Jumat, 30 Mei 2014

~ Ebook Going Off Script: How I Survived a Crazy Childhood, Cancer, and Clooney's 32 On-Screen Rejections, by Giuliana Rancic

Ebook Going Off Script: How I Survived a Crazy Childhood, Cancer, and Clooney's 32 On-Screen Rejections, by Giuliana Rancic

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Going Off Script: How I Survived a Crazy Childhood, Cancer, and Clooney's 32 On-Screen Rejections, by Giuliana Rancic

Going Off Script: How I Survived a Crazy Childhood, Cancer, and Clooney's 32 On-Screen Rejections, by Giuliana Rancic



Going Off Script: How I Survived a Crazy Childhood, Cancer, and Clooney's 32 On-Screen Rejections, by Giuliana Rancic

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Going Off Script: How I Survived a Crazy Childhood, Cancer, and Clooney's 32 On-Screen Rejections, by Giuliana Rancic

Now in paperback, the New York Times bestseller from the entertainment journalist, television personality, reality show star, and author, Giuliana Rancic.
 
In her hilarious memoir Going Off Script, Giuliana Rancic gives readers an honest look at her life on and off camera. From a young age she dreamed of becoming a TV anchorwoman, but her path to her dream job was far from straight, leading her instead to Hollywood news and a bounty of LA misadventures (featuring notables such as Johnny Depp, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Russell Crowe).
 
In spite of her glamorous Hollywood life, however, Giuliana could not escape some rockier times, including her battles with infertility and breast cancer. Here, she reveals the whole truth behind her well-publicized struggles, and the highly controversial decisions she had to make.
 
Candid, funny, and poignant, Going Off Script is an autobiography that proves you don't always have to follow the rules to get the life you've always dreamed of.

  • Sales Rank: #573607 in Books
  • Published on: 2016-03-01
  • Released on: 2016-03-01
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 7.99" h x .63" w x 5.15" l, .81 pounds
  • Binding: Paperback
  • 272 pages

About the Author
GIULIANA RANCIC (née DePandi) was born in Naples, Italy, and moved to the United States when she was seven. She is an entertainment journalist, a red-carpet interviewer par excellence, the creator of her own wine and clothing lines, the author of Think Like a Guy, and the coauthor of I Do, Now What? with her husband Bill Rancic. She lives in Los Angeles and Chicago with her husband, Bill and their son, Duke.

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Hurts me to have read it....................
By Nancita
I am so sorry to say...I was disappointed. I guess I like the TV persona better. I understand she has been through so much but find it sad about all the yelling (I understand her heritage),"f-ing" --horrible language..., hitting............I am shocked. I just can't see Bill Rancic acting like this and worry for little Duke...gift from God! I am happy for her happiness, honestly, but am saddened by her being so self-absorbed. I realized that while I am watching her on HSN I am watching "TV" Giuliana and not the "real" person. Sad. I wish i had not read it. I could just hear her screaming at people and I did not like it. She represents L.A. to me now-Fake.... while Bill represents High Moral Midwestern Values. Hope I am not wrong about him. As I said in the beginning...It hurts me to have read it. I wish her all the best life has to offer and pray for her to continue to be cancer free and to love and nurture little Duke...plus have a wonderful long marriage with Bill and a HAPPY EVER AFTER.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Five Stars
By Jenny Whitsitt
Great read!

10 of 10 people found the following review helpful.
Upbeat, clever and fun
By AAJ77
This is not normally the genre of books I read, but I needed something different and thought "what the heck?" I was pleasantly amazed to find that Giuliana is quite a good writer. She writes in a very upbeat, humorous, sarcastic and matter-of-fact way that is very easy to read. Unlike a few other celebrity memoirs I've had the displeasure of reading, it is not crass, the grammar is good and she doesn't spend chapters and chapters extolling her own virtues or feeling sorry for herself. You get a good sense of who she was at various stages in life. As a fan of her reality show, it was interesting to read about what she was really thinking and feeling at certain times. It is refreshing to read a book written by a woman whose hard work, determination and positive attitude has gotten her where she is today.

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Kamis, 29 Mei 2014

^ PDF Download Patriot Hearts: A Novel of the Founding Mothers, by Barbara Hambly

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Patriot Hearts: A Novel of the Founding Mothers, by Barbara Hambly

Patriot Hearts: A Novel of the Founding Mothers, by Barbara Hambly



Patriot Hearts: A Novel of the Founding Mothers, by Barbara Hambly

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Patriot Hearts: A Novel of the Founding Mothers, by Barbara Hambly

When Martha Dandridge Custis marries her second husband, George, she never suspects that the soft-spoken Virginia planter is destined to command the founding of a nation—or that she is to be “Lady Washington,” the woman at the first President’s side. Only a select inner circle of women will know the cost of sharing a beloved man with history . . . and each will draw strength from the unique treasure given to them by a doomed queen.

Seeing farm and family through each harsh New England season, Abigail Adams is sustained only by the fervent reunions stolen between John’s journeys abroad. She will face the terror of an ocean crossing to join her husband in France—and write her own page in history. And there she will cross paths with kings, commoners—and young Sally Hemings.

Just as Sally had grown from a clever child to a beautiful woman, so had her relationship with Thomas Jefferson grown from a friendship between slave and master to one entangled in the complexities of black and white, decorum and desire. It is a relationship that will leave Sally to face an agonizingly wrenching choice.

Dolley Madison, too, must live with the repercussions of a forbidden love affair—although she will confront even greater trials as a President’s wife. But Dolley will become one of the best-loved ladies of the White House—and leave an extraordinary legacy of her own.

A lushly written novel that traces the marriages tested by the demands of love and loyalty, Patriot Hearts offers readers a dazzling glimpse behind the scenes of a revolution, from adversity and treachery to teatime strategies, as four magnificent women shape a nation’s future.


From the Hardcover edition.

  • Sales Rank: #146731 in Books
  • Brand: Brand: Bantam
  • Published on: 2007-12-26
  • Released on: 2007-12-26
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 8.18" h x .94" w x 5.22" l, .75 pounds
  • Binding: Paperback
  • 448 pages
Features
  • Used Book in Good Condition

From Publishers Weekly
Hambly (The Emancipator's Wife) showcases three wives and one concubine who kept the founding fathers happy at home and handled a gauntlet of crises with grace and fortitude. Martha Washington followed George to his Revolutionary War battlefield headquarters, used Southern hospitality to ease the political turf wars that dogged the nascent union and bolstered the charismatic general-turned-president as he united a squabbling nation. Formidable Abigail Adams could dissect the politics of the new republic and shoot the breeze about "Voltaire, Cicero, and Plutarch" with her husband, John, but had to endure long absences from her beloved and her son Charley's early death. When the invading British set fire to the capital in 1814, charming Dolley Madison rescued important cabinet papers. Slave Sally Hemings suffered the jealousies of Patsy, master and lover Thomas Jefferson's daughter. This is less a dramatically tense novel than a set of discrete fictionalized portraits designed to give history's women their due. Though it's likely too slow for fans of Revolutionary War fiction and not steamy enough for historical romance buffs, it'll find a niche among readers of women's fiction. (Jan.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From Booklist
Moving back and forth in time from 1787 to 1814, Hambly presents the lives of four founding mothers: Martha Washington, Abigail Adams, Sally Hemings, and Dolley Madison. She turns the spotlight on the marriages, families, housekeeping, trials, and joys that played out backstage while men performed their public roles; and the fact that this is a novel allows Hambly to imagine much more intimate detail than would be possible in a work of history. She avoids pretty pictures; the women are not romanticized or sentimentalized. Slavery snakes through the book, mostly of course in the portions devoted to Sally Hemings, but it figures in the other women's lives as well. (Although First Lady, Martha invents errands that will send her servants back to Mount Vernon so they won't have been in Philadelphia long enough to be considered free.) This is superior historical fiction, firm in its grasp of history, not showy in its period details. It brings these women out of the shadows and endows them with flesh and blood. Mary Ellen Quinn
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

Review
“A set of discrete fictionalized portraits designed to give history's women their due.”–Publishers Weekly

“entertaining.... A charming vision of the founding moms as gal pals.”—USA Today

“Paired with Founding Mothers, [Patriot Hearts] is a sure bet for a lively book discussion session.”—Library Journal


From the Hardcover edition.

