When ​God Was a Rabbit 6 csillagozás

Sarah Winman: When God Was a Rabbit Sarah Winman: When God Was a Rabbit Sarah Winman: When God Was a Rabbit Sarah Winman: When God Was a Rabbit Sarah Winman: When God Was a Rabbit Sarah Winman: When God Was a Rabbit

Vigyázat! Cselekményleírást tartalmaz.

1968. ​The year Paris takes to the streets. The year Martin Luther King loses his life for a dream. The year Eleanor Maud Portman is born.

Young Elly's world is shaped by those who inhabit it: her loving but maddeningly distractible parents; a best friend who smells of chips and knows exotic words like 'slag'; an ageing fop who tapdances his way into her home, a Shirley Bassey impersonator who trails close behind; lastly, of course, a rabbit called God. In a childhood peppered with moments both ordinary and extraordinary, Elly's one constant is her brother Joe.

Twenty years on, Elly and Joe are fully grown and as close as they ever were. Until, that is, one bright morning when a single, earth-shattering event threatens to destroy their bond forever.

Spanning four decades and moving between suburban Essex, the wild coast of Cornwall and the streets of New York, this is a story about childhood, eccentricity, the darker side of love and sex, the pull and power… (tovább)

Eredeti megjelenés éve: 2011

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Bloomsbury, London, 2012
304 oldal · ISBN: 9781608195374
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Headline, London, 2011
ASIN: B004QF4DD0 · Felolvasta: Sarah Winman
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Headline, London, 2011
344 oldal · puhatáblás · ISBN: 9780755379309

2 további kiadás


Várólistára tette 5

Kívánságlistára tette 2


Kiemelt értékelések

anemona P>!
Sarah Winman: When God Was a Rabbit

A téma sokszor egyáltalán nem könnyű, és a hangulat is Sarah-ra jellemzően szomorkás, melankolikus, ám ezzel együtt valami hihetetlen, mennyire jó olvasni. Olyan természetes a stílusa, ahogy elkezd mesélni, már rögtön bele is simultál a helyzetbe, ott vagy a családdal, a barátokkal. A szereplők, mintha régi ismerősök lennének. Ritkán tudok ilyen simán kapcsolódni, de ennél a szerzőnél többnyire sikerül.
Helyenként elveszik a hétköznapi részletekben, majd aztán egy-egy olyan mondat vagy jelenet kerül elénk, hogy akkor meg csak pislogok, na, álljunk csak meg!
A nehézségek ellenére is egy kedves könyvnek tartom. Hagyom állni kicsit, de később is szívesen visszatérek hozzá.

Bogas>!
Sarah Winman: When God Was a Rabbit

Lekopogom, de úgy fest, a jól megírt felnőtté válás történeteket nem lehet megunni. Még akkor sem (vagy különösen akkor nem?), ha az adott regény nem szól másról, mint arról, hogyan nő fel egy kislány és a bátyja, mennyire szoros a kapcsolatuk, milyen bonyolult dolog az emlékezés, milyen bonyolult dolog a barátság és mennyire egyszerű dolog a maga összetettségében a szeretet. Miközben egyáltalán nem olyan nyálas, mint ez a mondat, amit sikerült leírnom. Letisztult, szép történet, ami felváltva adja a gyomrosokat és lehetőségeket, és tényleg szerepel benne egy nyúl, akit úgy hívnak, hogy god. És beszél. Mi kell még?

brigi11 P>!
Sarah Winman: When God Was a Rabbit

Én aláírom, hogy ez egy nagyon szépen megírt történet, de nekem ez most kevés volt. Sem a cselekményben, sem a szerplők bemutatásában nem tudta az érdeklődésemet igazán felkelteni, kb. 250 oldalig csak szenvedtünk egymással. A vége miatt nem bánom, hogy elolvastam, de újat adni nem tudott.

blackett>!
Sarah Winman: When God Was a Rabbit

Gyönyörűen van megírva, kivételesen erős a hangulata, teljesen súlytalanok a karakterei (kivéve a nyulat) – szerencsére az első kettő nekem bőven elég.


Népszerű idézetek

anemona P>!

‘What we need is another war,’ said Mr Abraham Golan, my new next-door neighbour. ‘Men need wars.’
‘Men need brains,’ said his sister,

Part One

anemona P>!

‘The first thing we need to find,’ said Mr Golan, ‘is a reason to live,’ and he looked at the little coloured pills rolling around in his palm and quickly swallowed them. He began to laugh.
‘OK,’ I said, and laughed too, although the ache in my stomach would years later be identified by a psychologist as nerves.
He then opened the book he always carried and said, ‘Without a reason, why bother? Existence needs purpose: to be able to endure the pain of life with dignity; to give us a reason to continue. The meaning must enter our hearts, not our heads. We must understand the meaning of our suffering.’

Part One

anemona P>!

The world is a different place when you are well, when you are young. The world is beautiful and safe.

Part Two

anemona P>!

