![]() ![]() Reading Hopscotch, appropriately, is like reading several books bundled haphazardly into one. “The reader,” wrote Cortázar, “has to be an accomplice.” Interpreting these narratives forced readers to pick their own paths, colluding with the author to assemble the trajectory of the piece. William Burroughs’s cut-up technique in his Nova Trilogy(1961-64) and JG Ballard’s use of fragmentation in The Atrocity Exhibition (1970) resulted in texts so disrupted that the best way to read them was sometimes, as Ballard wrote, to “turn the pages until a paragraph catches your eye” then “scan the nearby paragraphs for anything that resonates in an interesting way”. BS Johnson’s famous book-in-a-box The Unfortunates (1969) was published as a collection of pages and pamphlets that could be shuffled and read in any order. ![]() Instead of offering what Cortázar called a “hypnotic story” that shepherds the reader from first page to last, these books offer open-ended narratives whose presentation changes depending on the path that the reader takes through them. The Argentine novelist Julio Cortázar’s Rayuela, or Hopscotch, is one of the small and wayward genre of books that we might today think of as hypertext fictions. ![]()
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![]() ![]() A film adaption of the novel, titled Gettysburg, was released in 1993. The story is character driven and told from the perspective of various historical figures from both the Confederacy and the Union. ![]() This book depicts the Battle of Gettysburg during and the days leading up to it. "The Killer Angels" is an historical fiction novel that was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 1975. Minor staining to front pastedown and endpapers. Previous owner's signature in pen on the front pastedown. Minor staining to the edges of the textblock. Gilt lettering on spine still bright and well preserved. Minor bumping to the spine ends and corners. This book is in very good minus condition. This book measures approximately 8.5" x 5.5", with 374 numbered pages. This is a first edition, second printing as stated on the copyright page. ![]() ![]() ![]() Natasha Madison is the creator and the author of the Something So series. ![]() However, there is always the satisfaction of the written word when her Labrador doesn’t want to listen. When it comes to listening, even her dog tends to tune her out. ![]() She says that she enjoys writing and that it is good that her characters at least can do as she directs them. When she is not busy running around with her kids, she can probably be found hanging out with her husband and even helping to schedule business trips. Even though she spends a large part of her time driving her kids around in the car as chauffeur, she still manages to get everything done in heels. She also enjoys being in her kitchen and whipping up some new gourmet meals to eat. When she is not busy with a book, she is occupied with writing one of her own. Natasha Madison is an American published author of fiction. ![]() ![]() ![]() Our heartfelt thoughts and sympathies go out to all those affected by each persons death. It does not matter if they were famous or just celebrated by a few individuals, all the people in this book left behind family, friends and in some instances devotees who idolised them. In addition, some ordinary people who died in bizarre, freak, or strange circumstances are also included. It details the deaths of individuals, who died too early and often in tragic circumstances, from film, literature, music, theatre, and television, and the achievements they left behind. “First published in 2020 this book contains over 560 easily readable compact entries in systematic order augmented by an extensive bibliography, an alphabetical list of countries and locations of individuals final resting places (where known) and a day and month list in consecutive order of when an individual died. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() I was 14 - the same age as Eden McCrorey in Amber Smith’s debut YA novel, The Way I Used To Be. Tears streamed down my face, and by the time his drunken body had enough groping and grinding against my body, I curled up into a ball. It was my wrists pinned to dry summer grass, a drunk 20-something guy slithering his tongue into my mouth, forcing my own into his, and his heavy body crushing me into the ground while thousands of strangers roamed footsteps away at an outdoor concert. No, it wasn’t what my friends said it would be, either: sloppy, awkward, heart pounding. My first kiss wasn’t what Seventeen magazine said it would be: an explosion of fireworks and epiphanies happening under a velvety black sky full of stars. Sexual assault, no matter how hard I've tried to laugh it off, never ceases to be a mood killer. I suddenly didn’t want to lie, but telling the truth was not an option. It became so natural to me that it wasn’t until I was a junior in college, sharing stories of “firsts” with close friends, that the repressed memory came surging forward, sending me into a cold sweat. It was like rolling a pair of dice, and no matter how they landed, I’d never have to reveal number one. ![]() My second, third, or tenth kiss became my new first. For the last several years, I’ve lied about my first kiss. ![]() |