Imagen del editor
Título: The Housewife Blues.
Editorial: Crown Publishers , New York
Año de publicación: 1992
Condición de la sobrecubierta: Dust Jacket Included
Ejemplar firmado: Signed by Author(s)
Edición: 1st Edition
Small 4to. Green cloth spine and blue paper over boards, pictorial dust jacket. 245pp. Fine/fine. A superb, tight first edition, signed handsomely by Adler in black fineline on the half-title page. N° de ref. de la librería 30884
Sinopsis: Warren Adler is the acclaimed author of 25 novels, published in 30 languages. Two of his books, "The War of the Roses" and "Random Hearts" were made into major motion pictures. He lives in Jackson Hole, Wyoming and New York City. Jenny, a "nice" girl from the Midwest, is swept off her feet by a handsome advertising executive and whisked from her small town into the super-charged world of New York City. A control freak, her new husband warns her to beware of strangers and avoid making friends. But Jenny cannot repress her small town upbringing and instinctive innocence, eventually forming relationships with many of the quirky tenants in their brownstone building and entering into their complicated and sometimes tragic lives. Jenny's journey of self-discovery from naiveté through disenchantment to eventual wisdom is wonderfully wrought and builds to an astonishing climax. "Heart-stopping plot twists, surprising insights¿ the book is sure to enter the public consciousness and generate controversy." · Oklahoma Daily Journal
Extracto. © Reimpreso con autorización.: IF SHE hadn?t placed her great-great-grandmother?s spinet in that exact spot along the east wall and hadn?t set aside time to polish it on this particular April day, Jenny might have avoided any confrontation with this bit of unsavory information.
First there was Godfrey Richardson letting himself into the main hallway, which was unusual enough, since he was rarely at home during the middle of a weekday morning. She heard him climb the single flight of stairs to the apartment he shared with his wife, Terry, just above hers on the second floor. The Richardsons rarely used the tiny mahogany-paneled elevator, and she heard his ascending footfalls on the steps, not because she was deliberately listening, but probably because his tread was lighter than usual, as if he were walking on the tips of his toes.
She realized, of course, that she was conscious of the difference because it was out of the ordinary pattern of sound and activity of the weekday life of their building. In the two months that she and her husband, Larry, had lived there, she had discovered that she was usually the only tenant in residence on most days. A couple of the tenants had maids in for an hour or two a week, but they came and went with barely a ripple.
There were five apartments in their converted East Side Manhattan brownstone, and all of the tenants were normally off pursuing their various vocations during the day. As a housewife, Jenny, too, was pursuing her vocation, which she took as seriously as the others in the building took theirs.
Godfrey Richardson?s tiptoeing up the stairs, despite a rational dismissal of it as being none of her business, had alerted her to what followed. Looking out of the bay window through the lower branches of the budding sycamore tree that fronted the building, she had noted that a young woman had passed the building twice already, lingered in front of it briefly, looked up toward the Richardsons? apartment, then proceeded toward Second Avenue. She was now headed toward the building once again, this time coming from the Third Avenue side.
Jenny continued to apply polish to the spinet. She had it on her mental schedule to polish the heirloom once a week. This was exactly the way her mother had treated the spinet in their house in Indiana, and one of the conditions of the gift was that it be treated the same way in perpetuity. It had been purchased by her great-great-grandmother, handed down to each generation in turn, and had never left Indiana. So far it had fared quite well in its new Manhattan life, had not warped and had kept its tune, although she rarely played it.
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