The Way the Crow Flies: A NovelHarper Collins, 13/10/2009 - 848 páginas “One of the finest novels I’ve read . . . .a fiercely intelligent look at childhood, marriage, families, the 1960s, the Cold War and the fear and isolation that are part of the human condition…. it is not only beautifully written…. it is equally beautiful in its conception, its compassion, its wisdom, even in its anger and pain. Don’t miss it.” — Patrick Anderson, Washington Post Book World The optimism of the early sixties, infused with the excitement of the space race and the menace of the Cold War, is filtered through the rich imagination of high-spirited, eight-year-old Madeleine, who welcomes her family's posting to a quiet Air Force base near the Canadian border. Secure in the love of her beautiful mother, she is unaware that her father, Jack, is caught up in a web of secrets. When a local murder intersects with global forces, Jack must decide where his loyalties lie, and Madeleine will be forced to learn a lesson about the ambiguity of human morality -- one she will only begin to understand when she carries her quest for the truth, and the killer, into adulthood twenty years later. |
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... Madeleine hangs on for dear life, not complaining about the bumps, laughing every time she wants to cry, “Ow!” He abandons the teeter-totter. Madeleine crashes onto her tailbone, laughs and follows, convinced her bum is flashing visible ...
... Madeleine sees her father turn, still talking, and look at her. The bearded man turns too and they start toward her ... Madeleine and says, “Wirklich?” “Ja,” she answers, embarrassed. “Und hast du Centralia gern, Madeleine?” “Um, Ich ...
... Madeleine can see the tips of her narrow feet in white sandals, one crossed over the other. She is strapped in by a seat belt. Otherwise she would probably slide right out of her chair and onto the grass. It's impossible to tell how old ...
... Madeleine draws closer up the driveway, she sees that the girl is actually looking at her out the corner of her eye. The way a bird might. Madeleine hesitates, about to turn back— “Wayyy!” The girl flails her hand. Clear drool flows ...
... Madeleine doesn't know the girl's name. Probably the girl doesn't know her own name. The knife girl turns to the wheelchair one and says, “Was she bothering you?” Madeleine inches toward her bike. Mego home now. “Noohhh,” sighs the ...