The Charmed Wife by Olga Grushin (English) Paperback Book • EUR 24,96 (2024)

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Vendeur: the_nile ✉️ (1.218.028) 98.2%, Lieu où se trouve: Melbourne, AU, Lieu de livraison: WORLDWIDE, Numéro de l'objet: 156205161967 The Charmed Wife by Olga Grushin (English) Paperback Book. Born in Moscow and having moved to the United States at eighteen, Grushin writes in English and her novels have been translated into fifteen languages. She lives outside Washington, D.C., with her two children. The Nile on eBay The Charmed Wife by Olga Grushin "Genre-bending and darkly comic, Grushin's fourth novel is a weird and wonderful triumph." –O, the Oprah MagazineCinderella wants her Prince Charming dead in this sophisticated fairy-tale for the twenty-first century. Cinderella married the man of her dreams--the perfect ending she deserved after diligently following all the fairy-tale rules. Yet now, thirteen and a half years later, things have gone badly wrong and her life is far from perfect. One night, fed up and exhausted, she sneaks out of the palace to get help from the Witch who, for a price, offers love potions to disgruntled housewives. But as the old hag flings the last ingredients into the cauldron, Cinderella doesn't ask for a love spell to win back her Prince Charming. Instead, she wants him dead. Endlessly surprising, wildly inventive, and decidedly modern, The Charmed Wife weaves together time and place, fantasy and reality, to conjure a world unlike any other. Nothing in it is quite what it seems--the twists and turns of its magical, dark, and swiftly shifting paths take us deep into the heart of what makes us unique, of romance and marriage, and of the very nature of storytelling. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Author Biography Olga Grushin is the author of Forty Rooms, The Line, and The Dream Life of Sukhanov, which won the New York Public Library Young Lions Fiction Award and earned her a place on Granta's Best Young American Novelists list. It was also a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Award for First Fiction and England's Orange Prize for New Writers, and was a best book of the year for both The New York Times and The Washington Post. Born in Moscow and having moved to the United States at eighteen, Grushin writes in English and her novels have been translated into fifteen languages. She lives outside Washington, D.C., with her two children. Review One of Oprah Daily's Best Beach Reads to Help You Escape"This wildly inventive, thoroughly modern retelling of the story of Cinderella--and what happens after she marries Prince Charming and comes to feel he is not really so charming after all--is creepy in all the right ways. Genre-bending and darkly comic, Grushin's fourth novel is a weird and wonderful triumph." –O, the Oprah Magazine "A comic riff on an ancient fairy tale." –Los Angeles Times"The Charmed Wife is a modern take on the story of Cinderella, marriage, divorce and love that's surprising, darkly comedic and enchanting." –CNN "The wickedly inventive story you've been waiting for." –PopSugar "This intriguing Cinderella retelling extrapolates on what happens after happily ever after….Readers who enjoy the fairytale retellings of Margaret Atwood, Ann Sexton, and Kate Bernheimer will love this unique spin on a classic tale." –BuzzFeed"Grushin's facility with language...is a marvel. It's the kind of prose that demands you submerge yourself." –New York Journal of Books"This pretty dark comedy is as inventive and creative as it gets." –Time Out "A twisted and inventive version of the time-old tradition, perfect for modern audiences." –Locus Magazine"This whimsical, elaborately plotted novel does for fairy tales what Bridgerton has done for Regency England." –The Daily Mail"An absorbing study of marriage, divorce, self, and responsibility, threaded with numerous retold fairytales and rendered in prescient, gorgeous language. Highly recommended." –Library Journal (starred review) "[A] richly imagined, genre-bending retelling of, at its heart, a tale-as-old-as-time." –Booklist (starred review) "A dizzying retelling of 'Cinderella,' one in which nothing is as it seems and fairy tale marriages do not end happily ever after…Clever." –Publishers Weekly "The comedy is devastating in this autopsy of a marriage that dies of 'happily ever after' syndrome. Seldom has such emotional realism been spied in the precincts of wild magic. This alumna of the Cinderella marriage is overwhelmed, overenchanted, and so over it. Fall under its charms, I dare you." –Gregory Maguire, author of Wicked"With the publication of her first novel, Grushin instantly became one of my favorite writers. She touches the borders of myth and fairytale in everything she does, but never so explicitly as here, in this dark and dreamy retelling of Cinderella. Inside the plot, magic comes and goes. But inside the reader, it's all magic, all of us happily caught in Grushin's hypnotic spell." –Karen Joy Fowler, author of