Irving Pardoen Livres

It is 1945. As the German Army retreats and the tide of war sweeps back over Eastern Europe, the lives of the inhabitants are changed forever.

'When you read his extraordinary memoir you don't laugh, then cry, then laugh again; you somehow experience these emotions all at once.' "Well, this was when Bill was sighing a lot. He had decided that after our parents died he just didn't want any more fighting between what was left of us. He was twenty-four, Beth was twenty-three, I was twenty-one, Toph was eight, and all of us were so tried already, from that winter. So when something would come up, any little thing, some bill to pay or decision to make, he would just sigh, his eyes tired, his mouth in a sorry kind of smile. But Beth and I...Jesus, we were fighting with everyone, anyone, each other, with strangers at bars, anywhere -- we were angry people wanting to exact revenge. We came to California and we wanted everything, would take what was ours, anything within reach. And I decided that little Toph and I, he with his backward hat and long hair, living together in our little house in Berkeley, would be world-destroyers. We inherited each other and, we felt, a responsibility to reinvent everything, to scoff and re-create and drive fast while singing loudly and pounding the windows. It was a hopeless sort of exhilaration, a kind of arrogance born of fatalism, I guess, of the feeling that if you could lose a couple of parents in a month, then basically anything could happen, at any time -- all bullets bear your name, all cars are there to crush you, any balcony could give way; more disaster seemed only logical. And then, as in Dorothy's dream, all these people I grew up with were there, too, some of them orphans also, most but not all of us believing that what we had been given was extraordinary, that it was time to tear or break down, ruin, remake, take and devour. This was San Francisco, you know, and everyone had some dumb idea -- I mean, wicca? -- and no one there would tell you yours was doomed. Thus the public nudity, and this ridiculous magazine, and the Real World tryout, all this need, most of it disguised by sneering, but all driven by a hyper-awareness of this window, I guess, a few years when your muscles are taut, coiled up and vibrating. But what to do with the energy? I mean, when we drive, Toph and I, and we drive past people, standing on top of all these hills, part of me wants to stop the car and turn up the radio and have us all dance in formation, and part of me wants to run them all over."

London cycle courier Astrid Bell has known most of her housemates for years, but while they have a tangled history together--romantic pairings, one-night stands, friendships--they each have secrets. Astrid is on her way home one day when her neighbor accidentally knocks her off her bike. Suffering a few bruises, her roommates help her home. The next day, they learn that same neighbor was bludgeoned to death only hours after the accident. Each of them tells the police what little they know and are dismissed. Then a few days later, Astrid is asked to pick up a package from a wealthy woman called Ingrid de Soto. When she arrives, the client is lying in the hall of her luxurious home--and it's apparent she's also been murdered. For the police, it's more than bad luck. For Astrid and her six housemates, it's the beginning of a nightmare: suspicious glances, bitter accusations, and a growing fear that the worst is yet to come. As the difference between friend and stranger grows harder to judge, the line between attraction and danger thins. The housemates--unsure if there's a killer in their midst--guard themselves against becoming the next victim. Because if it's true that bad luck comes in threes--who will be the next to die?

Un tragique accident de la route vient de faire deux victimes : Greg, le conducteur, qui laisse derrière lui une épouse effondrée, et une mystérieuse jeune femme morte à ses côtés. Pour tous, cela ne fait aucun doute, Greg avait une liaison. Pour Ellie, sa veuve, il y a forcément une explication. Son mari ne l'a pas trompée, elle en est persuadée. Résolue à faire la lumière sur ce drame, elle change d'identité, espionne la vie privée de la défunte, ment à ses amis. Elle n'imagine pas un instant dans quoi elle vient de s'embarquer...

A chilling novella of prejudice, ambition and cunning as villagers react to a brutal double murder.

Van je familie moet je het hebben bevat een zorgvuldig en kundig samengestelde en ingeleide selectie door Aaf Brandt Corstius van David Sedaris' mooiste, ontroerendste en vooral geestigste verhalen: ze gaan over de dood, over zijn knotsgekke familie, over nudistencampings, over roken, over de zes tot acht zwarte mannen die Sinterklaas assisteren, over dwangneuroses, lichamelijk verval, over shoppen met zijn zus Amy, en over nog meer dood.David Sedaris is een fenomeen in de Verenigde Staten: van zijn boeken zijn meer dan een miljoen exemplaren verkocht. Zijn verhalen verschijnen in The New Yorker, hij leest voor op National Public Radio, en is regelmatig te zien bij David Letterman. Ook in België is zijn faam groot: 'Is David Sedaris de grappigste schrijver ter wereld? Wij zijn er alvast van overtuigd,' schreef Het Nieuwsblad geheel terecht.