui Socrate. Marianela, o feti?? orfan?, s?rac? ?i ur?t?, se ?ndr?goste?te de Pablo, un b?iat orb din na?tere. Fermecat de vocea ei, Pablo nu ?i-o poate imagina dec?t frumoas?, fapt pentru care ?i va ?mp?rt??i dragostea. Magia se risipe?te atunci c?nd medicul Teodoro Golfin ?i red? t?n?rului vederea. Dac? ?n basmul lui Andersen frumuse?ea este ?n final dezv?luit?, aici leb?da ?nt?rzie s? apar?, Marianela ascunz?ndu-se de privirea lui Pablo. A?a c? happy-end-ul se las? a?teptat. Va trece Pablo peste aceast? piedic? sau iubirea pentru Marianela se va risipi precum c?ntecele fetei purtate de v?nt? Ve?i afla din finalul romanului lui Pérez Galdós.

tii care e pluralul corect - acali sau acai Nu V rspunde Enormitatea Sa Bérurier: e un substantiv care apare numai la singular, pentru c acalul este o pasre care triete singuratic. Dac nu suntei mulumii de rspuns i vrei s aflai de unde izvorte Guatemala sau ce culoare avea calul alb al lui Henric al IV-lea, dac suntei nedumerii aflnd c 3 ori 8 fac 22, citii n continuare. Cnd ntr-o comun de lng Lyon dispare fr urm un bieel, Bérurier ajunge nvtor la coala de loaze, iar San-Antonio pe urmele unor interlopi care se in de partuze. Nu dup mult timp, totul se accelereaz, crimele se nmulesc, iar n jurul fermectorului comisar ncepe s danseze sarabanda rposailor.Mai multe detalii pe san-antonio.ro

Te milyennek képzeled a t?kéletes randit? ?lmodoztál már arról, hogy egyszer valaki kitalálja a legdédelgetettebb álmod? Szeretted a D.A.C. els? részét, és türelmetlenül várod, hogy megjelenjen a második? Akkor ezt el kell olvasnod! Kalapos ?va ebben a novellában kis bepillantást enged Márk fejébe, és azt is megtudhatjuk, hogy sikerül-e a fiúnak ?sszehoznia egy bénázásoktól és félreértésekt?l mentes randit Flórával. Lépj be te is a D.A.C. világába, és éld át velünk A t?kéletes randit! NOVELLA kizárólag e-k?nyvben!

Jonas Lie is sufficiently famous to need but a very few words of introduction. Ever since 1870, when he made his reputation by his first novel, "Den Fremsynte," he has been a prime favourite with the Scandinavian public, and of late years his principal romances have gone the round of Europe. He has written novels of all kinds, but he excels when he describes the wild seas of Northern Norway, and the stern and hardy race of sail-ors and fishers who seek their fortunes, and so often find their graves, on those dangerous waters. Such tales, for instance, as "Tremasteren Fremtid," "Lodsen og hans Hustru," "Gaa Paa!" and "Den Fremsynte" are unique of their kind, and give far truer pictures of Norwegian life and character in the rough than anything that can be found elsewhere in the literature. Indeed, Lie's skippers and mates are as superior to Kjelland's, for instance, as the peasants of Jens Tvedt (a writer, by the way, still unknown beyond his native land) are superior to the much-vaunted peasants of Bj?rnstjerne Bj?rnson. But it is when Lie tells us some of the wild legends of his native province, Nordland, some of the grim tales on which he himself was brought up, so to speak, that he is perhaps most vivid and enthralling. The folk-lore of those lonely sub-arctic tracts is in keeping with the savagery of nature. We rarely, if ever, hear of friendly elves or companionable gnomes there. The supernatural beings that haunt those shores and seas are, for the most part, malignant and malefic. They seem to hate man. They love to mock his toils, and sport with his despair. In his very first romance, "Den Fremsynte," Lie relates two of these weird tales (Nos. 1 and 3 of the present selection). Another tale, in which many of the superstitious beliefs and wild imaginings of the Nordland fishermen are skilfully grouped together to form the background of a charming love-story, entitled "Finn Blood," I have borrowed from the volume of "Fort?llinger og Skildringer," published in 1872. The re-maining eight stories are selected from the book "Trold," which was the event of the Christmas publishing season at Christiania in 1891. Last Christmas a second series of "Trold" came out, but it is distinctly inferior to the former one. TALES: THE FISHERMAN AND THE DRAUGJACK OF SJOHOLM AND THE GAN-FINNTUG OF WAR."THE EARTH DRAWS"THE CORMORANTS OF ANDVAERISAAC AND THE PARSON OF BRONOTHE WIND-GNOMETHE HULDREFISHFINN BLOODTHE HOMESTEAD WESTWARD IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS"IT'S ME."

