Ce site utilise des cookies pour fournir nos services, optimiser les performances, pour les analyses, et (si vous n'êtes pas connecté) pour les publicités. En utilisant Librarything, vous reconnaissez avoir lu et compris nos conditions générales d'utilisation et de services. Votre utilisation du site et de ses services vaut acceptation de ces conditions et termes.
Résultats trouvés sur Google Books
Cliquer sur une vignette pour aller sur Google Books.
Victoria McQueen has a secret gift for finding things: a misplaced bracelet, a missing photography, answers to unanswerable questions. On her Raleigh Tuff Burner bike, she makes her way to a rickety covered bridge that, within moments, takes her wherever she needs to go, whether it's across Massachusetts or across the country. Charles Talent Manx has a way with children. He likes to take them for rides in his 1938 Rolls-Royce Wraith with the NOS4A2 vanity plate. With his old car, he can slip right out of the everyday world, and onto the hidden roads that transport them to an astonishing--and terrifying--playground of amusements he calls "Christmasland." Then, one day, Vic goes looking for trouble--and finds Manx. That was a lifetime ago. Now Vic, the only kid to ever escape Manx's unmitigated evil, is all grown up and desperate to forget. But Charlie Manx never stopped thinking about Victoria McQueen. He's on the road again and he's picked up a new passenger: Vic's own son.… (plus d'informations)
BookshelfMonstrosity: Malevolent entities that prey upon children are the driving force of these creepy, suspenseful horror stories. In both novels, only adults lucky enough to escape the villain's clutches in childhood are later able to battle the evil when it returns.… (plus d'informations)
tootstorm: Well: Time-traveling serial killer powered by unexplained forces. You'll see the comparison in many reviews. Shining Girls gets a more mixed reaction, and is unconventional in its structure and uncomfortable violence, but is worth looking into for fans. (The audiobook is fantastic, with a full cast of readers for every character.)… (plus d'informations)
Je suis une fan finie de Stephen King. J'attends toujours ses romans avec impatience tout en craignant qu'un jour, lorsque l'auteur cessera d'écrire, ce plaisir annuel sera malheureusement chose du passé.
Après avoir lu NOS4A2, l'avenir sans King semble (juste un peu) moins morose. Car le roi de l'horreur a de la relève, certes pas encore aussi géniale, mais sur la bonne voie de l'être. Comme son père, Joe Hill a hérité du don de plonger son lecteur dans un univers où le surnaturel et la réalité s'entremêlent si naturellement. Il est rare que le monde autour de moi disparaisse lors de la lecture d'un roman, mais ce fut le cas avec NOS4A2.
L'influence de King est nettement perceptible, que ce soit dans les idées, les personnages (Manx aurait très bien pu se retrouver dans n'importe quel roman de King) et le rythme addictif de l'écriture. Seul bémol, le nombre de blessures infligées à la pauvre Victoria McQueen qui malgré des coups, des fractures et des maux infligés pages après pages sur chaque centimètre carré de son corps, poursuit sans relâche sa quête pour sauver son fils. Quelques blessures en moins auraient à mon humble avis rendu le récit plus crédible.
Il ne s'agit toutefois certainement pas de ma dernière lecture de Hill et j'espère qu'il sera aussi prolifique que son père. Je n'entendrai plus jamais une chanson de Noël sans un frisson, non plus. ( )
Die Todten reiten schnell. (For the dead travel fast.) - «Lenore,» Gottfried Bürger
Dédicace
To my mom - here's a mean machin for the story queen.
Premiers mots
Nurse Thornton dropped into the long-term-care ward a little before eight with a hot bag of blood for Charlie Manx.
Citations
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
What's good stays good no matter how much of a beating it takes.
She breathed deeply of the scent of decaying fiction, disintegrating history, and forgotten verse, and she observed for the first time that a room full of books smelled like dessert: a sweet snack made of figs, vanilla, glue, and cleverness.
