2006, ISBN: 9780590130837

Gebundene Ausgabe

Arrow. Very Good. 4.33 x 1.06 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 1999. 505 pages. <br>MysteryLarge Print Edition*A New York Times Bestse ller*A Literary Guild Selection*A Doubleday Book Club… Mehr…

Arrow. Very Good. 4.33 x 1.06 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 1999. 505 pages. <br>MysteryLarge Print Edition*A New York Times Bestse ller*A Literary Guild Selection*A Doubleday Book Club Selection*A Mystery Guild SelectionThe nation is seized by fear. A terrorist attack on a military convoy leaves scores of soldiers dead as tr uckloads of highly volatile weapons fall into the hands of an ult ra-right-wing militia. Worse yet, a fanatical preacher known as B rother Transgressor joins forces with the radical group. Now the President is demanding swift legal action against the militia and turns to attorney Martin Vail with the impossible task of nailin g the terrorists in their tracks a mission that soon explodes int o a personal nightmare for Vail as his nemesis Aaron Stampler ret urns to enact a vengeance that could bring Vail to his knees. Ed itorial Reviews From Library Journal 'So Pennington trades his war years for a ticket to the White House and Engstrom plans the second American Revolution,' Vail said. This is the premise behin d Diehl's (Show of Evil, LJ 4/15/95) new Martin Vail novel. Illin ois state attorney general Vail is called upon by President Lawre nce Pennington to seek a trial case against one of the largest mi litia outfits in the country. The leader of this outfit, Gen. Jos hua Engstrom, just happens to be an old adversary of the presiden t, putting Vail in the middle of a dangerous situation. Vail must also relive the past when unwillingly faced with his nemesis fro m years ago, serial killer Aaron Stampler, who has now become bli nd Brother Transgression. The meshing of these storylines is intr icate yet easily followed as the tension mounts. Diehl's exciting mystery teaches the reader never to think that it is over?until it is really over. Recommended for all public libraries. -?Stacey Reasor, ITT Technical Inst. Lib.,Tampa, Fla. Copyright 1997 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the hardcover e dition. From the Back Cover William Diehl stunned readers with P rimal Fear and Show of Evil, the national bestsellers featuring C hicago lawyer Martin Vail. Now, in his gripping new novel of susp ense, Diehl enters uncharted territory, pushing Vail and the lega l system he represents to the brink of destruction. After an ult ra-right-wing militia seizes truckloads of highly volatile weapon s, the president turns to Illinois attorney general Martin Vail. His job: nail the terrorists in their tracks. Vail plunges into h is new, near-impossible mission, one that soon explodes into a pe rsonal nightmare as his most chilling adversary, Aaron Stampler, returns -- seemingly from the dead -- to exact a vengeance that c ould bring Vail to his knees.... --This text refers to the hardco ver edition. About the Author William Diehl is the author of the bestselling Sharky's Machine, Thai Horse, Hooligans, Chameleon, The Hunt (formerly titled 27), Primal Fear, and Show of Evil. He lives on St. Simons Island, Georgia, with his wife, Virginia Gunn , and his daughter, Temple. --This text refers to the hardcover e dition. From Kirkus Reviews Veteran thriller writer Diehl pits s crappy Chicago lawyer Martin Vail against Bible-thumping militia maniacs and Vail's old adversary, psychokiller Aaron Stampler, in a mindless plotboiler that never fails to please. Having succeed ed fabulously as a defense attorney (Primal Fear, 1993) and then as a district attorney (Show of Evil, 1995), crusading, street-sm art Vail is now promoted to the lofty, politically turbulent offi ce of Illinois State Attorney General. Between passionate trysts with his previous courtroom opponent, Jane Venable, Vail can't ke ep his paws (speaking of same) off corrupt politicians. Having co mmitted his too-good-to-be-billable talents to the public weal, h e effortlessly sends a pack of scalawags to jail using the RICO s tatute. He then finds himself tapped by US Attorney General Marga ret Castaigne to draw up a RICO indictment against General Joshua Engstrom, a right-wing militia commander whose wacko religious o rder, the Sanctuary, may have been behind a terrorist attack on a n Army