Tre libri da leggere in anteprima e un piccolo allenamento per leggere in lingua originale

Questo mese in libreria (per essere precisi dopo il 20 di ottobre) arriveranno diverse novità dell'editore Fanucci/ Leggereditore.
La casa editrice ha gentilmente messo a disposizione i primi capitoli di diversi di questi libri, perciò potrete scaricarli comodamente da questo post, leggerli, e decidere se acquistare il libro.
Inoltre per rendere il tutto più interessante, oltre al primo capitolo del libro in italiano, aggiungerò un breve estratto sempre del primo capitolo, ma in lingua originale. Così potrete allenare, se vorrete, il vostro inglese e rendervi conto del vostro livello di preparazione. Potrete così rendervi conto se questi autori sono leggibili da voi anche in lingua inglese. Oppure, se siete già lettori in lingua originale, potrete confrontare la traduzione italiana con l'originale.
Iniziamo questa carrellata con un libro che io personalmente vi consiglio caldamente:
Sunshine, di Robin Mc Kinley
Ve ne ho già parlato in passato in diversi post, poichè lessi questo libro, tempo fa, in lingua originale e mi piacque molto.
Molto positivo il fatto che non sia parte di una serie, ma libro singolo autoconclusivo.

Titolo: Sunshine
Autore: Robin McKinley
Editore: Fanucci 
In uscita dopo il 21 ottobre
Trama:

La protagonista di questo libro si chiama Reae Saddon, ma tutti la chiamano Sunshine, perché ama il sole e perché sorge prima di lui, infatti ogni mattina si alza alle tre e mezzo per recarsi al lavoro nella panetteria-pasticceria-ristorante di famiglia. E' famosa per i suoi buonissimi dolci e le piace nutrire la gente. Ha una bella vita, buoni amici, un ragazzo che sa quando non fare domande, una famiglia affettuosa.... eppure a volte questa vita le sembra stretta, vorrebbe vedere il mondo, viaggiare , vivere delle avventure. Come insegnano le fiabe, bisognerebbe pensare bene prima di esprimere desideri del genere, perché c'è il rischio che vengano esauditi. Raeae vivrà un'avventura quasi mortale.
Il lettore scoprirà a poco a poco, proseguendo nella lettura, da tanti piccoli indizi, che il mondo in cui Sunshine vive è simile ma anche molto diverso dal nostro, dieci anni prima è stato devastato da una guerra magica, innescata dai vampiri. E da sempre in quel mondo gli umani convivono, malamente, con zombie, vampiri, maghi, demoni, faerie e licantropi di ogni tipo. Sunshine non è poi così normale, infatti il suo vero nome è Raven Blaise e suo padre era un grande stregone. Lei ha solo vaghi ricordi di lui e di sua nonna, che le aveva insegnato i rudimenti della magia, perché sua madre ha divorziato da lui, si è trasferita lontano e ha cercato di cancellarne ogni traccia nella vita della figlia, riuscendoci molto bene. Rae non ha mai più usato i suoi poteri dall'infanzia, ma dovrà riscoprirli durante una situazione di pericolo. Infatti un giorno viene rapita, (del tutto per caso in quanto per loro sarebbe stato meglio rapire un'umana qualunque) da dei vampiri e data in pasto ad un loro prigioniero vampiro. Questo si rifiuta di nutrirsi e Rae, grazie ai suoi poteri, legati al sole, che le permettono di mutare le cose, che non usa più da venti anni, si libera e libera anche lui. Nasce così un'allenza mai vista prima, umani e vampiri sono nemici giurati ed incompatibili sotto ogni aspetto, specie Rae che si nutre letteralmente di luce, elemento nocivo ai vampiri. Ora il vampiro che li aveva catturati li cerca per vendicarsi e Rae e Constantine (il vampiro) dovranno combatterlo.....