Most helpful customer reviews

14 of 15 people found the following review helpful.
Mixed Feelings For Patriot Hearts
By Bonnie Jo Davis
Barbara Hambly is clearly a talented writer and writes well researched fiction. The stories in this book are compelling and interesting but the book is extremely hard to read. I normally finish a book in three days... this book took me three weeks to read and I almost gave up on it before finishing. Why? The viewpoint shifts from chapter to chapter to different women (many of whom share the same name). There is more than one Abigail, Nabby, Mary, etc. No warning is given when the viewpoint changes and the shift is often confusing and misleading. I had to read several chapters more than once and still couldn't figure out whose story I was reading! The subject matter is wonderful and the historical details are fascinating but the effort required to read the book may be too much for some people.

10 of 11 people found the following review helpful.
A well-written and interesting account of four relationships during the Revolution
By Bookreporter
Barbara Hambly writes that PATRIOT HEARTS "is a book about the relationships of four women --- Martha Washington, Abigail Adams, Sally Hemings and Dolley Madison --- with their families, with their men, with the societies they lived in, with the choices their men made...and with one another."

The setting changes from the cities of Philadelphia and Washington, to the pastoral farm and plantation lands these women called home. The action begins in Washington City on August 24, 1814. Dolley Madison gathers household goods, personal belongings and memorabilia from her past three predecessors into a rough cart. Forced to flee the city due to approaching British troops, she gives in to her staff's demands. Admiral Cockburn has pledged to parade James and Dolley Madison through the streets, shackled and fettered. Dolley's concern is for her "Jemmy," not herself. They plan to join one another safe in the countryside, far from the chaos of the Washington scene.

Hambly uses chronology to keep the reader focused on the happenings of the times about which she writes. In 1787, life at Mount Vernon Plantation in Fairfax, Virginia, centers on planning the next season's crops, tending to the gardens and sharing in the care of a family, complete with grandchildren. Martha's heartrate rises with the announcement of a visitor, James Madison. Since George retired from active military command after the revolt against England, Madison has been pressing him to become the new country's first President. George has refused, but now there is a new urgency in Madison's vocal thundering.

Martha had joined her husband in his winter encampments during the war years, warring within herself about her personal loyalties: home at Mount Vernon with children and family, or at the side of her husband near the battlefield. It is a choice she cannot condemn or condone. For years, she is convinced that public life has destroyed her family's stability.

Abigail Adams rushes to her daughter Nabby's side to welcome her first grandchild into the world. In the eight war years, Nabby had grown more quiet and withdrawn as a child; Abigail often wonders if her little girl will break a long period of silence. Now, the shared bonds of motherhood will begin the healing process. Nabby's husband, Col. William Smith, is not the soulmate Abigail would have chosen.

Dolley Madison continues with her escape plan in 1814 and remembers her own initial experience with life apart from a strict Quaker upbringing, dictated by a stern father. She is being coerced into marriage with a Quaker man, John Todd, whom she doesn't love; instead, she wants to marry a man who will make her smile.

The fourth patriot woman recorded in this book is Sally Hemings, mistress of Thomas Jeffferson. Sally, a mulatto slave woman, holds a unique place in presidential history, from the perspective of one who does not entertain as the President's hostess. Instead, she keeps the home plantation healthy, yearning for Jefferson's return there. His daughter, Patsy, retains control of Washington entertainment. Before his election, Jefferson has been outspoken about states' rights. Widowed, he is an ambassador to France when Patsy is a young girl; he has formulated much of his political ideology. Sally accompanies them to France and lives publicly as his mistress. Social mores in France are more accepting of interracial coupling than in the American culture. When their return to the United States is imminent, Sally faces the hard choice of remaining in France as a free woman or living her former life as a slave.

All in all, PATRIOT HEARTS is well-written and holds the reader's interest. Martha Washington, though a reluctant Presidentress, becomes the steadfast thread linking the other three. Hambly shows the evolution of political change in Washington but spices history with her own take on the personalities of the women involved.

--- Reviewed by Judy Gigstad

9 of 10 people found the following review helpful.
Tries to do a bit too much but still a good book.
By Starfire
I've read Barbara Hambly books for a number of years and I'm delighted to see her turning her talents to historical fiction. Patriot Hearts is not, as the author notes in the introduction, a four in one biography but rather scenes of these four remarkable women during different times of their turbulent lives. That is both a strength and weakness of this book, in my opinion. Just when I was totally engrossed in one segment, the plot jumps around to another one of the four at another time of their lives. On the plus side, Hambly does a superb job of telling what these women sacrificed for their country, as well as their men. Families disrupted, long absences from home and from each other and more than a little danger of losing their lives or their husbands. Martha Washington's tangled family relations, Abigail Adams' isolated life in New England (when she wasn't in Europe with John) and of course, the great enigma, Sally Hemings. No one knows how Sally Hemings really felt about Thomas Jefferson but Ms. Hambly does a creditable job of sorting out this most complicated relationship. My favorite is Dolley Madison and you feel with her a nerve jangling tension as she waits at the doomed White House for her President husband to return. The uncertainty of true chaos as order shatters around her only increases one's admiration of her.

Even though some of the skipping around may frustrate you a bit, I still highly recommend this book.

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Minggu, 25 Mei 2014

>> Free PDF Unravel: A Novel, by Calia Read

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Unravel: A Novel, by Calia Read

Calia Read breaks the mold in this explosive novel that grabs hold and doesn’t let go until the shocking truth is revealed.

One kiss can change everything.
 
One month ago I was admitted to a psych ward. Yesterday, Lachlan told me I’m losing my mind. But I know what I saw. Will you believe me?
 
Behind the walls of a mental hospital, Naomi Carradine feels her world breaking to pieces. She’s starting to believe all the voices questioning her sanity. Only visitors from the outside world keep her tethered to reality. But deep in her thoughts, Naomi is haunted by memories of a golden summer that twisted into a waking nightmare of obsessive love and fractured truths.
 
Just home from college, Naomi moves in with her best friend, Lana, the daughter of a Virginia senator. At a lavish party thrown by Lana’s father, Naomi meets a sexy stockbroker named Max and finds herself unable to resist his charms. One fiery kiss and she’s going back for more, beginning a terrifying descent. Having witnessed the unspeakable, Naomi has only one hope of escape: unraveling the devastating secrets of her past.
 
Unravel is intended for mature audiences.

Praise for Unravel
 
“A sexy, mysterious, and enthralling story . . . Calia Read’s words are so captivating, they’ll hold you hostage and throw you into loops you’ll never see coming.”—Claire Contreras, author of There Is No Light in Darkness

  • Sales Rank: #74544 in Books
  • Published on: 2014-08-26
  • Released on: 2014-08-26
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 8.00" h x .70" w x 5.20" l, .81 pounds
  • Binding: Paperback
  • 336 pages

Review
“A sexy, mysterious, and enthralling story . . . Calia Read’s words are so captivating, they’ll hold you hostage and throw you into loops you’ll never see coming.”—Claire Contreras, author of There Is No Light in Darkness

About the Author
Calia Read is the author of Unravel, Breaking the Wrong, and Every Which Way. She lives in Germany with her husband and their four kids.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1

BREATHE ON GLASS

I gaze out the window at thousands of snowflakes fluttering to the ground. I press my face against the pane, aching for freedom. But it isn’t a thin layer of glass that’s blocking me from the outside, it’s the truth.

Most people believe the truth is a delicate little bird. They think it’s harmless.

But I know something they don’t.

If they dare to move their hands away from their body, they’ll discover that the little bird is gone. It’s torn their skin apart and traveled to the core of their soul, right where it hurts the most.