convoy in Montana. Vail rapidly learns of Engstrom's hatre d for his former Army buddy Lawrence Pennington, now President of the United States. Before you can say Ruby Ridge all over again, Diehl tosses in Arnold Stampler, Vail's homicidal former client and nemesis, as a fundamentalist preacher who feigns blindness an d spouts marginally comprehensible hate sermons on Engstrom's rad io station. From here on, Diehl's forced and foolish story hurtle s on at full throttle, never stopping to question itself or the p reposterousness of its plot. Vail staggers from one contrived cli ffhanger to another until almost everyone is blown up except Stam pler and Vail himself, who takes a bullet through his heart but h as enough chutzpa to insult the President and thumb his nose at a federal judgeship. What a guy! Fizzy male wish-fulfillment that bulges with Clancyesque histrionics, frothing fundamentalist fome nt, and more than you want to know about hate groups and RICO ind ictments. (Literary Guild main selection/Mystery Guild selection; author tour) -- Copyright ®1997, Kirkus Associates, LP. All righ ts reserved. --This text refers to the hardcover edition. Excerp t. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One: J une 12 The dusty RV wailed along the flat interstate, its tires whining on the hot pavement. Behind the wheel was a gaunt, reed-t hin driver, his thinning black hair whipping in the furnace of ho t air that streamed through the open window. He sucked on a bottl e of water to keep from dozing, arcs of sweat staining his white shirt. It had been unmercifully hot since they left Omaha, headin g south and then due west on Interstate 80, with towns and small cities--Kearney, Cozad, Gothenburg--blurring past them as they pa ralleled the river. He drove straight into the sun, into the hot June afternoon, whizzing past the Nebraska farms and fields, uncl uttered, lonely, and dull in their sameness. As was his wont, he bitched to himself as he drove. What's the use havin' air-condi tionin' if he don't let me turn it on? A few miles later. Shakin g his head. Never knew nobody loved the heat like this one. Must be a hunerd-ten out there, he wants the damn window open. Anoth er couple of miles. Nobody t'talk to. Won't let me play the radi o when he's sleepin'. One of these days I'm gonna just doze off . .. Nodding to himself. ... bug off the road, we'll both end up wrapped in this RV in the middle of godforsakennowhere ... Tappi ng the flat of his hand on the steering wheel. ... damn buzzards eatin' our eyes out. Brother T was stretched out on a futon spr ead across two seats.He was uncomfortable sleeping in the main su ite, as he called it, while the RV was on the highway, preferring instead the double seat behind the driver. He was napping, getti ng his strength together for the confront. That's what he called the meetings, confronts. What we're doin', Mordie, we're confron tin' the devil, he would say. Gonna whip that fire-scald, son-bit ch to his knees again t'night, he would say. Praise God, praise J EE-sus. Like they were going to war or somedamnthing. But the d river wasn't complaining. It was the best job he ever had, even t hough he hated driving the flat plains where you could close your eyes for ten minutes then open them and appear to be in the same place you were when you shut them. Suddenly he perked up. Shhh ew, he said under his breath. There was a sign far ahead, dancin g among dervish heat monkeys. He squinted through his sunglasses: Brady two miles. Thank you Jay-sus, he said aloud, mimicking hi s boss in his own rolled-out south Georgia accent. Behind him, B rother T stirred. He leaned up on one elbow and craned and twiste d his neck, popping the muscles, a husky man with long blond hair that hung down to his shoulders and a heavy beard. Where we at? he asked in a voice that was low as a whisper and harsh as a fil e. Smack dab in the middle of the Lord's oven. Brother T cupped the palms of both hands under his jaws, raised his eyebrows, and very lightly rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes with the forefinger of each hand. Sometimes I think Gawd jes' took te n square acres of Kansas, Xeroxed 'em, and laid 'em out end on en d all over the whole damn middle of the country. Sounds like you 're flirtin' with blasphemy there, Mordie. Flirtin' with the tru th, what I'm doin', Mordachai answered, coming to a stop and turn ing right onto a narrow two-lane blacktop. What's the name of th is place again? Brady. 