La mia opinione:
Questo libro mi ha piacevolmente stupito. Già il fatto che un grande autore come Neil Gaiman lo lodasse mi aveva invogliato a leggerlo, ma temevo che come stile si avvicinasse al suo e io alcune opere di Neil Gaiman non le ho particolarmente apprezzate proprio per un problema stilistico. Invece, anche se in alcune cose questo libro si avvicina ad alcune opere di Gaiman, per molti altri è un piacevolissimo ibrido fra fantasy, urban fantasy, fiaba e racconto dell’orrore vecchio stile. E soprattutto al contrario di molti libri di Gaiman è verosimile alla realtà più o meno. La storia è avvincente e totalmente intrigante. Noi la viviamo dal punto di vusta della protagonista che pensa da persona normale pur non essendolo. Inoltre lo stile e il lessico di queso romanzo sono stupendi. Credo dovrò rileggerlo una seconda volta per cogliere ogni più piccolo significato.Sono veramente felice di averlo letto e di avere scoperto questo autore. L'attrazione tra Sunshine e Constantine è sempre presente ma sussurrata, mai esplicitata e molto dolce. Consigliato a tutti.
Primo capitolo in italiano, scaricabile cliccando sull'immagine del file pdf: 

Breve estratto del primo capitolo in lingua originale:
It was a dumb thing to do but it wasn’t that dumb. There hadn’t been any trouble out at the lake in years. And it was so exquisitely far from the rest of my life.
Monday evening is our movie evening because we are celebrating having lived through another week. Sunday night we lock up at eleven or midnight and crawl home to die, and Monday (barring a few national holidays) is our day off. Ruby comes in on Mondays with her warrior cohort and attacks the coffeehouse with an assortment of high-tech blasting gear that would whack Godzilla into submission: those single-track military minds never think to ask their cleaning staff for help in giant lethal marauding creature matters. Thanks to Ruby, Charlie’s Coffeehouse is probably the only place in Old Town where you are safe from the local cockroaches, which are approximately the size of chipmunks. You can hear them clicking when they canter across the cobblestones outside.
We’d begun the tradition of Monday evening movies seven years ago when I started slouching out of bed at four a.m. to get the bread going. Our first customers arrive at six-thirty and they want our Cinnamon Rolls as Big as Your Head and I am the one who makes them.
I put the dough on to rise overnight and it is huge and puffy and waiting when I get there at four-thirty. By the time Charlie arrives at six to brew coffee and open the till (and, most of the year, start dragging the outdoor tables down the alley and out to the front), you can smell them baking. One of Ruby’s lesser minions arrives at about five for the daily sweep- and mop-up. Except on Tuesdays, when the coffeehouse is gleaming and I am giving myself tendonitis trying to persuade stiff, surly, thirty-hour-refrigerated dough that it’s time to loosen up.
Charlie is one of the big good guys in my universe. He gave me enough of a raise when I finished school (high school diploma by the skin of my teeth and the intercession of my subversive English teacher) and began working for him full time that I could afford my own place, and, even more important, he talked Mom into letting me have it.
But getting up at four a.m. six days a week does put a cramp on your social life (although as Mom pointed out every time she was in a bad mood, if I still lived at home I could get up at four-twenty). At first Monday evening was just us, Mom and Charlie and Billy and Kenny and me, and sometimes one or two of the stalwarts from the coffeehouse. But over the years Monday evenings had evolved, and now it was pretty much any of the coffeehouse staff who wanted to turn up, plus a few of the customers who had become friends. (As Billy and Kenny got older the standard of movies improved too. The first Monday evening that featured a movie that wasn’t rated “suitable for all ages” we opened a bottle of champagne.)
Charlie, who doesn’t know how to sit still and likes do-it-yourselfing at home on his days off, had gradually knocked most of the walls down on the ground floor, so the increasing mob could mill around comfortably. But that was just it—my entire life existed in relation to the coffeehouse. My only friends were staff and regulars. I started seeing Mel because he was single and not bad-looking and the weekday assistant cook at the coffeehouse, with that interesting bad-boy aura from driving a motorcycle and having a few too many tattoos, and no known serious drawbacks. (Baz had been single and not bad-looking too, but there’d always been something a little off about him, which resolved itself when Charlie found him with his hand in the till.) I was happy in the bakery. I just sometimes felt when I got out of it I would like to get a little farther out.
 