And that’s why I’m here and they aren’t.

I press my forehead against the window and breathe on the glass. Mist forms and my tally appears. I put another mark on the glass. Thirty days.

Thirty days since I’d been involuntarily admitted to Fairfax Mental Health Institute.

Seven hundred and twenty hours of opening my eyes every morning to an unfamiliar room. Seven hundred and twenty hours of having nurses coming in and out of my room every hour. Seven hundred and twenty hours of being monitored around the clock like I’m a toddler and can’t be trusted.

I watch a fly moving across the window, frantically trying to find a way out into the world.

“I’ve already tried, dummy.” I tap my finger against the window. “They have these suckers bolted tight.”

The fly stops moving, as if it can hear me. Sooner or later, it’s going to find a way out. I feel envy, thick and powerful, flow throughout my body. I want to slam my palm against this insect, killing any chance of its escape.

This is what my life has been stripped down to. I’m envious of a fucking fly.

Loudly, someone knocks on my door.

One, two, three . . .

Three is the magic number for my nurse. It’s as if those few seconds will allow her to brace herself for what she’ll discover on the other side.

Mary stands in the doorway. I take in her short brown hair and colorful scrubs. “You have a visitor,” she says.

I move away from the window. My heart beats the same monotonous rhythm every day, but in seconds it speeds up. The tone sounds different. It isn’t dull. It’s interesting and new and exciting. It’s beautiful. And it can only mean one thing.

Lachlan Halstead.

Before I leave the room I look over my shoulder. The fly’s gone.

“Lucky,” I mumble under my breath as I walk out of my room.

Anyone who ever doubts whether madness exists need only look right here. It drifts throughout every room. It slides down the sterile hallways and attaches itself to every patient, stripping them of their hope and covering them with despair.

Some people don’t react. But the ones that do, scream. Their shouts echo throughout the building. The nurses run down the hallway and a few seconds later those screams turn into moans and then stop. When I first arrived, those screams sent a chill down my spine. But now I’m used to it.

As Mary and I walk down the hall, a nurse and a brunette patient pass by. My steps get slower. I stare at the brunette. Her hair is cut short. Her skin is pale, but underneath the fluorescent lighting its tone takes on a yellow hue. Her body is emaciated. There are track marks all over her arms, telling their own story. She meets my gaze. Her soul shines through her eyes, and asks, “How the hell am I still alive?”

I have no answer.

Mary stops at two locked doors. She enters a four-digit code and the doors slowly open. It’s like we’re entering hell. The rec room is the most depressing place in Fairfax Mental Health Institute. This is where everyone is shoved together.

Mary pushes me forward. The blinds are open, letting sunlight pour in and making the tan linoleum floors blindingly white. Tables are spread throughout the room. A few people are sitting down, playing board games or watching the television mounted on the wall. The news plays so softly the captions are on.

But most people do nothing. They stare straight ahead, their eyes vacant.

There are so many minds around me that are wasting away. But I have someone that keeps me coasting above insanity, and he’s only a few steps away from me.

My body relaxes as I watch Lachlan. He’s sitting at a table next to the windows. His thick brows slant low as he scans the outdoors. His tan hand reaches up and loosens his dark blue silk tie. His brown hair is still cut short, with a few strands brushing his forehead.

If I blink, he’s just a boy with a cocky smile that comes from a child’s naivety. Wiry frame. The best friend that stole my heart. When I open my eyes that image disappears, and in front of me is a man. His cockiness has evaporated into experience. His body has filled out. And now, not only does he own my heart, he possesses my soul.

He’s always been an extension of me, and you cannot be that close to someone and expect your pain not to spread. I know that my sadness is his sadness.

I move across the room. Lachlan is still looking outside. I squint my eyes and follow his gaze to the naked tree closest to the window. It’s the same tree I always look at. Its branches have been stripped of their leaves and bow from the cold wind. For the last week, I’ve watched a frozen water drop on one of the lower branches. It hangs there, looking ready to fall.

The weak branch sways in the air, but the water drop remains. If the ice drop can hold on, then perhaps I can hang on to my small bit of sanity.

I pull out the chair across from Lachlan.

His eyes meet mine. It’s a shock to my nerves. My blood rushes straight to my head.

“How are you?” he asks.

My feet rest on the edge of the seat. I place my chin on my knees, refusing to look away from him. He visits frequently. But those visits seems to stretch farther and farther apart.

“I’m the same as two days ago,” I say.

Lachlan stares at me levelly. His eyes are sharp. They miss nothing. “Have you been talking to your doctor?”

I look out the window, away from his gaze.

An exhausted sigh escapes him. Lachlan drags his hands through his hair. “I miss you, Naomi.”

“I miss you too.” My voice cracks.

“You know you don’t belong here, right?”

I nod.

“Then you need to try and get better.” Lachlan looks around the room like he’s watching a circus. His jaw hardens. “It fucking kills me to leave you here.”

I reach across the table and place my hand on top of Lachlan’s. His eyes become hooded as he looks at it. He turns his hand over and his fingers move across my wrist, making my skin burn. With his palm faceup, he swallows my hand in his own. “You love me?”

I look Lachlan dead in the eye. “You know I do.” My words should have given him hope, but now he just looks deflated. “If you love me, then you need to get better.”

“I’m trying,” I insist. I try to move my hand.

Lachlan’s grip tightens. “No, you’re not.”

“I can’t ignore everything that’s happened,” I say in an intense whisper.

He leans in, his face inches from mine. “I told you I wouldn’t stop fighting. I told you that you weren’t in this alone, and you crumbled.”

I jerk my hand back. He lets go. I can handle a lot of things, but hearing those words come out of his mouth feels like someone has cut a piece of my heart off.

He stares down at the table, where our hands were once intertwined. “This is destroying you,” he murmurs. “The Naomi I know would have never just given up so quickly. She would have fought to stay in the present.”

“I am fighting. Look around you, Lach,” I say. “How do you think I’ve lasted this long here?”

“You know why you’re here?” he asks sharply.

I don’t say a word.

“You’re here because you fell apart.”

I flinch because, true or not, I can’t go up against Lachlan’s words. He’s going to come out as the sane one. His words will make sense before mine ever will.

My heart thunders in my ears, and my vision blurs. I see a woman with sad eyes, staring at herself in the mirror. And I see Max lying beside me in bed. In one quick move I’m above him, and he smiles up at me, his hands gripping my waist.

And then the image disappears. I groan and press the heel of my hands into my eyes.

“Naomi, look at me.”

I lower my hands. Lachlan sits across from me, staring at me intensely.

His hand is around my neck. His thumb brushes across my skin and my body jolts.

“Are you with me right now?” he asks.

Yes . . . no . . . maybe. Every day is an unknown for me. Every day I wake up feeling like I’m surrounded by a heavy fog and I know I’m missing a piece of myself, and I don’t know where it is.

I answer Lachlan honestly. “For now I am.”

There’s a two-second pause as he looks me in the eye. A pause that makes my stomach twist and my blood roar through my veins. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He looks like he’s battling his feelings, but I watch as he loses. His eyes lock with mine and then he kisses me hard on the mouth.

Instantly, I come alive. And that’s what a good kiss should do. It should speak to you the second your lips connect.

You don’t think.

You react.

You feel.

For Lachlan and me, it’s always been this way. All I can hear from this kiss is, “Remember me. I’m real.”

I respond the only way I know how, the way Lachlan showed me in the past. His hands hold my face in place. The pressure of his lips declines when I move my mouth against his. He makes a noise and grips my face tighter. It triggers memories of who I used to be. Behind my eyes, memories start to play on a projector. Each one has Lachlan. The two of us in a field, lighting rockets. Staring at the stars and talking until the sun comes up. I see myself smiling and carefree and so happy.

For a brief moment, I feel at peace. Lachlan’s tongue slips between my lips. A shudder moves through me as I open my mouth wider. My fingers move up his arms, toward his neck. Just when hope starts to flicker in me, Mary clears her throat.