'Bout twenty miles this side a North Plat te. That doesn't tell me a thing. We've driven a little over tw o hunerd miles. Over halfway 'cross Nebraska since we left Omaha. It's flat, hot, and I ain't seen another car for at least an hou r. Brother T opened his eyes and stared through orbs the color o f milk. Stared at absolutely nothing. You ought to feel right at home. Sounds like south Georgia. No trees. Nothin' but hay growi n' everywhere. Wheat, Mordie, wheat. Hay is what it becomes afte r it's shorn from the bosom of the land. I'll trade a hunerd mil es of whateveryacallit for one tall pine tree. Unhappy, Mordie? Brother T admonished gently. Jes' bitchin'. Brother T chuckled. Good for the soul. And I'm soppin'. Since you never sweat, I dr ip fer the both of us. Jesus is the great leveler. Easy fer you t'say, you ain't the dripper. True. Cold's more your fashion. B rother T shivered involuntarily at the thought, rubbed his arms, then felt around the floor for the ice cooler. He snapped it open , took out a can of Coke, bent the tab under, and took a long swi g. Ahhh, he said. My mouth was as dry as stale toast. Near the cooler on the floor were four flat, varnished boxes. A sound came from one of them. Briefly. Like a babe in its sleep rolling agai nst a rattle. Easy, children, Brother T said softly, leaning ove r and brushing his fingertips across the smooth top of one of the boxes. Curl up and go back to sleep. Then to Mordachai: What are my arrangements? You're staying with one'a the preachers, name' s Harmon Jasper. Got a room fixed up in his barn for a farmhand b ut the feller quit and moved to Lincoln. Any family? Wife. Chi ldren? Mordachai paused for an instant. Mordachai ... Daughter in high school. How old? The driver stared uncomfortably at Br other T in the rearview mirror before he said, I dunno. Fifteen, sixteen. The preacher took a swig of Coke. Then he stroked his l ong blond locks with one hand and smiled. All the publicity you been gettin' on the radio, Mordachai said, and the state papers, we could maybe see a hunerd er two hunerd folks tonight. But out here in the middle a nowhere, hell, we won't scratch doodley. Tim es're so bad, nobody's got two nickels to rub t'gether. He paused for a moment, then added, If we'd a stayed outside Omaha a coupl e nights, bet we woulda had a thousand people every night, maybe took in four, five, maybe even ten thousand a night. You know I don't like the big towns. Press is too nosy. People don't give t wo hoots 'bout that. You got apostles, T, apostles. They know lie s when they read 'em. I appreciate your ardor. The preacher lean ed back and took another deep swig from the can. Besides, we've h ad some good one, two thousand dollar nights lately. He leaned ba ck in his seat, his glazed eyes flicking sideways occasionally. T ell me what you see. A drought. Fields all wilted, ground cracke d and dusty, heat squigglin' off everything ... farmhouse off the left, coupla oak trees givin' it shade and behind it's the barn, got a advertisement for chewin' tobacca painted on the side ... can't tell what kind, it's all faded and cracked. How picturesqu e. Everybody out here's hard-timin'. Ya might throw in a word fo r some rain, t'night. Excellent idea. Brother T leaned his head back, like a wolf baying, and his voice rose suddenly, still har sh and tormented, but quivering with emotion. I beseech you, swee t Jee-sus, in the name of my suffering brothers and sisters ... b athe this thirsty dust with your tears ... and give life to its p arched earth and wilted fruit. Amen, Lord, a-men! Which Book's t hat from? My very own treasury of injunctions, Brother T answere d, and chuckled. The Jasper place was a pleasant if somewhat spa rtan white frame farmhouse, boxed by the porch that surrounded it . A dusty red Chevy pickup was parked beside it, and a sturdy bar n that looked recently painted stood behind it. Fifteen or twenty skinny pigs rooted and wallowed in a sty at one side of the barn . Behind all that, a field of scorched grain spread across the fl at land toward the town of Brady, a few miles away, a large clust er of low buildings surrounded on four corners by silos, which fr om a distance, in the clear but heat-heavy air, looked like senti nels guarding a prairie fortress. The big tent was