First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter First Paragraph Tuesday Intros.   This week's intro is from the block bestseller The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins:

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold.  My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress.  She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother.  Of course, she did.  This is the day of the reaping.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros.  This week's intro is from I book I read last week, but really enjoyed The Unfinished Work of Elizabeth D. by Nichole Bernier.

The George Washington Bridge had never been anything but strong and beautiful, its arches monumental, cables thin and high.  Kate watched them spindling like ribs past the car window as her husband drove eastbound across the span.  It was a testimony to optimism, a suspension bridge, each far-fetched plate, truss, and girder an act of faith against gravity and good sense.

The sun was strong, glinting off the bridge and hitting the river like shattered glass.  Drivers traveling in both directions were shielding their eyes, staring as she was down the length of Manhattan.  She didn't know what any of them expected to see.  Mushroom clouds?  Skywriting in Arabic?  She wished for some visible sign of the drama where the towers had once stood.  Then she looked toward Queens, even though it was impossible to see the site from this distance.  Few people were even looking anymore, though she always would.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter First Paragraph Tuesday Intros.  This week's intro is from Dirty Secret by Jessie Sholl:

 I take an early flight and arrive in Minneapolis in the late morning.  That afternoon my stepmom Sandy and I are meeting my mother at the lawyer's office so I can sign the papers about the house.  My dad and Sandy normally have limited contact with my mother, but before I left New York Sandy called me and offered to help in anyway she could; she even agreed to let my mother sign power of attorney over to her, since I live so far away.  I wish I could call my brother so he could help, but that's not an option.


When my mother arrives, Sandy and I are waiting for her in the parking lot in front of the lawyer's office.  My mom gets out of her giant rusty car and I try to ignore the fact that the backseat is piled to the ceiling with garbage bags, clothes and God only knows what else.  It's April and warm for a Minneapolis spring.  My mother's in one of her signature knee-length sweater coats, the baggy black leggings she's taken to wearing in the last few years, and a roomy pale blue T-shirt, or as she say sin her lingering Boston accent, "a jersey."  Her keys hang on an orange plastic coil around her neck.  Her curly hair is completely gray now -- sometimes she dyes it brown or auburn -- and cut in chin-length bob, with bangs.  It looks pretty decent for cutting it herself.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros.  This week's intro is from The Cupcake Diaries by Katherine Kallinis and Sophie Kallinis LaMontagne:

We had been waiting for years for this day to come, and to say we had butterflies in our stomachs is putting it mildly.  Technically, we'd been dreaming of this day since we were young girls baking cupcakes in our grandma Babee's kitchen in Hamilton, Ontario.  Everything we learned about baking we learned from her.  We would stand beside her at the kitchen counter as she worked her magic.  We remember her in her royal blue dress with large white polka dots and one of her many Greek aprons with beautiful flower embroidery lining its edges, her hair tied back in a white kerchief.  She taught us how to cream butter and sugar together to make cakes and how to properly knead dough to make bread.  We watched her, mesmerized.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros.  This week's intro is from Dogtown a Sanctuary for Rescued Dogs by Best Friends Animal Society:

Best Friends Animal Sanctuary, at the heart of southern Utah's national parks, is home on any given day to some 2,000 abused and abandoned dogs, cats, and other animals.  As the word sanctuary implies, Best Friends is a haven for these animals -- the largest no-kill sanctuary in the country.  In addition to taking animals from other shelters and rescue groups, Best Friends employs its own Rapid Response teams to conduct rescues after natural disasters and other major events that put animals in jeopardy.  Dogs with special needs, such as those from closed-down puppy mills or dog fighting rings, benefit from Best Friends' expert medical evaluation, and training programs at Dogtown, the canine section of the sanctuary.  In 2007 Best Friends was entrusted with the care and rehabilitation of 22 of the dogs rescued from Michael Vick.  Many of the rescued animals need just a few weeks before they are ready to go to new home; others who are sicker or older or have suffered extreme trauma find a home at the sanctuary for the rest of their lives. 

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from There are Things I Want You to Know About Stieg Larsson and Me by Eva Gabrielsson:

People often ask me if the Swedish drink as much coffee as the characters do in the Millennium Trilogy. Well, we drink a lot of it indeed, given that Finland is the only country in the world that consumes more coffee than we do. And if I had to single out just one thing in common between Stieg Larsson and Mikael Blomkvist, it would surely be their impressive daily quota of coffee.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from These Girls by Sarah Pekkanen:

'Hold it' A voice commanded. 