Lachlan pulls away first. His pupils are dilated; his lips are swollen from our kiss. I lick my lips, trying to get a piece of that kiss back. Mary clears her throat louder this time. I glance up.

“Mr. Halstead,” she says, “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

He removes his hand from the back of my neck. My skin instantly feels cold. My arms drop heavily onto the table as I watch Lachlan stand up.

He looks at Mary. “Give me just a minute,” he says.

Mary’s eyes move between the two of us. She sighs. “One minute,” she warns, and walks away.

Lachlan leans close to me. I keep my gaze on the table, but the smooth surface starts to blur as tears pool in my eyes. Something terrible is brewing. I can feel it.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he says.

I look at him. I see the pain in his eyes. “I need you to visit me,” my voice cracks. “It’s the only thing keeping me going.”

Lachlan looks out the window. My fingers reach out and I grip the collar of his shirt, forcing him to look directly at me.

“You can’t leave me.”

A tense silence wraps around us. He looks at me through his eyelashes, his expression grim. One by one, his fingers wrap around my wrists. Firmly, he pulls my fingers off his shirt.

“I’m not leaving you. That’s the last thing I want. But I don’t think I’m helping you. I think I just make everything worse,” he says slowly.

“You help me,” I insist. “Whenever you visit things are better.”

Lachlan says nothing.

“You’re just having a bad day. I’m having a bad day. Tomorrow things will be better, and—”

His head turns. I see the look in his eyes. It doesn’t matter what I say. He isn’t going to change his mind.

Everything around me has been a chaotic mess, yet he has stood firm. And now he’s shredding my world.

This must be what hell feels like. It has to be. My lungs are constricting. I can’t breathe. I rub my eyes with my palms, moving my head back and forth in denial. If Lachlan stops coming, I’m afraid of what will happen. My sanity is being held together by a threadbare string. I’ll break before that frozen water drop does.

Feeling his hand on my shoulder makes me shake. He squeezes once. I force my hands to stay on the table.

His hand drifts away. There Lachlan goes, walking out of my life.

I turn in my chair. “Wait!”

Lachlan turns around.

At this point, I’m desperate. I know I’m losing him. “Do you remember what you said to me a year ago?” I ask.

His jaw tightens. He looks away and I know he’s trying not to respond to my question, but he can’t help himself. Even when you’re angry, love tugs at your soul in the most painful way. It makes you care—makes you feel—when that’s the last thing you want.

He nods stiffly.

“Then, please, don’t do this,” I say.

He steps forward.

“Lachlan,” Mary calls out behind him.

He stops.

I plead with my eyes. Seconds pass and I think he’s going to tell Mary to fuck off. I think he’s going to say he didn’t mean what he said. But he slowly backs away.

The world rips out from under my feet. I’m in a free fall, frantically trying to grab onto anything that will save me.

Lachlan’s figure starts to become hazy. My skull feels like it’s been cracked in half. I grip the table and slump forward. Tables and chairs disappear into thin air. The walls crack and shatter to the floor. New walls, the rich shade of brown, burst from the ground. The tan linoleum floors fade into plush, white carpet.

The windows shatter around me. A cold gust of air bursts into the room. I curl my fingers around my head and moan. Shards of glass rotate through the air. They miss my body by inches before they disintegrate. A large window fits into the wall with a loud suction noise. Sunlight fades away, replaced by the soft glow of moonlight.

Then everything stops.

Most helpful customer reviews

83 of 93 people found the following review helpful.
MIND FREAKING BLOWING!!!!
By The Little Black Book Blog
"Just remember that even the purest of souls have darkness in them. It might be hard to spot. Perhaps they've perfected the art of covering it from the world. Or maybe it's hidden in a dark corner of their mind. But it's there."

Upon finishing this book at 4am three words came to mind "Holy. F***ing. s***". Yup folks this book blew my mother effing mind!!!! And I mean totally and completely mind-f***ed me, goosebumps up and down my arms, jaw hanging open. Hours later the details of the plot stayed with me and ran through my head until I fell asleep. To say I have a book hangover would be an understatement.

At the start of Unravel, for reasons unknown to her, the main character Naomi has been admitted to a mental institution and she is extremely lost without anyone to believe her story. Through therapy sessions with her new doctor and flashbacks, her shocking story quite literally unravels until the very last page leaving you in absolute awe!!

I cannot tell you too many details of the story because there are so many hidden layers that must be peeled back as you go, but I can tell you a little bit of what you're in for:

"Anyone that has the power to open up your heart without you even knowing, should terrify you."

1. A beautiful, sexy and conquering all - even the mind - love story. Naomi has not one but two equally lovable men who are there for her in different parts of her life.

There is Max - strong, assertive and extremely sexy businessman who has a sexually charged magnetic pull with Naomi from the start.

"His eyes lock with mine and then he kisses me hard on the mouth. Instantly my soul wakes up. And that's what a good kiss should do. It should make you come alive. It speaks to you the minute your lips connect. You don't think. You react. You feel."

Then there's Lachlan - kind, caring and gentle, Naomi's childhood crush, her best friend, and first love who supports her through everything. If you're thinking "love triangle?", no that's not what I'm getting at here. You just have to read to find out how it all plays out between Naomi, Max and Lachlan.

2. Next on the list is a plot that will blow you away! There are so many shocking details within the book that tie together flawlessly. You may be confused for a while but it all leads up to an epic realization that will have you contemplating every detail until the wee hours of the morning.

3. Some seriously steamy sex scenes!!! Holy crap these were hot!! They were different each time, necessary and very intimate...and yes I was fanning myself, panting and simultaneously swooning.

"God offers to every mind its choice between truth and repose. Take which you please - you can never have both."

4. Amazing writing!!! I think I was a little bit highlight happy while I was reading. I just love how Calia Read writes!! If you have not read one of her books yet, I highly recommend it!!! She's a fantastic and captivating writer and this book was no exception.

5. A minor adult content warning. I would probably define this book as a psychological thriller romance. It sort of had a 'Girl Interrupted' feel to me but with more romance elements at play. Fair warning: There is some discreet but disturbing rape content in the book. I don't want to sway you away from reading it but if you are easily disturbed by this type of content, then I urge you to proceed with caution.

If I could put up a 10 star rating I would!! It's early but I'm pretty sure this is a new 2014 favorite! I know there has been a lot of anticipation for this release and I can confirm that it is rightfully so!!! If you've made it this far through my rambling, I encourage you to now stop what you're doing, head over to Amazon, one-click this baby and start reading right away because this is a book you will not want to miss out on!

22 of 22 people found the following review helpful.
A unique mind bender
By Misha
This is the kind of book designed to make your head spin, and Calia Read definitely delivered in that department. I'm still feeling a little off-kilter after finishing Unravel this morning. The fun thing about a book like this is going back through the scenes in your mind after you learn the truth and seeing how all the details fit together and what the clues were that could have pointed you in that direction.

I will say that around the halfway mark in this book I was pretty sure I had figured out part of the story (and I was right). I don't think it impacted my feelings as I finished the book, however, since there was another part to the story that completely blindsided me. I loved that moment when my jaw dropped and I yelled "No way!" Not only did that twist surprise me, but it also resolved a struggle I was having with the romantic relationships in the book. That made the conclusion even more satisfying for me.

What I enjoyed the most about this book was the guessing game in my head. As I read each chapter I couldn't stop wondering how and why Naomi ended up where she was and the true status of her sanity. I was constantly doubting what was real or not when it came to both her memories and her present day interactions. You just didn't know, and that suspense element was so well done. My only complaint is that I wish the ending had been rounded out a bit more. The big reveal comes right before the end, and I was left feeling like I needed more details to understood how and why it all happened.

I really enjoyed this book. It was unique and the kind of book you don't want to put down. The skill it takes to write a book like this is impressive. I would definitely recommend Unravel if you are looking for something different that will keep your mind engaged and make you question everything you read.

