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Amine Astala Astala itibaren Rososza, Polonya itibaren Rososza, Polonya

Okuyucu Amine Astala Astala itibaren Rososza, Polonya

Amine Astala Astala itibaren Rososza, Polonya

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you know what i hate about every depiction of sylvia plath--not just gwyneth paltrow's saddy-face performance--but every time anyone portrays her in any medium ever? she's always so fucking doomed. and i just don't buy it at all. this book is desperate and raw and bloody and tinged by death, but it is also ravenously and absolutely alive. i read it as a declaration, as evidence of a terrible struggle to survive. not a suicide note. "beware, beware. out of the ash i rise with my red hair and i eat men like air..." yeah. if you don't get it i really can't help you.

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This book was really good...it is way different from the disney movie! the ending is deffinatly not what you expect.

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This was recommended by Lex Runciman, my English professor, in his blog Far Corner Reader, so it's not a huge surprise that it reminds me of the types of books that I often read in college: the kind that I don't get as much out of unless I'm reading it with twenty other people and having thrice-weekly discussions. I'm sure that there's some sort of theme here about growing old, life in America, and stuff like that, but to me, it's just the story of Frank Bascombe, a divorced prostate-cancer-surviving real estate agent whose second wife has left him for her ex-husband (previously assumed dead). Lex said it best, "Add in a Tibetan business colleague, some random vandalism of Frank’s car, a real estate deal that Frank perversely sours, an explosion at a hospital (the same one where Frank’s son died years earlier), a set of nasty neighbors, some gun shots at close range, and Thanksgiving begins to look like a holiday from hell."

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This book just always cracks me up. Teenager trying to get laid stories are the best. Reading it again in preparation of the movie coming out this October! Please, Michael Cera, don't let me down!