En smakebit på søndag: Anne of Manhattan

En smakebit på søndag

På söndagarna är det dags för En smakebit på söndag som  Astrid Therese Betraktninger  håller i. Alla delar med sig ett stycke ur den bok en just nu läser. Inga spoilers!

I torsdags gjorde jag min sista jobbdag innan semestern som alltså började i fredags. Så skönt med semester efter ett mycket intensivt läsår på alla plan.

Min första semsterdag tillbringade jag med att ta en långpromenad medan jag lyssnade på Witch in Progress av Elle Adams. Jag körde också några maskiner tvätt och röjde lite. På eftermiddagen gick jag till brorsan och Mya och spelade fotboll med Theo och Thor.

Resten av helgen har jag läst ut Skarp av Helena Dahlgren, Detransistion Baby av Torey Peters och Yahya Hassan 2 av Yahya Hassan.

Denna veckas smakbit kommer från Anne of Manhattan av Brina Starler som är en ”modern adaption” av Anne på Grönkulla.

Från sidan sex:

If there was one thing Anne Shirley would stand firm against all arguments, it was that a person could not have too many books. That being said, it was possible she’d taken more than was strictly practical when she packed up her childhood room for her final year in grad school at Redmond College. Her adoptive mother, Marilla Cuthbert, had tried to persuade her to leave most of her collection in the attic of Green Gables, her home for the last twelve years. But picking which books to leave and which ones to take was a Sisyphean task. Every time she thought she´d managed it, a book in the ”stay” pile would catch her eye, and then another, and another, and yet another.

Från sidan 15-16:

Gil halted in front of her much to close for comfort, one lone dimple popping out as the intensity in her eyes morphed into a mischievous glint. She struggled to ignore the phantom pressure on her lips again, lifting her chin in an attempt to channel calm dignity. She would be the mature, smart adult she’d grown into, not the silly romantic fantasies of kissing under the moon.
”Anne,” he said, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans with a casualness she wished she could emulate. The dimple deepened as his smile grew into a grin she knew all to well, one that had never failed to make her wary. That smile was trouble. More specifically, trouble for her.
This was bad. This was very, very bad.