Bestseller New York TimesUn roman din seria inspectorul Guido BrunettiCelebra c?nt?rea?? de oper? Flavia Petrelli reapare cu totul nea?teptat ?n via?a inspectorului de poli?ie Guido Brunetti.Flavia, care o interpreteaz? acum pe Floria Tosca din faimoasa oper? a lui Puccini, ?i m?rturise?te c? un admirator necunoscut a urmat-o de la Londra la Sankt Petersburg ?i la Vene?ia, cople?ind-o cu buchete imense de trandafiri galbeni. Pe m?sur? ce admiratorul invadeaz? via?a c?nt?re?ei, Brunetti ?ncearc? s? afle identitatea acestuia. Inspectorul ??i d? seama c? Flavia e ?n pericol c?nd un coleg de-al ei este r?nit grav.Va reu?i Brunetti s? intre ?n mintea admiratorului psihopat ?nainte ca Flavia sau altcineva din preajma ei s? p??easc? ceva r?u?"Un roman care are grandoarea unui spectacol de oper?… Seria Inspectorul Brunetti nu ?i-a pierdut deloc prospe?imea. Acesta e talentul extraordinar al Donnei Leon. Scriitura ei are exuberan?a unei opere de Puccini." - Independent (UK)"C?r?ile Donnei Leon se remarc? prin pitorescul locurilor unde se petrece ac?iunea ?i farmecul personajelor." - New York Times Book ReReview"Reapari?ia Flaviei ?i ofer? autoarei Donna Leon ocazia de a-?i exprima profunda dragoste pentru muzic? ?i de a construi o scen? magnific? ?ntre Flavia ?i admiratorul ei, scena ce reia finalul operei Tosca." - Booklist"Stilul elegant ?i expresiv al romanelor Donnei Leon face pentru Vene?ia ceea ce a f?cut Canaletto cu pensula ?i paleta de culori pentru cel mai seren dintre ora?e." - Daily Express

Un roman tulbur?tor despre via??, iubire ?i moarte.Unde se afl? via?a noastr? con?tient?? E posibil s? o transfer?m altcuiva? S? o p?str?m intact??Hope, Josh ?i Luke sunt trei studen?i la neuro?tiin?e, lega?i inseparabil printr-o priete?nie necondi?ionat? ?i o idee genial?.C?nd unul dintre ei ajunge pe moarte, hot?r?sc s? ?ncerce imposibilul ?i s?-?i pun? ?n practic? proiectul lor ie?it din comun.Emo?ionant, misterios ?i ?n acela?i timp plin de umor, Orizontul r?sturnat e o poveste de dragoste etern? cu un dez?nod?m?nt uluitor."Cea mai bun? carte a lui Marc Levy! Teribil de captivant?!" - Le Parisien

