libristo picture me gone 2231343
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23,09 zł
Good Me Bad Me PENGUIN BOOKS LTD (UK)
Literatura obcojÄzyczna
The brilliant psychological thriller, the SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLER and the unputdownable RICHARD & JUDY BOOK CLUB PICK that will chill you to the bone . . .When Annie hands her mother over to the police she hopes for a new start in life - but can we ever escape our past? 'NEW NAME. NEW FAMILY. SHINY. NEW. ME.'Annie's mother is a serial killer. The only way Annie can make it stop is to hand her in to the police. With a new foster family and a new name - Milly - she hopes for a fresh start. Now, surely, she can be whoever she wants to be. But as her mother's trial looms, the secrets of Milly's past won't let her sleep . . . Because Milly's mother is a serial killer. And blood is thicker than water... 'The new Girl on The Train, which was the new Gone Girl. You get the picture. This psycho-thriller by Ali Land is set to be massive' Cosmopolitan----------'Original and compelling - a sensational debut' Clare Mackintosh, bestselling author of I Let You Go 'Utterly compelling, extraordinary, breath-taking' Joanna Cannon, author of The Trouble with Goats and Sheep 'An astoundingly compelling thriller. Beyond tense' Matt Haig 'Could not be more unputdownable if it was slathered with superglue' Sunday Express 'A strong contender for debut of the year' Irish Times
Sklep: Literacka.pl
17,74 zł
A gdybym zniknęła? - Meg Rosoff
Książki & Multimedia > Książki
Opis - Świat dorosłych jest splątany i pełen sekretów... Dwunastoletnia Mila mieszka w Londynie z dobiegającymi sześćdziesiątki rodzicami: tłumaczem i skrzypaczką. Kanwą fabuły jest podróż, którą odbywa z ojcem do Nowego Jorku w poszukiwaniu jego przyjaciela z młodości. Matthew pewnego dnia wychodzi z domu i nie wraca, zostawiając dziwnie obojętną wobec tego zniknięcia żonę, 14-miesięcznego synka i ukochanego psa. Gil i Mila, obdarzona niezwykłym zmysłem obserwacji połączonym z talentem dostrzegania ludzkich emocji, wyruszają w stronę kanadyjskiej granicy, do leśnego domku rodziny, w którym być może Matthew ukrywa się przed światem. W trakcie wyprawy Mila pieczołowicie rekonstruuje z okruchów informacji obraz życia rodziny przyjaciela ojca i odkrywa, że najbliższe osoby nie zawsze potrafią być dla siebie wsparciem w trudnych momentach. Nazwa - A gdybym zniknęła? Oryginalny tytuł - Picture Me Gone Autor - Meg Rosoff Oprawa - Miękka Wydawca - Ya! Kod ISBN - 9788328021945 Kod EAN - 9788328021945 Rok wydania - 2013 Język - polski Tłumacz - Janczarska Berenika Format - 13.5x20.5cm Ilość stron - 224 Podatek VAT - 5% Premiera - 2016-01-15
Sklep: InBook.pl
40,80 zł
Letter from America Penguin
Powieści i opowiadania
When Alistair Cooke retired in March 2004 and then died a few weeks later, he was acclaimed by many as one of the greatest broadcasters of all time. His Letters from America, which began in 1946 and continued uninterrupted every week until early 2004, kept the world in touch with what was happening in Cooke's wry, liberal and humane style. This selection, made largely by Cooke himself and supplemented by his literary executor, gives us the very best of these legendary broadcasts. Over half have never appeared in print before. It is a remarkable portrait of a continent - and a man. Fred Astaire 26 June 1987 Movie stars don't make it. Nor statesmen. Not Prime Ministers, or dictators unless they die in office. Not even a world-famous rock star, unless he's assassinated. But last Monday, none of the three national television networks hesitated about the story that would lead the evening news. On millions of little screens in this country and I don't doubt in many other countries around the world, the first shots were of an imp, a graceful wraith, a firefly in impeccable white tie and tails. And for much longer than the lead story usually runs, for a full five minutes on NBC, we were given a loving retrospective of the dead man, ending with the firm declaration by Nureyev that 'He was not just the best ballroom dancer, or tap dancer, he was simply the greatest, most imaginative, dancer of our time.' And the newsmen were right to remind us of the immortal comment of the Hollywood mogul, who, with the no-nonsense directness of an expert, reported on Fred Astaire's first film test: 'Has enormous ears, can't act, can't sing, dances a little.' That Hollywood mogul, long gone, spent his life ducking round corners, to avoid being identified as the oaf who looked in the sky and never saw the brightest star. However, that expert opinion was, as the lawyers say, controlling at the time and in Astaire's first movies, there was no thought of allowing him to act or sing. But not for long. And thanks to the invention of television, and the need to fill vast stretches of the afternoon and night with old movies, it has been possible for my daughter, for instance, to claim Fred Astaire as her favourite film star from the evidence of all the movies he made fifteen, ten, five, three years before she was born. When I got the news on Monday evening here, and realized with immediate professional satisfaction that the BBC had smartly on hand a musical obituary tribute to him I put together eight years ago, I couldn't help recalling the casual, comic way this and similar radio obituaries came about. I