Titolo: La sposa in bianco
Titolo originale: Vision in white
Autore: Nora Roberts
Serie: Primo libro della quadrilogia intitolata Bride quartet
In uscita ad ottobre

Trama: Nora Roberts ti invita a incontrare Parker, Emma, Laurel e Mac, quattro amiche
d’infanzia nonché fondatrici di Vows, una delle società di Wedding Planning
più famose d’America. Dopo anni trascorsi a realizzare i sogni di centinaia di spose, garantire un
giorno perfetto pieno di ricordi preziosi è ciò che queste donne sanno fare
meglio. Che Mac Elliot sia una fotografa di successo è fuori discussione, e a confermarlo
ci sono le prime pagine delle riviste più prestigiose. Dietro l’obiettivo
si sente perfettamente a suo agio, sempre pronta a catturare quei momenti
felici che non ha mai provato sulla propria pelle. Suo padre si è rifatto una
vita, mentre la madre – dopo innumerevoli e disastrose relazioni – pretende
da lei denaro e attenzioni costanti.E poi un giorno, durante una riunione di lavoro,
la sua vita prende una piega inaspettata... Perché un flirt può trasformarsi in qualcosa di speciale
quando meno te l’aspetti... E con l’aiuto delle sue migliori amiche, Mac dovrà imparare a costruire il
proprio album di ricordi felici.
La mia opinione: Posto che Nora Roberts scrive sempre bene, questo è un romance leggero e senza pretese, in cui è più interessante ed affascinante il personaggio maschile che non quello femminile.

Primo capitolo in italiano, scaricabile cliccando sull'immagine del file in pdf: 