We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves"In The Charmed Wife, Olga Grushin turns the fairy-tale romance on its head, and then just keeps turning it, playfully, subversively, brilliantly: a feat of fierce imagination." –Jess Walter, author of The Cold Millions and Beautiful Ruins"The Charmed Wife is a thought-provoking, wickedly clever, and beautifully written fairy-tale character study that enchants at every turn. Olga Grushin dissects fairy tales, marriage, and the messy human heart with a pen as sharp as any scalpel." –Melissa Bashardoust, author of Girl, Serpent, Thorn "Lush and powerful, The Charmed Wife is brimful of magic and the seething darkness that lies beneath the glittering surface of every good fairy tale." –Leife Shallcross, author of The Beast's Heart One of:O, the Oprah Magazine's Most Anticipated Books of 2021CNN's Best Books of January Lit Hub's Most Anticipated Books of 2021 PopSugar's Best Books of January Time Out's Best Books of January Frolic's Top 10 Books of January CrimeReads's Most Anticipated Books of 2021Library Journal's Six Big Winter ReadsPalm Beach Daily News's 2021 Book RecommendationsHello!'s Most Anticipated Books of 2021 Review Quote One of Oprah Daily ''s Best Beach Reads to Help You Escape "This wildly inventive, thoroughly modern retelling of the story of Cinderella--and what happens after she marries Prince Charming and comes to feel he is not really so charming after all--is creepy in all the right ways. Genre-bending and darkly comic, Grushin''s fourth novel is a weird and wonderful triumph." - O, the Oprah Magazine "A comic riff on an ancient fairy tale." -Los Angeles Times " The Charmed Wife is a modern take on the story of Cinderella, marriage, divorce and love that''s surprising, darkly comedic and enchanting." -CNN "The wickedly inventive story you''ve been waiting for." -PopSugar "This intriguing Cinderella retelling extrapolates on what happens after happily ever after....Readers who enjoy the fairytale retellings of Margaret Atwood, Ann Sexton, and Kate Bernheimer will love this unique spin on a classic tale." - BuzzFeed "Grushin''s facility with language...is a marvel. It''s the kind of prose that demands you submerge yourself." - New York Journal of Books "This pretty dark comedy is as inventive and creative as it gets." - Time Out "A twisted and inventive version of the time-old tradition, perfect for modern audiences." - Locus Magazine "This whimsical, elaborately plotted novel does for fairy tales what Bridgerton has done for Regency England." - The Daily Mail "An absorbing study of marriage, divorce, self, and responsibility, threaded with numerous retold fairytales and rendered in prescient, gorgeous language. Highly recommended." - Library Journal (starred review) "[A] richly imagined, genre-bending retelling of, at its heart, a tale-as-old-as-time." - Booklist (starred review) "A dizzying retelling of ''Cinderella,'' one in which nothing is as it seems and fairy tale marriages do not end happily ever after...Clever." - Publishers Weekly "The comedy is devastating in this autopsy of a marriage that dies of ''happily ever after'' syndrome. Seldom has such emotional realism been spied in the precincts of wild magic. This alumna of the Cinderella marriage is overwhelmed, overenchanted, and so over it. Fall under its charms, I dare you." -Gregory Maguire, author of Wicked "With the publication of her first novel, Grushin instantly became one of my favorite writers. She touches the borders of myth and fairytale in everything she does, but never so explicitly as here, in this dark and dreamy retelling of Cinderella. Inside the plot, magic comes and goes. But inside the reader, it''s all magic, all of us happily caught in Grushin''s hypnotic spell." -Karen Joy Fowler, author of We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves "In The Charmed Wife , Olga Grushin turns the fairy-tale romance on its head, and then just keeps turning it, playfully, subversively, brilliantly: a feat of fierce imagination." -Jess Walter, author of The Cold Millions and Beautiful Ruins " The Charmed Wife is a thought-provoking, wickedly clever, and beautifully written fairy-tale character study that enchants at every turn. Olga Grushin dissects fairy tales, marriage, and the messy human heart with a pen as sharp as any scalpel." -Melissa Bashardoust, author of Girl, Serpent, Thorn "Lush and powerful, The Charmed Wife is brimful of magic and the seething darkness that lies beneath the glittering surface of every good fairy tale." -Leife Shallcross, author of The Beast''s Heart One of: O, the Oprah Magazine ''s Most Anticipated Books of 2021 CNN ''s Best Books of January Lit Hub ''s Most Anticipated Books of 2021 PopSugar ''s Best Books of January Time Out ''s Best Books of January Frolic''s Top 10 Books of January CrimeReads ''s Most Anticipated Books of 2021 Library Journal ''s Six Big Winter Reads Palm Beach Daily News ''s 2021 Book Recommendations Hello! ''s Most Anticipated Books of 2021 Excerpt from Book The Scissors: Close to the