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R. Magnusholm
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June 2018
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"Catchy Title, Empty Pages: A Disappointment Wrapped in Literary Pretense
I have always been deeply suspicious of anything labeled "award-winning" or heavily promoted by the legacy media and the woke publishing establishment. All too often, these unive" Read more of this review » |
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R. Magnusholm
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Jack D. Hunt's review
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Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?:
"Interesting Mood
There is a feeling of inescapable melancholy in this book that is hard to shake off. As for the story itself, I disliked many aspects of it. Much fuss is being made of the androids not having empathy. And yet the hero, Rick Deckard, se" Read more of this review » |
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"Light-hearted take on dystopian sci-fi
Hard Luck Harry in Deadtime offers a refreshing, light-hearted take on dystopian sci-fi, following an android's charming and resilient journey through a crumbling society. The fast-paced, witty narrative balances" Read more of this review » |
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Jack D. Hunt's review
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Hillbilly Grit: A Novel Based on Family History (The Hillbilly Bone Series Book 1):
"Raw and Heartfelt: A True American Story
Marynell Autry has a wonderful Southern voice that feels 100% real for the time and place. Her writing is charming, but she also has a way of using poetic phrases that really stick with you. This book is so impo" Read more of this review » |
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Trash Man: A Saga of Southern Grit (The Hillbilly Bone Series Book 2)
by Marynell Autry (Goodreads Author) |
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quote
“The night had teeth. Wind tore through the apple trees, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky. Beyond the garden fence, the dacha settlement lay in uneasy slumber—rows of dark shacks, abandoned for the season, their windows blind and cold.
Chicken-wire fences sagged under rust and neglect, some topped with barbed wire that glinted like fangs in the distant glow of Moscow. Far off, a cement plant loomed against the horizon, a hulking silhouette of Soviet ambition gone to rot. To the north, the pines of Elk Island groaned under the gale, their black crowns thrashing like beasts in chains. And above it all, the October sky churned with torn clouds, racing toward some unseen war. I walked two hundred yards down the gravel drive, past sleeping plots fenced in rusted wire, boots rasping over dry, dead grass. Tested the radio. Exchanged a few words with Romeo. Static hissed like a snake in the dark, but the signal held.” R. Magnusholm |
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R. Magnusholm
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“Her eyes shifted to the weapon on the table. “May I hold it?”
“Sure, why not?” I unholstered the pistol and handed it to her, holding it by the barrel assembly. She held the gun awkwardly, angling it past me toward the stove, the muzzle’s black eye dark as a tunnel to another world. “You can kill me, you know,” I said. “Like in that French movie we saw.” She didn’t seem to hear me. When she spoke, her voice was thick and remote. “It’s so heavy. I didn’t know it would be so heavy.” The air felt charged with static, the kind that comes before lightning.” R. Magnusholm |
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“The night had teeth. Wind tore through the apple trees, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky. Beyond the garden fence, the dacha settlement lay in uneasy slumber—rows of dark shacks, abandoned for the season, their windows blind and cold.
Chicken-wire fences sagged under rust and neglect, some topped with barbed wire that glinted like fangs in the distant glow of Moscow. Far off, a cement plant loomed against the horizon, a hulking silhouette of Soviet ambition gone to rot. To the north, the pines of Elk Island groaned under the gale, their black crowns thrashing like beasts in chains. And above it all, the October sky churned with torn clouds, racing toward some unseen war.
I walked two hundred yards down the gravel drive, past sleeping plots fenced in rusted wire, boots rasping over dry, dead grass. Tested the radio. Exchanged a few words with Romeo.
Static hissed like a snake in the dark, but the signal held.”
― Last Tango in Moscow: A Cold War Tale of Espionage, the Mafia, and Forbidden Love
Chicken-wire fences sagged under rust and neglect, some topped with barbed wire that glinted like fangs in the distant glow of Moscow. Far off, a cement plant loomed against the horizon, a hulking silhouette of Soviet ambition gone to rot. To the north, the pines of Elk Island groaned under the gale, their black crowns thrashing like beasts in chains. And above it all, the October sky churned with torn clouds, racing toward some unseen war.
I walked two hundred yards down the gravel drive, past sleeping plots fenced in rusted wire, boots rasping over dry, dead grass. Tested the radio. Exchanged a few words with Romeo.
Static hissed like a snake in the dark, but the signal held.”