stretched out , fifty yards or so from the house at the edge of a parched field , its canvas side flaps rolled up and tied. A vague and inadequat e breeze stirred the grass around it. Nearby, several vehicles of all makes and models were parked haphazardly along the road and on the grounds. There was a sense of revelry here, of people esc aping from the moment in anticipation of comradery and redemption : a dozen women and children scurried about, chatting and laughin g and setting out plastic plates and eatingware on four long tabl es; a young teenage girl in a blue dress spun around and danced t o a song in her head; a small boy sat on the ground staring mutel y at a squirrel in one of the oaks, while other children played t ag around one of the larger trees; two men in shirtsleeves attend ed pieces of chicken sizzling over charcoal on twenty-gallon drum s that were halved and perched on sections of old train rails; fo ur women fussed over a table abounding with bowls of biscuits, co leslaw, baked beans, corn on the cob, chocolate layer cakes, and pitchers of freshly made lemonade. At the edge of the dirt road leading to the farmhouse, a mobile sign announced: Revival Meeti ng 7:30 p.m. tonight BROTHER TRANSGRESSOR Pastor, Church of Chr ist Wandering Preparing for Parousia All you can eat country di nner, 3$ 6:00-7:30 Mordachai walked across the hard earth, flap ping his damp shirt against his chest. He asked someone where he could find Jasper and was pointed to a short, r, Arrow, 1999, 3, Delacorte Press. Good. 5.1 x 1.2 x 7.6 inches. Hardcover. 2006. 336 pages. Ex-library. Cover worn. <br>Some women shop. Some eat. Dora cures the blues by bingeing on books-reading one after anot her, from Flaubert to bodice rippers, for hours and days on end. In this wickedly funny and sexy literary debut, we meet the begui ling, beautiful Dora, whose unique voice combines a wry wit and v ulnerability as she navigates the road between reality and fictio n. Dora, named after Eudora Welty, is an indiscriminate book jun kie whose life has fallen apart-her career, her marriage, and fin ally her self-esteem. All she has left is her love of literature, and the book benders she relied on as a child. Ever since her la rger-than-life father wandered away and her book-loving, alcoholi c mother was left with two young daughters, Dora and her sister, Virginia, have clung to each other, enduring a childhood filled w ith literary pilgrimages instead of summer vacations. Somewhere a long the way Virginia made the leap into the real world. But Dora isn't quite there yet. Now she's coping with a painful separatio n from her husband, scraping the bottom of a dwindling inheritanc e, and attracted to a seductive book-seller who seems to embody a ll that literature has to offer-intelligent ideas, romance, and a n escape from her problems. Joining Dora in her odyssey is an e lderly society hair-brusher, a heartbroken young girl, a hilariou s off-the-wall female teamster, and Dora's mother, now on the wag on, trying to make amends. Along the way Dora faces some powerful choices. Between two irresistible men. Between idleness and work . And most of all between the joy of well-chosen words and the un tidiness of real people and real life. Editorial Reviews From P ublishers Weekly Kaufman, a former L.A. Times staff writer, and M ack, a former attorney and Golden Globe Award- winning film and T V producer, check in with this solid, thoughtful chick lit debut. Dora, at 35, is a twice-divorced former young reporter on the ri se at the L.A. Times. Second ex-husband Palmer is now head of Son y Pictures, and still supporting her. Dora's depressed, and she o nly leaves the house to stalk Palmer and buy more books. At the b ookstore, she meets elegantly scraggly comp lit Ph.D. Fred, and t hey begin an unlikely courtship. Dora is soon surprised by Fred's invitation to meet his mother, Bea, whom Dora likes instantly, a ll the more so when she learns Bea is also raising Harper, the si x-year-old daughter of Fred's troubled sister. The bond between B ea and Dora gives Dora something she never had with her own, alco holic mother, and helps her make decisions that bring her life ba ck into focus. Dora is the kind of deadpan and imperfect heroine with whom readers can easily identify. Kaufman and Mack mishandle the abrupt ending and epilogue, but are most likely setting up a welcome sequel. (June 