Breve estratto del primo capitolo in lingua originale:
ON JANUARY FIRST, MAC ROLLED OVER TO SMACK HER ALARM clock, and ended up facedown on the floor of her studio.
“Shit. Happy New Year.”
She lay, groggy and baffled, until she remembered she’d never made it upstairs into bed—and the alarm was from her computer, set to wake her at noon.
She pushed herself up to stagger to the kitchen and the coffeemaker.
Why did people want to get married on New Year’s Eve? Why would they make a formal ritual out of a holiday designed for marathon drinking and probably inappropriate sex? And they just had to drag family and friends into it, not to mention wedding photographers.
Of course, when the reception had finally ended at two A.M., she could’ve gone to bed like a sane person instead of uploading the shots, reviewing them—spending nearly three more hours on the Hines-Myers wedding photos.
But, boy, she’d gotten some good ones. A few great ones.
Or they were all crap and she’d judged them in a euphoric blur.
No, they were good shots.
She added three spoons of sugar to the black coffee and drank it while standing at the window, looking out at the snow blanketing the gardens and lawns of the Brown Estate.
They’d done a good job on the wedding, she thought. And maybe Bob Hines and Vicky Myers would take a clue from that and do a good job on the marriage.
Either way, the memories of the day wouldn’t fade. The moments, big and small, were captured. She’d refine them, finesse them, print them. Bob and Vicky could revisit the day through those images next week or sixty years from next week.
That, she thought, was as potent as sweet, black coffee on a cold winter day.
Opening a cupboard, she pulled out a box of Pop-Tarts and, eating one where she stood, went over her schedule for the day.
Clay-McFearson (Rod and Alison) wedding at six. Which meant the bride and her party would arrive by three, groom and his by four. That gave her until two for the pre-event summit meeting at the main house.
Time enough to shower, dress, go over her notes, check and recheck her equipment. Her last check of the day’s weather called for sunny skies, high of thirty-two. She should be able to get some nice preparation shots using natural light and maybe talk Alison—if she was game—into a bridal portrait on the balcony with the snow in the background.
Mother of the bride, Mac remembered—Dorothy (call me Dottie)—was on the pushy and demanding side, but she’d be dealt with. If Mac couldn’t handle her personally, God knew Parker would. Parker could and did handle anyone and anything.
Parker’s drive and determination had turned Vows into one of the top wedding and event planning companies in the state in a five-year period. It had turned the tragedy of her parents’ deaths into hope, and the gorgeous Victorian home and the stunning grounds of the Brown Estate into a thriving and unique business.
And, Mac thought as she swallowed the last of the Pop-Tart, she herself was one of the reasons.
She moved through the studio toward the stairs to her upstairs bed and bath, stopped at one of her favorite photos. The glowing, ecstatic bride with her face lifted, her arms stretched, palms up, caught in a shower of pink rose petals.
Cover ofToday’s Bride , Mac thought. Because I’m just that good.
In her thick socks, flannel pants, and sweatshirt she climbed the stairs to transform herself from tired, pj-clad, Pop-Tart addict into sophisticated wedding photojournalist.
She ignored her unmade bed—why make it when you were just going to mess it up again?—and the bedroom clutter. The hot shower worked with the sugar and caffeine to clear out any remaining cobwebs so she could put her mind seriously to today’s job.
She had a bride who was interested in trying the creative, a passive-aggressive MOB who thought she knew best, a groom so dazzling in love he’d do anything to make his bride happy. And both her B and G were seriously photogenic.
The last fact made the job both pleasure and challenge. Just how could she give her clients a photo journey of their day that was spectacular, and uniquely theirs?
Bride’s colors, she thought, flipping through her mental files as she washed her short, shaggy crop of red hair. Silver and gold. Elegant, glamorous.
She’d had a look at the flowers and the cake—both getting their finishing touches today—the favors and linens, attendants’ wardrobes, headdresses. She had a copy of the playlist from the band with the first dance, mother-son, father-daughter dances highlighted.
So, she thought, for the next several hours, her world would revolve around Rod and Alison.
She chose her suit, her jewelry, her makeup with nearly the same care as she chose her equipment. Loaded, she went out to make the short trek from the pool house that held her studio and little apartment to the main house.
The snow sparkled, crushed diamonds over ermine, and the air was cold and clean as mountain ice. She definitely had to get some outside shots, daylight and evening. Winter wedding, white wedding, snow on the ground, ice glistening on the trees, just dripping from the denuded willows over the pond. And there the fanciful old Victorian with its myriad rooflines, the arched and porthole windows, rising and spreading, soft blue against the hard shell of sky. Its terraces and generous portico heralded the season with their festoons of lights and greenery.
She studied it as she often did as she walked the shoveled paths. She loved the lines of it, the angles of it, with its subtle touches of pale yellow, creamy white picked out in that soft, subtle blue.
It had been as much home to her as her own growing up. Often more so, she admitted, as her own had run on her mother’s capricious whims. Parker’s parents had been warm, welcoming, loving and—Mac thought now—steady. They’d given her a calm port in the storm of her own childhood.
She’d grieved as much as her friend at their loss nearly seven years before.
Now the Brown Estate was her home. Her business. Her life. And a good one on every level. What could be better than doing something you loved, and doing it with the best friends you’d ever had?
She went in through the mudroom to hang up her outdoor gear, then circled around to peek into Laurel’s domain.
Her friend and partner stood on a step stool, meticulously adding silver calla lilies to the five tiers of a wedding cake. Each flower bloomed at the base of a gold acanthus leaf to glimmering, elegant effect.
“That’s a winner, McBane.”

