Ten Thousand Saints - Tapa blanda

"Henderson does not hold back once: she writes the hell out of every moment, every scene, every perspective, every fleeting impression, every impulse and desire.... She is never ironic or underwhelmed; her preferred mode is fierce, devoted and elegiac."--Stacy D'Erasmo, New York Times Book Review, Cover Review

"One of the Book Review's 10 Best Books of 2011...[A] raucous first novel"--New York Times Book Review, Paperback Row

"Rarely has a coming-of-age novel captured a time and place-here the late 1980s on Manhattan's Lower East Side-with such perfect pitch. Grade: A"--Entertainment Weekly

"[Henderson] has a perfect ear for conversation between siblings; the way a lazy spat can turn into a grudging moment of closeness. And the euphoria of the straight edge movement that Jude and Johnny embrace suffuses the novel with a reckless, glib joy...a bittersweet, lovely book."--NPR.org

"The best and most lyrically written coming-of-age novel of the year."--The Daily Beast/Newsweek Writers' Best Books of 2011

"[A] rare debut that, with a flinty kind of nostalgia, invokes both the gods and demons of a generation."--Vogue

"An irresistibly rich and engrossing novel...poignant, complex...Henderson brilliantly evokes the gritty energy of New York City in the '80s, and the violent euphoria of the music scene. The hard-edged settings highlight the touching vulnerability of young characters."--O magazine, Best Fiction 2011

"Highbrow/Brilliant: All the all-star sentences in Eleanor Henderson's punk-rock-teen novel Ten Thousand Saints."--New York Magazine Approval Matrix

"Ten Thousand Saints is a whirling dervish of a first novel--a planet, a universe, a trip. As wild as that may sound, wonder of wonders, the book is also carefully and lovingly created... [Henderson] writes with great compassion but does not flinch"--Los Angeles Times

"[The] reader smells the sweat, blood, urine, beer; hears the crowds screaming; feels herself at times flung into the mosh pit - Henderson shepherds her characters with blatant affection...raucous, wounded, sweet, spasmodically desperate, [Saints] comes to feel like a modern, drug-and-rock-riddled version of Peter Pan..."--San Francisco Chronicle