Окт 23

Publisher: Black Swan; New Ed edition
Paperback, 336 pages

Jay Mackintosh is trapped by memory in the old familiar landscapes of his childhood, more enticing than the present, and to which he longs to return. A bottle of home-brewed wine left to him by a long-vanished friend seems to provide both the key to an old mystery and a doorway into another world. As the unusual properties of the strange brew take effect, Jay escapes to a derelict farmhouse in the French village of Lansquenet, where a ghost from the past waits to confront him, and the reclusive Marise - haunted, lovely and dangerous - hides a terrible secret behind her closed shutters. Between them, a mysterious chemistry. Or could it be magic?

Незвичайна книжка, почнемо з того, що оповідач – пляшка витриманого вина. Моя книжка. Типово моя, про маленькі дива, про «щоденну магію», про те, як важливо вірити і дослухатися до внутрішнього голосу, який інколи наказує нам робити цілковито незбагненні речі. Інколи я ловила себе на думці, що читаю власні думки. І пейзажі. Так гарно виписані пейзажі, великі й маленькі, що здається, немов чуєш, як пахне лаванда, як тріскотять цвіркуни і дрова у каміні. Це зовсім не лав-сторі, як може здатися з опису. Справді, дуже enjoyable reading.

Деякі особливо чудові шматочки:

‘I mean proper travellin, lad. Not all that tourist-brochure rubbish, but the real thing. The Pont-Neuf in the early morning, when there’s no-one up but tramps coming out from under the bridges and out of the Metro, and the sun shinin on the water. New York. Central Park in spring. Rome. Ascension Island. Crossin the Italian Alps by donkey. The vegetable caique from Crete. Himalayas on foot. Eatin rice off leaves in the Temple of Ganesh. Caught in a squall off the coast of New Guinea. Spring in Moscow and a whole winter of dogshit comin out under the meltin snow.’ His eyes were gleaming. ‘I’ve seen all of those things, lad,’ he said softly. ‘And more besides. I promised mesself I’d see everything.’

It was uncanny sensation, that overriding feeling of must-have. He hadn’t felt this way since his teens. The knowledge that life could not be complete without this one infinitely desirable, magical, totemic object – a pair of X-ray spectacles, a set of Hell’s Angels transfers, a cinema ticket, the latest band’s latest single – the certainty that possession of it would change everything, its presence in the pocket to be checked, tested, retested.

‘You allus were a stubborn beggar. Allus askin for explanations. Never happy just to take things as they were. Allus wantin’ to know how it worked.’

А інколи варто просто повірити в чари.

http://lana-svitankova.livejournal.com/298654.html

хорошоплохо (никто еще не проголосовал)
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