was in London at the end of 1979, and Richard Rodgers - one of the two or three greatest of American songwriters - had just died, I believe on New Year's Eve or the night before. Britons, by then, were getting accustomed, without pain, to making what used to be a two-day Christmas holiday into a ten-day much-needed rest. For all laborious research purposes, the BBC was shut up. And there was no retrospective programme on the life and music of Richard Rodgers in the BBC's archives. Of course, in a gramophone library that looks like an annex to the Pentagon, there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of recordings of his songs. The SOS went out to a writer, a producer, and - I presume - a man who had the key to the gramophone library. The silent place was unlocked, and the three of them laboured through the day to put together an hour's tribute to Richard Rodgers. It was done. It was competent enough, but rushed to an impossible deadline. This hasty improvisation happened just when my own music producer and I, who had enjoyed working together for six years or so on American popular music, were wondering what we could offer next. We'd done a sketch history of jazz, through individuals. We'd gone through all the popular music of the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s, and were stumped for a new series, at which point I asked if we mightn't go and talk to the head of the channel, network or whatever. We went in, and the genial boss asked me what we had in mind. 'A morgue,' I said. A what? 'Where', I asked, 'is your morgue?' He was not familiar with the word, a newspaper term. 'Well,' I said, 'all newspapers have them.' 'How d'you mean?' 'If, I explained, 'Mrs Thatcher died tonight and you woke up and read a two-sentence obituary, you'd be rightly outraged. But if you saw a two-page obituary, you'd take it for granted. When d'you suppose it was written?' 'That's right,' he said thoughtfully. What I was proposing was a morgue of the Americans eminent in popular music and jazz, so they'd not get caught short again. A splendid idea, the man said; pick your stars. We made a list and were commissioned to return to America and finish all of them. Naturally, we looked at a calendar, and birthdates of Hoagy Carmichael, Earl Hines, Harold Arlen, Ethel Merman, Stephane Grappelli, Ella Fitzgerald. But then, in a spasm of panic, we thought of two giants - if the word can be used about two comparative midgets: Irving Berlin and Fred Astaire. Berlin was then 91. And Fred Astaire was just crowding 80. The boss man, to whom the idea of a morgue had been, only a few minutes before, quaint if not morbid, wondered what we were waiting for. Better get busy, at once, on Berlin and then on Astaire. I remember doing the Astaire obit, then and there, while I was still in London. Meanwhile, we'd simply pray every night that the Lord would keep Irving Berlin breathing till I could get home and get busy. I remember being picked up in a car by a charming young girl to get to the BBC and record my Astaire narration - there wasn't a moment to lose. She asked me, in the car, what the script was that I was clutching. 'It's an obituary', I said, 'of Fred Astaire.' 'Fred Astaire,' she shrieked, 'dead?' and almost swerved into a bus. 'Of course, he's not dead,' I said, 'but he's going to be one day.' She, too, was new to the institution of a morgue. I recalled that when I was a correspondent for a British paper in the United States, and when for example. Dean Acheson was appointed Secretary of State, the first cable I had from my editor said, 'Welcome Acheson obituary soonest.' How ghoulish, she said. I imagine that to two generations at least, it's assumed that Fred Astaire, this slim, pop-eyed newcomer to Hollywood who couldn't act, couldn't sing, danced a little, only made a fool of the mogul through the movies he made, with Ginger Rogers, in the mid- and late 1930s. But long before then, from the mid-1920s on, he was already an incomparable star - as a dancer - to theatre audiences both in New York and in London. Perhaps more in London than anywhere, certainly in the 1920s, with the early Gershwin hits, Funny Face and Lady Be Good, and lastly, in 1933, in Cole Porter's Gay Divorce (which was the title of the theatre show; Hollywood would not then allow so shocking a title and called the movie version, The Gay Divorcee). Of all the thousands of words that have been written this week, and will be written, there is a passage I went back to on Tuesday night which, I think, as well as anything I know, sums up Astaire's overall appeal - the appeal that takes in but transcends one's admiration for his dancing and for his inimitably intimate singing style. This was written in November 1933, by a theatre critic who had so little feel for dancing that he marvelled why London should go on about 'Mr Astaire's doing well enough what the Tiller Girls at Blackpool do superbly'. The critic, the writer, was James Agate, the irascible, dogmatic, opinionated but brilliant journalist, and I believe the best critic of acting we have had this century. He is writing his review of Gay Divorce, after declaring yet again his contempt for musical comedy as an entertainment for idiots, deploring the play's plot and the acting and hoping 'Micawberishly, for something to turn up'. 'Presently,' he wrote, 'Mr Fred Astaire obliged, and there is really no more to be said.' Except