Beginning of the End Hate is a clenched fist in my heart. It keeps my nerves numb as I lie in the dark, pretending to be asleep, waiting for my husband''s breathing to grow slow and even. It takes some time; he tosses and mumbles before falling still at last. Once I know the draught I poured into his wine has done its work, I slide out of bed and dress as soundlessly as I can, and oh, I can be very quiet indeed-I am well practiced in silence. I do not light a candle. The room is pitch black, for the fire has long since died in the fireplace, but I have no need of sight to find my clothes, to skirt the perils of invisible corners: this has been my bedroom for the past thirteen years-thirteen and a half, to be precise-and I have measured its every inch in hours of wall-to-wall pacing. And a candle might wake Brie and Nibbles, who are such nervous sleepers. The shoes, the lightest among a hundred ballroom pairs I own, are lined up by the dresser, and the borrowed cloak, the color of shadows, is waiting folded on the chair. As I put it on, I grope for the sewing scissors I slipped into its pocket earlier in the day, and the touch of cold metal reassures me. Ready at last, I tiptoe to my husband''s side of the bed-and at once, without warning, I am rattled by a memory of our wedding. The moon was enchanted that night, white as the richest cream, bright as the brightest candle, as is traditional on similar momentous occasions; once he slept, I stared at his profile, outlined by the moon''s brilliance against the pillow plush with the Golden Goose down, and cried tears of joy at my great fortune. But tonight, there is no moon, and all I can see is a pool of denser darkness in the dark. For a minute I stand unmoving, just listening to him breathe, until I become aware of the scissors'' edge cutting painfully into the palm of my hand. And now I want to cry again, if for a vastly different reason. I do not cry. I bend lower instead and feel amidst the moist swirls of satin sheets. When I alight upon his curls at last, the perfumed waviness of his hair is soft, so very soft, under my fingertips. I swoop down upon him with the scissors. The mice do not stir in their walnut-shell beds as I creep out of the bedroom, the snipped lock of hair tucked away in the pouch concealed at my hip, next to a few other things already there: a bunch of dried flowers tied with a fading lavender ribbon, a miniature portrait in a bejeweled locket, a sapphire brooch that I will hand over as payment when all this is over, and fingernail clippings from my husband''s left hand. "It must be the hand he uses to shoot," the witch told me the night I went to see her. "Shoot?" I repeated, confused. "Shoot what?" "How should I know?" she snarled. "Stags, swans, sirens, whatever it might be his pleasure to shoot. They all shoot something, dearie." I stayed quiet then, because the echo in the witch''s cave filled all words with a cold, hollow menace and I felt afraid of the treacherous sound of my own voice, and also because I never like to contradict anyone, but I thought: My husband doesn''t shoot, he just signs papers-still, as some of them are execution orders, perhaps it comes to much the same thing? And at dawn of the fall equinox, as instructed, I gathered the yellowing crescents of his left-hand nails off the floor of his changing room before the Singing Maids got to them, hoping it would be enough. I carry my lantern unlit under the plain gray cloak as I hurry along the corridors. Out of the corner of one eye, I catch the reflection of an escaped blond strand and a pale cheekbone in the glass of a grandfather clock, and pull the hood lower, so no one will wonder where I am going at this late hour. But the hallways are deserted, which is just as it should be, for here, all things run on schedule. Every afternoon, at five o''clock on the dot, porcelain teapots bustle through the palace, knocking on doors with their gleaming spouts, splashing tea into dancing teacups wherever required, after which chandelier crystals begin to tinkle in all the ballrooms, chamber orchestras commence playing repetitive waltzes, and courtiers twirl, one-two-three, one-two-three, and gift one another with fatuous smiles, and dine on roasted quail and little cakes with apricot icing, and talk about the new fashion for pastel-colored gloves. Then the music winds down and they curtsy and part ways until breakfast the following morning, when the busy flock of teapots flits through the hallways once more, steaming with tea, not too strong, plenty of cream, plenty of sugar, every day, every month, every year, over and over again. At this late hour, so close to midnight, everyone is long since in bed. Only once do I meet a solitary candle sprite hurrying to an assignation with a candle burning somewhere, but it is too aquiver to pay my passage any heed; for love makes everyone blind, as simpering court storytellers are forever fond of intoning, quite as if blindness were a happy circ*mstance in which we all long to share. Storytellers are