Pe Nicolae Breban l-am citit, din primul an de facultate, a?a cum i-am citit pe marii scriitori: de la primul la ultimul titlu. ?n cazul s?u, mai mult poate dec?t ?n al oric?rui alt romancier postbelic, acest exerci?iu de fidelitate este obligatoriu. Romanele sale nu sunt indiferente unul fa?? de altul, ci comunic?, toate, ?ntre ele, alc?tuind un sistem omogen, ?n care fiecare pies? este necesar? ?i contribuie la armonia ?ntregului. De altfel, Breban a avut ?nc? de la primele c?r?i ambi?ia operei monumentale, displ?c?ndu-i fragmentarismul ?i proiectele care ?ncep ambi?ios, dar sucomba levantin. Romanele care au ap?rut p?n? ?n 1990, dup? care cititorii s?i fideli de p?n? atunci ?nc? mai suspin? nostalgic, ?n care marile sale teme sunt clar delimitate, reprezint? un reper nu doar pentru literatura rom?n? a ultimei jum?t??i de secol, ci ?i pentru opera ulterioara a scriitorului. C?r?ile publicate ?n ultimii dou?zeci ?i ceva de ani pierd mult dac? sunt citite ??n sine“, f?r? a fi raportate la ?ntregul operei brebaniene. Mai mult dec?t ?nainte, scriitorul a ?nceput s? se ?ntoarc? din ce ?n ce mai des la propriile crea?ii, s? le lege ?ntr-un silogism epic nu ?ntotdeauna facil de sesizat. Cine nu proiecteaz? ?ns? personajele, cazurile contorsionate, ac?iunile din ultimele ispr?vi epice ale autorului la vechile sale realiz?ri pierde imaginea de ansamblu, pierde poate chiar ?i ?calea de acces“ c?tre nucleul acestei opere majore. (Bogdan Cre?u).Ai o imens? ?tabl? de ?ah“, care se ?nt?mpl? s? fie lumea, manevrat? de dou? sisteme aparent antagonice (dar care se ?n?eleg foarte bine, fiindc? au fost de aceea?i parte a frontului ?n r?zboi), c?rora li se subsumeaz? unele subsisteme cu interese colaterale (cum a fost Lumea a treia sau alian?a ??rilor nealiniate). Dincolo de milioanele de mici episoade locale sau regionale care coloreaza jocul, unde se consuma nevroze f?r? num?r ?i mistific?ri extrem de sofisticate, dou? mize profunde r?m?n mereu pe tabl?, estompate ca relevan?? sau voit obscurizate, pentru a nu le vedea adversarul: planetarizarea surselor de energie ?i necesitatea cre?rii unui sistem inovator de control informa?ional, din care va ie?i, ?n cele din urm?, lumea Internetului de azi. Adic?, daca ne g?ndim bine, chiar cele dou? domenii ?n care comuni?tii au fost pu?i s? piard? partida, intr?nd apoi ?n colaps sistemic ?i ?n insolven??. Aminti?i-v? de ce se spunea dup? '89: c? Ceau?escu a fost mefient fa?? de computere. N-a fost singurul, din lumea comunista. Q.e.d. (?tefan Borbely)

Unul tr?ie?te, cel?lalt moare. E singura solu?ie. Roman din seria Helen Grace Doi ostatici. Un singur glon?. Doar unul va supravie?ui. Sunt suflete-pereche. Vor s?-?i petreac? restul vie?ii ?mpreun?. ?ns? c?nd se trezesc singuri ?i dezorienta?i ?ntr-un subsol p?r?sit, groaza ?i cople?e?te. Nu au la dispozi?ie dec?t o arm? ?nc?rcat? cu un singur glon? ?i ?nso?it? de urm?torul mesaj: ?C?nd unul dintre voi ?l va ucide pe cel?lalt, supravie?uitorul va fi liber“. Cine a putut concepe un astfel de scenariu sinistru, ?n care victimele ?nse?i comit crima? Tortura?i de spaim?, disperare, sete ?i inani?ie, pentru ostatici nu exist? dec?t o singur? cale de a pune cap?t acestui supliciu: unul dintre ei trebuie s? moar?. M. J. Arlidge a creat o eroin? memorabil?: inspectoarea Helen Grace. – Daily Mail O poveste captivant? ?i ?nfrico??toare, scris? magistral. – Sun ??i d? fiori! – Sunday Mirror ?Mi se pare mie sau ?mbr??i??rile noastre nu ne mai prea ?nc?lzesc? ?i nu ne mai ap?r?? De c?nd s-a ?nt?mplat, ne-am ag??at zi ?i noapte unul de altul, dorind s? supravie?uim am?ndoi, dispera?i s? nu r?m?nem singuri ?n locul acesta cumplit. Am jucat tot felul de jocuri ca s? treac? timpul, imagin?ndu-ne ce vom face dup? ce va sosi cavaleria — ce-o s? m?nc?m, ce-o s? le spunem rudelor, ce-o s? primim de Cr?ciun. ?ns? aceste jocuri s-au terminat treptat, pe m?sur? ce am ?n?eles c? am fost adu?i aici cu un scop ?i c? nu va exista un sf?r?it fericit.“

