“It began in the graveyard. Ever since her boyfriend Nathan died in a tragic accident Emma had been coming to the graveyard at night. During the day she went through the motions at her prep school, in class, with her friends, but that’s all it was. But tonight was different. Tonight Emma and her dog were not alone in the cemetery. There were two others there—Eric, who had just started at her school, and an ancient woman who looked as though she were made of rags. And when they saw Emma there, the old woman reached out to her with a grip as chilling as death….”
Kedvencnek jelölte 1
Most olvassa 1
Nem azt kaptam ettől a könyvtől, amit reméltem. Azt hittem, a fülszövegből, hogy a főhős lányunk a régi halott pasija (Nathan) és a szexi, új gyerek (Eric) között fog őrlődni. Ezért egyből el is kezdtem shippelni őket, so hard. Aztán… Az égvilágon semmi romantika nem volt, csak egy megtört lány története, aki rájön, hogy látja a szellemeket, aki inkább halottnak érzi magát, mint élőnek, mégis bármit megtenne a barátaiért, sőt, akár bárki másért. Emma egyedül van, és ez átjárja a könyvet, hiába vannak barátai. Annyira imádtam, hogy Emma odaadása, és makacssága a két vadászpasit (akiknek meg kéne ölnie őt), is teljesen összezavarta.
Azt akartam, hogy Emma boldog legyen, és talán ezt egy új szerelemmel tudtam volna elképzelni, de ez teljesen másról szólt. Egy történet/egy könyv típusú felépítéssel kaptunk egy bevezető részt, ami izgalmas, meg pörgős, de nagyon lényegeset nem tudunk meg. MIT AKAR A FŐGONOSZ? ÉS MIÉRT?
Nem egy epikus nagy fantasy regény, de kellemes kikapcsolódás, még ha nem is rózsaszín ködös.
Allison also hated to shop for anything that wasn’t a book, so after-school mall excursions weren’t social time for Allison; she would simply vanish from the tail end of the pack when the pack passed a bookstore en route to something more interesting, and frequently fail to emerge.
One of the best things about Nathan was that she could just sit, in silence, without being alone. Sometimes she’d read, and sometimes he’d read; sometimes he’d play video games, and sometimes he’d build things; sometimes they’d just walk aimlessly all over the city, as if footsteps were a kind of writing. It wasn’t that she wasn’t supposed to talk; when she wanted to talk, she did. But if she didn’t, it wasn’t awkward. He was like a quiet, private place.
And that’s the only thing that’s left of him, really.
A quiet, private place.
You could set clocks by Michael. In the Hall household, they did; if Michael rang the doorbell and the clock didn’t say 8:10, someone changed it quickly, and only partly because Michael always looked at clocks and began his quiet fidget if they didn’t show the time he expected them to show.
Emma headed over to the driver’s side of the car and glanced pointedly at Skip. Amy shrugged. “He wouldn’t give me the car keys unless I brought him.”
“If we were the secret service,” Emma said, “the country would be doomed. How much does he know?”
“Enough,” Skip replied, before Amy could—and given it was Amy, that was impressive, “not to have to be talked about in the third person.”
Since ignoring Skip was a bit of a specialty, Emma said, “We always talk about Skip in the third person.” She didn’t, however, stick out her tongue.
“So, come on, introduce us.”
“I’d rather not.”
Chase clucked. “Well, then, unless you’re going to kill me here and now—”
“Seriously considering it, Chase.”
“—I’ll just introduce myself, shall I?”
Eric said, to Emma, “You don’t have to be friendly. I try to offend him frequently, but he’s so dense none of it sticks.”
Death was silence, loss, guilt. And anger.
But life led that way, anyway. From birth, it was a slow, long march to the grave. Who had said that? She couldn’t now remember. But it was true. They were born dying. If they were very lucky, the dying was called aging. They reached toward it as if they were satellites in unstable orbits.