29 of 37 people found the following review helpful.
Ms. Reads BEST NOVEL YET!
By lrut07
FAVE OF 2014!

I had been chomping at the bit to get this little token in my hands, since the title and snippet were released. I was instantly intrigued and knew, just knew, that I was going to love every second of it. And loved it, I did. But it wasn't just the story that had me, it was everything. Every detail, every character, the writing, the flow, the emotions---those emotions ate me up, and most importantly how sucked in and wrapped up in the story that I became. This is a story that has you guessing until the very last page. So needless to say, I was MIND.BLOWN!

It has been close to 24hrs since I finished Unravel and I am still reeling from everything that took place. I feel like I lost a limb once I completed the book. I didn't know what to do with myself. I was a mess. And you know when you are left like a limp noodle, you've read one marvelous book!

I fell hard and fast in love with Naomi, Lana, Lachlan, and Max. I mean how couldn't I? Those characters gave us so much. They handed over their jumbled thoughts, broken hearts, and battered souls for us to consume. I mean that in the best way possible, because they gave us more to understand, to hold on to while learning them and their story. You have to go into this book knowing that you are going to feel everything, I.MEAN.EVERYTHING. And I sort of feel like I lost a piece of my soul to these characters because of how much I felt.

We are introduced to Naomi, who is our MC/Heroin. Her parents are currently jet setting around the globe while she spends the summer with her bestie, Lana and her parents. Lana is very shy and meek, but a bestie who loves Naomi something fierce. These two are tighter than thieves, so you know they've always got each others backs. Lachlan is the boy next door hero, with a few years on Naomi. She looks up to him, in a sense, as a role model/big brother type. But you can sense there is more to how she feels about him as the story thrives. Max is sort of that mysterious sex on a stick hero, who is worth buttloads, and makes every womans mouths water, amongst other things. These four help weave a story for the ages, they show us some dark, spicy, gut wrenching scenes, as we learn what is about to unravel in front of our eyes.

Naomi grabbed a hold of me and never let go. I was living vicariously through her----I became her, and I needed to to see the big picture. She leads us a on thin string throughout the whole story. She shares intimate details into her being. She braves everything, and she does it so earnestly with a fierce passion. She doesn't falter on her journey, she trudges through fighting and forging her way into what she knows. She bares her soul and heart more times than I can count. And those moments are the most captivating and heart stopping moments throughout the whole story. We know who she is, what she wants, and know she is still not fighting the battle she is trying so desperately to. The girl is on a mission, from the very first page, to the very last. This is a mission that you don't want to miss out on. Hold on tight to your ereader/paperback, and be prepared for anything and everything!

When I said Naomi and Lana were as thick as thieves, I meant every word of it. Naomi will do everything within her power to make her bestie smile, laugh, or even to soothe her. These two have each others backs when times are rough and bumpy. And as I said before, Lana is very self-kept, but likes to take a walk on the wild side with Naomi. I loved their bond and easiness with one another. They share something very real and special. There were times when things were hectic or a bit unnerving in the story where I just wanted to rock Lana, and tell her everything would be ok. But Naomi was there to be her rock. Can these two keep their bond while life throws them a curve ball? Or will their relationship crumble?

The men Lachlan and Max, had me ooey gooey and messy throughout the story. They really are the epitome of perfection. Each man has a characteristic that pierced me. It made me fall head over heels in love with both of them. They each carry a part of Naomi, something that they both cherish. You feel the way they want/need Naomi, it isn't desperation, or lust, it is something deeper than that. Something so strong that it could possibly engulf these three. The relationship that Lachlan/Naomi have compared to Max/Naomi is more pure and honest, where as Max/Naomi have strong passion and heat. Like I said, these two men each have their own fire that intrigued me, and had me falling under their spells. But who is the one to be there for Naomi, through rough tides? Who will be her rock when it is needed most?

This whole story had me in knots. I felt like a pretzel. I felt the need to scream, shout, kick, cry, and smile. I needed a release. I struggled not being able to know the answers fast enough. I wanted every piece of the puzzle, whether it landed jagged or completely whole, I had to know what the outcome would be. And once I had the puzzle pieced sharply together, my heart shattered .

Then I felt empty.

And cried tears of pain, sadness, happiness, and everything in between.

I am still replaying the whole story like it is on a movie reel and picking through each reel trying to figure things out, again. I honestly can say I didn't expect this book to eat me alive. I knew, that this was going to be a darker read. One that would have me dangling over an edge, but not one that could push me off that edge. I was rereading passages just so I could make sure I was reading everything correctly. It isn't fast-paced, so to speak, but mildly paced. A LOT HAPPENS! A lot. I am not lying when I say that. You need to keep your eyes and mind peeled the whole time you are reading, so you soak everything up. Because if you blink, you will miss everything!

This book is the reason why I.LOVE.READING.

Be prepared to have the reading experience of a lifetime! Author Calia Read does not disappoint. She throws us to wolves. This is one of those stories that you are going to have a massive book hangover from, one that will stick with you forever! This is Ms. Reads best novel to date. She dove into some deep stuff with this novel, but one that she pieced together perfectly. This is 10+++ Star read for me.

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Sabtu, 24 Mei 2014

** Ebook Download The Midnight Road, by Tom Piccirilli

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The Midnight Road, by Tom Piccirilli

The Midnight Road, by Tom Piccirilli



The Midnight Road, by Tom Piccirilli

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The Midnight Road, by Tom Piccirilli

From the moment he saw the girl in the snowstorm, Flynn had less than an hour to live. But he’ll remember his last fifty minutes long after he’s dead. As an investigator for Suffolk County Child Protective Services, Flynn has seen more than his share of misery, but nothing could prepare him for the nightmare inside the Shepards’ million-dollar Long Island home. In less than an hour, that nightmare will send him plunging into a frozen harbor—and awaken him to a reality even more terrifying.

They’ve nicknamed Flynn “The Miracle Man” because few have ever been resuscitated after being dead so long. But a determined homicide detective and a beautiful, inquisitive reporter have questions about what really happened at the Shepard house—and why the people around Flynn are suddenly being murdered. Flynn has questions of his own, especially when one of the victims dies while handing him a note: THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT. Flynn has returned from the Midnight Road—and someone wants to send him back.

  • Sales Rank: #1277850 in Books
  • Published on: 2007-06-26
  • Released on: 2007-06-26
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 6.86" h x .95" w x 4.15" l, .37 pounds
  • Binding: Mass Market Paperback
  • 352 pages

Review
"Tom Piccirilli writes like a crazed banshee.  I love his work."—Ken Bruen, author of The Guards and Ammunition

"Tom Piccirilli's fiction is visceral and unflinching, yet deeply insightful.  If you miss Piccirilli you're missing one hell of a treat."—-F. Paul Wilson, author of The Keep and Harbingers

"Piccirilli is the  master of that strange, thrilling turf where horror, suspense and crime share shadowy borders. Wherever he's headed, count me in."—Duane Swierczynski, author of The Wheelman and The Blonde

About the Author
Tom Piccirilli is the author of fourteen novels, including A Choir of Ill Children, November Mourns, and Headstone City, all available from Bantam Spectra. He has been a World Fantasy Award finalist and a four-time Bram Stoker Award winner. He lives in Denver, Colorado.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One


Flynn remembered the night of his death more clearly than any other in his life. The black details of it forced him from the wild slopes of his dreams back to the beginning of his pitch through the ice, down into the dark waters below and the midnight road beyond.

There'd been a moment's premonition as he drove up the long narrow curve of the Shepards' driveway to their minimansion. A faint whisper of what was to come. The storm had ended a half hour earlier, but a heavy burst of wind had rattled loose a cluster of icicles high in the canopy trees. They slammed down against his hood so hard and unexpectedly that he overreacted and jammed the brake, his dead brother's '66 Charger going into a lissome power slide. He eased off the pedal and turned the wheel directly into the spin. They were the relaxed, familiar motions of someone who'd done a lot of street racing in his youth. The positraction got the car straightened almost immediately. The tires hit a dry patch of brick and let out a squeal like an animal cry of fear.

