Books, Fiction, First Paragraph Tuesday, Sin categoría

First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday

‘First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday’ is hosted by ‘Bibliophile by the Sea’, where bloggers share the first paragraph of a novel they are currently reading or want to read in the future.

This week’s paragraph comes from ‘The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’ by Steig Larsson:

‘The trial was irretrievably over; everything that could be said had been said, but he had never doubted that he would lose. The written verdict was handed down at 10.00 on Friday morning, and all that remained eas a summing-up from the reporters waiting in the corridor outside the district court.’

Would you continue reading?

Books, First Paragraph Tuesday, Reading

First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday

First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday’ is hosted by ‘Bibliophile by the Sea’, where bloggers share the first paragraph of a novel they are currently reading or want to read in the future.

This week’s paragraph comes from ‘WinterSmith’ by Terry Pratchett. I’m a relatively new fan of the ‘Discworld’ series (you can find my review of ‘The Truth’ here), so I’m excited to begin reading this one in the future.

‘Chapter 1- The Big Snow

When the storm came, it hit the hills like a hammer. No sky should hold as much snow as this, and because no sky could, it fell; fell in a wall of white.’

Would you continue reading?

Books, Fiction, First Paragraph Tuesday, Sin categoría

First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday

‘First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday’ is hosted by ‘Bibliophile by the Sea’, where bloggers share the first paragraph of a novel they are currently reading or want to read in the future.

This week’s chapter comes from ‘Water for Elephants’ by Sara Gruen.

water for elephants

I’ve seen the film adaptation of this novel and, despite it starring Robert Pattinson, I enjoyed it. So I bought the book, to see how it differs from the film.

Here’s the first paragraph of the book:

Prologue

‘Only three people were left under the red and white awning of the greasy joint: Grady, me, and the fry cook. Grady and I sat at a battered wooden table, eadch facing a burger on a dented tin plate. The cook was behind the counter, scraping his griddle with the edge of a spatula. He had turned off the fryer some time ago, but the odor of grease lingered.’

Would you read on?

Books, First Paragraph Tuesday, Reading

First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday

‘First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday’ is hosted by ‘Bibliophile By The Sea’. Each week, I’ll share with you the first paragraph of a novel I’m currently reading or want to read in the future.

This week’s paragraph is from ‘The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet’ by David Mitchell:

‘The House of Kawasemi the Concubine, above Nagasaki’. The Ninth Night of the Fifth Month.

‘Miss Kawasemi?’ Orito kneels on a stale and sticky futon. ‘Can you hear me?’

In the rice paddy beyond the garden, a cacophony of frogs detonates.  Orito dabs the concubine’s sweat-drenched face with a damp cloth.

‘She’s barely spoken,’ the maid holds the lamp ‘for hours and hours…’

‘Miss Kawasemi, my name’s Aibagawa. I’m a midwife. I want to help.’

Kawasemi’s eyes flicker open. She manages a frail sigh. Her eyes shut. She is too exhausted, Orito thinks, even to fear dying tonight.’

Would you continue reading?

Ann Shreve, Books, First Paragraph Tuesday

First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday

‘First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday’ is hosted by ‘Bibliophile By The Sea’. Each week, I’ll share with you the first paragraph of a novel I’m currently reading or want to read in the future.

This week’s paragraph is from ‘Eden Close’ by Anita Shreve. I’ve read another Anita Shreve novel ‘Sea Glass’, you can find my review here.

‘The air lay as heavy as water in the square dark rooms of the farmhouse. The house was still, sounds indistinct and muffled, as if heard through cloth. Upstairs, in the boy’s room, the clock over the desk ticked away the minutes just past midnight. In the next room, where the boy’s parents slept, there was the soft rattle of an old fan, moving the thick air from outside the house to inside and over his parents’ bodies. As they had done nearly every hot night that summer, they had offered the fan to the boy, but the boy, aware that summer for the first time of his parent’s age, had refused to take it from them.’

Would you read on?

Books, First Paragraph Tuesday

First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday

‘First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday’ is hosted by ‘Bibliophile By The Sea’. Each week, I’ll share the first paragraph of a novel I’m currently reading or want to read in the future.

Here’s this week’s paragraph:

Wife #19: A Desert Mystery by Jordan Scott.

Prologue- Her Big Boy

According to the St. George Register, on a clear night last June, at some point between eleven and half – past, my mom – who isn’t anything like this – tiptoed down to the basement of the house I grew up in with a Big Boy .44 Magnum in her hands. At the foot of the stairs she knocked on the door to my dad’s den. From inside he called, “Who is it?” She answered, “Me, BeckyLyn.” He said – or must have said “Come in.” What happened next? Nearly everyone in southwest Utah can tell you. She nailed an ace shot and blew his heart clean from his chest. The paper says he was in his computer chair, and from the way the blood splattered the drywall they’re pretty sure that blast spun him three times around.

 ‘The 19th Wife’ by David Ebershoff

Would you continue reading this?

Books, First Paragraph Tuesday, Reading

First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday

This week’s ‘First Chapter, First Paragraph Tuesday’, hosted by ‘Bibliophile by the Sea’ is from ‘The Hours’ by Michael Cunningham, a book which I bought from my local charity shop, for the vast amount of 50 cents!

Mrs Dalloway

There are still the flowers to buy. Clarissa feigns exasperation (though she loves doing errands like this), leaves Sally cleaning the bathroom, and runs out, promising to be back in half an hour.

It is New York City. It is the end of the twentieth century. The vestibule door opens onto a June morning so fine and scrubbed Clarissa pauses at the threshold as she would at the edge of a pool, watching the turquoise water lapping at the tiles, the liquid nets of sun wavering in the blue depths. As if standing at the edge of a pool she delays for a moment the plunge, the quick membrane of chill, the plain shock of immersion. New York in its racket and stern brown decrepitude, its bottomless decline, always produces a few summer mornings like this; mornings invaded everywhere by an assertion of new life so determined it is almost comic, like a cartoon character that endures endless, hideous punishments and always emerges unburnt, unscarred, ready for more. This June, again, the trees along West Tenth Street have produced perfects little leaves from the squares of dog dirt and discarded wrappers in which they stand. Again the window box of the old woman next door, filled as it always is with faded red plastic geraniums pushed into the dirt, has sprouted a rogue dandelion.

Would you read on?