Capitala a c?zut. ?ntunecatul conduce Ravka din tronul s?u de umbre. Acum, soarta ??rii depinde de fragila Invocatoare a Soarelui, de o iscoad? c?zut? ?n dizgra?ie ?i de r?m??i?ele unei armate magice, c?ndva m?rea??. Pornit? ?n c?utarea ultimului amplificator al lui Morozova, Alina ?ncheie noi alian?e ?i las? deoparte vechile rivalit??i. Pe m?sur? ce afl? secretele ?ntunecatului, descoper? un trecut ce va schimba pentru totdeauna felul ?n care vede leg?tura lor, precum ?i puterea cu care e ?nzestrat?. Numai pas?rea de foc mai poate ?mpiedica distrugerea Ravk?i, ?ns? prinderea ei ar putea s? o coste pe Alina viitorul pentru care lupt?. Alina este o marginal? ?i a?a m? sim?eam ?i eu c?nd eram mic?. ??i dore?te foarte mult s? apar?in? unui loc din lumea asta ?i din aceast? cauz? face ni?te alegeri gre?ite. Am fost crescut? de bunicii mei ?ntr-un loc straniu, unde nu prea ?nt?lneai copii. Casa lor se afla pe un deal ?i mai tot timpul eram l?sat? de capul meu. Cred c? ceva din senza?ia aceea de izolare s-a strecurat ?i ?n descrierea Keramzinului (orfelinatul ?n care cresc Alina ?i Mal). – Leigh Bardugo, pentru Entertainment Weekly Elegan?a ?i fluiditatea stilului, ?mpreun? cu acea lume imaginar? des?v?r?it? fac din Trilogia Grisha o pies? de rezisten?? a genului fantasy. – RT Book Reviews Am reu?it s? m? ridic ?n picioare. Capul mi se ?nv?rtea. Mi-am str?ns bra?ul r?nit cu m?na teaf?r? ?i am pornit cl?tin?ndu-m? prin ?ntuneric. Nu vedeam nimic, eram complet dezorientat?. Dar am continuat s? merg prin bezn?, ?ncerc?nd s?-mi deblochez mintea, s? ?ncropesc un plan. ?tiam c? volcrele m? puteau ataca ?n orice clip?, dar era prea riscant s? folosesc lumina. G?nde?te!, m? mustram ?n sinea mea. Nu mai aveam nicio idee. R?m?sesem f?r? explozibili ?i nu puteam folosi T?ietura. M?neca ?mi era plin? de s?nge ?i pa?ii ?mi ?ncetineau. Trebuia s? g?sesc pe cineva s?-mi vindece bra?ul. Trebuia s? m? refac ?i s? atac din nou. Nu puteam fugi iar??i de ?ntunecatul, la fel ca prima oar? c?nd luptaser?m ?n Falie. De atunci, fugisem ?ntruna.

The "Times."?"For its rapid action, in fact, we have seldom read a better story, or one which is more full of incidents, sanguinary, trenchant, and robust."??The "Daily Telegraph."?"A true and a wonderfully well-sustained piece of Oriental life and striking history."??The "Spectator."?"This is a very remarkable book. It is a determined attempt to bring the interior Hindoo and Mussulman life of a great Mahratta province during the most exciting times home to the hearts and understandings of Englishmen, to interest them in people with whom they have nothing except human nature in common."??"Morning Post."?"'Tara' is a unique work. There is nothing like it in the English literature of fiction. No other writer has ever attempted the portrayal of Indian life, society, and interests, entirely free from any European admixture of character or incident. The author himself now does so for the first time. 'The Confessions of a Thug' related to British jurisdiction in India. 'Tippoo Sultan' dealt with the gallant struggles of that monarch against the encroaching British power, but 'Tara' is all Indian."??"Saturday Review."?"It is seldom that we meet with a work of fiction executed with anything like the conscientious care and minute elaboration of Captain Meadows Taylor's Indian Tale. His characters have mostly the clearness and individuality of portraits, and his scenery exhibits all the marked and decisive features of photographs taken on the spot. The work throughout is evidently that of a master of Oriental life and character in love with his subject, to whom nothing appears trivial or beneath notice that can illustrate the peculiar traits of Asiatic nature, or kindle an enthusiasm for knowing more of the history, manners, and usages of our fellow-subjects in the east."??The "Standard."?"In no one part of the work has Captain Taylor shown more thorough art than in those pages in which he details the features of the Hindoo and Ma-homedan family life. He never overloads; his characters are not lay figures attired in triple folds of gorgeous robes to hide their nakedness. With a few subtle touches he shows us the interior life of each household, and the morning springs of every character, and he leaves us to fill in the obvious details for ourselves."???My Lord,?The scenes and characters which i have endeavoured to depict in these volumes will be necessarily new and strange to you; but if they excite interest in the native annals of a country of which i find but little real knowledge existing, the object of the work will have been attained; while, by the kind courtesy which permits me to dedicate it to you, your excellency confers upon me a very sincere gratification.??I have the honour to be,?Your Lordship's very faithful servant,??MEADOWS TAYLOR.

