Romans & histoires Book Review Call Me By Your Name

Vivian conceded, her tone a blend of relenting and caution. "Thank you so much, young lady. You are such a lifesaver," he expressed his gratitude, and a grateful smile adorned Vivian's face. "So, what's the name of the book you are looking for?" Vivian inquired, curiosity coloring her voice. "The White Death," he revealed, and Vivian's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the title. "What kind of book is that?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. "Supernatural," he replied, his gaze intensifying as he locked eyes with her.

Somewhere in the city—several stories above, in a steel and glass building—Julian Blackwood lay in his dark, sleek bedroom, staring at the book she had given him. He'd never intended to keep it. When Lena Carter had offered it to him—those gentle words, that thoughtful crease between her eyebrows—he'd intended to refuse. But something in her eyes had taken away his intention. It was neither flirting nor pretense. It was genuine. Silent. Generous. He hated kindness. It broke things open. Julian gazed down at the book. The cover was unadorned, the title in gold print: *A Man Called Ove*. He remembered Lena's words:

I see she had placed a blanket and few pillows on the foot of the sofa, another blanket was folded and placed near just incase we got cold, and an image was paused on the large screen. I read the title, Call Me By Your Name, sounds good, probably romance, and I don’t mind really, I am just after some good food and quality time with my best friend, I see her patting the spot next to her and I go take a seat, she hands me a box of noodles and places the chicken between us while the drinks are still on the table only an arm away.

“Someone who actually reads. Who’s been broken before and didn’t turn careful forever. Someone who… sees me. Not the version I put on dating apps. The real one. Messy and scared and all of it.” The words hung there. Vulnerable. Too much. Callum went very still. His hand moved to his jacket pocket. He pulled out the wrapped book and set it on the table between them. Sloane stared at it. Her throat felt tight. “Who was it for?” she asked, voice small. He rubbed the back of his neck. “My date. She mentioned Zaha Hadid once. I spent three days hunting this down. Essays on beauty in architecture. Stupid, right?”

he said. "Thank you, this is our haven from the hands of the enemy," I replied. "You're right. So, I'll let you know if there's a message from Claire," he said and left me. When Heath was gone, I opened my suitcase and took the only book I brought with me. The Name of a Rose, written by the Italian author Umberto Eco. I haven't even finished from the prime. I couldn't face reading it because of too many works in Paris. I turned to the page where I placed the bookmark.

"Fine I will try but at my own convenience. What's the name of the book and where do I read it?" "Shattered Hearts by Micaela Alvarado. It's on A****n, it's the #1 best selling book so far" he answered. "This book better meets my expectations" I said tapping my fingers on the table. "Trust me it will" he replied smiling and then he checked his wristwatch, "I think is time for me to leave. We'll get in touch when I arrive there". "Alright, safe trip. Greetings to my goddaughter and godson and then to their beautiful mom who got married to an ugly jerk like you" I teased and his nostrils flares up.

They were all adjusted alphabetically. He then randomly picked a book. ‘If I had your Face – By Frances Cha’ He read the title. He opened the book. On the first page, there was her name and a date written. The date when she either got the book or started reading it. He flipped through the pages. She had underlined some context. Marked notes somewhere. Scribbled replies to some lines. He laughed to himself. There was this line she had highlighted, “In New York, you can talk to anyone about anything at any time and have a conversation so long you'll fall a little in love with that person, and then never see them again.”

My mind betrayed me, flickering to the dream that had haunted me all morning. The book nearly slipped and William’s hand shot out, closing briefly over mine to steady it. “Careful,” he murmured. Suddenly, I was painfully aware of how close he was. Close enough to see the faint crease near the corner of his eye. Close enough to feel the residual warmth between us.“I—thank you,” I said, lowering my gaze to the cover, desperate to distract myself. "La Belle et la Bête," I read on the cover. A small smile tugged at my lips. “Beauty and the Beast,” I whispered.

“Your wish is granted.” Then a snap echoed, along with the key that turned the knob, opening the door as the scene in front of her once more shifted. Into the time and moment where she meets that other shard of ‘him’. The equivalent exchange of the prince in the other book and world. “The Call of Death.” The words, the title, and the very book pertain to the person and time that she will be about to see and meet. The world is one of Carlos’s favorite books. “WELL THEN.”