Sklep: Albertus.pl
47,95 zł
Prince of Thorns HarperCollins Publishers
Książki / Literatura obcojęzyczna
From the publisher that brought you Game of Thrones...Prince of Thorns is the first volume in a powerful new epic fantasy trilogy, original, absorbing and challenging. Before the thorns taught me their sharp lessons and bled weakness from me I had but one brother, and I loved him well. But those days are gone and what is left of them lies in my mother's tomb. Now I have many brothers, quick with knife and sword, and as evil as you please. We ride this broken empire and loot its corpse. They say these are violent times, the end of days when the dead roam and monsters haunt the night. All that's true enough, but there's something worse out there, in the dark. Much worse.From being a privileged royal child, raised by a loving mother, Jorg Ancrath has become the Prince of Thorns, a charming, immoral boy leading a grim band of outlaws in a series of raids and atrocities. The world is in chaos: violence is rife, nightmares everywhere. Jorg has the ability to master the living and the dead, but there is still one thing that puts a chill in him. Returning to his father's castle Jorg must confront horrors from his childhood and carve himself a future with all hands turned against him.Mark Lawrence's debut novel tells a tale of blood and treachery, magic and brotherhood and paints a compelling and brutal, and sometimes beautiful, picture of an exceptional boy on his journey toward manhood and the throne.
Sklep: Libristo.pl
76,37 zł
Gump & Co. Simon & Schuster
Książki / Literatura obcojęzyczna
Forrest Gump captured our hearts in the #1 New York Times bestselling novel Forrest Gump, and in the blockbuster film, winner of six Academy Awards including Best Picture and Best Actor. Now he returns in the long-awaited sequel to the book hailed by Larry King as "the funniest novel I have ever read." A little older, and wiser in his unique way, Forrest is still running -- this time straight into the age of greed and instant gratification known as the 1980s.Whenever I really get stumped, I go visit Jenny's grave. She tells me she's always rooting for me. The Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. has gone bust and now Forrest is flat broke, sweeping floors in a New Orleans strip joint, when a fresh opportunity to play championship football puts him back in the limelight -- and in the money. But fate turns fickle again, and he's soon out on the road selling phony encyclopedias and trying to raise his son, little Forrest, who needs his father more than ever. Forrest's remarkable, touching, and utterly comic odyssey has just begun: in store for him is an explosive attempt at hog farming; his own dubious recipe for adding life to New Coke; an encounter with Oliver North of the Iran-Contra affair; and a chance yet again to unwittingly twist the nose of history.
Sklep: Libristo.pl
134,99 zł
Femininity in Flight Duke University Press
Książki / Literatura obcojęzyczna
"In her new chic outfit, she looks like anything but a stewardess working. But work she does. Hard, too. And you hardly know it." So read the text of a 1969 newspaper advertisement for Delta Airlines featuring a picture of a brightly smiling blond stewardess striding confidently down the aisle of an airplane cabin to deliver a meal. From the moment the first stewardess took flight in 1930, flight attendants became glamorous icons of femininity. For decades, airlines hired only young, attractive, unmarried, white women. They marketed passenger service aloft as an essentially feminine exercise in exuding charm, looking fabulous, and providing comfort. The actual work that flight attendants did - ensuring passenger safety, assuaging fears, serving food and drinks, all the while conforming to airlines' strict rules about appearance - was supposed to appear effortless. The better stewardesses performed by airline standards, the more hidden were their skills and labour. Yet today flight attendants are acknowledged safety experts; they have their own unions. Gone are the marriage bans, the mandates to retire by thirty-two. In Femininity in Flight, Kathleen M. Barry tells the history of U.S.flight attendants, tracing the evolution of their glamorized image as ideal women and their activism as trade unionists and feminists. Barry argues that largely because their glamour obscured their labour, flight attendants unionized in the late 1940s and 1950s to demand recognition and respect as workers and self-styled professionals. In the 1960s and 1970s, flight attendants were one of the first groups to take advantage of new laws prohibiting sex discrimination. Their challenges to airlines' restrictive employment policies and exploitive marketing (including skimpy uniforms and provocative slogans such as 'fly me') made them high-profile critics of the cultural mystification and economic devaluing of "women's work." Barry combines attention to the political economy and technology of the airline industry with perceptive readings of popular culture, newspapers, industry publications, and worker accounts. In so doing, she provides a potent mix of social and cultural history and a major contribution to the history of women's work and working women's activism.
Sklep: Libristo.pl
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