The elevator was already crowded -- at a few minutes before 10:00 AM, everyone was heading for the upper floors of the Manhattan skyscraper that housed office space for a half dozen glossy magazines -- but Cate Summers instinctively reached out and prevented the doors from closing.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. Following up on last week's intro is the Stieg Larsson's The Girl Who Played with Fire:

She lay on her back fastened by leather straps to a narrow bed with a steel frame.  The harness was tight across her rib cage.  Her hands were manacled to the sides of the bed.

She had long since given up trying to free herself.  She was awake, but her eyes were closed.  If she opened her eyes she would find herself in darkness; the only light was a faint strip that seeped in above the door.  She had a bad taste in her mouth and longed to be able to brush her teeth.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from  The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson.

It happened every year, was almost a ritual. And this was his eighty-second birthday. When, as usual, the flower was delivered , he took off the wrapping paper and then picked up the telephone to call Detective Superintendent Morell who, when he retired, had moved to Lake Siljan in Darlarna. They were not only the same age, they had been born on the same day -- which was something of an irony under the circumstances. The old policeman was sitting with his coffee, waiting, expecting the call.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from It Rains in February by Leila Summers:

You slump to the ground on the veranda, hold your head in your hands, and begin to weep. My skin feels hot I start trembling even though it's a sweltering summer evening in the South African coastal city of Durban. The veranda wraps around two sides of our old Victorian wood-and-iron house in the suburbs. It is trimmed with white wooden lace and a railing that we added as soon as Jane could crawl.


 'I'm so in love' you choke through sobs. Your pause exists outside of time, suspended in the humid air.


 'I can't lie to you any longer Robyn. I just . . . I love Amanda so much.'

First Chapter-- First Paragraph-- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from The Dog That Talked to God by Jim Kraus:

Born in the wealthy enclave of Barrington, Illinois in late autumn, Rufus was the smallest pup in a litter of four -- black with highlights, white eyebrows and chest. The breeder, a precise woman with a lazy eye, said that as an adult, he would most likely remain on the smallish side. That's a good trait for a miniature schnauzer. He had the look, even as a seven week old, of a polished, professional dog, holding a practiced dog show stance -- legs back, chest forward, eyes alert -- all inherited traits, genetics at its best.

But she said nothing about Rufus talking. Not just talking, but talking to God. In dog prayers, I imagine.

First Chapter-- First Paragraph-- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from Gossip by Beth Gutcheon:

'You were asking about Diane Wainwright,' I said to Judy Mellincroft, once we got her bodice basted. Mrs. Oba was on the floor with her mouth full of pins, taking up the hem of a sleek wine-colored evening sheath. Judy is so tiny that we have to reconstruct everything she buys, but it's worth it. She loves the designers I carry, and she's out in my clothes everyday for lunch and most nights during the season, a walking advertisement for the shop, and I don't even have to give her a discount.

First Chapter-- First Paragraph-- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from 30 Failures by Age 30 by Katharine Miller:

Once upon a time, 30 was old. It was almost middle-aged. If you weren't married by age 30, something was wrong with you. If you didn't have children something was wrong with you. If you weren't settled down with life all figured out, you'd screwed up somewhere along the way. Or so it seemed.

First Chapter-- First Paragraph-- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from Still by Lauren f. Winner.

Jane Smiley's novel Horse Heaven was published in 2000, about three years after I left the Judaism in which I had grown up and was baptized in the Anglican church. Smiley is quite possibly my favorite living American novelist -- I read her novella "The Age of Grief" at least once annually -- and I snatched up Horse Heaven as soon as it hits the stands. It's a sprawling comic novel about horse racing, a subculture I have little interest in, and it is not my favorite Smiley oeuvre: I prefer her quiet, finely grained family stories -- Ordinary Love and Good Will, Barn Blind, At Paradise Gate. But one small section of Horse Heaven spoke to me with a force I had mostly felt only when reading liturgy or poetry or epitaphs. Here Smiley is writing about a horse trainer named Buddy Crawford. He gets born again and he's all fired fired up and then one night he is praying and he sits on the bed and he looks 'up to the full moon, in whose region he imagines Jesus to be," and then he begins to talk to his Lord and Savior. 'Okay here is the deal,' Buddy Crawford says, 'I thought I was saved. That was what was advertised. I would accept you as my personal savior, and there you were. And, you know, I felt it too. I felt saved and everything . . . . . But I find out all the time that I've got to keep getting saved. Am I saved? Am I not saved? What do I do now? Are you talking to me? Are you not talking to me? Am I good? Am I a sinner? Still a sinner?' And then he bursts into tears.

