Umezz, Kazuo:The Drifting Classroom, Vol. 5, 5
- Livro de bolso 2007, ISBN: 9781421509570
Edição encadernada
Atria. Very Good. 6.42 x 0.93 x 9.38 inches. Hardcover. 2003. 272 pages. <br>A searing, evocative novel of a family in turmoil focuses on a family whose ordinary life has been shat… mais…
Atria. Very Good. 6.42 x 0.93 x 9.38 inches. Hardcover. 2003. 272 pages. <br>A searing, evocative novel of a family in turmoil focuses on a family whose ordinary life has been shattered by une xpected revelations, in a story told from the perspective of a hu sband who must work through denia and anguish to redemption and p ersonal responsibility after he overnight goes from lover to room mate. Editorial Reviews From Publishers Weekly Husbands frequen tly tune out their spouses, but Frank Griffin makes valiant attem pts to ignore Ellen, his wife of 10 years, when she announces she has a lover and wants a divorce in this endearing, undemanding n ovel by Berg (True to Form, etc.). Griffin (he goes by his last n ame) struggles to hold on to his normal life-namely his house and his eight-year-old daughter, Zoe-while repairing his relationshi p with Ellen. Refreshingly, Berg tells the story from Griffin's p oint of view: he refuses to leave home, insisting that he and Ell en live as roommates, and tries to wear her down with small acts of kindness. A decent man and a good provider, Griffin is also-he comes to realize-a less-than-exciting partner at times, dismissi ve of his wife's attempts to get him to read poetry and see art m ovies, or try anything new at all. Eccentric, shy Ellen, an isola ted, stay-at-home mother whose only friend is the waitress at her regular diner, has her own flaws. In trying to live out her adol escence 20-plus years too late, she flaunts her new romance in wa ys that evoke either disdain or pity for her na?vet?. Some reader s may feel she gives up her quest for more freedom too quickly; o thers will appreciate the way she explores her complicated feelin gs about her marriage. Griffin, meanwhile, makes changes, too, tr ying a stint as a shopping mall Santa and winning a few dates. Be rg has a talent for dialogue, and her skillfully crafted interact ions between characters-scenes with tomboy Zoe are always a brigh t spot-are homey and convincing. These days, separation and divor ce are commonplace, but a book that treats those subjects with Be rg's tenderness and understanding is not. Copyright 2003 Reed Bus iness Information, Inc. From Booklist Popular author Berg (True to Life [BKL Mr 1 02]) will thrill her fans with this sweet, ofte n humorous novel about loss and reconciliation. Staid, routine-lo ving Frank Griffin is dealt a horrific blow when Ellen, his wife of 10 years, tells him she has been having an affair and wants a divorce. Who, he poignantly wonders, could know her as well as he does? He refuses to move out of the house and makes snide commen ts about her auto-mechanic lover (the greasy paramour) as the two eventually settle into an awkward routine as roommates. Just so he will have somewhere to go on the nights she is not with her lo ver, he signs up to play Santa at the local shopping mall and mee ts Donna, an attractive photographer. He throws away his wedding ring and makes a halfhearted attempt to start up a relationship w ith her, but although she outwardly appears to have it all over h is wife--Donna is a wealthy, talented, and classic beauty--he has to admit to himself that he has never met anyone who appealed to him more than Ellen. Berg keeps her story light and funny, shadi ng in the particulars of their relationship with just the right k ind of domestic detail. Her insights into the way marriage can so metimes make its partners feel safe and sometimes imprisoned are all the more effective for her deft touch. Joanne Wilkinson Copyr ight © American Library Association. All rights reserved Review The Seattle Times Berg knows her characters intimately...she gets under their skin and leaves the reader with an indelible impress ion of lives challenged and changed. -- Review About the Author Elizabeth Berg is the author of ten national bestselling novels, including the New York Times bestsellers True to Form, Never Chan ge, and Open House, which was an Oprah's Book Club selection in 2 000. Durable Goods and Joy School were selected as American Libra ry Association Best Books of the Year, and Talk Before Sleep was short-listed for the ABBY award in 1996. The winner of the 1997 N ew England Booksellers Award for her body of work, she is also th e author of a nonfiction work, Escaping Into the Open: The Art of Writing True. She lives in Chicago. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by per mission. All rights reserved. Chapter One Of course he knew she was seeing someone. He knew who it was, too. Six months ago, say ing she needed a new direction in her life, saying she was tired of feeling helpless around anything mechanical, that she had no i dea how to even change a tire, Ellen had taken a course in basic auto mechanics -- Know Your Car, it was called. She'd come back t he first night saying it was amazing, she'd had the admittedly el itist idea that mechanics were illiterate, but this one was so we ll-spoken, and he'd walked into the classroom carrying a pile of books he'd just bought -- hardback! Mostly new fiction, she'd sai d. But also Balzac, because he'd never read him. How do you kno w? Griffin had asked. Know what? How do you know he's never r ead Balzac? Because he told me. I had a question after class an d then we just started talking.... What was your question? Sh e stared at him, a tight smile on her face. Then she said, My que stion was about the battery. But what about it? She looked do wn, embarrassed. I wanted to know how you clean it. Okay? Why d idn't you ask me? Oh, for -- No. Why didn't you ask me? I co uld have told you. Because, she said, slowly and deliberately, it never came up between us. It came up because I am taking a cla ss about cars. And I had a question for the teacher. Jesus, Griff in. What is this? Nothing, he'd said. Forget it. Griffin didn 't forget it, of course. Week after week, he'd watched Ellen dres s for class, each time paying more attention to herself: fresh ey eliner just before she left one week, a more deliberate hairstyle the next, a lingering scent of perfume in the bedroom the night she'd gotten ready for the last class -- the ridiculously expensi ve perfume Griffin had given her for her last birthday, for the r ecord. He felt helpless against her drift toward another man, fel t as though he were standing around stirring change in his pocket when he should be waging an earth-pawing kind of war. But the tr uth was that from the time he'd married her ten years ago, he'd b een waiting for something like this to happen. She was always jus t beyond his grasp, in one way or another. He supposed, actually, that her cool reserve was one of the things that attracted him t o her. She couldn't be serious about this obvious attraction to someone else. She was nearing forty, that was all. He would let her have this, this secret relationship, this thrilling little ro mance. Let her and Mr. Goodwrench meet for coffee and have moony- eyed discussions about Mary Oliver and Pablo Neruda and Seamus He aney, all of Ellen's precious poets. Let her talk until she was f inally exhausted by all that so much depends upon a red wheelbarr ow crap, by all those supposedly deep thoughts written by people who were undoubtedly a bunch of first-class hypocrites. Ellen see med to think her pale gods spent all of their time sitting at the ir desks in rapturous torture, scribbling away with quill pens, w hen in fact they were probably mostly standing around scratching their asses and contemplating the contents of their refrigerators just like everybody else. It might actually be a relief for her to have someone to talk about that stuff with, so she would final ly stop trying to make Griffin swoon over it -- though lately she 'd been pretty good about not asking him to read anything. She wa sn't sleeping with the guy, Griffin was sure of that. She would n ever do that. He leaned over her now and looked at her, her hai r splayed over half her face. She was not a beautiful woman, but Griffin had never met anyone who appealed to him more. She exuded an earthy sensuality made more attractive by the fact that she d idn't know it. I love to look at you, he sometimes told her. You' re just...perfect. Oh, God, Griffin, she would say. Stop. She m oaned slightly in her sleep. Griffin lay his hand on her shoulder , then slid it down her back and onto her palm-sized sacrum. When she was in labor with Zoe, he'd given her a back rub against the awesome waves of pain. When he'd felt her sacrum, he'd thought i t was the baby's head and had yelled, It's coming! Ohhhhhhhhh, really? Ellen had moaned. Really? Yes, it's coming, he'd said, for a good forty-five minutes or more, until the doctor came in a nd informed him that he was not feeling the baby's head at all. T hey'd chuckled together over his erroneous assumption. Ellen ha d gotten furious. This isn't funny! she'd said. The doctor had winked at Griffin. Pain pretty strong, Ellen? He was met with a nearly palpable silence. She's doing really well, Griffin said , then added proudly, She hasn't had any medication! Well, it's too late for that now, anyway, the doctor said. Why don't both of you just shut up? Ellen said, and the doctor had winked again . She's in transition, he'd whispered to Griffin. He patted Ellen 's foot, and left. Now, eight years later, Ellen seemed to be i n another kind of transition. She was preoccupied: bereft-looking when she thought Griffin didn't see her, guarded when she knew h e could. Twice he'd heard her on the phone when he came home, say ing hurriedly, I have to go. She wouldn't talk to him, not really , except to fill him in on necessary bits