6) Copyright ® Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. From Book list Book lust meets chick lit in this tale of a love-challenged bookworm. Dora, named for Eudora Welty, confesses, I collect new books the way my girlfriends buy designer handbags. Estranged fro m her husband and living in a luxurious L.A. high-rise, she deals with melancholy by taking long baths while drinking wine and rea ding paperbacks. Luckily, her habit must be fed, requiring freque nt trips to the local bookstore, where she meets tall, handsome F red--a starving playwright who ekes out a living by providing boo k-group recommendations to Brentwood housewives. Soon they're inv olved in a heated romance, but things begin to sour when Dora mee ts his family. Then Dora's husband pops up, and confusion creeps in. Dora is a charming character, and readers will appreciate som e of her more neurotic tendencies, such as her debilitating fear of driving on freeways. No literary masterpiece, this cowritten d ebut reads instead like a gossipy e-mail from a witty, intelligen t friend. A list of referenced books and authors is included at t he end. Emily Cook Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved Review A book with the word Literacy in the titl e? A book with a lot of astute and telling quotes used as a plot device?... Literacy and Longing in L.A. turns out to be the most delightful read of the year.... An absolute romp dotted with the kind of wise sayings you never want to forget.-Liz Smith Kaufman and Mack cultivate a bright, breezy tone.... This is chick ficti on in its purest form, so humor is always plentiful.-The Miami He rald Jennifer Kaufman and Karen Mack have a lot of nerve! How d are they come up with the brilliant idea to write a novel about a woman who tells her life story through her obsession with books! And how dare they execute it so beautifully?!...The book is shar p, seamless and very, very funny. I wish I had written it.-Sara N elson, author of So Many Books, So Little Time A poignant and w itty tale of life, love and letters in Los Angles...[a] brilliant debut novel.-Karen Quinn, author of The Ivy Chronicles A wonder ful story that completely won me over-insecure bookish Dora will appeal to anyone who has ever found solace or inspiration in read ing. This is chick lit for bookworms, at times breezy, sexy, prof ound...-Denise Hamilton, author of Prisoner of Memory A delightf ully stylish romp through life and love in Southern California in which our heroine offers irrefutable proof that literacy and L.A . are not mutually exclusive. -Judith Ryan Hendricks, author of T he Baker's Apprentice I'm absolutely crazy about Literacy and Lo nging in L.A., which deftly serves up all the best elements of so -called 'chick lit,' lovingly larded with light-hearted, quick-wi tted, absolutely astonishing learning!-Carolyn See, author of Mak ing a Literary Life Funny and charming.... What a pleasing combi nation: books and romance.-Fort Worth Star-Telegram Funny and ch arming.... A bit of chick lit for women who actually love to read .-Arizona Republic About the Author Karen Mack, a former attorne y, is a Golden Globe Award-winning film and television producer. Jennifer Kaufman was a staff writer at the Los Angeles Times and is a two-time winner of the national Penney-Missouri Journalism A ward. Their debut novel, Literacy and Longing in L.A., was a #1 L os Angeles Times bestseller and also won the 2006 Southern Califo rnia Booksellers Association Award for Fiction. Excerpt. ® Repri nted by permission. All rights reserved. Master of the Universe All the best stories in the world are but one story in reality, t he story of escape. It is the only thing which interests us all a nd at all times, how to escape. -Arthur Christopher Benson (1862- 1925)- Women do different things when they're depressed. Some sm oke, others drink, some call their therapists, some eat. My mothe r used to go ballistic when she and my father had a fight, then s he'd booze for days on end and vanish into her bedroom. My sister was more into the global chill mode; give 'em the silent treatme nt and, in the meantime, gorge on frozen Sara Lee banana cake. An d I do what I have always done-go off on a book bender that can l ast for days. I fall into this state for different reasons. Some times it's after an I hate your fucking guts fight. Other times i t's symptomatic of my state