Since my return to liberty, I have not failed to perceive the increasing interest throughout the Northern States, in regard to the subject of Slavery. Works of fiction, professing to portray its features in their more pleasing as well as more repugnant aspects, have been circulated to an extent unprecedented, and, as I understand, have created a fruitful topic of comment and discussion.I can speak of Slavery only so far as it came under my own observation--only so far as I have known and experienced it in my own person. My object is, to give a candid and truthful statement of facts: to repeat the story of my life, without exaggeration, leaving it for others to determine, whether even the pages of fiction present a picture of more cruel wrong or a severer bondage.As far back as I have been able to ascertain, my ancestors on the paternal side were slaves in Rhode Island. They belonged to a family by the name of Northup, one of whom, removing to the State of New York, settled at Hoosic, in Rensselaer county. He brought with him Mintus Northup, my father. On the death of this gentleman, which must have occurred some fifty years ago, my father became free, having been emancipated by a direction in his will.Henry B. Northup, Esq., of Sandy Hill, a distinguished counselor at law, and the man to whom, under Providence, I am indebted for my present liberty, and my return to the society of my wife and children, is a relative of the family in which my forefathers were thus held to service, and from which they took the name I bear. To this fact may be attributed the persevering interest he has taken in my behalf.

An afternoon of a cold winter’s day, when the sun shone forth with chilly brightness, after a long storm, two children asked leave of their mother to run out and play in the new-fallen snow. The elder child was a little girl, whom, because she was of a tender and modest disposition, and was thought to be very beautiful, her parents, and other people who were familiar with her, used to call Violet. But her brother was known by the style and title of Peony, on account of the ruddiness of his broad and round little phiz, which made everybody think of sunshine and great scarlet flowers. The father of these two children, a certain Mr. Lindsey, it is important to say, was an excellent, but exceedingly matter-of-fact sort of man, a dealer in hardware, and was sturdily accustomed to take what is called the common-sense view of all matters that came under his consideration. With a heart about as tender as other people’s, he had a head as hard and impenetrable, and therefore, perhaps, as empty, as one of the iron pots which it was a part of his business to sell. The mother’s character, on the other hand, had a strain of poetry in it, a trait of unworldly beauty—a delicate and dewy flower, as it were, that had survived out of her imaginative youth, and still kept itself alive amid the dusty realities of matrimony and motherhood. So, Violet and Peony, as I began with saying, besought their mother to let them run out and play in the new snow; for, though it had looked so dreary and dismal, drifting downward out of the gray sky, it had a very cheerful aspect, now that the sun was shining on it. The children dwelt in a city, and had no wider play-place than a little garden before the house, divided by a white fence from the street, and with a pear-tree and two or three plum-trees overshadowing it, and some rose-bushes just in front of the parlor windows. The trees and shrubs, however, were now leafless, and their twigs were enveloped in the light snow, which thus made a kind of wintry foliage, with here and there a pendent icicle for the fruit. “Yes, Violet,—yes, my little Peony,” said their kind mother; “you may go out and play in the new snow.”

Holmes decodes a warning from Porlock, an informant against arch-criminal Moriarty, for "Douglas" resident five years at "Birlstone". Scotland Yard's MacDonald asks them to investigate a corpse with the same look and circle-in-triangle brand on the forearm as Birlstone owner Douglas. The head was blown off by an American-style sawed-off shotgun. Apparently, an intruder dropped a card with VV341, and left across a shallow moat. Watson observes the bereaved English wife and best male friend in unusually good spirits. When Holmes pretends the moat will be drained, the conspirators retrieve a missing dumb-bell weighting down the visitor's clothes beneath the water. Douglas comes from hiding, to explain he killed the assassin Baldwin in self-defence; the plan was to save him from more attacks by criminal survivors of Vermissa Valley. He hands Dr. Watson the following account. Young McMurdo gains reputation as tough counterfeiter, Freemen Lodge member fleeing murder charges in Chicago. In the Vermissa coal mine area, McGinty rules Scowrers branded by a circle in square, the local Lodge 341 who extort, murder, and exchange vicious deeds with nearby Lodges. Pretty Ettie prefers McMurdo to nasty Baldwin, and wants to flee, but will wait some months. When word comes that Pinkerton sent Edwards, McMurdo gathers ringleaders in one room, and springs his trap on them, surrounded by the law. Although the worst were hanged, after ten years, villains were freed, and chased McMurdo-Edwards-Douglas, despite changes of name, location, and wife. He married Ettie, then she died in California, where he made a fortune. The Valley of Fear, notable for Professor Moriarty's involvement, is set before "The Final Problem", the short story in which Moriarty was introduced. This introduces a logical difficulty, as in "The Final Problem" Dr. Watson has never heard of Moriarty, whereas by the end of The Valley Of Fear he is, or should be, familiar with his name and character. The "Moriarty" element in the story is tied into the fate of the informer in the story. It ties the Molly Maguire background to another event of that period: the murder of James Carey, an informer who was shot on board a ship off the coast of Natal, South Africa in 1883 by Patrick O'Donnell, an Irish republican who had relatives in the Mollies and briefly visited the Pennsylvania coal mining district, supposedly looking for the suspected informer among them.

