The Woman Who Fell From The Sky

Książki Obcojęzyczne>Angielskie>Lifestyle, sport & leisure>Travel & holiday>Travel writing

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Child Who Fell from the Sky Leaping Boy Publications

Książki / Literatura obcojęzyczna

Untold secrets of a post-war childhood. A true story of a child born in war-torn London soon after the Second World War whose early memories are of the care and security given to him by his grandmother and a guardian angel who watches over him. At six he finds out a devastating secret that changes his life. He withdraws into his own world, searching for understanding and meaning. Isolated from his family and children of his own age he turns to his angel for love and guidance but even she cannot save him from what is to come. Unable to read and write he joins a gang and at fourteen finds himself before the courts for the first time.

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Girl Who Fell From The Sky Little, Brown

Książki / Literatura obcojęzyczna

Marian Sutro is an outsider: the daughter of a diplomat, brought up on the shores of Lake Geneva and in England, half French, half British, naive yet too clever for her own good. But when she is recruited from her desk job by SOE to go undercover in wartime France, it seems her hybrid status - and fluent French - will be of service to a greater, more dangerous cause. Trained in sabotage, dead-drops, how to perform under interrogation and how to kill, Marian parachutes into south-west France, her official mission to act as a Resistance courier.§§But her real destination is Paris, where she must seek out family friend Clement Pelletier, once the focus of her adolescent desires. A nuclear physicist engaged in the race for a new and terrifying weapon, he is of urgent significance to her superiors. As she struggles through the strange, lethal landscape of the Occupation towards this reunion, what completes her training is the understanding that war changes everything, and neither love nor fatherland may be trusted.§§The Girl Who Fell from the Sky is both a gripping adventure story and a moving meditation on patriotism, betrayal and the limits of love.

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The Girl Who Fell From The Sky

Książki Obcojęzyczne>Angielskie>Fiction & related items>Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945)

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The Girl Who Fell From The Sky

Książki Obcojęzyczne>Angielskie>Fiction & related items>Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945)

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The Child Who Fell From The Sky

Książki Obcojęzyczne>Angielskie>Biography & True Stories>MemoirsKsiążki Obcojęzyczne>Angielskie>Biography & True Stories>True storie...

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Hanna Who Fell from the Sky - audiobook

Książki

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The Child Who Fell from the Sky

Książki

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Hanna Who Fell from the Sky

Książki

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Woman Who Stole My Life Penguin Books

Książki / Literatura obcojęzyczna

International bestselling author Marian Keyes is back with another masterfully told story full of wit and charm. 'Name: Stella Sweeney. Height: average. Recent life events: dramatic.' One day, sitting in traffic, married Dublin mum Stella Sweeney attempts a good deed. The resulting car crash changes her life. For she meets a man who wants her telephone number (for the insurance, it turns out). That's okay. She doesn't really like him much anyway (his Range Rover totally banjaxed her car). But in this meeting is born the seed of something which will take Stella thousands of miles from her old life, turning an ordinary woman into a superstar, and, along the way, wrenching her whole family apart. Is this all because of one ill-advised act of goodwill? Was meeting Mr Range Rover destiny or karma? Should she be grateful or hopping mad? For the first time real, honest-to-goodness happiness is just within her reach. But is Stella Sweeney, Dublin housewife, ready to grasp it? Marian's stunning new novel The Woman Who Stole My Life is about losing the life you had and finding a better one.Praise for Marian Keyes: "When it comes to writing page-turners that put a smile on your face and make you think, Keyes is in a class of her own." (Daily Express). "Gloriously funny." (Sunday Times). "Chatty and warmhearted, Keyes' talent is to tell it how it is." (Independent). Marian Keyes' international bestselling novels include Rachel's Holiday, Last Chance Saloon, Sushi for Beginners, Angels, The Other Side of the Story, Anybody Out There, This Charming Man, The Brightest Star in the Sky and The Mystery of Mercy Close. Two collections of her journalism, Under the Duvet and Further Under the Duvet, are also available from Penguin. Marian lives in Dublin with her husband.

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Sarah Moss - Fell Pan Macmillan

Książki / Literatura obcojęzyczna

From the Sunday Times bestselling author of Summerwater, The Fell is a novel for our times - the story of a woman in quarantine who can't take it any more and goes hill-walking at dusk . . .

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Sky-Liners Random House

Książki / Literatura obcojęzyczna

In The Sky-Liners, Louis L'Amour introduces Flagan and Galloway Sackett, heading west from Tennessee to seek their fortunes. That's when they came across an old Irish trader who offered them two fine horses if they would agree to escort his granddaughter, Judith, to her father in Colorado. Flagan saw nothing but trouble in the fiery young woman, but they needed the horses. Unfortunately, Flagan was right, for Judith had fallen for James Black Fetchen, a charismatic gunman whose courtship hid the darkest of intentions. Now Fetchen and his gang are racing the Sackett brothers to Colorado--leaving behind a trail of betrayal, robbery, and murder. Flagan and Galloway can only guess why Judith is so important to Fetchen and what awaits them at her father's ranch. One thing Flagan knows for sure: The tough and spirited woman has won his heart. But can he trust her with his life?

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Spalona Żywcem Wyd. Kieszonkowe - Souad

Książki & Multimedia > Książki

Opis - Pierwsze na świecie świadectwo ofiary zbrodni honorowej. Miała siedemnaście lat i zakochała się: zhańbiła rodzinę. Więc rodzina wydała na nią wyrok śmierci... Pokochała go pierwszą miłością. Myślała, że się z nią ożeni. Ale ukochany zniknął, a ona odkryła, że jest w ciąży. A w jej świecie to najcięższa zbrodnia... W zapomnianej przez Boga wiosce w Cisjordanii kobiety są warte mniej niż zwierzęta domowe. Tu mężczyzna jest panem życia i śmierci żony, córki, siostry. Brat może bezkarnie zabić siostrę, matka - córkę, kolejną bezużyteczną dziewczynkę, jaka się urodzi. Tu kobiecie odbiera się godność, a nawet życie zgodnie z odwiecznym obyczajem i uświęconą tradycją. A śmierć jest karą dla dziewczyny, która zhańbi rodzinę. Tak jak Souad. Wyrok wydaje jej ojciec. Szwagier dokonuje egzekucji. Oblewa Souad benzyną i podpala... SOUAD przeżyła - cudem, ale rodzina usiłowała zabić ją nawet w szpitalu. Na zawsze jednak pozostanie straszliwie okaleczona - na ciele i duszy. I wciąż musi się ukrywać; dopóki żyje, jej rodzinę okrywa hańba. Spalona żywcem, opublikowana pod pseudonimem szokująca opowieść o piekle, jakim było jej dzieciństwo i młodość, stała się międzynarodowym bestsellerem. Wydana w 37 w krajach książka przerywa tabu milczenia wobec istniejącej nadal w krajach muzułmańskich barbarzyńskiej tradycji. Nieludzkiego obyczaju, prawa mężczyzn, na mocy którego co najmniej pięć tysięcy kobiet pada co roku ofiarą zbrodni honorowej. Nazwa - Spalona Żywcem Wyd. Kieszonkowe Autor - Souad Oprawa - Miękka Wydawca - Amber Kod ISBN - 9788324159406 Kod EAN - 9788324159406 Wydanie - 1 Rok wydania - 2016 Tłumacz - 31182,maria rostworowska; Format - 110 x 175 x 14 Ilość stron - 224 Podatek VAT - 5% Premiera - 2016-06-23

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Letter from America Penguin

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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

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Natasha's Dance Penguin

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Orlando Figes

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