Ad blocker detected: Our website is made possible by displaying online advertisements to our visitors. Please consider supporting us by disabling your ad blocker on our website.
StLouis wrote:Jergovica, "Dvori od oraha" - kako je genijalan ovaj Jergovic! Ko ubi ludu Mandu Delavale
Gospodjo Marija, kcer sam, nisam cudoviste! Brinula sam se za nju trideset godina, i zivot mi je u tome prosao i nikom se nisam zalila. Nisam bjezala, kao sto djeca pobjegnu od roditelja. Na drugi kraj svijeta pobjegnu. I nije cudno da pobjegnu. Svakakvih nas ima.
ne mogu da ne napisem jos koju rijec o ovoj knjizi...odavno mi nije bilo ovoliko zao sto ne govorim francuski dovoljno tecno da procitam ovu knjigu u orginalu...iako je prevod jako dobar, cak i se i u engleskoj verziji nazire poezija jezika tako tipicna za francuski vrlo interesantna prica o 4 generacije zena u jednoj porodici...svaka od njih sa sobom donosi mnostvo tajni, kompleksnost i jednostavnost onog sto znaci biti zena, kao i neke druge elemente vremena u kojem su zivjele uz to prica zadire i u raznolike dinamike odnosa majka-kcerka...zaista jako lijepo napisana knjiga...vjerujem da cu potraziti jos djela ove spisateljice iz Quebeca
Stephen King " Crna Kuća",
previse zalazi u detalje opisa nebitnih stvari, sto me vrlo nervira, ali tema je odlicna.
Ipak preporucujem " mobilni telefon" ( Cell) od Kinga koju sam prije nje procitao.
slucajno sam nabasala na ovu knjigu i sada mi je drago sto jesam...poezija u prozi, slika jednog sela, slika jednog naroda, slika jednog rata, slika vise ljubavi...
evo i jedan odlomak...
There was once a mosque that was yellow, and that had to be painted blue. The men in the village where the mosque stood rose at daybreak one day and went about their task with purpose. They had agreed it should be a light blue, the colour of a benevolent sky on a spring day. But they were novices. They neglected to apply a coat of white paint and only after the paint had dried did they realize the mosque had come out green. They laid their brushes aside for a few days and put away the paint, tried to love the new colour. Eventually though, they had to concede that the green was reminiscent of the yellow they had tried to cover, and of the blue they failed to achieve. There was no need for any conferring, for their unease drew them again to the mosque, where they rolled up their sleeves one evening and smiled knowing smiles. This time, the men underestimated the darkness, and it eclipsed their vision, and the next morning the navy walls of the mosque stood like a dark stain against the summer day in the village of al-Ahmar.
They went on like this for many days, stripping their fresh coats of colour, mixing, repainting. The mosque was painted electric blue, midnight and indigo. When they finally achieved the desired colour, they were so absorbed by their task that they failed to recognize it, and painted it lilac. The women in the village did not speak, feigning not to notice the vacant ritual. Finally the men became despondent, declared that the mosque was beyond restoration, should be painted red, like the earth on which it stood, and left alone. They dispersed with glum expressions and heavy arms to their homes and to a quiet communal prayer, even though it was not a Friday. The general feeling that there had been a failure to atone and make amends hung on through the night to the next morning, when the first family left al-Ahmar.
With time, the entire village was deserted, for the men were unable to bear the permanent reminder that they had blundered on a hallowed place.
The mosque stands there still, though it is not forsaken. On moonless nights a strange creature, half-bird half-woman, appears at the top of the minaret to sing her song. They call her the desert mermaid, and she performs the call to the dawn prayer. Those who have heard her say that her voice is so luminous, it was as though the sun and moon both had been arrested in it. And those who have seen her say they have been dazzled. They describe yellow hair and brown skin, and eyes that seem to have been wired by a mesh of lightning.
It is said that nothing requested of the trapped soul is too much trouble, that she is the source of the spring which feeds the oasis and that her smile would resonate in your heart long after tears of joy had streamed down to your feet upon hearing her voice, as you stood at the bottom of the minaret.
Yet the mere mention of her name, Ruhiya, evokes a fear dark and rare like black coral, and deep and mysterious as the sea which contains it.
It is a firm heart which comes to her in need. For it has been verified that should the whim strike her, Ruhiya will distill your spirit from your flash.
jako volim krimice, ali vrlo rijetko naletim na neki kvalitetno napisan...sve je nesto brzo, jeftino a la pattersona, higgins clarke-ove itd ne pase mi nikako...ova knjiga je totalno drugacija od tog stila...glavni lik tj istrazivac je 11godisnja Flavia de Luce neobicna, zanimljiva, inteligentna i dosta zlocasta djevojcica koja jako voli hemiju...ovo je prva knjiga u seriji, tek sam stigla do polovine i vec se unaprijed radujem nastavcima preporucujem onima koje zanima ovaj zanr, ali koji uz dobru misteriju ocekuju i dobro pisanje
a procitah u zadnje vrijeme par predvidivih krimica, dosadnih romana, nepreglednih biografija itd itd. pa da pitam vas, o siroko i sveznajuce forumsko pucanstvo , po kojim kriterijima vi birate relaksante ove vrste - po intrigirajucem nazivu knjige ili zvucnom imenu autora, po preprorukama prijatelja i forumasa, po boji korica ili njihovoj debljini ili pak po nagradama koje to djelo vrijedno vase paznje dobi?
ukratko, preporucite mi nesto zanimljivo jedini kriterij je da nije ekranizirano
vrlo interesantna prica o 4 generacije zena u jednoj porodici...svaka od njih sa sobom donosi mnostvo tajni, kompleksnost i jednostavnost onog sto znaci biti zena, kao i neke druge elemente vremena u kojem su zivjele 
pa da pitam vas, o siroko i sveznajuce forumsko pucanstvo 
