The Dress Lodger - Sheri Holman, Buch, Taschenbuch, Englisch

 
Vorm Hintergrund der Cholera-Epidemie von 1831 entfaltet sich in 'The Dress Lodger' eine packende Geschichte, die dich in die dunklen Gassen Sunderlands entführt. Hier kämpft eine junge Schönheit in einem atemberaubenden blauen Kleid nicht nur ums Überleben, sondern auch um ihre Würde. Sheri Holman webt ein Netz aus Intrigen und offenbart die Schattenseiten der menschlichen Natur. Dieses Buch ist ein literarisches Meisterwerk, das dich mit seiner Intensität und seinem scharfsinnigen Blick auf die Gesellschaft fesseln wird. Die Seiten dieses Romans sind gefüllt mit lebendigen Charakteren, deren Schicksale dich berühren und herausfordern werden. 'The Dress Lodger' ist ein unvergessliches Leseerlebnis, das dich noch lange nach der letzten Seite beschäftigen wird.

 
KurzbeschreibungIn Sunderland, England, a city quarantined by the cholera epidemic of 1831, a defiant, fifteen-teen-year old beauty in an elegant blue dress makes her way between shadow and lamp light. A potter's assistant by day and dress lodger by night, Gustine sells herself for necessity in a rented gown, scrimping to feed and protect her only love: her fragile baby boy. She holds a glimmer of hope after meeting Dr. Henry Chiver, a prisoner of his own dark past. But in a world where suspicion of medicine runs rampant like a fever, these two lost souls will become irrevocably linked, as each crosses lines between rich and destitute, decorum and abandon, damnation and salvation. By turns tender and horrifying, The Dress Lodger is a captivating historical thriller charged with a distinctly modern voice. . . .Pressestimmen"REMARKABLE . . . A DAZZLING NARRATIVE THAT PULSES WITH IRONY, RIBALD HUMOR, AND HEARTBREAKING TRAGEDY."—People (Book of the Week)"AN OUTSTANDINLY GENEROUS AND FERTILE IMAGINATION . . . Holman breathes life into the teeming streets of a distant world. . . . The destinies of the characters crisscross, . . . amplified by twists of fate and uncomfortable revelations."—The New York Times Book Review"POTENT HISTORICAL FICTION . . . BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN . . . A rich read with a Dickensian kick and a moral to be told."—USA Today"AS UNSETTLING AS IT IS BRILLIANT . . . Seamlessly crafted and deserving of wide readership."—The Washington Post Book WorldLeseprobe. Abdruck erfolgt mit freundlicher Genehmigung der Rechteinhaber. Alle Rechte DRESS LODGER(Excerpt)The boys down on the Low Quay know a hundred ways to sell bad 'll mingle four dead eels with every one alive knowing full well the average man can't tell which is tangled inside a cloudy tub. They'll polish up a stinking mackerel with a bit of turpentine and buff it with their shirttails until it gleams. Beneath the wharves late in the day, you can catch them blowing air into the bellies of cod to make their underweight catch look fat and succulent. Poor hungry family, to puncture those flatulent fish and find them more air than meat. But a boy's got to make a living, and when he is forced to feel around in the mud at low tide, scrambling after sprats dropped overboard from a trawler, he may have to take a little advantage to earn his daily notice it most on Saturday nights when the markets are set up along Low Street. The orange sellers have secretly boiled their fruit to plump it up, though the practice causes it to turn black within a day; the cherry vendors have weighted their prepacked boxes with cabbage leaves to tip the scales. Not everyone is dishonest, but nearly every merchant prefers to sell his wares after dark when their imperfections are softened by candlelight and men's eyes are less discerning after a full day's work. Most workers are paid on Saturday night here in Sunderland, so they have money in their pockets for meat pies and jacket potatoes kept warm in barrel ovens; they buy two pennies' worth of greasy herring and a roll to go with it. The young sons of public houses owners crisscross the market delivering trays of ale to wives who've ordered it for their family dinners, and are stopped along the way by so many thirsty men, they have to run back for more. On Saturday when the streets are extravagant with stacked purple cabbages, ruby apples, bright green leeks fringing stalls iridescent with oyster shells, everyone feels rich. There will be meat on Sunday, and when a favorite customer comes to buy his chops the expansive butcher holds out a newly slaughtered pig's hear like a is Saturday night; work is another two days away. Sunday, you may play cards or walk out on the town moor or, if you are feeling guilty about something, wash your face and go to church. Perhaps you'll just want to sleep, which is what happens most Sundays, when you take your tea on the stool by

 
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