Now ponder well, you parents deare,?These wordes which I shall write;?A doleful story you shall heare,?In time brought forth to light.??A gentleman of good account?In Norfolke dwelt of late.?Who did in honour far surmount?Most men of his estate.??Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,?No helpe his life could save;?His wife by him as sicke did lye,?And both possest one grave.??No love between these two was lost,?Each was to other kinde;?In love they liv'd, in love they dyed,?And left two babes behinde:??The one a fine and pretty boy,?Not passing three yeares olde;?The other a girl more young than he?And fram'd in beautye's molde. Randolph Caldecott (1846 – 1886) was an English artist and illustrator, born in Chester. The Caldecott Medal was named in his honour. He exercised his art chiefly in book illustrations. His abilities as an artist were promptly and generously recognised by the Royal Academy. Caldecott gre-atly influenced illustration of children's books during the nineteenth century. Two books illustrated by him, priced at a shilling each, were published every Christmas for eight years. Caldecott also illustrated novels and accounts of foreign travel, made humorous drawings depicting hunting and fashionable life, drew cartoons and he made sketches of the Houses of Parliament inside and out, and exhibited sculptures and paintings in oil and watercolour in the Royal Academy and galleries. After six years at Whitchurch, Caldecott moved to the head office in Manchester of the Manchester & Salford Bank. He lodged variously in Aberdeen Street, Rusholme Grove and at Bowdon. He took the opportunity to study at night school at the Manchester School of Art and practised continually, with success in local papers and some London publications. It was a habit of his at this time, which he maintained all his life, to decorate his letters, papers and documents of all descriptions with marginal sketches to illustrate the content or provide amusement. A number of his letters have been reprinted with their illustrations in Yours Pictorially, a book edited by Michael Hutchings. In 1870, a painter friend in London, Thomas Armstrong, put Caldecott in touch with Henry Blackburn, the editor of London Society, who published a number of his drawings in several issues of the monthly magazine. Encouraged by this evidence of his ability to support him-self by his art, Caldecott decided to quit his job and move to London; this he did in 1872 at the age of 26. Within two years he had become a successful magazine illustrator working on commission. His work included individual sketches, illustrations of other articles and a series of illustrations of a holiday which he and Henry Blackburn took in the Harz Mountains in Germany. The latter became the first of a number of such series.

THIS BOOK is written for all little lads and lasses, but especially for the former, since it is the true—quite true—story of a little lad who lived to be, perhaps, the greatest king this world has ever seen.?It is a strange, wild tale this of the adventures of Prince Akbar among the snowy mountains between Kandahar and Kabul, and though the names may be a bit of a puzzle at first, as they will have to be learned by and bye in geography and history lessons, it might be as well to get familiar with them in a story-book; though, indeed, as everybody in it except Roy the Rajput, Meroo the cook boy; Tumbu, the dog; and Down, the cat (and these four may have been true, you know, though they have not been remembered) really lived, I don't know whether this book oughtn't to be considered real history, and therefore??A LESSON BOOK:??"Anyhow, I hope you won't find it dull."??STORIES:?FAREWELL ?THE FIRST VICTORY ?THE ROYAL UMBRELLA ?TUMBU-DOWN ?ON THE ROAD ?AT COURT ?WINTER?DOWN'S STRATAGEM?SPRING ?THE NIGHT OF RECORD ?A WINTER MARCH?SNOW AND ICE ?OVER THE PASS ?IN THE VALLEY?DEAREST-LADY?CRUEL BROTHER KUMRAN?IMPRISONMENT?THE GARDEN OF GAMES?BETWIXT CUP AND LIP?ESCAPED?DAWN

