Novel & Cerita Literature Books To Read

Alana let go of our hands, darting toward the children’s section at the end of the hall. Suddenly, it was just the two of us. Standing side by side in the narrow aisle of classic literature. Gareth tucked his hands into his pockets, scanning the spines of the books with a quiet, respectful interest. "What do you usually go for, Claire?" he asked softly. His voice seemed to blend into the hum of the air conditioning. I ran my fingers along the worn spines of the hardcovers. "The classics. Jane Austen, the Brontës... anything with beautiful prose and a happy ending. I suppose I like the escape."

There were piles of books on her table, and there was a request for more books that she had drafted out. “My lady, let us leave.” Liora begged, following behind me impatiently. I checked through some of her books, and they were mostly fiction. My eyes caught a particular book under a pile of books, and I reached for it instantly. “My lady, you're going to get me killed.” Liora groaned as I picked up the book. “THE ADVENTURES OF LADY KILMARTIN.” I read out loud. “Huh?” Liora mumbled.

She rattled on about how she loves to read books especially love stories and how happy she’s to get a new friend who happens to share the same hobby with her. I don’t fancy love stories because I can easily predict what’s gonna happen next like who wouldn’t? Besides, it’s kind of boring to read the same plot repeatedly; boy meeting the girl, girl meeting the boy, starting from simple infatuation to attraction, then one of’em will confess, and BAM! They start dating and blah blah blah. It’s predictable. I’d rather read genres like adventure, action, crime, thriller, fantasy, etc., where things’re not much predictable plus you’ve to use your brain. At least you can learn something new. “Here w

Maybe his own thinking was just too conservative. With this in mind, James searched online for answers to many related questions. He came across a term repeatedly mentioned online: "BL literature." He decided to explore it and instantly discovered a whole new world. He thought to himself, if it's called "literature," it must have some depth to it, right? Maybe if he learned more about it, he could come to accept it more easily. However... The covers of these books seemed a bit too frivolous, reminiscent of the comics Diana had shared before, which struck him as oddly similar.

So while he stands behind me watching me, which both intimidates and excites me, I take each book out, one by one, pulling them from the bookcase, some wonderful editions of Jane Austen, Dickens, Ovid, Homer, Kundera and then 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' and, finally, Lolita. As I put Lolita on the top pile, I let out a sigh. I feel Paul slowly approach from behind me.

Wow. I was drooling. It wasn't just a room with books. It was a sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with hardcovers, a rolling ladder, a massive fireplace that looked like it hadn't been used in decades. The scent of old paper and leather hit me, comforting and familiar. I ran my finger along the spines. ‘The Art of War’, ‘Sun Tzu’. ‘Histories of the Roman Empire’. Biographies of kings and conquerors. Heavy stuff. Interspersed with them were fiction classics. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Dumas.

She seems so happy after the last paper and I can see her sitting on op of Olive’s locker. I smile at her then go about cleaning my desk and selecting the books that I want to carry home with me for that one week.I pick a few African literature pieces:Things fall apart by Chinua Achebe and The River Between by Ngugi Thiong’o.I have started to really love literature classes especially when we started discussing different books.I also a few other books in my backpack and make a note to carry my diary with me.I hope I don’t forget that because it feels like a part of me,a week will be too long without it.

Kennedy POV. The weather was bad, but I needed to get that new book, it's Robert birthday gift, who'd knew a grown up man would kill for the newest werewolf love book. I got into my car, drove carefully toward the local book store, they had the new book reserved for me. It was supposed to one quick drive, until I walked into the library. A girl was sitting on a bean bag, her blond hair was covering her eyes with overgrown bangs, she tried to huff them away from her face but to no use. She looked young, maybe she's just here with her parents, looking down at the book she had in her hands it was a kids story. Does she read for the local kids? Or is it just for her?

Popping open the buttons again, I grabbed a random book from the pile and knocked on the door. “Sorry to disturb you, but I seem to have a problem with…” I cast a cursory look at the book I’d grabbed and was appalled to see it was a literature book, “…this book.” He arched his brow. “Time to kill" by John Grisham . I got it because I was told it’s one of the books in this year’s syllabus, even though I wasn’t sure if Literature is one of the subjects you’re interested in. I haven’t read it though, so I might not be of much help.”

I can’t explain it, but I don’t have to, either, if I don’t bring it up, and I’m not one to ever start conversations. I sniff the paperback—old, musty paper, glue, and Justus—and set it on the pallet. The next book in the pile, Peter Kropotkin’s The Conquest of Bread, has a picture of two men chopping down a tree on the cover. It smells the same. All the books are dog-eared paperbacks with yellowed pages—Walden by Henry David Thoreau, Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler, Critique of Practical Reason by Immanuel Kant, several each by Ursula K. Le Guin and N. K. Jemison, and a massive hardback of Plato’s collected works. The Plato is the only one that looks like it hasn’t been read a hundre