3,99 €
Summary of Yelena Lembersky's Like a Drop of Ink in a Downpour
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- FormatePub
- ISBN8822537101
- EAN9798822537101
- Date de parution22/06/2022
- Protection num.Digital Watermarking
- Taille1 Mo
- Infos supplémentairesepub
- ÉditeurA PRECISER
Résumé
Please note: This is a companion version & not the original book.
Sample Book Insights:
#1 I had walked holding my thumbs folded into my fists, a Russian superstition: hold your thumbs and think of someone to bring them good luck. I had watched as Mama went down into the metro station with the stench of burned rubber.
#2 I was placed in a children's asylum, and while I was there, I didn't speak about my mother.
I was numb, and I wanted to free myself from the hatred that had consumed me. #3 I walk to the forest near my old home. I sit on an old apple tree by the pond. I write a letter to Mama. I forget the unimportant things in quietude, and I meet what has been lost. #4 I remember my old landlady at the summer dacha in Leningrad, who had a tattoo of the word Mama on her shoulder. I wanted to explain to my American friend that people need to live in houses with a lawn and a garden, so they can plant flowers.
I was numb, and I wanted to free myself from the hatred that had consumed me. #3 I walk to the forest near my old home. I sit on an old apple tree by the pond. I write a letter to Mama. I forget the unimportant things in quietude, and I meet what has been lost. #4 I remember my old landlady at the summer dacha in Leningrad, who had a tattoo of the word Mama on her shoulder. I wanted to explain to my American friend that people need to live in houses with a lawn and a garden, so they can plant flowers.
Please note: This is a companion version & not the original book.
Sample Book Insights:
#1 I had walked holding my thumbs folded into my fists, a Russian superstition: hold your thumbs and think of someone to bring them good luck. I had watched as Mama went down into the metro station with the stench of burned rubber.
#2 I was placed in a children's asylum, and while I was there, I didn't speak about my mother.
I was numb, and I wanted to free myself from the hatred that had consumed me. #3 I walk to the forest near my old home. I sit on an old apple tree by the pond. I write a letter to Mama. I forget the unimportant things in quietude, and I meet what has been lost. #4 I remember my old landlady at the summer dacha in Leningrad, who had a tattoo of the word Mama on her shoulder. I wanted to explain to my American friend that people need to live in houses with a lawn and a garden, so they can plant flowers.
I was numb, and I wanted to free myself from the hatred that had consumed me. #3 I walk to the forest near my old home. I sit on an old apple tree by the pond. I write a letter to Mama. I forget the unimportant things in quietude, and I meet what has been lost. #4 I remember my old landlady at the summer dacha in Leningrad, who had a tattoo of the word Mama on her shoulder. I wanted to explain to my American friend that people need to live in houses with a lawn and a garden, so they can plant flowers.
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