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Download at ==>>lapacalases.tk?book= Sharp Objects read ebook Online PDF EPUB site Sharp Objects pdf Sharp. AN HBO® LIMITED SERIES STARRING AMY ADAMSFROM THE #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF GONE GIRLFresh from a brief stay at a. Sharp Objects. FROM THE #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF GONE GIRL Fresh from a brief stay at a psych hospital,.. 0 · Fiction & Literature.
I doubt I'll ever forget it. Wind Gap ends up the sort of place you'd never want to visit. But with Sharp Objects , you're in no hurry to leave. Powerful, mesmerizing A stunning, powerful debut from someone who truly has something to say. Flynn never stoops to the gratuitous, and the torment produces haunting characters that hung around my imagination long after I had finished the book.
Her skillful blending of old tragedies with new culminated in an 'oh-my-gosh' moment that I never saw coming. This book simply blew me away. I promise you'll be thoroughly unnerved at the end. A real winner. Better yet, she offers appalling, heartbreaking insight into the darkness of her women's lives: Piercingly effective and genuinely terrifying.
As first-time novelist Flynn expertly divulges in this tale reminiscent of the works of Shirley Jackson, there is much more to discover about Wind Gap and, most of all, about Camille. In a particularly seductive narrative style, Flynn adopts the cynical, knowing patter of a weary reporter, but it is her portraits of the town's backstabbing, social-climbing, bored, and bitchy females that provoke her sharpest and most entertaining writing.
A stylish turn on dark crimes and even darker psyches. This is not a comfortable novel of touchy-feely family fun. Rather, it is a tough tale told with remarkable clarity and dexterity, particularly for a first-time author. Flynn's first-person narration is pitch-perfect, but even more impressive is the way she orchestrates the slim novel's onrushing tension toward a heart-stopping climax.
Flynn expertly ratchets up the suspense The same scene repeating itself every two minutes. You can't spot Wind Gap from a distance; its tallest building is only three stories. But after twenty minutes of driving, I knew it was coming: First a gas station popped up.
A group of scraggly teenage boys sat out front, barechested and bored. Near an old pickup, a diapered toddler threw fistfuls of gravel in the air as his mother filled up the tank.
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Her hair was dyed gold, but her brown roots reached almost to her ears. She yelled something to the boys I couldn't make out as I passed. Soon after, the forest began to thin.
I passed a scribble of a strip mall with tanning beds, a gun shop, a drapery store. Then came a lonely cul-de-sac of old houses, meant to be part of a development that never happened.
Pointing towards colonoscopy: sharp foreign body removal via colonoscopy.
And finally, town proper. For no good reason, I held my breath as I passed the sign welcoming me to Wind Gap, the way kids do when they drive by cemeteries. It had been eight years since I'd been back, but the scenery was visceral. Head down that road, and I'd find the home of my grade-school piano teacher, a former nun whose breath smelled of eggs. That path led to a tiny park where I smoked my first cigarette on a sweaty summer day. Take that boulevard, and I'd be on my way to Woodberry, and the hospital.
I decided to head directly to the police station. It squatted at one end of Main Street, which is, true to its word, Wind Gap's main street. On Main Street you will find a beauty parlor and a hardware store, a five-and-dime called Five-and-Dime, and a library twelve shelves deep.
You'll find a clothing store called Candy's Casuals, in which you may download jumpers, turtlenecks, and sweaters that have ducks and schoolhouses on them.
Most nice women in Wind Gap are teachers or mothers or work at places like Candy's Casuals. In a few years you may find a Starbucks, which will bring the town what it yearns for: For now, though, there's just a greasy spoon, which is run by a family whose name I can't remember. Main Street was empty. No cars, no people. A dog loped down the sidewalk, with no owner calling after it.
All the lampposts were papered with yellow ribbons and grainy photocopies of a little girl. I parked and peeled off one of the notices, taped crookedly to a stop sign at a child's height. The sign was homemade, "Missing," written at the top in bold letters that may have been filled in by Magic Marker. The photo showed a dark-eyed girl with a feral grin and too much hair for her head.
The kind of girl who'd be described by teachers as a "handful. Natalie Jane Keene Age: Garrett Park, wearing blue-jean shorts, red striped T-shirt Tips: No harm done. Seems she'd gotten lost or twisted an ankle in the woods or ran away and then thought better of it.
I would get in my car and drive back to Chicago and speak to no one. Turns out the streets were deserted because half the town was out searching the forest to the north.
The station's receptionist told me I could wait-Chief Bill Vickery would be returning for lunch soon. The waiting room had the false homey feel of a dentist's office; I sat in an orange endchair and flipped through a Redbook. An air freshener plugged into a nearby outlet hissed out a plastic smell meant to remind me of country breezes. Thirty minutes later I'd gone through three magazines and was starting to feel ill from the scent.
When Vickery finally walked in, the receptionist nodded at me and whispered with eager disdain, "Media. His shirt clung to his chest, and his pants puckered out in back where an ass should have been. Why are you here from Chicago? How'd you hear about this up there? Jesus Christ.
Then he motioned to me to follow. Bill Vickery walked ahead of me down a wood-paneled hallway checked with cheap framed photos of trout and horses, then into his office, which had no window, which was in fact a tiny square lined with metal files. He sat down, lit a cigarette.
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Didn't offer me one. I have no intention of letting this get out. Children are being targeted.
The public should be aware. It directs fault to the gods. They're not your kids, they're Wind Gap kids. Vickery sucked on his cigarette, twisted a chunky gold pinky ring, blinked in quick succession.
I wondered suddenly if he was going to cry. Probably not. Look, this isn't going to be some sort of exploitive story. It's important. If it makes you feel any better, I'm from Wind Gap. I'm trying.
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He looked back at me. Stared at my face. Adora and Alan Crellin. Them I know. Money was none too common in Wind Gap, not real money. You do this story and from now on, people will only know us for,,,this. Smelled like bologna.
He murmured something about JonBenet and shit. And no comment. I have no comment on any ongoing investigations. You can quote me. Let's make this easy. You give me some information.
Then I'll stay out of your way for a while.
I don't want to make your job any harder. But I need to do mine.
Themes in YA stories often focus on the challenges of youth, so much so that the entire age category is sometimes referred to as problem novels or coming of age novel. Writing styles of YA stories range widely, from the richness of literary style to the clarity and speed of the unobtrusive. Despite its unique characteristics, YA shares the fundamental elements of fiction with other stories: character, plot, setting, theme, and style.
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On Main Street you will find a beauty parlor and a hardware store, a five-and-dime called Five-and-Dime, and a library twelve shelves deep.
Flynn writes so well. Marvel Vol. It's a gripping, substantive story, stripped of cliche, and crafted with great style. Donate Young Adult Young-adult fiction often abbreviated as YA is fiction written for, published for, or marketed to adolescents and young adults, roughly ages 13 to New to eBooks.