THERE are numerous time-honored stories which have become so incorporated into the literature and thought of our race that a knowledge of them is an indispensable part of one's education. These stories are of several different classes. To one class belong the popular fairy tales which have delighted untold generations of children, and will continue to delight them to the end of time. To another class belong the limited number of fables that have come down to us through many channels frorn hoar antiquity. To a third belong the charming stories of olden times that are derived from the literatures of ancient peoples, such as the Greeks and the Hebrews. A fourth class includes the half-legendary tales of a distinctly later origin, which have for their subjects certain romantic episodes in the lives of well-known heroes and famous men, or in the history of a people.??It is to this last class that most of the fifty stories contained in the present volume belong. As a matter of course, some of these stories are better known, and therefore more famous, than others. Some have a slight historical value; some are useful as giving point to certain great moral truths; others are products solely of the fancy, and are intended only to amuse. Some are derived from very ancient sources, and are current in the literature of many lands; some have come to us through the ballads and folk tales of the English people.

M? numesc Gicu ?i sunt poli?ist. Mama crede c? a?a mi-a fost scris ?n marea carte a vie?ii, s? fiu poli?ist, ?i c?, de?i totul pare ?mpotriva mea, Dumnezeu are compasiune pentru mine ?i m? va ajuta. Sunt poli?ist la sec?ia 66 din Bucure?ti, la ordine public?. Acum sunt ?n ?nt?rziere la o ?nt?lnire conspirativ?. Eram decis s? nu m? las impresionat de ceea ce urma s? v?d.De la Universitate o iau pe jos. Ajung t?rziu la ?nt?lnire. Discu?iile introductive au durat mai mult dec?t ar fi fost necesar ?i pentru o clip? m-am ?ntrebat dac? nu era o ?nscenare, ?ns? am respins ideea.

Gndul c a fi putut-o sugruma pe sora mea mai mic, adormit n patul de sub mine i pe care o iubeam mai mult dect orice altceva pe lume. Nu o nebunie slbatic, ci una aproape n joac. O sugestie lene, somnoroas, maliioas, care prea s atepte acolo de mult vreme.“ Acolo, adic n pivnia ntunecoas a fiinei. Gnduri ceoase, impulsuri obscure, vinovii fr vin, acuzaii difuze. Inexplicabilul sau inavuabilul resimite ca reacie fireasc. Benign demonism infantil, dincolo de logic i de orice explicaie. i totul n caruselul Relaiei, cadrul obsedant al acestor istorii de via amar, pestri, derizorie. Relaii ntre prini i copii, surori i frai, bunici i nepoi, unchi, mtui, vecini. Cu avorturi, adultere, accidente, sinucideri, apendicite, bovarism, sex aiurea, decizii pripite de nunt i desprire. Gelozie ntre surori, ura fetiei fa de predicile mamei, Parkinson i Alzheimer, Toronto i Vancouver, baluri provinciale, paralizii, primele fantazri erotice ale vrstei nubile, rochia mamei, azilul, recuperri sentimentale dup jumtate de veac, apologia vieii neinhibate“, dar i rigorile inflexibile ale unui mediu intens irizat religios. Pe scurt, via. Mai precis: draga noastr via. Cea pe care adesea uitm s-o trim, necum s-o mai i gndim.

