London, More than twenty years later, twenty pounds heavier, bruised by grief and the disappointments of middle age, Petra reunites with Sharon for an all-expenses-paid trip to Las Vegas to meet their teen idol at last, and finds her life utterly transformed. Pty Ltd. All rights reserved. Used by permission.
Extract from Four Quartets by T.
Eliot, reproduced by permission of Faber and Faber Ltd. Similar audiobooks. Where the Crawdads Sing. Delia Owens.
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I didn't want this story to end! So in late , when handsome Chase Andrews is found dead, the locals immediately suspect Kya Clark, the so-called Marsh Girl.
Observer review: I Don't Know How She Does It by Allison Pearson | Books | The Guardian
But Kya is not what they say. Sensitive and intelligent, she has survived for years alone in the marsh that she calls home, finding friends in the gulls and lessons in the sand. Then the time comes when she yearns to be touched and loved. When two young men from town become intrigued by her wild beauty, Kya opens herself to a new life--until the unthinkable happens. Perfect for fans of Barbara Kingsolver and Karen Russell, Where the Crawdads Sing is at once an exquisite ode to the natural world, a heartbreaking coming-of-age story, and a surprising tale of possible murder.
Owens reminds us that we are forever shaped by the children we once were, and that we are all subject to the beautiful and violent secrets that nature keeps. The Double Comfort Safari Club. Alexander McCall Smith. In this story, Precious Ramotswe deals with issues of mistaken identity and great fortune against the beautiful backdrop of Botswana's remote and striking Okavango Delta. Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi head to a safari camp to carry out a delicate mission on behalf of a former guest who has left one of the guides a large sum of money.
But once they find their man, Precious begins to sense that something is not right. To make matters worse, shortly before their departure Mma Makutsi's fiancee, Phuti Radiphuti, suffers a debilitating accident, and when his aunt moves in to take care of him, she also pushes Mma Makutsi out of the picture. Could she be trying to break up the relationship? Finally, a local priest and his wife independently approach Mma Ramotswe with concerns of infidelity, creating a rather unusual and tricky situation. Nevertheless, Precious is confident that with a little patience, kindness and good sense things will work out for the best, something that will delight her many fans.
The Mister. E L James. Life has been easy for Maxim Trevelyan. Just who is Alessia Demachi?
Can Maxim protect her from the malevolence that threatens her? From the heart of London through wild, rural Cornwall to the bleak, forbidding beauty of the Balkans, The Mister is a roller-coaster ride of danger and desire that leaves the reader breathless to the very last page. On the outside, at least, I thought I looked like a competent professional, but when I held out my hand to the advancing movie star, I happened to look down and see my shoulder — the black Armani jacket was decorated with an epaulette of baby sick. The life of the working mother was an ongoing farce: a daily drama in which women pretended to have everything under control.
But it also had elements of tragedy because, behind it all, was the love we felt for our children and the terror we had of failing them.
Kate Reddy is Bridget with brains, a woman-not a girl-who knows better.
In my column in the London Evening Standard on the 5th of April, I said that I believed women were being pushed to the breaking point as they tried to do two jobs. The day job, and the hour one where they carried the puzzle of family life in their heads: birthdays, holidays, medical appointments, buy toilet roll, new shoes for the kids, and on and on. The article drew an astonishing response.
Readers wrote by the hundreds; famous women and women with hard, ordinary lives. I felt I had opened a secret door onto a parallel universe. The role of the working mother was so commonplace as to go unremarked, but clearly millions knew about its comedy and its despair and were grateful to hear someone else own up. Over the years, publishers had asked me if I wanted to write a book, but I had enough respect for hardcovers to think you should only write if you have something you passionately want to communicate.
Now I had my subject; all that remained was to create a heroine who would embody all the lunacy and the aspiration, the remarkable gutsy resilience of the 21st-century woman. Her name was Kate Reddy. Kate has a ball-breaking job in the City and two small children she loves but seldom sees.
Kate counts seconds like other women count calories. There is no margin for error. Children will not fall ill, jackets will not become spattered with banana porridge as you leave the house for a client meeting, toilet paper will be restocked by unseen hands, holidays will offer instant refreshment, and there is no such thing as exhaustion or panic or fear. As if. The main breadwinner, Kate pays a large mortgage on a subsiding house in London. With her husband Richard in a stalled architecture practice, a cleaner with dodgy knees, and a nanny who, after tax, insurance, and the highest per-hour babysitting rate in Western Europe takes home not much less than her employer, Kate is a well-paid slave.
Sarah Sands, deputy editor at The Daily Telegraph , suggested that I could write parts of my planned novel as a column. A few weeks later, Knopf picked up the book for the US. In the next months, foreign rights were sold in 12 countries. A Finnish publisher rang Nicki Kennedy, my indefatigable translation agent. Behind all this worldwide interest, one question was being asked: Is Kate Reddy the new Bridget Jones?
Bridget made women laugh. Bridget Jones was a marvelous comic creation. But it was not necessary to invent Kate Reddy.
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She was a tune playing loud and clear in the air and all I had to do was write down the notes. Read An Excerpt.
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