dangerous fools, and my eyes are wide open now. I sweep past dim expanses of reception chambers, past mirrored staircases leading down into multiplied shadows. As I near the Ancestor Gallery, I slow my steps, but the portraits are dozing, the kings snoring mightily, their beards rising and falling, the queens making thin, delicate noises through dusty smiles. No ancestors of mine, I tell them soundlessly as I slip by. In the Great Hall, candelabra are ablaze along the walls and two guards stand flanking the iron-bound doors. I freeze, my heart lurching, then see that they, too, are asleep, helmets drooping over ceremonial lances, the gargantuan visitor log book sprawling unattended between the ostentatious flower arrangement and the old-fashioned apparatus on the slumbering concierge''s desk. Sliding a little on the marble floor, I steal across to the doors, lean on them with my shoulder, gather all my strength, and push. The doors do not creak. The guards do not wake. I step over the threshold. Light from the hall has fallen onto the ancient slabs of the terrace in a great rectangle the color of honey. Beyond it, autumn lies in wait, chilly and damp. I can just see the ivy-clad banisters of the Grand Staircase starting their descent into the garden and the stone arms of a nymph holding out a mossy basket of primroses, the rest of the statue lost to darkness. I pause to light my lantern, and now my hands begin to shake. It takes four tries and a burn on my finger before a tiny wild flame careens into being. The lantern lit, I linger in the golden doorway for yet another minute. The night before me smells of leaves and rain-and something else, too, a troubling yet exciting smell I fail to recognize. The palace at my back smells of all things small and familiar-candle wax, cakes, parquet polish. This is all I know, all I have known for thirteen long years-thirteen and a half, to be precise-and I feel sudden fear at the thought of walking away. Then I notice my shadow lying on the ground, and the shadow is dark within the light, cut from the same cloth as the night beyond. All at once I say to myself: Oh look, my shadow is growing impatient with me, it wants to go home to its own kind. And somehow this poor little jest gives me courage, so I draw the cloak tight against the chill and push the doors closed behind me. They come together with a dull, heavy thud, like some massive volume slammed shut when the story is over. The brilliant light is extinguished at my feet. I am halfway down the stairs when the chiming from the clocktower overtakes me. At the first stroke, a swarm of memories dive after me like shrill, sharp-toothed bats. I cannot let them catch me, so I walk fast, faster still, then break into a run. I skip over steps, slip on stones, slide on leaves, trip over roots, until the palace is only a pale haze of lights shimmering behind me, until the rain-splashed park with its cupids and fountains falls behind as well, and, at last, I am through the gates. The rutted road stretches before me, black fields on both sides. I run. My lantern beats against my thigh, my pouch beats against my hip, my heart beats against my chest. Winds pick themselves off the ground in my panting wake, shake themselves off like enormous gray wolves, and lope after me howling. Their ferocity makes me feel brave. Side by side with the winds, I run all the way to the crossroads. The witch is waiting for me, her cauldron already smoking. The Cauldron: Closer Still to the Beginning of the End The world is black and red-black of the night, red of the fire, black of the cauldron, red of the potion. The witch, all warts and hook nose, her eyes gleaming from within the sinister cave of her cowl, her fingers dark and agile like spiders, lurches around the cauldron in a jagged jig, flinging pellets and powders into the bubbling brew, muttering under her nose: "One horn of a poisonous toad. A pair of wings from an unhatched death''s-head moth. Eyeballs of a blind three-eyed newt. Four ground claws of a lame baby dragon. Five scales of a wish-granting pike . . ." At midnight, the crossroads is a place where the skin of the world has worn thin, and great underground powers are pressing against it: a place of disorder and flux, an in-between place at an in-between hour. Untamed shadows crowd upon it from all sides, low clouds threaten rain, and the prowli Details ISBN0593085523 Author Olga Grushin Pages 288 Language English Year 2022 ISBN-10 0593085523 ISBN-13 9780593085523 Format Paperback Publisher Penguin Putnam Inc Imprint G P Putnam's Sons Country of Publication United States Publication Date 2022-01-11 AU Release Date 2022-01-11 NZ Release Date 2022-01-11 US Release Date 2022-01-11 UK Release Date 2022-01-11 DEWEY 813.6 Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNileItemID:137976779;

• Condition: Neuf
• Format: Paperback
• Language: English
• ISBN-13: 9780593085523
• Author: Olga Grushin
• Book Title: The Charmed Wife
• ISBN: 9780593085523

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