His stomach tightened. It was the kind of bad vibe he usually made an effort to ignore. Before his death he'd been an even bigger idiot.

There were no streetlights here in this chic area of the North Shore, close to the Long Island Sound. Maybe it was a sign of wealth, having to wind your way through the night all on your own.

He looked out the frosted driver's side window, seeing the world like watching a film noir. Black and white, intensely sharp around the edges.

From the moment he saw the two pale figures wafting like white lace on the snow-filled front lawn, meeting and parting and joining again in the moonlight, he had fifty minutes left to live.

Flynn's headlights flashed across the terrain and immediately the grim nerve worked through his chest again, twitching under his heart. Late November, locked in the worst winter in a decade, night having dropped like your grandmother's velvet drapery, and there in the frozen yard were the girl and a dog prancing about, no parents in sight.

It wasn't a good sign but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. Most anonymous tips to Child Protective Services could be traced back to the neighbor across the street or on either side of the home in question. Except the Shepards had no neighbors within view. Dense lots of brush rose up
around the huge house.

It was a three-tiered home built in the late seventies when art deco was losing ground and the holdout architects were really blowing their cool. You had a nice little family residence hidden within a bunch of mortar and rock face, metal and large, well-lit empty windows like wide, blind eyes. It looked schizo as hell and Flynn couldn't imagine living in such a place, even if it did sell on the open market for a mill and a quarter, maybe a mill and a half.

The tipster had said a child was in danger at this address. No other comment. There didn't need to be one. It was all CPS needed. If somebody said a kid's welfare was at risk, you had to move. You catch the call, you take the ride, even in a snowstorm.

The girl stopped traipsing and stood at attention in her white ski suit and snow boots, watching him. The dog was a French bulldog, all white except for a black ring around one eye, wearing a white knitted sweater and little plastic booties. It sat at her heel with its chin up, head cocked, staring intently at Flynn as he stepped from his car. The only color in the world seemed to knife out from the huge windows and the twin bronzed lanterns bordering the two-car garage.

In the glow he saw the girl was about seven. A swathe of snow clung to her chin. Her breath blew white streamers that burst against his belly as he approached. The dog's breath broke across his legs.

He had to play it carefully. This was always a little tricky. If he approached the kid and she got spooked, screamed and ran into Daddy's arms, then the potential for big trouble went off the chart. You had to try to keep things easy and friendly. Just introducing himself as an investigator for Suffolk County CPS put everybody on the defensive. All kinds of hell could break loose. Fisticuffs, maybe worse. Nobody wanted to be called a child molester, not even the ones who were guilty of it.

That's one of the reasons why most investigators were women. A woman could appeal to the wife, seem less threatening to the husband. Flynn still wasn't quite sure how he wound up on the job, but one of the big perks for him was when some bitter, middle-aged ex-high-school jock who liked working over his old lady and kids decided to throw down and Flynn could cut loose. It was childish, he had to admit. But you took your action wherever you could.

Men weren't really wanted in the ranks. They had to take evaluations and psych tests semiannually to make sure they were trying to save kids for the right reasons. The shrinks had to weed out the CPS dudes who jumped out of broken marriages just hoping to find some beautiful young teen in trouble. Wanting to nurture her with poetry and bubble baths, maybe woo the mother just to make it look right on the books. The peds hunting fresh meat. Flynn came into work every day and faced cagey, cautious attitudes tossed at him all day long from nearly every corner. It pissed him off, but he tried to understand. You never knew where the next big breakdown or blowup might come from.

It was late. He should've been here over an hour ago, but the storm had hit while he was stuck in traffic on the Expressway. Nobody could get anywhere as the freezing rain came down and the slush on the road turned to ice within minutes. Even cars that weren't moving started to slip sideways into the median. Within a half hour there were a hundred fender-benders as drivers tried to roll off to the shoulder, park and wait it out. The storm didn't last long, but the freeze was so bad that everybody had to get out of their cars and start hammering away at the layers of ice on their windshields.

He didn't want to frighten the girl. She didn't really seem spookable, standing there looking at him, but he wanted to go extra easy. She took two steps through the snow, her blond hair squeezing out from around her white plastic hood, framing her cute face.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Flynn."

"I'm Kelly." Then, pointing to the dog, "This is Zero. What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to speak with your parents."

"Okay."

"Aren't you cold out here this late, Kelly?"

"Yeah," she told him. "I wanted to see the storm, but my mother wouldn't let me until it had stopped. We're about to go inside. I'd invite you in, but I'm not supposed to do that. How about if you stay right where you are until I get to the door, then you can follow, all right?"

"Sure," Flynn said.

Smart kid. Practical, even. He always got thrown by smart kids. He'd be getting ready to talk baby talk and they'd suddenly start speaking like college grads.

More icicles clattered in the trees overhead. Flynn walked back and leaned against the Charger, watching the girl make her way to the house, the small dog fighting his way through the drifts.

There were strict codes on how investigations were supposed to proceed, and he adhered to them pretty well, despite the occasional self-defensive brawls. He'd been with CPS for five years and neither his boss nor the District Attorney's Office ever gave him any static. He was proud to know in his heart he'd saved lives. He'd put child molesters behind bars. He'd gotten good people with anger issues and drug problems the help they needed.

He was the best caseworker CPS had because he didn't have much of a social life to interfere, which sort of put the whole thing into a spartan perspective, if he stopped to think about it. He rarely did.
Flynn slipped twice just stepping up to the front door.

Mrs. Shepard answered before he got a chance to stomp the snow from his shoes. Kelly stood behind her, and the dog sat behind Kelly. Flynn got the feeling he was entering a very orderly household. One of those intensely domestic homes that ran with military precision and generally creeped other people out.

Mrs. Shepard kept a flaccid smile soldered in place. She stared at him through the storm door and said, "Yes? How can I help you? What's this about?"

There were rules. Too many of them, but he did what he could to make them work to his advantage. You had to be up front. You couldn't rope anybody into anything. Couldn't sneak in and snap pictures, no matter what you saw. You had to ask to be allowed to look around the house. They could deny you. They could claim you were an intruder. They could shriek about lawyers. You tried not to shake them up too much for fear they'd take it out on the kid. The child's welfare always came first.

He told Mrs. Shepard his name and showed his identification. He explained he was with CPS and that an anonymous complaint had been registered. She nodded as if she knew all about it and let him inside. He clarified his position and asked that he be allowed to check the house. While he spoke, he casually surveyed Kelly Shepard. No bruises on her face or arms that he could see. She seemed like a regular, happy kid.

Flynn waited to register Mrs. Shepard's response. There wasn't any. The lady just kept smiling and said nothing. The bulldog sat there looking sort of humiliated to still be wearing the booties.

"Mrs. Shepard?" Flynn asked.

Finally the woman said, "Yes? What is it you want? What do you think goes on here?"

"Mrs. Shepard, as I said--"

"I'm Christina."

"Mrs. Shepard, I--"

"I just told you. I'm Christina."

She was all riptide intensity. Flynn could sense the conflicting tensions inside the woman but had no idea what they were or how they would affect him. Her smile looked scraped into her face by a fishing knife. This lady's teeth were drying out, the high gloss fading. The faint aroma of scotch trailed from her. She was maybe thirty, quite attractive, with burnished copper hair that fell in two wide, sweeping currents. The glaze in her eyes kept him from getting any kind of a real bead on her.

Now might come the questions, the defensiveness. She might grab Kelly and hold the kid out in front of her like an offering. Some of them did that. Some parents stripped their children in front of Flynn to prove there were no bruises. Some broke down and dropped to the floor. Some went for a kitchen knife. You never knew what might be coming next.