But everyone also lives in the world inside their own head. An inscape, a world of thought. In a world made of thought--in an inscape--every idea is a fact. Emotions are as real as gravity. Dreams are as powerful as history.
Christmas was almost three months in the rearview mirror, and there was something awful about Christmas music when it was nearly summer. It was like a clown in the rain, with his makeup running.
She thought of mothering, which was really another word for being present and caring what happened to someone.
She'd thought love had something to do with happiness, but it turned out they were not even vaguely related. Love was closer to a need, no different from the need to eat, to breathe.
You had to know when it made sense to try to untangle something and when to just cut the motherfucker loose.
Was there any human urge more pitiful--or more intense--than wanting another chance at something?
Everyone you lost was still there with you, and so maybe no one was ever lost at all.
It was a bridge spanning the distance between lost and found, a bridge over what was possible.
The difference between childhood and adulthood, Vic had come to believe, was the difference between imagination and resignation. You traded one for the other and lost your way.
Men, she thought, were one of the world's few sure comforts, like a fire on a cold October night, like cocoa, like broken-in slippers. Their clumsy affections, their bristly faces, and their willingness to do what needed to be done--cook an omelet, change lightbulbs, make with hugging--sometimes almost made being a woman fun.
It sounded like delusion until you remembered that people made the imaginary real all the time: taking the music they heard in their head and recording it, seeing a house in their imagination and building it. Fantasy was always only a reality waiting to be switched on.
Derniers mots
Fall was here, winter coming right behind it, but for now there was still a little good riding weather left.
Victoria McQueen has a secret gift for finding things: a misplaced bracelet, a missing photography, answers to unanswerable questions. On her Raleigh Tuff Burner bike, she makes her way to a rickety covered bridge that, within moments, takes her wherever she needs to go, whether it's across Massachusetts or across the country. Charles Talent Manx has a way with children. He likes to take them for rides in his 1938 Rolls-Royce Wraith with the NOS4A2 vanity plate. With his old car, he can slip right out of the everyday world, and onto the hidden roads that transport them to an astonishing--and terrifying--playground of amusements he calls "Christmasland." Then, one day, Vic goes looking for trouble--and finds Manx. That was a lifetime ago. Now Vic, the only kid to ever escape Manx's unmitigated evil, is all grown up and desperate to forget. But Charlie Manx never stopped thinking about Victoria McQueen. He's on the road again and he's picked up a new passenger: Vic's own son.
▾Descriptions provenant de bibliothèques
Aucune description trouvée dans une bibliothèque
▾Description selon les utilisateurs de LibraryThing
Description du livre
Résumé sous forme de haïku
Auteur LibraryThing
Joe Hill est un auteur LibraryThing, c'est-à-dire un auteur qui catalogue sa bibliothèque personnelle sur LibraryThing.
Google Books — Chargement...
(4)
1
Après avoir lu NOS4A2, l'avenir sans King semble (juste un peu) moins morose. Car le roi de l'horreur a de la relève, certes pas encore aussi géniale, mais sur la bonne voie de l'être. Comme son père, Joe Hill a hérité du don de plonger son lecteur dans un univers où le surnaturel et la réalité s'entremêlent si naturellement. Il est rare que le monde autour de moi disparaisse lors de la lecture d'un roman, mais ce fut le cas avec NOS4A2.
L'influence de King est nettement perceptible, que ce soit dans les idées, les personnages (Manx aurait très bien pu se retrouver dans n'importe quel roman de King) et le rythme addictif de l'écriture. Seul bémol, le nombre de blessures infligées à la pauvre Victoria McQueen qui malgré des coups, des fractures et des maux infligés pages après pages sur chaque centimètre carré de son corps, poursuit sans relâche sa quête pour sauver son fils. Quelques blessures en moins auraient à mon humble avis rendu le récit plus crédible.
Il ne s'agit toutefois certainement pas de ma dernière lecture de Hill et j'espère qu'il sera aussi prolifique que son père. Je n'entendrai plus jamais une chanson de Noël sans un frisson, non plus. (