Azi tr?im o Miori?? r?sturnat?, lumea, ?gur? de rai“, transformat? ?ntr-o lume din ce ?n ce mai mercantil? ?i vanificant?, o lume a g?ndirii economice, cu omogenizarea, dispari?ia diferen?elor, omogenizarea sexelor, a binelui ?i a r?ului, a?a-zisul ?global village“; lumea virtual? care gole?te realitatea, pentru a o umple ?n loc cu ?emo?ii“ dozate de al?ii, ?n tentativa de colectivizare ?i dirijare a sentimentelor ?i g?ndirii oamenilor.Revolu?ia rom?n? a fost o revolu?ie a jertfei mioritice, a tinerilor care au opus r?ului piepturile goale, care a dat, ciudat rod, o societate a corup?iei morale: ea a fost contrapus? ?colhozului global“, at?t sub sensul colectivistic al colhozului comunist, c?t ?i al aceluia omologant, dup? o unic? m?sur?, al popoarelor ?i al valorilor.Cine va recrea punctele cardinale, utopia paradisului mioritic? Noul Ierusalim?Poate c? Miori?a, prin for?a ei spiritual?, ne va reda punctele cardinale ?i pe noi, cei r?t?ci?i de noi, nou? ?n?ine. Altfel, moartea Miori?ei, cea din urm? mioar?, ar fi moartea noastr? a tuturor.

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.

Treasure Island is an adventure novel by Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson, narrating a tale of "buccaneers and buried gold". First published as a book on 23 May 1883, it was originally serialized in the children's magazine Young Folks between 1881 and 1882 under the title Treasure Island or, the mutiny of the Hispaniola with Stevenson adopting the pseudonym Captain George North. Traditionally considered a coming-of-age story, Treasure Island is a tale known for its atmosphere, characters and action, and also as a wry commentary on the ambiguity of morality — as seen in Long John Silver — unusual for children's literature now and then. It is one of the most frequently dramatized of all novels. The influence of Treasure Island on popular perceptions of pirates is enormous, including treasure maps marked with an "X", schooners, the Black Spot, tropical islands, and one-legged seamen carrying parrots on their shoulders. Short Summary of the Book:The novel is divided into six parts and 34 chapters: The novel opens in the seaside village of Black Hill Cove in south-west England (to Stevenson, in his letters and in the related fictional play Admiral Guinea, near Barnstaple, Devon) in the mid-18th century. The narrator, James "Jim" Hawkins, is the young son of the owners of the Admiral Benbow Inn. An old drunken seaman named Billy Bones becomes a long-term lodger at the inn, only paying for about the first week of his stay. Jim quickly realizes that Bones is in hiding, and that he particularly dreads meeting an unidentified seafaring man with one leg. Some months later, Bones is visited by a mysterious sailor named Black Dog. Their meeting turns violent, Black Dog flees and Bones suffers a stroke. While Jim cares for him, Bones confesses that he was once the mate of a notorious late pirate, Captain Flint, and that his old crewmates want Bones' sea chest. Some time later, another of Bones' crew mates, a blind man named Pew, appears at the inn and forces Jim to lead him to Bones. Pew gives Bones a paper. After Pew leaves, Bones opens the paper to discover it is marked with the Black Spot, a pirate summons, with the warning that he has until ten o'clock to meet their demands. Bones drops dead of apoplexy (in this context, a stroke) on the spot. Jim and his mother open Bones' sea chest to collect the amount due to them for Bones' room and board, but before they can count out the money that they are owed, they hear pirates approaching the inn and are forced to flee and hide, Jim taking with him a mysterious oilskin packet from the chest. The pirates, led by Pew, find the sea chest and the money, but are frustrated that there is no sign of "Flint's fist". Customs men approach and the pirates escape to their vessel (all except for Pew, who is accidentally run down and killed by the agents' horses).