He'd given the spiel he was supposed to give. He'd amended it a bit to make it sound like he had a little more authority than he actually did. If he snapped the sentences out fast enough, he came off like a cop with a court order. It was good to lay it down on the line as hard as he could. It set the parameters and usually let him know which way things would go. Whether they'd confess or go for the shotgun in the closet.

He waited, feeling the current riding up his back. He knew she'd be different, that she was going to pull something new here.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked.

There it was. That was a first. No one had ever offered him tea before. "No thank you," he said.

"How do we proceed?"

"Do you have any other children?"

"No, Kelly is our only one."

"I'd appreciate a tour of your home."

"And what will that prove? If I'm beating my child to the point that a neighbor--the nearest of whom lives several hundred yards away--can hear her screams, wouldn't she be battered? Are you looking for pools of blood?" The smile had downshifted into an almost amiable grin, except it was way too wide.

"I'm just doing an on-site evaluation. It's very standard."

"Not for me it isn't."

"I realize that. I'm very sorry, Christina, but once a complaint has been lodged we have to follow up."

"This late? It's almost Kelly's bedtime."

"The storm kept me. Again, I apologize for the intrusion."

Christina Shepard was given to dramatic movements. Swinging herself around and gesturing with her hands like she was scrawling signatures in the air. Kelly and the dog intuited her motions and stepped along with her, keeping just behind her. It was a weird kind of ballet he was watching, the three of them so gracefully maneuvering around in the front hallway.

"All right," she said, giving him the thousand-watt leer again. "Let's take a tour of my home."

She walked him through it, all three floors. She offered to open drawers even though he said it wasn't necessary. She opened them anyway. Her hostility came off her in waves, the way he expected. But there was something more there. Flynn couldn't figure out what it might be, and his curiosity was really starting to bang around inside him. He stared at the side of her face as she led him from room to room, propping open armoires and dressers.

She put her hands on him only once, gripping him by the upper arm and steering him toward the master bedroom's private bathroom. This lady had some serious muscle. He felt her coiled strength and the furnace of her agitation. She opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed a handful of pill bottles and started reading off labels. "Zyrtec, this is for allergies. Flexeril is a muscle relaxant for my husband, Mark, who has a bad back. Zoloft is medication for depression. I suffer from it. Surely that's not a crime."

"No, it's not," he said.

"Thank God for that. Would you like to speak to my daughter? Ask her questions?" The mask slipped another notch as she called for Kelly. The girl and the dog paraded into the bedroom like Marines landing on a foreign beach. "Foul questions, no doubt. What kind of a man wheedles his way into working with children every day, Mr. Flynn? What thoughts go through your piggy mind?"

He let it slide. She had a head full of serpents herself, he decided. He'd heard a lot worse on the job and Christina Shepard didn't seem angry with him so much as she appeared flush with clashing forces.

Flynn turned to the girl and said, "Kelly, I work for people who look after children in case someone is hurting them. Maybe even a friend or someone in the family. It happens sometimes. Do you have anything you want to say to me?"

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39 of 41 people found the following review helpful.
Thanks, Tom!
By Christine Menendez
There are two writers extant who can bring me to tears, to real
laughter, and sometimes, to screaming in frustration or anger. One
of them is Tom Piccirilli. When I first picked up The Midnight
Road, I remembered, at once, the very first line of the book from a
little taste given at the back of his last novel, The Dead Letters:
"Flynn remembered the night of his death more clearly than any
other in his life." Wow! And, of course I read through that little
taste and decided Ihad to stay alive for another year or so to
finally read the entire book. Which I have. Twice. Wow!

This is the story of Flynn, a forty year old man who carries enough
grief and pain and regret to fuel an entire city. Everyone he loved
died, but the worst death was that of his brother, thirty years
gone. Flynn still drives the Charger in which is brother and
girlfriend met their ends. He is a deeply flawed, deeply empathetic
man who works for Child Protection Services just to try and ease or
prevent yet more suffering. Too many people think that a guy
working for CPS is a potential pederast, and don't look kindly on
him. In trying to save a child and her naked and scarred autistic brother who was locked in a
cage from their nutsoid gun-toting mom, Flynn gets to die. For
twenty-eight minutes. (not a record!) After that, everything goes
downhill. People start falling dead around him, and the cops think
he's involved. Which he is, but not in the way they think. So he
has to find out what's going on.

Good story. Terrific story, in fact, studded with all kinds of
oddities. Like the ghost dog who died along with Flynn and then
came back to haunt him, still wearing plastic booties and a
sweater. Like Flynn's boss, Sierra, whose face is full of
reconstructive plastic. But the best thing, the very best, is the
writing itself and all those terrible emotions it conjures up.
There is something so very natural, so unforced and lacking
contrivance about Piccarilli's writing that you just fall into it.
You know that this is real: this is how people would think and talk
and act. This is how it would go down in the world off the page.
This is not a writer inventing stuff, this is somebody telling you
how it is. It is that simple, and that amazingly good.

And Piccirilli is really funny. Don't know why more people don't
respond to that outrageous humour which is sometimes very subtle,
sometimes very black, and sometimes absolutely silly. It gives a
wonderful balance to all of the pain and misery which his
characters have to endure.

And this is why his writings can make me cry and laugh and steam
with anger. He has that very rare ability to encite real emotional
response in the reader, to render his characters so very alive
that they walk off the page and into your thoughts. You may finish
the book and put it down, but you will never forget it.

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
There may be no better writer of noir crime thrillers (spoilers?)
By W. D. Gagliani
There's just no stopping Tom Piccirilli. His novels tend to grab you where it hurts the most and not let go, not even when you've read the last page. His blending of noir crime, thriller, and horror elements is brilliant and only enhanced by a creeping sense of dark, playful humor often delivered in such deadpan it's easy to miss. For instance, Headstone City echoes Hamlet, The Sixth Sense, and The Sopranos, all with a wink. Piccirilli molds disparate elements to his will with enviable ease.

With The Midnight Road, Piccirilli invents yet another disturbed protagonist. Flynn works for NY Child Protective Services, a thankless job but satisfying to his crusader mentality. But he's haunted by his own ghosts - for instance his rebel-without-a-cause brother, who died behind the wheel when Flynn was a child. Following up on an anonymous call on a stormy night leads him to a strange household scenario, which in turn leads to a shooting, a drowning, and Flynn's "death" in his brother's restored Charger once it plunges into the frozen harbor. He's brought back to life, a true "Miracle Man." Of course, he does not return without company, and a new set of problems.

Now haunted not only by his past but also his present, Flynn becomes the target of a mysterious assassin who sends the message "This Is All Your Fault" and kills the messenger in front of him. Considered a suspect by hard-nosed cop Raidin, yet clearly not guilty, Flynn is also pursued by Jessie Gray, an attractive but hardened reporter who gets close to him but mostly seems to just want the story. In turn, he pursues a childhood acquaintance with issues of her own, who was there with Flynn the day his brother and her pregnant sister embraced their non-destiny as a James Dean blaze of glory. A film noir aficionado, he seems stuck inside a film noir plot - or many of them - with its use of the femme fatale, tough cop, bleak situation, dark quest, and suspect motivations. As in film noir, things (and people) aren't always what they seem. You can't help thinking Hitchcock would have loved to make this movie, then you can't help suspecting he did -- and Piccirilli is paying homage to those films he loves the best.

Piccirilli's work is always challenging and surreal in some respect, and here the film noir-inspired surreal roots find purchase in the black and white world in which Flynn travels, black Charger (the death car) superimposed on a stark white snowy background. Indeed, the entire novel is filled with contrasting white on black or black on white images, and you know these things don't just happen. Piccirilli manipulates the conventions of noir until they form a completely new medium, a sort of printed "film" noir which grabs you with the stark imagery it projects onto your psyche. Bleak yet hopeful, tragic yet somehow inspiring, dark and light at the same time, The Midnight Road is another triumph from the pen of a writer who makes these things look easy when we know they aren't.

