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Bah ...

Sex in the days of happy hour. With a subtitle so it is clear that the work of the first bloggers Nadiolinda would be a sort of semi-serious sociological research on the sexual tastes of today's thirtysomethings. The female ass on a cocktail glass on the cover seems to confirm this hypothesis. From the first pages, however, we understand what it really wants to talk l’autrice: di sé stessa. Il libro non è altro che un resoconto delle sue avventure erotiche, intriso di esibizionismo. Il culo dell’autrice in copertina non fa che confermare questa ipotesi. Nadiolina scrive in tono colloquiale e senza usare le maiuscole; le piace fare quella che parla senza peli sulla lingua, che fustiga i maschi e pure certe categorie di femmine, che sa essere spiritosa ma anche pronta a tirar fuori riflessioni profonde. In realtà spesso si perde in luoghi comuni e battute troppo tirate per essere davvero spiritose. Magari tutto ciò può funzionare su un blog, ma su carta scorre via come acqua fresca, senza lasciare il segno.

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Speed \u200b\u200bhas three dimensions, just like life. Or the wind

They are the thirty-fourth

Horde. They started years ago from the Far Valley, directed by the legendary Extreme collection, which has never reached any Horde. To impede the relentless wind that always plagues the world. Each member of the Horde has its role, its history and its emotions, Damasio tells us that through their own points of view, unfiltered by the omniscient narrator, preferring to engage rather than explain, does not want to describe the history, aims make you feel. It succeeds, for god if he can. With its eccentric and experimental style, Damasio creates a web of words so dense that embodies the feelings of the protagonists as the wind in which they are immersed, and that ends up kidnap is propelled there, among them, to tackle puzzles, anguish, love and danger. Ok, sometimes the French author treads a bit 'hand and philosophize with technicalities, but this shall not prevent Horde wind was a great book that combines epic novel of adventure training and low-fantasy a mix of symbolic and narrative that has nothing to envy to the literature so-called "high".

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Who would have thought someone so respectable ... Come away with me

As long as the evil stares at us with his eyes bloodshot and his mouth slavering rage, then there is no problem. Or rather, there is, but we identify, recognize it, we can isolate and fight it. Do, however, when evil has the reassuring face of Lou Ford, deputy sheriff of a small town in Texas? Lou is quiet, maybe sometimes a bit 'boring, but it is certainly a good man, those who listen and who have interest in other people's problems. Pity that in his mind there is something wrong, something that has its roots in the past, something that has to do with violence and with women.

Thompson's style is dry and elegant, but that is not sufficient to make The Killer Inside Me the great book that is, its merit lies in showing Lou for what it is: a human being, as disturbed. Thompson chooses to tell us the whole damn story right from Lou, fully aware that his 'illness' that now, after fifteen years, could come back to affect you for making us share his thoughts, his emotions dissociated, its paranoia, the pitiless logic yet terribly coherent behind his every action.

THOROUGH VERSION (AtlantideZine)