Half of a yellow sun, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Ugwu suddenly wished that Master would not touch his mother because her clothes smelled of age and must, and because Master did not know that her back ached and her cocoyam patch always yielded a poor harvest and her chest was indeed on fire when she coughed. What did Master know about anything anyway, since all he did was shout with his friends and drink brandy at night?
Gone girl, Gillian Flynn
I waited patiently – years – for the pendulum to swing the other way, for men to start reading Jane Austen, learn how to knit, pretend to love cosmos, organize scrapbook parties, and make out with each other while we leer. And then we’d say, Yeah, he’s a Cool Guy.
Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides
Here's a question I still can't answer: Did I see through the male tricks because I was destined to scheme that way myself? Or do girls see through the tricks, too, and just pretend not to notice?
Um comentário:
Eu sempre estranhei e senti certa revolta com as exigências loucas de fãs, criaturas egoístas que não pensam na posição do autor. Por essa razão, não serei um fanático, sou apenas um viciado que cometeu o erro de reler uma das drogas favoritas e agora desejar mais e mais.
Sério. Você é fantástica e sabe registrar isso em palavras. Eu volto aqui com frequência esperando algo novo além das listas (aconteceu uma vez, acho) porque só existe uma Lady K.
Uia. Nem ameacei pular de ponte. Tô bem ainda.
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