Books Adults Must Read Novelas e Histórias

Arian's pov I never thought a book club meeting could feel like a battlefield. Today, we are reading The Art of Forbidden by Linda Lively, and from the very moment I flipped through its pages, my face had been hot. The story is about a powerful president who was secretly in love with his male secretary, and if that wasn’t bold enough, the prose was filled with intimacy, longing, and heat. Naturally, everyone thought it would be for people to take turns reading aloud. But I wasn't really in the mood to read, not after what the police said to me.

He asked questions—not the shallow kind Damon’s associates had used to make polite conversation, but real questions. “What’s your favorite book?” he asked at one point, leaning close to be heard over the music. She blinked, startled. “My book?” He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Everyone’s got one. The one they can read again and again and never get tired of.” Mya hesitated, then admitted, “Wuthering Heights. It’s… tragic and messy, but there’s something about the passion in it. The kind that consumes people.” Keith nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. Mine’s The Count of Monte Cristo. Revenge, redemption, justice—it’s a story that makes you think about what really matters when you lose everything.”

I missed my mate, my freedom, my friends, Kailin, and everyone at the vineyards. I watched a series about a group of delinquent kids born in space and dropped to Earth to see if the air was already breathable. I finished Episode twelve, and when a particular character pissed me off, I turned it off and went to read something in the study. There were some fiction books, but primarily old books from Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, and Herman Melville. There were self-help and meditation books and a book about mystical creatures. I walked out of the study. If she allowed me to read a book about witchcraft, it might interest me, but that would be as dangerous as walking into the darkness without

I hush her, but she’s already turned a few heads. “What’s there to be embarrassed about? Lots of people are into it,” Debbie says. I blink. “They… are?” “There’s a really popular book series out right now, best seller, that has a BDSM relationship. Here let me write down the title for you.” She writes me a list instead. “This is the order to read them in.” Then she scribbles down a name. “This is the author.” She passes me the list and I look at it, unsure.

If he can see every move I make, how will I ever make a move against him? During my rampage of a small bookshelf on the wall next to the bed, I find classic books such as, The Catcher in the Rye, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and so on. Spotting amongst the classics a leather bound book with no title or author. I slowly open it and inside handwritten pages are revealed. May 12th 1998

"Oh, if we went full name, we could go for Inhale Your Sperm. Reaching, maybe, but better than Flatty Tabby." "If I wanted to start a fight, toothpick, you'd already be-" "That's enough." I stood, interposing myself between the two. "What does she owe?" "World literature textbook, number 19-104. Raisin in the Sun 81. The Things They Carried 30. Frankenstein 0-75. Two copies of Beowulf, number 57 and one that's just three question marks." She glanced up contemptuously. "Did you return anything all year? There's more here."

I said with a grin. We couldn’t talk much after that because the teacher started class. We were continuing to read The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. It’s a depressing book about a colonial woman who has a child out of wedlock, and is shunned. I don’t know why English teachers insist on having students read such depressing literature. Still, I heard one of the other classes was doing The Crucible by Arthur Miller. Somehow, Scarlet Letter seems less depressing than a bunch of girls faking possession. Maybe.

“Quiet doesn’t mean unbothered. Just good at hiding it.” We fell into silence. The only sound was distant thunder rumbling above ground. I wondered how long we’d be down here. Minutes stretched. My mind wandered to how close he was. How alone we were. “Tell me something,” I said finally. “Why’d you become a librarian? You don’t seem like the type who likes being stuck behind a desk all day.” Mr. Kane exhaled softly. “Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.”

Don't just skip this book again; add to library. Enjoy! Your loving author; Natasha Gwen

By the time Momma passed I was married with a little one on the way, so my chance for college had passed, too. But I never stopped reading. Got me a nice little library out back, filled with all sorts of books crammed on bookshelves made by my own two hands. Books like Tom Sawyer, Edgar Allen Poe stories, Huck Finn and The King in Yellow, (that last one I don’t read much cause it always gives me strange dreams), some old mysteries, a clutch of Lovecraft’s books (they hurt my head, too, so I don’t read them much neither), my Hardy Boys books from growing up, and a whole bunch of newer ones by Stephen King and Dean Koontz. Got some heavy thinking books, too. The family King James, The Book of