Greta booklovers: Segnalazione - oggi esce in inglese "Song of David" di Amy Harmon.

Buongiorno, mie care!
Eccomi qui per annunciarvi un’altra novità per chi legge in inglese. Oggi esce il nuovo romanzo standalone di Amy Harmon, “Song of David”. Protagonista di questa storia è David (Tag), un MMA fighter, un personaggio che era già apparso in “The Low of Moses”.

Nel libro precedente aveva un ruolo secondario, perché Tag era il migliore amico di Moses. David è un personaggio molto complesso, un uomo tormentato e con tanti problemi. La sua storia toccherà le corde più sensibili del vostro cuore. Chi lo ha letto in anteprima ne è rimasto favorevolmente colpito; c’è chi lo paragona a “Making Faces”. Dicono che sia un romanzo forte, unico, emozionante, ma allo stesso tempo straziante. Un libro indimenticabile. Molte, però, ne consigliano di leggere prima The Low of Moses, per comprendere meglio la storia. "Lei mi disse che ero come una canzone. La sua canzone preferita. Una canzone è qualcosa che non puoi vedere. E’ qualcosa che puoi sentire, qualcosa a cui ti avvicini, ma che scompare dopo l’ultima nota". Abbinata a questo romanzo è inoltre una playlist d’eccezione che potete trovare a questo link (cliccate qui). Qui di seguito ho tradotto per voi la trama e potete leggere alcuni estratti. In fondo alla pagina trovate alcuni teaser# molto interessanti. :) greta

Trama:

Ho vinto il mio primo combattimento quando avevo undici anni, e faccio a pugni da allora. Combattere è la cosa più pura, vera e elementare che ci sia. Alcune persone descrivono il paradiso come un mare di bianco senza fine. Dove i cori cantano e le persone care ti attendono. Ma per me il paradiso era qualcosa di differente. Aveva il suono della campanella all’inizio del round, il sapore dell’adrenalina, bruciava come il sudore nei miei occhi e il fuoco dentro di me. Sembrava l’indistinta folla urlante e un avversario desideroso del mio sangue. Per me il paradiso era l’ottagono. Finchè non ho incontrato Millie, e il mio paradiso è cambiato. Io sono cambiato. Sapevo che l’amavo quando l’ho vista per la prima volta in piedi al centro di una stanza affollata, impassibile nella sua postura da ballerina, a testa alta e con le mani lungo i fianchi. Nessuno sembrava vederla completamente, tranne quelli che le passavano vicino lanciando delle occhiate esasperate al suo viso serio. Quando realizzavano che non era normale, si affrettavano ad andarsene. Perché nessuno la vedeva, quando fu la prima cosa che vidi? Se il paradiso era il mio ottagono, allora lei era il mio angelo al centro di tutto, la ragazza con il potere mandarmi al tappeto e di farmi risollevare. La ragazza per cui volevo lottare, la ragazza che volevo reclamare. Quella che mi ha insegnato che a volte gli eroi più grandi vengono ignorati e le battaglie più importanti sono quelle che non pensiamo di poter vincere.

ESTRATTO #1

Amelie and Henry didn’t come by the gym the next day. On Saturday, I thought I saw them once, beyond the wall of windows along the front of the gym, but when I looked again they were gone. I shrugged, deciding Henry must not have been as excited by the idea as Amelie thought he would be.

A few minutes later I looked up to see them hovering near the speed bags, Amelie holding firmly to Henry’s arm, Henry looking as if he was about to bolt and drag his poor sister with him. They were garnering some strange looks—Henry with his crazy bedhead, his darting glances, and jittery hands and Amelie because she stood so still and looked so out of place in a gym filled with muscles and men.

I called a quick halt to my bout, escaping Axel, who was trying to pummel me into next week, and slid between the ropes that cordoned off one of the octagons.

“Amelie! Henry!” I called, noting how Amelie’s face was immediately wreathed in a relieved smile, a smile so wide it spread to her eyes, giving the illusion of sparkle and life. But Henry started backing up, pulling his sister with him.

“Yo, Henry. Hold up, man.” I stopped several feet from them and lowered my voice. “Did you know that Jack Dempsey versus Jess Willard was the very first fight to be broadcast over the radio?”

Henry stopped moving and his hands stilled.

“Do you know what year that was, Henry?”