rk élet! Az emberiség si vágya. Mely megvalósíthatatlan - vagy mégsem Nathaniel Delinger, a látnok zseni a csillagok kztt találja meg ennek lehetségét. A neve: Endümión. Mert ugyan sokaknak vágya az rk élet - de van, aki nem akarja, hogy bárki rkké éljen. s ezért akár az rklétet is képes elpusztítani. Owen, a fiatal nyomozó, egy gyilkossági ügy kapcsán 8 feladvánnyal szembesül, mely egyre kzelebb visz Endümión titkához - és kzelebb egy hazugság leleplezdéséhez. Az elkvetk célja, hogy elutazhassanak Endümiónra, ahol az rk élet várja ket, hogy megszabaduljanak a Fld haláltól terhes világától. Vajon Endümión tényleg az az eszményi hely s mi az a szilánk, és hogyan kerül a Fldre GARZ LSZL fantáziájának sem a tér, sem az id nem szabhat határokat. A szerz fordulatokban gazdag kalandos sci-fi trténete új izgalmas világokba repíti az olvasót.

Lauren Hope a fiatal, gyönyör?, és céltudatos n? minden kétséget kizáróan hisz benne. Két nagy álma van: sikeres író szeretne lenni, és meg akarja ismerni az igaz szerelmet, melyr?l a nagy könyvekben írnak. Egy nap messzire utazik abban a reményben, hogy fájdalmait maga mögött hagyhatja. Akkor még nem is sejti, hogy ez az utazás alapjaiban változtatja meg az életét. Távol otthonától a véletlennek köszönhet?en megismerkedik egy titokzatos, jókép? zenésszel. Dylan Duprés, a biztonságot sugárzó férfi, Lauren álmainak lehetséges megvalósítója, egyben minden probléma forrása. Vajon milyen hatással lesz Lauren életére ennek a rejtélyes férfinek a felbukkanása? Elképzelhet?, hogy mindkét álma valóra válik? És ha választania kell? Zsarnai Beáta - a N?k Lapjához tartozó Cafeblog kiemelt bloggerének - els? regénye a sors hatalmáról.

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."

Inspirat de o tem? pe care o prime?te de la noul s?u profesor de ?tiin?e sociale, micul Trevor are o idee menit? s? schimbe lumea. O ambi?ie uria?? pentru un pu?ti de numai doisprezece ani, dar care reu?e?te, ?n ciuda obstacolelor, s? nu-?i piard? idealismul ?i s? demonstreze c? to?i putem fi capabili de fapte bune.?n jocul aritmetic al lui Trevor, de la un singur om care face trei lucruri importante pentru trei oameni diferi?i, se poate ajunge la o lume ?ntreag? ?n care o favoare primit? nu se ?ntoarce, ci se r?spl?te?te d?nd mai departe ajutorul celor care au nevoie de el.?O capodoper? cu un final incendiar." Kirkus Reviews?Foarte puternic… dialoguri veridice ?i nuan?e care fac personajele mai vii dec?t ar fi ?n realitate." Chicago Tribune?Catherine Ryan Hyde ne conduce c?tre un final curajos ?i puternic." Los Angeles Times?Filosofia din spatele c?r?ii este at?t de interesant?, iar optimismul ei at?t de contagios, ?nc?t cititorul absoarbe f?r? s?-?i dea seama o poveste de care-?i va aminti mult? vreme." The Denver Post

Summary: Sara Crewe, a pupil at Miss Minchin's London school, is left in poverty when her father dies, but is later rescued by a mysterious benefactor. ?"Once on a dark winter's day, when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shop windows blazed with gas as they do at night, an odd-looking little girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through the big thoroughfares." ? She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her father, who held her in his arm, as she stared out of the window at the passing people with a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes. ? She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small face. It would have been an old look for a child of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven. The fact was, however, that she was always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not herself remember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up people and the world they belonged to. She felt as if she had lived a long, long time. ? "The Little Princes, in this Illustrated book, a fantastic girl who Principally, she was thinking of what a queer thing it was that at one time one was in India in the blazing sun, and then in the middle of the ocean, and then driving in a strange vehicle through strange streets where the day was as dark as the night. She found this so puzzling that she moved closer to her father.." Illustrated by Murat UKray, By e-Kitap Projesi

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.