― Last Tango in Moscow: A Cold War Tale of Espionage, the Mafia, and Forbidden Love
“Her eyes shifted to the weapon on the table. “May I hold it?”
“Sure, why not?”
I unholstered the pistol and handed it to her, holding it by the barrel assembly.
She held the gun awkwardly, angling it past me toward the stove, the muzzle’s black eye dark as a tunnel to another world.
“You can kill me, you know,” I said. “Like in that French movie we saw.”
She didn’t seem to hear me. When she spoke, her voice was thick and remote. “It’s so heavy. I didn’t know it would be so heavy.”
The air felt charged with static, the kind that comes before lightning.”
― Last Tango in Moscow: A Cold War Tale of Espionage, the Mafia, and Forbidden Love
“Sure, why not?”
I unholstered the pistol and handed it to her, holding it by the barrel assembly.
She held the gun awkwardly, angling it past me toward the stove, the muzzle’s black eye dark as a tunnel to another world.
“You can kill me, you know,” I said. “Like in that French movie we saw.”
She didn’t seem to hear me. When she spoke, her voice was thick and remote. “It’s so heavy. I didn’t know it would be so heavy.”
The air felt charged with static, the kind that comes before lightning.”
― Last Tango in Moscow: A Cold War Tale of Espionage, the Mafia, and Forbidden Love
“I was gripped by the strange, irrational thought that I’d walked into someone else’s life—a doppelgänger’s shadow world where I didn’t belong.”
― Last Tango in Moscow: A Cold War Tale of Espionage, the Mafia, and Forbidden Love
― Last Tango in Moscow: A Cold War Tale of Espionage, the Mafia, and Forbidden Love
“Her eyes shifted to the weapon on the table. “May I hold it?”
“Sure, why not?”
I unholstered the pistol and handed it to her, holding it by the barrel assembly.
She held the gun awkwardly, angling it past me toward the stove, the muzzle’s black eye dark as a tunnel to another world.
“You can kill me, you know,” I said. “Like in that French movie we saw.”
She didn’t seem to hear me. When she spoke, her voice was thick and remote. “It’s so heavy. I didn’t know it would be so heavy.”
The air felt charged with static, the kind that comes before lightning.”
― Last Tango in Moscow: A Cold War Tale of Espionage, the Mafia, and Forbidden Love
“Sure, why not?”
I unholstered the pistol and handed it to her, holding it by the barrel assembly.
She held the gun awkwardly, angling it past me toward the stove, the muzzle’s black eye dark as a tunnel to another world.
“You can kill me, you know,” I said. “Like in that French movie we saw.”
She didn’t seem to hear me. When she spoke, her voice was thick and remote. “It’s so heavy. I didn’t know it would be so heavy.”
The air felt charged with static, the kind that comes before lightning.”
― Last Tango in Moscow: A Cold War Tale of Espionage, the Mafia, and Forbidden Love
“The night had teeth. Wind tore through the apple trees, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky. Beyond the garden fence, the dacha settlement lay in uneasy slumber—rows of dark shacks, abandoned for the season, their windows blind and cold.
Chicken-wire fences sagged under rust and neglect, some topped with barbed wire that glinted like fangs in the distant glow of Moscow. Far off, a cement plant loomed against the horizon, a hulking silhouette of Soviet ambition gone to rot. To the north, the pines of Elk Island groaned under the gale, their black crowns thrashing like beasts in chains. And above it all, the October sky churned with torn clouds, racing toward some unseen war.
I walked two hundred yards down the gravel drive, past sleeping plots fenced in rusted wire, boots rasping over dry, dead grass. Tested the radio. Exchanged a few words with Romeo.
Static hissed like a snake in the dark, but the signal held.”
― Last Tango in Moscow: A Cold War Tale of Espionage, the Mafia, and Forbidden Love
Chicken-wire fences sagged under rust and neglect, some topped with barbed wire that glinted like fangs in the distant glow of Moscow. Far off, a cement plant loomed against the horizon, a hulking silhouette of Soviet ambition gone to rot. To the north, the pines of Elk Island groaned under the gale, their black crowns thrashing like beasts in chains. And above it all, the October sky churned with torn clouds, racing toward some unseen war.
I walked two hundred yards down the gravel drive, past sleeping plots fenced in rusted wire, boots rasping over dry, dead grass. Tested the radio. Exchanged a few words with Romeo.
Static hissed like a snake in the dark, but the signal held.”
― Last Tango in Moscow: A Cold War Tale of Espionage, the Mafia, and Forbidden Love
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