His wife comes into the room, gets undressed and asks Buddy what he made him cry. 'When the Lord came into me,' Buddy tells her it was such a good feeling, I thought, Well, I can do anything because of this feeling, but then there was all this stuff to do and to think about, and I don't remember feeling all that well.'

It seemed to me that I was reading my own tea leaves when I read Jane Smiley's words.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week’s intro is from Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.

For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; Rupplemayer’s men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning -- fresh as if issued to children on a beach.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from The Night Sky by Maria Sutton:

When I was thirteen years old, I overheard a conversation that would change my life. The shocking news would lead me on a worldwide search for a stranger with piercing blue eyes and sun-colored hair, lasting forth-three years.

My quest would take me to the dark green hills and valleys of the ancient Carpathian Mountains in Ukraine, where the woody fragrance of birch trees and new-mown hay fills the fresh, crisp air after a heavy rain. Vicariously, I would see a sunrise over Poland obscured by brightly colored swastikas on warplanes and I would then be taken into suffocating cattle cars, lice-infested stalags, and to the Dachau death camp. Further down a country road, I would hear hearty laughter and beer steins clinking with each salute to the Fuhrer's astonishing victories. I would then visit a dark, foreboding, haunted barrack, where disquieting secrets are revealed.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from Daddy, Come and Get Me by Gil Michelini:

"So why does a father of three biological daughters want to adopt from Guatemala?" Vera Saraohn asks, leaning toward me with pen and paper ready to record my answer.

All I want to do is bring my daughter home. Why do I have to justify myself to this woman, or anyone else for that matter?

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from Far from Here by Nicole Baart:

Danica.

The first time he took me up, I thought I was going to die.

It was an accident, really, a struck of luck or fate or happenstance that lured me into the cockpit that morning. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have touched with the tip of my little toe the small red-and-white Cessna 180 that Etsell used for teaching rookie pilots. But his lesson had been a no-show. And the plane was fueled up and ready to go, waiting on the runway for takeoff.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from The Orchid House by Lucinda Riley:

Norfolk, England

I have the same dream every night. It's as if my life is thrown up into the air and all the pieces are sent down . . . back, to front and inside out. All part of my life and yet in the wrong order, the view fragmented.

People say that dreams are important and they tell you something, something that you are hiding from yourself.

I am hiding nothing from myself; I only wish I could.

I go to sleep to forget. To find some peace, because I spend the whole day remembering.

First Chapter -- First Paragraph -- Tuesday Intros

Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts First Chapter, First Paragraph, Tuesday Intros. This week's intro is from Blue Nights by Joan Didion:

In certain latitudes there comes a span of time approaching and following the summer solstice, some weeks in all, when the twilights turn long and blue. This period of the blue nights does not occur in subtropical California, where I lived for much of the time I will be talking about here and where the end of daylight is fast and lost in the blaze of the dropping sun, but it does occur in New York, where I now live. You notice it first as April ends and May begins, a change in the season, not exactly a warming -- yet suddenly summer seems near, a possibility, even a promise. You pass a window, you walk to Central Park, you find yourself swimming in the color blue: the actual light is blue, and over the course of an hour or so this deepens, becomes more intense even as it darkens and fades, approximates finally the blue of the glass on a clear day at Chartes, or that of the Cerenkov radiation thrown off by the fuel rods of nuclear reactors. The French called this time of day "l'heure bleue." To the English it was "the gloaming." The very word gloaming reverberates, echoes -- the gloaming, the glimmer, the glitter, the glisten, the glamour -- carrying in its consonants the images of houses shuttering, gardens darkening, grass-lined rivers slipping through the shadows. During the blue nights you think the end of day will never come. As the blue nights draw to a close (and they will, and they do) you experience an actual chill, an apprehension of illness, at the moment you first notice: the blue light is going, the days are already shortening, the summer is gone. The book is called "Blue Nights" because at the time I began it I found my mind turning increasingly to illness, to the end of promise, the dwindling of the days, the inevitability of the fading, the dying of the brightness. Blue nights are the opposite of the dying of the brightness, but they are also its warning.