Titolo: L'abbraccio della notte
Titolo originale: Night embrace
Autore: Sherrilyn Kenyon
Serie: Terzo libro della serie Dark Hunters
http://weirde.splinder.com/post/17772088/nuovo-arrivo-supernatural-in-italia-sherrilyn-kenyon
In uscita a fine ottobre
Trama: Nel 558, Talon di Morrigantes,capotribù celtico e temibile guerriero,assiste con orrore al proprio fallimento: non è riuscito a mantenere la promessa fatta allo zio in punto di morte, quella di proteggere le donne della sua famiglia. Prima viene uccisa la zia; poi il suo stesso clan, guidato da un cugino che intende prenderne il posto, massacra anche la moglie e la sorella di Talon davanti ai suoi occhi, prima di assassinare anche lui. A peggiorare la situazione, anche il dio celtico della guerra lo ha maledetto in quanto colpevole di aver ucciso suo figlio in battaglia:Talon è dunque condannato a veder morire ogni essere umano cui si affezioni.Così trascorre i secoli da immortale dedicandosi unicamente alla lotta contro i Daimon, proteggendo l’umanità dalle loro incursioni, tanto a lungo da dimenticare sé stesso e sentirsi ormai appagato solo da quelle battaglie. Ma un giorno incontra Sunshine Runningwolf, e nulla è più come prima: le emozioni sepolte da centinaia di anni si risvegliano tutte insieme, con una potenza impossibile da contenere. Se Talon si innamora di Sunshine, la condanna alla morte. Ma il modo così unico in cui lei lo affronta lo spiazza, rendendolo sempre più vulnerabile al suo fascino... e Talon dovrà scegliere se lasciarsi andare ai suoi sentimenti rischiando il tutto per tutto o fuggire da ciò che sente e dalla donna che ama. Un romanzo coraggioso,anticonvenzionale, che emoziona, diverte e si legge d’un fiato.
Primo capitolo in italiano, scaricabile cliccando sull'immagine del file pdf: 
Breve estratto del primo capitolo in lingua originale:
A.D. 558, GLIONNAN
 