The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said 'Bother!' and 'O blow!' and also 'Hang spring-cleaning!' and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat. Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he made for the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to the gavelled carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences are nearer to the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, 'Up we go! Up we go!' till at last, pop! his snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow. 'This is fine!' he said to himself. 'This is better than whitewashing!' The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes caressed his heated brow, and after the seclusion of the cellarage he had lived in so long the carol of happy birds fell on his dulled hearing almost like a shout. Jumping off all his four legs at once, in the joy of living and the delight of spring without its cleaning, he pursued his way across the meadow till he reached the hedge on the further side. 'Hold up!' said an elderly rabbit at the gap. 'Sixpence for the privilege of passing by the private road!' He was bowled over in an instant by the impatient and contemptuous Mole, who trotted along the side of the hedge chaffing the other rabbits as they peeped hurriedly from their holes to see what the row was about. 'Onion-sauce! Onion-sauce!' he remarked jeeringly, and was gone before they could think of a thoroughly satisfactory reply. Then they all started grumbling at each other. 'How STUPID you are! Why didn't you tell him——' 'Well, why didn't YOU say——' 'You might have reminded him——' and so on, in the usual way; but, of course, it was then much too late, as is always the case. It all seemed too good to be true. Hither and thither through the meadows he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across the copses, finding everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves thrusting—everything happy, and progressive, and occupied. And instead of having an uneasy conscience pricking him and whispering 'whitewash!' he somehow could only feel how jolly it was to be the only idle dog among all these busy citizens. After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy working.

Strumming a harp while floating on a white cloud might be Paradise for some people, but it would bore others stiff. Given an unlimited chance to choose your ideal world, what would you specify—palaces or log cabins? I'll take beer, son, and thanks again for the offer. As you can see, I'm kinda down on my luck. I know what you're thinking, but I'm not really on the bum. I usually make out all right—nothing fancy, mind you, but it's a living. Odd jobs in the winter and spring, follow the harvests in the summer and fall. Things are slack right now.You? Electronics, huh? Used to know a fellow in electronics.... His name was Joe Shannon, used to work for Stellar Electric up in Fremont. Young fellow, not more'n twenty-five or so. Rail thin, wispy hair, serious look—you know, the one suit, absent-minded type. Joe was a brain. A triple-A, gold-plated, genuine genius. Had a wife named Marge. Not beautiful but pretty and a nice figure and a cook you never saw the likes of. Like I say, she was married to Joe but Joe was married to his work and after you'd been around a while, you could tell there was friction. But that ain't the beginning.

Una novela que sigue siendo de actualidad. Gastón,un joven adinerado que despilfarra gran parte de la fortuna que le ha heredadosu madre, descubre que puede vivir de una manera distinta, recuperar lo que ha perdido y de paso, encontrarse con el amor y honestidad que no había experimentado antes. Escrita de forma sencilla y accesible, "El tesoro de Gastón" es una de las muchas fabulosas obras escritas por la condesa Emilia Pardo Bazán.

ONCE upon a time, a long while ago—in fact long before Egypt had risen to power and before Rome or Greece had ever been heard of—and that was some time before you were born, you know—there was a king who reigned over a very large and powerful kingdom. Now this king was rather old, he had founded his kingdom himself, and he had reigned over it nine hundred and ninety-nine and a half years already. As I have said before, it was a very large kingdom, for it contained, among other things, the whole of the western half of the world. The rest of the world was divided into smaller kingdoms, and each kingdom was ruled over by separate princes, who, however, were none of them so old as Intafernes, as he was called.