‘I’m thinking of getting married.’
‘You’re dating someone?’ I said.
‘Yup,’ she said, filling her mouth this time with bread and dark crab meat.
‘Since when?’ I said.
‘A while.’
‘Who?’ my mother asked.
Pause.
‘A man.’
‘A man?’ my mother said, no longer bothering to disguise the horror in her voice. ‘But why?’
‘Hold on there,’ said my father. ‘We’re not all bad.’

Part Two

anemona P>!

‘Do you believe in God, Arthur?’ I said, eating the last piece of sponge.
‘Do I believe in an old man in the clouds with a white beard judging us mortals with a moral code from one to ten? Good Lord no, my sweet Elly, I do not! I would have been cast out from this life years ago with my tatty history. Do I believe in a mystery; the unexplained phenomenon that is life itself? The greater something that illuminates inconsequence in our lives; that gives us something to strive for as well as the humility to brush ourselves down and start all over again? Then yes, I do. It is the source of art, of beauty, of love, and proffers the ultimate goodness to mankind. That to me is God. That to me is life. That is what I believe in.’

Part One

anemona P>!

‘He who has a why to live for, can bear almost any how,’ I said solemnly. ‘That’s Nietzsche ,’ I continued with emphasis.

Part One

anemona P>!

‘You said I could be anything I wanted when I was older,’ I said.
She smiled and said, ‘And you can be. But it’s not very easy to become Jewish.’
‘I know,’ I said forlornly. ‘I need a number.’
And she suddenly stopped smiling.

Part One

anemona P>!

‘Where are your shoes?’ she asked.
‘They took them from me,’ he said. ‘It’s procedure. In case I did anything to myself.’
‘What? Like trip yourself up?’

Part One

metahari P>!

And as the curtain closed for an early interval, the bearded Jesus was left forgotten in the large bassinet in the corner of the stage, looking around at all that could have been. Suddenly panicked by Jenny Penny's arachnid shadow creeping towards him, he attempted to climb from the manger, but caught his foot in his swaddling clothes and unfortunately fell forwards onto a papier-mache rock, that Miss Grogney later told the police 'had set much harder than anyone could have imagined'.
His screams sent shudders around the auditorium, and as Jenny Penny tried to lead the audience in the opening verse of 'Joy to the World!' the first of the ambulance and police sirens could just be heard above the chords.

BABY JESUS IN COMA

That was the early headline. There was no picture of Michael Jacobs, only a picture of weeping king, who wasn't weeping because of the accident but because his mother was telling him off for stealing. One witness commented that it was the end of Christmas for the community, but my brother said we shouldn't go that far and that Jesus would rise again. Not until Easter, said Jenny Penny, crying into a pillow.
Of course it was Miss Grogney who blamed both Jenny and me for the whole tragedy, and told the police as much, but they were having none of it. It was a Safety Issue, and as she was supervising the whole palaver (they actually used that word), the blame should lay fairly and squarely on her round shoulders. She would resign before the inquest, treating the whole incident as a question of faith. She'd renounce modern life and do good deeds. She'd move to Blackpool.
My mother had tried to contact Mrs Penny throughout the day and eventually she contacted my mother and said that she was in Southend-on-Sea eating cockles, and could my mother look after Jenny for the night. Of course, my mother said, and promptly told her all that had happened.
'I'll be there as soon as I can,' said Mrs Penny. 'Tomorrow OK?' And then like a dingo scenting blood, she added a little too eagerly, 'When's the funeral?'
'He's not dead yet,' said my mother sharply, albeit a little carelessly.

BABY JESUS DEAD

That was the late headline. My father's Evening News was handed around in a quiet daze. All vital signs were missing and so his atheist family had agreed to turn off the life-support machine.
'Christ, that was quick,' said Nancy, 'What were they doing? Saving electricity?'
'Not funny, Nancy,' said my mother, hiding her face. 'Not funny at all.'
But even I saw my father laugh, and my brother, and Jenny Penny swore that she saw my mother laugh as she looked up from her hot chocolate. She loved moments like that. The inclusiveness of family. I guess because she had none.

47. oldal

metahari P>!

I was in position behind my fake door. Suddenly, I heard a knock.
'Yeees?' I said, the way Nancy had told me to say it and I opened the door and quickly stepped forward into Mary's light. The audience gasped. Nancy said I looked like a cross between Roy Orbison and the dwarf in Don't Look Now. I knew who neither was.
'I am Mary and this is Joseph. We have nowhere to stay. Do you have room in your inn?'
My heart thumped; my tongue felt thick and heavy. Say it, go on, say it.
'You need a room?' I said, suddenly veering away from the script.
I saw Mary and Joseph look at each other. Miss Grogney peered from the wings at me, holding up her script and pointing to it.
'Let me think,' I said.
The silence in the theatre was thick, clawing with anticipation. My heart was beating hard, my throat tight. Say it, I said to myself, say it. And then I did.
'Yes,' I said, 'I have a room, with a lovely view at an excellent rate. Come this way, please,' and with my white stick tapping ahead, two thousand years of Christianity was instantly challenged as I led Mary (now crying) and Joseph towards a double en-suite with TV and mini bar.

46. oldal


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