of mind, ennui up to my ears, my life gone awry, and that feeling of dread whenever I'm asked what I'm doing. How can anyone sort all this out? All things considered, I'd rather read. It's the perfect escape. I have a whole mantra for my book binges. First of all, I open a bottle of good red win e. Then I turn off my cell phone, turn on my answering machine, a nd gather all the books I've been meaning to read or reread and h aven't. Finally, I fill up the tub with thirty-dollar bubble bath , fold a little towel at the end of the tub so it just fits in th e crick of my neck, and turn on my music. I have an old powder-bl ue plastic Deco radio near the tub that I bought at a garage sale in Hollywood a few years ago. The oddest thing: the radio only r eceives one AM radio station, which plays jazz standards from the forties and fifties, and it suits me just fine. Within my bathr oom walls is a self-contained field of dreams and I am in total c ontrol, the master of my own elegantly devised universe. The outs ide world disappears and here, there is only peace and a profound sense of well-being. Most of the people in my life take a dim v iew of this . . . what would you call it? Monomania? Eccentricity ? My sister is perhaps the most diplomatic. We both know that I h ave a tendency to lose my tether to reality when I close myself o ff like this. But then she'll joke that I'm really just another b oring bibliomaniac and what I really need is a little fresh air. She always was a whiz with words. She actually informed me that a book she read by Nicholas Basbanes (appropriately called Among t he Gently Mad) states that the first documented use of the word b ibliomania came in 1750 when the fourth earl of Chesterfield sent a letter to his illegitimate son warning him that this consuming diversion with books should be avoided like the bubonic plague. Ho hum. I peel off my clothes and throw them on the floor. As I' m walking to the tub, I glance at the floor-to-ceiling mirror tha t covers the south wall of my bathroom. Oh god. Wait a minute. Yo u know how you look in the mirror and you look the same and you l ook the same and all of a sudden you look ten years older? It's f itting that at age thirty-five I should notice this. My waist is thicker, my breasts saggier, the beginnings of--shit, is that cel lulite on the backs of my thighs? Why is it that you think this a ge thing won't happen to you? Oh, and look at the backs of my elb ows! They look like old-lady wrinkled elbows with a sharp, bony p rotrusion. I've never been able to figure out my looks. I've bee n told I'm striking. But what does that mean? It's something peop le say when they can't give you the usual compliments, like you'r e beautiful. It could be my height that puts them off. I'm almost five foot ten, which has only recently become fashionable. I als o have enormous feet. Size 10 on a good day. When I was young, I hated my tall, too-thin, sticklike figure, which my mother descr ibed as willowy. She'd argue that my looks were special and would be appreciated when I got older. Just give yourself time, she'd say. You'll see. You'll outshine all those other girls with hourg lass figures. I felt like Frankie in The Member of the Wedding: a big freak . . . legs too long . . . shoulders too narrow . . . b elonging to no club and a member of nothing in the world. It was n't just my appearance. I always felt like an oddball, the except ion in a world where I imagined other families were normal and ha ppy. Virginia and I endured the secrets and shame of an absent fa ther and an alcoholic mother, and the few friends I had, I kept a t a distance, always relieved when they didn't come over. The fac t of the matter was that I was embarrassed that my mother couldn' t cope, and in some ways, she passed that on to me. I shut my ey es as I get into the tub. I have purposely made the water scaldin g hot and when I dip my foot in, my toes turn red and start to st ing. Too hot. I add a little cold, letting the water run through my fingers as I listen to a tinny version of Coltrane blasting ou t Love Supreme. Paul Desmond once said that listening to late-nig ht jazz is like having a very dry martini. I think he's right. I stick my foot back in and then ease my body into the water. Stil l too hot. I twist the spigot with my toes, adding more cold. The re. Perfect. I pick up The Transit of Venus, an obscure novel