krainaksiazek get dressed life has stripped you now what 20111247
- znaleziono 7 produktów w 3 sklepach
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
So You Think You're a Cyclist? Dog n Bone
Książki / Literatura obcojęzyczna
50 profiles of some of the cycling world's most colourful characters. Every day, more and more people are getting into cycling. Whilst this may be a good way to reduce the nation's obesity problems and save the planet at the same time, it's bad news for anyone who has to spend more than a few minutes listening to a bike rider bleat on and on. So You Think You're a Cyclist analyses 50 members of the cycling community, examining what makes this ever-growing tribe tick, just as keen to spend a fortune on a carbonfibre brake lever as they are to throw them selves down a hill on a freezing February morning dressed only in a thin layer of lycra. Over the following pages, a series of case studies will introduce you to some of the most common members of the cycling fraternity, giving you a glimpse into their gear-obsessed world. Starting with the newly turned cycling evangelist, this guy spent the previous 10 years slumped on the sofa with one hand on the remote control, the other shoveling snacks into his mouth. Now he's determined to preach to everyone he meets how two wheels have turned his life around and could do the same for you. Then there's the MAMIL, the middle-aged man in lycra who spends every Sunday wheezing his way up hills on a bike that costs more than your average car. The vintage princess struggles to get going on her incredibly heavy 1940s frame, but that's the price you pay for looking retro. The jury's out on whether sweat patches on your thrift store tea dress are going to go down well on the vintage style blogs.
Książki & Multimedia > Książki
Opis - 'Only with the greatest of simplifications, for the sake of convenience, can we say Africa. In reality, except as a geographical term, Africa doesn't exist'. Ryszard Kapuscinski has been writing about the people of Africa throughout his career. In a study that avoids the official routes, palaces and big politics, he sets out to create an account of post-colonial Africa seen at once as a whole and as a location that wholly defies generalised explanations. It is both a sustained meditation on the mosaic of peoples and practises we call 'Africa', and an impassioned attempt to come to terms with humanity itself as it struggles to escape from foreign domination, from the intoxications of freedom, from war and from politics as theft. The Beginning: Collision, Ghana 1958 More than anything, one is struck by the light. Light everywhere. Brightness everywhere. Everywhere, the sun. Just yesterday, an autumnal London was drenched in rain. The airplane drenched in rain. A cold, wind, darkness. But here, from the morning's earliest moments, the airport is ablaze with sunlight, all of us in sunlight. In times past, when people wandered the world on foot, rode on horseback, or sailed in ships, the journey itself accustomed them to the change. Images of the earth passed ever so slowly before their eyes, the stage revolved in a barely perceptible way. The voyage lasted weeks, months. The traveller had time to grow used to another environment, a different landscape. The climate too, changed gradually. Before the traveller arrived from a cool Europe to the burning Equator, he already had left behind the pleasant warmth of Las Palmas, the heat of Al-Mahara, and the hell of the Cape Verde islands. Today, nothing remains of these gradations. Air travel tears us violently out of snow and cold and hurls us that very same day into the blaze of the tropics. Suddenly, still rubbing our eyes, we find ourselves in a humid inferno. We immediately start to sweat. If we've come from Europe in the wintertime, we discard overcoats, peel off sweaters. It's the first gesture of initiation we, the people of the North, perform upon arrival in Africa. People of the North. Have we sufficiently considered the fact that northerners constitute a distinct minority on our planet? Canadians and Poles, Lithuanians and Scandinavians, some Americans and Germans, Russians and Scots. Laplanders and Eskimos, Evenkis and Yakuts - the list is not very long. It may amount to o more than 500 million people: less than 10 per cent of the earth's population. The overwhelming majority live in hot climates, their days spent in the warmth of the sun. Mankind first came into being in the sun, the oldest traces of his existence have been found in warm climes. What was the weather like in the biblical paradise? It was eternally warm, hot even, so that Adam and Eve could go about naked and not feel chilled even in the shade of a tree. Something else strikes the new arrival even as he descends the steps of the airplane: the smell of the tropics. Perhaps he's had intimations of it. It is the scent that permeated Mr Kanzman's little shop, Colonial and Other Goods, on Perec Street in my hometown of Pinsk. Almonds, cloves, dates, and cocoa. Vanilla and laurel leaves, oranges and bananas, cardamom and saffron. And Drohobych. The interiors of Bruno Schulz's cinnamon shops. Didn't their
Under the Duvet Penguin
Powieści i opowiadania
'When people ask me what I do for a crust and I tell them that I'm a novelist, they immediately assume that my life is a non-stop carousel of limos, television appearances, hair-dos, devoted fans, stalkers and all the glitzy paraphernalia of being a public figure. It's time to set the record straight. I write alone, in a darkened bedroom, wearing my PJs, eating bananas, my laptop on a pillow in front of me ...' Her novels are adored by millions around the world
Shadow of the Sun Penguin