The roaring village fires burned high into the night, licking at the dark sky like serpents twining through black velvet. Smoke wafted through the misty darkness, pungent with the scent of death and vengeance.
The sight and smell should bring joy to Talon.
It didn't.
Nothing would ever bring joy to him again.
Nothing.
The bitter agony that welled inside him was crippling. Debilitating. It was more than even he could bear and that thought was almost enough to make him laugh…
Or curse.
Aye, he cursed from the excruciating weight of his pain.
One by one, he had lost every human being on earth who had ever meant anything to him.
All of them.
At age seven, he'd been orphaned and left the heavy responsibility of caring for his baby sister. With nowhere to go and unable to provide for the infant himself, he had returned to the clan that had once been led by his mother.
A clan that had banished both his parents before his birth.
His uncle had been in his first year as king when Talon had forced his way into his hall. The king had grudgingly accepted him and Ceara, but his clan never had.
Not until Talon had forced them to.
They might not have respected his parentage, but Talon had made them respect his sword arm and temper. Respect his willingness to maim or slay any and all who insulted him.
By the time he'd entered manhood, no one dared to mock his birth or impugn his mother's memory or honor.
He had risen through the ranks of warriors and learned all he could about weapons, fighting, and leadership.
In the end, he had been unanimously voted his uncle's successor by the very people who had once mocked him.
As the heir, Talon had stood by his uncle's right side, protecting him relentlessly until an enemy ambush had caught them off guard.
Wounded and in physical agony, Talon had held his uncle in his arms while Idiag died from his injuries.
"Guard my wife and Ceara, boy," his uncle had whispered before his death. "Don't make me regret taking you in."
Talon had promised. But only a few months after that, he'd found his aunt raped and murdered by their enemies. Her body desecrated and left for the animals to prey upon.
Less than a full year later, he'd cradled his precious wife, Nynia, to his chest as she, too, drew her last breath and left him all alone, forever bereft of her gentle, soothing touch.
She had been his world.
His heart.
His soul.
Without her, he had no longer wished to live.
His spirit as broken as his heart, he had placed their stillborn son into her lifeless arms and buried the two of them together by the loch where he and Nynia had played as children.
Then, he'd done as he had been taught by his mother and uncle.
He had survived to lead his clan.
Laying aside his grief as best he could, he had lived only for the clan's welfare.
As a chieftain, he had spilled enough blood to fill the raging sea and had taken countless wounds on his own flesh for his people. He had led his clan to glory against all the mainlanders and northern clans who had sought to conquer them. With most of his family dead, he had given his clan everything he had. His loyalty. His love.
He had even offered them his own life to protect them from the gods.
And in one heartbeat, his clansmen had taken the last thing on this earth he had loved.
Ceara.
His cherished little sister whom he had sworn to his mother, father, and uncle he would protect at any cost. Ceara with her golden hair and laughing amber eyes. So young. So kind and giving.
To satisfy one man's selfish ambition, his clan had slain her before his eyes while he lay tied down, unable to stop them.
She'd died calling out for him to help her.
Her horrified screams still rang in his ears.
After her execution, the clan had turned on him and ended his life as well. But Talon's death had brought no relief to him. He had felt only guilt. Guilt and a need to right the wrongs done to his family.
That vengeful need had transcended everything, even death itself.
"May the gods damn you all!" Talon roared at the burning village.
"The gods don't damn us, we damn ourselves by our words and deeds."
Talon turned sharply at the voice behind him to see a man clothed all in black. Cresting the small rise, this man was unlike any he'd seen before.
The night wind swirled around the figure, billowing out his finely woven cloak as he walked with a large, twisted warrior's staff held in his left hand. The dark, ancient oak wood was carved with symbols, the top decorated with feathers fastened by a leather cord.
Moonlight danced upon hair that was an unearthly jet-black which the man wore in three long braids.
His silvery, shimmering eyes seemed to swirl like phantom mists.
Those glowing eyes were eerie and haunting.
Standing to the height of a giant, Talon had never before had to look up at anyone and yet this stranger seemed the size of a mountain. It wasn't until the man drew nearer that Talon realized he was only a few inches taller and not as ancient as he'd first seemed. Indeed, his face was that of a perfect youth who stood on the precious threshold between adolescence and maturity.
Until one looked closer. There in the stranger's eyes lay the wisdom of the ages. This was no lad, but a warrior who had battled hard and seen much.
"Who are you?" Talon asked.
"I am Acheron Parthenopaeus," he said in a strange accent that spoke Talon's native Celtic tongue flawlessly. "I was sent by Artemis to train you for your new life."
Talon had been told by the Greek goddess to expect this man who had roamed the earth since time immemorial. "And what will you teach me, Sorcerer?"
"I will teach you to slay the Daimons who prey upon hapless humans. I will teach you how to hide during the day so that the rays of the sun don't kill you. I will show you how to speak without revealing your fangs to the humans, and all else you need to know to survive."
Talon laughed bitterly as blinding pain swept through him once more. He ached and he hurt so much that he could scarcely breathe. All he wanted was peace.
His family.
And they were gone.
Without them, he no longer wished to survive at all. Nay, he couldn't live with this weight in his heart.
He looked to Acheron. "Tell me, Sorcerer, is there any spell you have that can take this agony from me?"
Acheron gave him a hard stare. "Aye, Celt. I can show you how to bury that pain so deep inside you that it will prick you no more. But be warned that nothing is ever given freely and nothing lasts forever. One day something will come along to make you feel again, and with it, it will bring the pain of the ages upon you. All you have hidden will come out and it could destroy not only you, but anyone near you."
Talon ignored that last part. All he wanted for now was one day when his heart wasn't broken. One moment free of his torment. He was willing to pay any cost for it.
"Are you sure I will feel nothing?"
Acheron nodded. "I can teach it to you only if you listen."
"Then teach me well, Sorcerer. Teach me well."