by Shirley Hazzard, whose newest book, The Great Fire, has become a favorite among book clubs. The premise is fascinating. It's about two beautiful orphaned sisters whose lives are as predestined as the rotation of the planets. I try to concentrate. The prose is dense and complex; I have to keep rereading paragraphs. I start t o daydream and lose my place. This isn't working for me. Basicall y, I'm still depressed. Maybe it's just the time of year. It's C hristmas, I'm alone, and my social prospects are nonexistent. Thi s is the season to be somewhere else, and for the majority of my friends, that means packing up the kids and maybe a few of their best friends and migrating to second homes in Maui, Aspen, Cabo, Sun Valley, and the second tier, Palm Springs and Las Vegas. Bei ng in West L.A. in December is like being banished to an isolated retreat or even a rehab center where parties and other forms of merriment are verboten. Not that I'm complaining. If you come fro m the east, the weather here in December is glorious. Right up un til the El Ni-o rains in late January and February, the world is temperate, mild, and forgiving. Natural disasters like fires, flo ods, landslides, and earthquakes don't happen in West L.A. This year I have no plans to go anywhere and I am occasionally nagged by that insidious feeling of missing out. When I was with Palmer, we used to go to the Four Seasons on Maui every year. We'd get t he corner suite and even bribe a beachboy to reserve our lounges every day to avoid getting up at five a.m. like everyone else. (I n truth, most of our friends just had their nannies do it.) Now I hear Palmer is going to St. Barts. He thinks it's younger, hippe r, and more fun, unlike being with me. I used to sit by the pool in the shade and read all day. The phone rings. It's my sister, Virginia. She sounds worried. I know you're there, Dora. Why have n't you returned my calls? If you don't pick up I'm coming over . . . I pick up. I'm okay, I say. You don't sound okay. Are you doing another one of your book-hermit things? Nobody knows me lik e Virginia. I've been a little upset. A little, like twenty-fou r hours little or a little, like three days little? Like three d ays little. Doesn't sound little to me. Do you want me to come o ver? I look around. My place is a shambles. No. Really. I'm fine . I was just going out. I convince her that I'm simply marvelous and she buys it. She just doesn't get it. She has a husband and a baby. Who can blame her? I pick up the Hazzard book and try ag ain. This is so depressing. I have just finished an early chapter about Ted Tice, Paul Ivory, and Caro, and I can already tell the y are all eventually doomed to lives of unspeakable loss and trag edy. For one thing, Paul is, Delacorte Press, 2006, 2.5, Dog Ear Publishing, LLC. Paperback. POOR. Noticeably used book. Heavy wear to cover. Pages contain marginal notes, underlining, and or highlighting. Possible ex library copy, with all the markings/stickers of that library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, and dust jackets may not be included., Dog Ear Publishing, LLC, 1, HarperCollins. New. Brand New! Not Overstocks or Low Quality Book Club Editions! Direct From the Publisher! We're not a giant, faceless warehouse organization! We're a small town bookstore that loves books and loves it's customers! Buy from Lakeside Books!, HarperCollins, 6, G. Allen & Company, Ltd., 1913. Hardcover. Acceptable. 1913. 160 pages. No dust jacket. Blue cloth. Moderate foxing and tanning to pages with heavier tanning to pastedowns and endpapers. Heavy tanning to text block edges and slight dog-eared pages throughout with pen inscriptions to front endpaper and pastedown. Boards have visible rubbing and bumping to corners. Fair crushing to spine ends and noticeable rubbing to spine., G. Allen & Company, Ltd., 1913, 2.5, Scholastic Reference. Used - Like New. Like New condition. A near perfect copy that may have very minor cosmetic defects., Scholastic Reference, 5<

ISBN: 9780590130837

Scholastic Reference. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible … Mehr…

Scholastic Reference. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Scholastic Reference, 2.5<

ISBN: 9780590130837

Scholastic Reference. Used - Good. Item in good condition. Textbooks may not include supplemental items i.e. CDs, access codes etc..., Scholastic Reference, 2.5