of business about Zoe, about what bills needed to be paid next, about who would take the cat to the vet. It all made sense now. Well. You had these t imes in a marriage, everyone knew that. You just waited them out, that was all. Griffin kissed Ellen's cheek lightly, then got out of bed to get his robe. It was Sunday. He'd make coffee and hash browns, eggs over easy. Zoe would sleep late, she always did, an d Griffin and Ellen would sit at the kitchen table and read the S unday paper together as usual. Maybe they'd find something on sal e and go and buy it. He sat on the bed to put his slippers on. Where are you going? Ellen asked sleepily. He turned to look at her. Downstairs. She said nothing. To make breakfast. Stay here, okay? Sex? Griffin thought, and felt his penis leap up a little in anticipation. He took off his robe and slippers and got back in bed. God, how long had it been? Ellen put her arms ar ound him, her head beneath his chin, and sighed heavily. Oh. Not sex, then. You know something's going on, right? He stopped b reathing. Right? He shifted his weight, checked, for some rea son, the time. Ten after eight. What do you mean? Griffin, don' t do this. We have to talk about it. He said nothing, waited. S he started to say something, then stopped. What, Griffin said. Oh, I don't know how to do this! She sat up. Look, I'm...Okay, I'll just say this: I'm in love with someone. And I...want a divo rce. I'm sorry. He lay back against his pillow, closed his eyes . Griffin? He didn't respond. I'm sure you're aware that I haven't been happy for a long time. Her voice was light, false. A nd I don't have to remind you that -- He opened his eyes. Jesu s, Ellen. It was never right between us, you know that. No, I don't know that. Right. I knew you'd make this difficult. He laughed. As opposed to what? What do you mean? Some color was rising in her face. Her voice shook. Difficult as opposed to wh at? This is supposed to be easy? You drop this bomb, and it's sup posed to be easy? Be quiet! Zoe will hear! Your concern for o ur daughter really moves me. Let's get a divorce, but let's be qu iet. Let's make it easy. She would not look at him. Her mouth w as a pale, straight line. Well, I won't make it easy for you, E llen. Do what you have to do. But don't look to me to help you. He got out of bed and went downstairs. He felt curiously light, emptied out. Numb, he supposed. Protected by a specific kind of a nesthesia. Well, here's what: He'd make coffee. Just like always. Six cups, Bed and Breakfast blend. He'd make the same Sunday bre akfast he always made. The cat, Slinky, came into the kitchen, me owing, and he fed her. One and a half packs, tuna flavor. He turn ed on the faucet, and then, for just a moment, gripped the edge o f the sink. Behind him, he heard Ellen come in and sit at the k itchen table. She watched him for a while as he made the coffee, as he got out the frying pan, the potato peeler. Then she said qu ietly, I thought at first I could just have an affair. An affai r! I felt restless, crazy, really sad, and I thought...Oh, I do n't know, I thought if I did that, maybe I'd feel better, maybe I 'd feel something. But I got deeply involved with this person. I fell in love with him. I wanted to talk to you about it right awa y, tell you...well, tell you who it was and everything. But then I figured you knew anyway. She hesitated, then asked, Did you? Did I what? Did you know? He came to the table, sat down oppo site her. I knew you were seeing someone, Ellen. Yes. She looke d down at her hands, rubbed at one thumb with the other. I want y ou to know I was really careful, okay? We used -- We. What the hell difference does it make, Ellen? Can you remember the last t ime you had sex with me? Well, that's what I mean, Griffin! It' s been so bad between us for so long. We're like...brother and si ster. And with him, I feel I've finally found something I've alwa ys wanted, but never knew I could have. Griffin stopped listeni ng. He watched Ellen's mouth moving, her hands pushing her hair b ack from her face. He looked at the top button of her nightgown, half opened, half closed. He saw the thrusting motions of another man, entering his wife. He looked out the window. It had begun to snow; huge, quarter-sized flakes waltzed lazily downward. To catch a flake like that on your tongue would feel like receiving communion. Ellen had seen this, too, he was sure of it. But sudde nly neither one could remark on it. Nor would either of them awak en Zoe to see it. The last time he saw snow like this was on a winter day many years ago, when he and Ellen were students at the University of Illinois. He lived in a dorm; Ellen lived in a tin y, slanted-floor apartment. Her roommate, Atria, 2003, 3, Viz Media, 2007. Paperback. Acceptable. Readable copy. Pages may have considerable notes/highlighting. ~ ThriftBooks: Read More, Spend Less.Dust jacket quality is not guaranteed., Viz Media, 2007, 2.5<
