Neil Ascherson, Independent on Sunday Books of the Year "Breathtaking a novel that sucks you in with its power, so that once you start to read, you cannot put. Oprah Book Club® Selection, February Originally published in Switzerland , and gracefully translated into English by Carol Brown Janeway, The Reader is. Hailed for its coiled eroticism and the moral claims it makes upon the reader, this mesmerizing novel Get news about Literary Fiction books, authors, and more.
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MICHAEL, reading a book, watches unobserved, fascinated as. HANNA collects tickets. She calls out the name of the next stop. She doesn't see him as she. The Reader by Bernhard Schlink. For year-old Michael Berg, a chance meeting with an older woman leads to more than he could have imagined. Mar 29, Books Download The Reader (PDF, ePub, Mobi) by Bernhard Schlink Read Online Full Free.
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Sorting by name, file format, the last time read, etc. The Collections tool bookshelves allows creating personal thematic collections. I was even more ashamed when I threw up. That was another thing that had never happened to me before.
My mouth was suddenly full, I tried to swallow everything down again, and clenched my teeth with my hand in front of my mouth, but it all burst out of my mouth anyway straight through my fingers.
I leaned against the wall of the building, looked down at the vomit around my feet, and retched something clear and sticky. When rescue came, it was almost an assault.
The woman seized my arm and pulled me through the dark entryway into the courtyard. Up above there were lines strung from window to window, loaded with laundry. Wood was stacked in the courtyard; in an open workshop a saw screamed and shavings flew. The woman turned on the tap, washed my hand first, and then cupped both of hers and threw water in my face.
I dried myself with a handkerchief. I took the other one, filled it, and followed her through the entryway. She swung her arm, the water sluiced down across the walk and washed the vomit into the gutter. Then she took my pail and sent a second wave of water across the walk. When she straightened up, she saw I was crying. I wasn't much taller than she was, I could feel her breasts against my chest.
I smelled the sourness of my own breath and felt her fresh sweat as she held me, and didn't know where to look.
I stopped crying. She asked me where I lived, put the pails down in the entryway, and took me home, walking beside me holding my schoolbag in one hand and my arm in the other.
It's no great distance from Bahnhofstrasse to Blumenstrasse. She walked quickly, and her decisiveness helped me to keep pace with her. She said goodbye in front of our building.
That same day my mother called in the doctor, who diagnosed hepatitis. At some point I told my mother about the woman. If it hadn't been for that, I don't think I would have gone to see her. But my mother simply assumed that as soon as I was better, I would use my pocket money to download some flowers, go introduce myself, and say thank you, which was why at the end of February I found myself heading for Bahnhofstrasse.