Step up to the challenge! It’s easy! Post your challenge then click on others to check out theirs, you may find another book for your TBR list!
- Grab the book you’re currently reading (or recently read)
- Open to a random page
- Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page NO spoilers allowed! Choose passages void of spoilers. The goal is to entice, yet not ruin the book for others!
- Share the title & author, so that other participants can add the book to their TBR lists if they like your teasers!
- Last and but not least, link up your post using the InLinkz below so that others participants can check out your post! You must link up in order to get your participation entry point! You MUST enter using the InLinkz to get your point .
****THIS CHALLENGE IS OPEN ONLY FOR 24 HOURS!!!!***** A new challenge will be posted tomorrow. 🙂
I’ll be using one of my favorite books of all time. We’re talking top 3. When I recommend this book, I try to explain the magic and beauty of it, but I always find myself failing to accurately portray just HOW special it is. There’s no better way to convey the feeling and depth of a book you love to someone than sharing passages from it. So this challenge it awesome.
From One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and since it’s a long one, I’m counting it as two passages. The way Gabo writes, it’s kind of hard to find short passages. Read the book, and you will see.
Pietro Crespi lost control of himself. He wept shamelessly, almost breaking his fingers with desperation, but he could not break her down. “Don’t waste your time,” was all that Amaranta said. “If you really love me so much, don’t set foot in this house again.” Ursula thought she would go mad with shame. Pietro Crespi exhausted all manner of pleas. He went through incredible extremes of humiliation. He wept one whole afternoon in Ursula’s lap and she would have sold her soul in order to comfort him. On rainy nights he could be seen prowling about the house with an umbrella, waiting for a light in Amaranta’s bedroom. He was never better dressed than at that time. His august head of a tormented emperor had acquired a strange air of grandeur. He begged Amaranta’s friends, the ones who sewed with her on the porch, to try to persuade her. He neglected his business. He would spend the day in the rear of the store writing wild notes, which he would send to Amaranta with flower petals and dried butterflies, and which she would return unopened. He would shut himself up for hours on end to play the zither. One night he sang. Macondo woke up in a kind of angelic stupor that was caused by a zither that deserved more than this world and a voice that led one to believe that no other person on earth could feel such love. Pietro Crespi then saw the lights go on in every window in town except that of Amaranta. On November second, All Souls Day, his brother opened the store and found all the lamps lighted, all the music boxes opened, and all the docks striking an interminable hour, and in the midst of that mad concert he found Pietro Crespi at the desk in the rear with his wrists cut by a razor and his hands thrust into a basin of benzoin.