'Only with the greatest of simplifications, for the sake of convenience, can we say Africa. In reality, except as a geographical term, Africa doesn't exist'. Ryszard Kapuscinski has been writing about the people of Africa throughout his career. In a study that avoids the official routes, palaces and big politics, he sets out to create an account of post-colonial Africa seen at once as a whole and as a location that wholly defies generalised explanations. It is both a sustained meditation on the mosaic of peoples and practises we call 'Africa', and an impassioned attempt to come to terms with humanity itself as it struggles to escape from foreign domination, from the intoxications of freedom, from war and from politics as theft. The Beginning: Collision, Ghana 1958 More than anything, one is struck by the light. Light everywhere. Brightness everywhere. Everywhere, the sun. Just yesterday, an autumnal London was drenched in rain. The airplane drenched in rain. A cold, wind, darkness. But here, from the morning
Zombie Erotica Living Dead Press
Książki / Literatura obcojęzyczna
What would it be like to screw a zombie? Would it be exciting, gross, or something in between? Would it be dry or slippery with pus? Ah, well those are the questions up for debate, aren't they? Think about it, the zombie apocalypse has arrived and is in full swing, and a year later, you still haven't been laid. What's a person to do? Become a nun or a priest? Take a vow of celibacy? Hell no, how about going out and getting yourself a piece of undead ass. Remember that little honey at work you had your eye on before the dead began to walk and thought was out of your league? Well, now she's one of the walking dead, and I bet if you ask her out, she won't say no. How could she? She can't talk or think anymore! So just because the dead rule the earth, it shouldn't mean you're sex life has to suffer, and in this book are a few examples of how your sex life can only get better after the dead begin to walk. So get dressed in your best clothes, put on some smooth make-out music, and prepare to get busy, because your undead date is about to arrive, and I promise you. . .she will put out!
Color of Happiness Lightning Source UK Ltd
Książki / Literatura obcojęzyczna
Faith Lane is the girl who has everything. At least, that's what everyone thinks when they see her rocking a killer dress while laughing with her best friend, Tiffany. But Faith's life is far from flawless. Her peers torment her relentlessly, and her parents expect her to be the epitome of perfection. Criticized and pressured at school and home, Faith retreats into silent acceptance and finds an escape in her passion of dancing. Then she meets Alex - popular, forever with a pass, and concealing a mysterious secret of his own. And through his encouragement, Faith starts believing in her gift for dance and gains courage to stand up for herself. But will she be able to keep her footing when the events of one night consume her with the need to jump off the rocky cliffs near her coastal home? And what has pushed her to the edge of reason? About the Author: K.P Gazelle has been connected with young adults in some way for as long as she can remember. She's obsessed with books, coffee, and big dreams. Excerpt: "CRAP!" I YELPED in pain, rubbing my bruised toes. Attempt number 100: fail. I took a deep breath and pushed myself up again. Closing my eyes, I leapt, tossing my arms and head back and pointing one leg straight in front. I tried arching the other leg behind me to complete the firebird leap. Instead, I came tumbling down onto my bedroom floor and bruised my toes again. Crappity crap crap! I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and rolled my eyes at the dance instructor in the video that I kept replaying on my laptop. She made it seem so easy when it clearly was not. "I hate you, firebird leap!" I yelled at my screen before slamming it shut and pushing it further back on my desk. I flopped backward onto my bed beside the desk, burned out from practicing. "Faith, Tiffany's here!" Mama announced from downstairs. Tiffany had been my best friend since sixth grade. We'd met in gym class during a game of badminton. Being the world's most uncoordinated person, Tiffany sent her racket flying over the net along with the birdie. The impact of the handle hitting my head was blinding, making me dizzy and causing me to fall to the floor within seconds. She had rushed over, apologizing profusely -- being the kind of person who wouldn't even hurt an ant -- and instead of turning into sworn enemies we became best friends. "Give me ten minutes!" I yelled back, before jumping into the shower and changing into a powder blue sundress. Grabbing my handbag, I jogged downstairs, so ready to finally get out of the house. "Hey, you ready?" Tiffany asked while tying her blonde hair back with a hair tie. She was half Chinese, but you would never have been able to guess that unless you'd looked closely at the monolid of her small, wide-set brown eyes. "You don't even know," I answered under my breath as I made my way to the kitchen, drawn by the smell of cinnamon. Mama was at the island flipping over some French toast. She was already dressed in a beige day dress and nude wedges. She was the poster girl for a 1950's housewife, always cooking or cleaning, but with her dark shoulder length locks and makeup perfectly done. I forked a piece into my mouth, savoring the maple syrup for a moment before kissing her cheek goodbye. "I want a call every thirty minutes, young lady," she reminded me for the millionth time since morning. "Kind of hard when I don't have a cell phone." "Mrs. Lane, Faith needs a cell. She has to be the only sophomore at Liberty High who doesn't have one," Tiffany advocated on my behalf. She'd had a cell phone since eighth grade -- which was totally annoying, yet convenient. "Nice try, girls. Now, off you go, out of my kitchen."
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