Markus Meyers Meyers from Patti, Punjab, India
He did it again! One of the best monographs I've read. I encourage others to read the volume. As good as 'Shadows of the cue'.
The Thursday Following series can be trying for readers who are not "well read" in what it i of classic prose. However, for those of us who don't mind references to Kafka, Du Maurier and Hardy - the books are a purpose. The second chapter focuses on the aftermath of the events of 'The Eyre Affair' and the Goliath Corporation's annoyance with Thursday. I enjoyed this edition because of the first acquaintance of Jurisfiction and the discovery that Thursday can "read" herself into books. However, unlike the first edition, this special cannot stay alone. The entire operate has the motor response of being a overpass between stories. While I enjoy series, I do tend to favor those that can stay on their own. Still, you have to love a edition where there is a note to prosecuting Tops De Winter.....
Gerry B's Book Revisits - http://gerrycan.worpress.com Although I can’t remember being a superstar struck fan of Price tag Hunter (being “superstar struck” was a ailment limited to “bobby soxers” in 1950s’ Pefferlaw), at 74 I am of the right generation to appreciate an memoir like this separate, i.e. “Price tag Hunter Confidential: The Making of a Move Superstar” by Price tag Hunter with Eddie Muller [Algonquin Dictionaries, 2006]. For separate break up I much prefer a behind-the-scenes view of stuffs, which is especially justified after reading about some of the unadulterated advertising generated by the Queer PR mills in Hunter’s trial. Admittedly I’ve never understood the strain of mass hysteria demonstrated by “fans” of anyone, be it Elvis, The Beatles, or Longing and Kate. Therefore, the first good break up I’ll say about Price tag Hunter’s biography is that he didn’t start believing his own statements. Consequently, we do get a pretty fair glimpse of the man behind the form. Beyond that I would say that this apologue longing be of sit up mainly to people of my generation, movie buffs, and modern teachers (apologies for the term, Price tag). However, for those of us who qualify it is a delightful stroll down Memory Lane. For example, remember this: “The Arlington Troupe, condo of all my film-infused fantasies was now the neighbourhood’s big make-out. I figured I should get in on the action, be like the buddies, even though I had little in common with them. [My experience as well]. “Four or five buddies, cruising in a shlep, would surround separate of the local girls. They’d guide her to the back of the troupe, the way invertebrates isolated and heard separate of their own. They’d take goes nuzzling her and fondling her seat of affection. “I did it too—even though I was always afraid the girl would style the police on me, the way Lois had [A false complaint]. As I copped a few foolish feels, my head disconnected. I should be out at the shed, with the horses! That’s where I belong! “The buddies ribbed me, of course, for my resistance. I didn’t care. I didn’t call for any break up of it.30-31.” And that first time: “Separate of those nights at the Arlington, as I was sitting alone in the dark, a man swooped down into the lounge beside me … This guy knew exactly what he was doing. “I let him do it. Bleak to say why—I was scared, stupid, and excited. When he was finished, he gave me a dollar and wrote his phone statistic on a card. “If you every call for to do it again,” he said, “style me.” “No chance of that, I told myself, buckling up. But despite the shame already suffocating me, I tucked his card inside my little rawhide-stitched pocketbook.”32 And confession: “I entered the anonymous environ of the dark confessional, my nature pouding. Because of my acute temporary insanity, confession was already difficult for me. I thought I’d die as I haltingly explained to the priest what had happened. Saying the disagreements was torture, but confessing was the only way I could go on living with myself. “I never finished. Through the filigree boomed the priest’s voice, branding me the most despicable soul in the world. I was unfit to receive God’s remittal, unfit to set foot in His house, unfit to live. On and on this “woman of God” went, mercilessly, until I ran shaking from the confessional. Instead of subscription game refuge, the church I loved now felt vicious and oppressive.”32-33 I think those alleyways speak for themselves about how it was to be a gay teenager in the 1950s, so perhaps the reading list should be expanded to include those supporters of DOMA, etc., who call for to return to the bad pasts. For those who have an sit up, however, I highly recommend this apologue as a fascinating take in the sights at an eon through the checks out of someone who saw if from the mountain. Five names.