--W.D. Gagliani, author of Savage Nights

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
Another Great Novel From The Pic Man
By Kindle Customer
If you haven't read Piccirilli, this is as good a place to start as any. As in a lot of Pic books, the mean, nasty and dark sides of life (And death) are written in an absorbing way that forces you to read on late into the night, regardless of your plans for the next day.

The main character, Flynn, is heading toward a strange house in the middle of a snow storm, only to encounter a nutty woman with a mentally challenged man kept in a cage in the basement. From there the story gets weirder and more intense, involving murders, fights, and the ghost of a dead dog that constantly talks to Flynn ... Yes, I said a talking deceased dog.

This has mystery, suspense, a splash of noir, and action, which, when all mixed together, will definitely put this book on your favorite list of Pic's works. I've been reading this guy for a while now, and whether The Midnight Road is your first time reading him, or another in a line of his reads, it will not be your last story read by this writer.

Piccirilli's flawless writing style and gift of totally getting your head in to the story, will keep you turning pages and have you guessing up to the very end. If you're a fan of Pic and liked Headstone City, The Cold Spot, or the brilliant November Mourns, trust me when I say you could do a lot worse than to pick up a copy of The Midnight Road.

I don't have to end this review by saying to enjoy this one, because you will regardless of your reading tastes. And if you like horror, be sure to check out Pic's earlier books: The Night Class, The Deceased, Hexes, and A Choir of Ill Children-you can't go wrong with a writer of this caliber.

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Jumat, 23 Mei 2014

^^ Free Ebook 41: A Portrait of My Father, by George W. Bush

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41: A Portrait of My Father, by George W. Bush

George W. Bush, the 43rd President of the United States, has authored a personal biography of his father, George H. W. Bush, the 41st President.
 
Forty-three men have served as President of the United States. Countless books have been written about them. But never before has a President told the story of his father, another President, through his own eyes and in his own words. A unique and intimate biography, the book covers the entire scope of the elder President Bush’s life and career, including his service in the Pacific during World War II, his pioneering work in the Texas oil business, and his political rise as a Congressman, U.S. Representative to China and the United Nations, CIA Director, Vice President, and President.  The book shines new light on both the accomplished statesman and the warm, decent man known best by his family. In addition, George W. Bush discusses his father’s influence on him throughout his own life, from his childhood in West Texas to his early campaign trips with his father, and from his decision to go into politics to his own two-term Presidency.

  • Sales Rank: #30082 in Books
  • Brand: WaterBrook Press
  • Published on: 2014-11-11
  • Released on: 2014-11-11
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 8.52" h x 1.21" w x 5.89" l, 1.20 pounds
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • 294 pages
Features
  • Biographies & Memoirs
  • United States
  • USA History
  • US Presidents
  • Americas

Review
"The book [...] is such a joy to read. The examination of the senior Bush's character is unique and valuable." -- Fred Barnes The Wall Street Journal "A helluva good read. All that's endearing about the Bush family comes bursting forth in this bouillabaisse of history, reminiscence and political folk wisdom." -- Douglas Brinkley Financial Times "A historic first in the canon of US political literature." -- Devika Bhat The Times

About the Author
George W. Bush is the forty-third President of the United States, serving from 2001 to 2009. He previously served as Governor of Texas. He and his wife, Laura, live in Dallas, where they founded the George W. Bush Presidential Center at SMU. President Bush’s previous book, Decision Points, is the bestselling Presidential memoir of the modern era.

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174 of 198 people found the following review helpful.
+ Captain of Yale Baseball Team, Military Pilot at Age 18, Director of CIA, Vice-President, President --What more can a Man do?
By Bassocantor
I confess, after reading 41: A PORTRAIT OF MY FATHER, I have a new, deeper respect for the former president. This is one GREAT MAN--there is no other way to put it. Honestly, his record of service is astonishing, beginning with becoming a pilot at age 18, all the way to being elected President #41. I make no excuses about it--this man's accomplishments are mind-boggling!

President 41 is at heart, a decent, kind, family man. Not so much a partisan politician at all. That makes it all the more surprising that George H.W. Bush ever became a president. A few sections of the book I thought were really special. I really love the picture of President 41 in the plane, "Barbara III." My second favorite picture was 41 meeting Babe Ruth. I had no idea that 41 was president of the Yale baseball team.

Another fascinating section is his time at the CIA. "George Bush cared deeply about the CIA's mission and people. He found the work fascinating; his inquisitive nature was sated by the agency's cadre of brilliant agents. Remarkably, in just one year, he developed a strong bond with the people of the CIA. " And, "True to his word, dad stayed out of out of politics throughout his time at the CIA. "

41: A PORTRAIT OF MY FATHER is first of all, a story of a son's affection for his father. If you really dislike the Bush family, then it's doubtful this book will change your attitude. Much of this book is actually not even about politics--it's about family events, relations among the siblings, and the interaction between the two men. Even though 41 is not primarily a political book, there are still some very juicy, intriguing political historical notes. The events surrounding the resignation of Richard M. Nixon are perhaps the most interesting--at least to me. Perhaps it has been documented elsewhere, but I had no idea that President 41 had taken such a firm line in writing a letter to Nixon, exhorting Nixon to resign immediately, for the good of the nation.

There are funny parts in this book as well. The former president loves to lure unsuspecting visitors into his powerful speed boat. Then, he cranks up the throttle, putting terror in the hearts of his visitors--even President Putin of Russia and his entourage. Perhaps the most poignant section of 41 is the account of President 41 apparently near death, barely conscious in the hospital. After a brief encounter in the hospital, the whole family left his room, crying--believing the former president was about to die, and that had been their final visit.

All in all, I enjoyed reading 41: A PORTRAIT OF MY FATHER. It's true, I did not learn terribly much new about political intrigue, or secret behind the scenes negotiations with the Chinese, or top-secret maneuvers of the CIA. On the other hand, I learned a lot more about the Bush family, and the relationship between these two great men. It's a warm, meaningful relationship that has stood the test of time.

41: A PORTRAIT OF MY FATHER is a book expressing one's devotion for a great, unselfish man, who happens to also be the author's father.

√ OUTSTANDING BOOK - HIGHLY RECOMMEND!

46 of 56 people found the following review helpful.
I Love You More than Tongue Can Tell
By Hummingbirder
Warrior, husband, father, businessman, statesman, public servant, President, humanitarian. This is George Bush, who was raised in a Christian household and taught, actually conditioned, to refrain from bragging. George Bush lives a very full and public life. At times he seems aloof, yet he bears a gentle dignity, born of the humility and discipline he was taught as a boy.

Bush suffered losses. He lost several elections. He lost fellow warriors when he served in World War II. He and Mrs. Bush lost a young daughter, Robin. Shortly before she died, she told her father, "I love you more than tongue can tell." The malapropism survived. Apparently, malapropism is congenital in the Bush family.

George Bush is always self-effacing. Given his upbringing, it is difficult to determine if this is how he was nurtured or his true nature. He is not given to lashing out at others in anger. Better to remain silent in the face of disaster or defeat, or be self-deprecating in an embarrassing situation. Bill Clinton defeated George Bush when he ran for a second Presidential term, yet they became friends. They traveled together and made television appearances and public service announcements to facilitate humanitarian efforts following natural disasters. And when Bush had that unfortunate reversal right in the lap of the Prime Minister of Japan, with cameras rolling, he made a joke at his own expense, then recombombulated himself. The world stopped and giggled at him, but he has true grit, and so does his wife.

George W. Bush is a decent artist and writes with casual elegance, a box of Kleenex near his right hand, and tongue firmly planted in his cheek. This is not an unbiased work. It is a biography written both from facts and from his heart. It is not an objective biography. This time, history is personal. Penned by the subject's eldest son, researched by family and friends, "41" is an intimate and loving history of a long life full of courage, suffering, wealth, success, and generosity.

Not to mention fishing with Vladimir Putin.

7 of 7 people found the following review helpful.
Wonderful book! Beautifully read by George W
By L. Gallina
Wonderful book! Beautifully read by George W. So much interesting information and you will love this book!

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