“1919,” Henry said in a whisper. “The first televised fight was in 1931. Benny Leonard vs. Mickey Walker.”

“I didn’t know that.” Actually, I had only known about the Dempsey, Willard fight because I’d seen a biography on Dempsey on Netflix the night before. God bless Netflix. The mention of the radio had made me think of Henry and the sportscast blaring from his bedroom. “You wanna tell me more?”

“David ‘Tag’ Taggert, light heavyweight contender with a professional record of eighteen wins, two losses, ten knock outs.”

“You checked up on me, huh?”

Henry’s mouth twitched, and he looked away shyly.

“You did! What else did you find out? That all the ladies love me, that I’m the best looking fighter, pound for pound, in the universe?”

Henry looked confused for a second, and I realized he was searching his mind for that stat. I laughed. “Just kidding, buddy.”

“Six-foot three, 215 pounds, most often compared to Forrest Griffin and Michael Bisping?” Henry’s voice rose on the end, clearly seeking approval.

“I’m more charming than Bisping, and I have better ears than Forrest. But they could both probably kick my ass.”

“He said ass, Amelie!” Henry whispered, half shocked.

“Yes he did, Henry. It’s okay. That’s how fighters talk,” Amelie soothed.

“Can I say ass?” Henry whispered again, curiously.

“You can,” I cut in, “after you learn how to fight.”

ESTRATTO #2

Millie opened the door to greet me, a smile on her lips, my name on her tongue, but I didn’t wait for her to release it. I wanted her to keep it, savor it, and never let it go. I needed my name to stay inside her so that I wouldn’t float away like a word that’s already been spoken. So I pressed my lips to hers and swung her up in my arms like a man in a movie, and my name became a cry that only I heard.

I felt slightly crazed, and my kiss was frantic as I barreled up the stairs with Millie in my arms. My legs didn’t shake and my mind was clear, as if in its health my body was rebelling too. I wanted to roar and hit my chest. I wanted to shake my fists at the heavens, but more than anything I wanted Millie. I didn’t want to waste another second with Millie.

Then we were in her room, the white comforter pristine and smooth, like Millie’s skin in the moonlight, and I laid her across it, falling down beside her. I was anxious. Needy. I wanted the safety of her skin, the absolution of her flesh, and the promise that came with it. I wanted to take. I wanted to cement myself in her memory and leave my mark. I needed that. I needed her. She matched my fervor like she understood. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t. But she didn’t slow me down or beg me for reassurance.

My hands were in her hair and tracing her eyes, fingering her mouth, pausing in the hollow of her throat. I wanted to touch every single part of her. But even as I lost myself in the silk of her skin and the sway of her movements against me, I felt the horror rise up inside of me and shimmer beneath my skin. It wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t be enough, and I knew it, even as I closed my eyes and tried to make it be enough. I couldn’t breathe and my heart raced, and for a moment I thought I would tell her everything.

She must have mistaken my fear for hesitation, the cessation of my breath for something else, because she cradled my face in her hands and pressed her forehead to mine. And then she whispered my name.

“David, David, David.” It sounded like a song when she said it. And she kissed my lips softly.

“David, David, David.” She chanted my name, like she couldn’t believe it was true, like she liked the way it felt in her mouth.

“I love the way you call me David,” I said, and remembered the line from my silly song, the line that had no rhyme.

“I love that you are mine,” she breathed, and the fear left me for a time. It tiptoed away and love took its place, love and belonging and time that can’t be stolen.

Soundtrack:

L'autrice:

Amy Harmon

Amy sapeva fin da quando era giovane che scrivere era una delle cose che aveva intenzione di fare, e trascorreva il suo tempo impegnata a scrivere i testi di canzoni e racconti. Essendo cresciuta in mezzo ai campi di grano senza una televisore, con ad intrattenerla solo i suoi libri e i suoi genitori, ha sviluppato un forte senso di ciò che serve per creare una buona storia. I suoi libri stanno per essere pubblicati in diversi paesi, un sogno divenuto realtà per una ragazza di una piccola cittadina dello Utah. Amy è l’autrice di I cento colori del blu (leggi qui), che ha scalato le classifiche del «New York Times», e di altri cinque libri, tutti dei bestseller, tra cui Sei il mio sole anche di notte (leggi qui). Per saperne di più, visitate il suo sito authoramyharmon.com.