Roland Nair is a NATO operative traveling in Africa. He’s assigned to follow Michael Adriko, a Congolese who happens to be his close friend. Michael has a plan that involves a rock disguised as processed uranium, and Nair is both horrified at the madness of the idea and attracted to the cash it might promise.
Wow. There is no other word for this book but wow.
This is an incredibly powerful work of art that combines nude photos of women of all ages, ethnicity and body shape with short essays written by the woman posing, describing who they are and how they feel about their body. Each picture is uniquely crafted to be simple yet exquisitely beautiful by merely depicting women in a raw, honest way.
After reading The Big Tiny, I am certain I could live happily, just like Dee Williams, in a tiny house. I’m equally certain someone else will have to build it for me.
Although Jasper Sullivan, Earl of Blackwater, has inherited the family estates, they are mortgaged beyond his means to put them back on solid financial footing.
There is no delicate way to tell a person that he is holding a container full of the incinerated remains of his own body.
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"Grow apart." So often, when two people are asked to explain why their relationship has changed and isn't working out, at least one of them will say that they have simply grown apart. They have grown in different ways so that they have less connection and less in common than they once did. Sometimes it's not so much a matter of growing in different directions as growing at different rates.
Eighty years after German super-soldiers crushed the Allied forces in World War II, Zara works as a maid at a Nazi cadet academy in the Easter American Territories. Zara can't escape the Nazi's constant obsession with the Aryan ideal, with a Japanese father and American mother she doesn't fit in with the occupying forces. Although she can't hide her lineage she can hide another genetic gift from her father, the ability to control wind. If the Fuhrer knew about her ability, she would be eradicated.
Scott Smith’s The Ruins is a calm and harmless enough story at the beginning. Four kids, just out of college, take a trip to Mexico to do nothing more than lounge on the beach and drink tequila. Shortly after arriving they make some new friends and decide to tag along with them on a day trip to the Mayan ruins. Their new friends are searching for a guy who went to the ruins the previous day, but never returned.
Now Charlie’s dead and I’m here in the kitchen—on my way to school, and then to work. It’s my senior year and I still have no idea what I want to do with my life. I am motherless, and in the last year, I lost my best friend twice, fell in love with a guy I shouldn’t have (twice), got beat up by a skinhead Nazi, and had things thrown at me, including beer cans, money, and dog shit.
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I quietly hoped it would all go away and sent my old PLEASE IGNORE VERA DIETZ signals into the atmosphere.
These elegies aren’t just for the brokenhearted. They are heartbreaking, and they’re really for Mary Murphy. In introducing those who have left, Mary explores her sad, troubled and unforgiving life. She’s sad. She's confused. And she's surrounded by sad and confused people.
The remarkable thing about Mary Murphy is that, in the end, she lives very hopefully. Making these elegies not just for the brokenhearted, not just for her, but for anyone who has struggled and lost. Or struggled and overcome.
