Paper Towns
Winner of the "Corine - Internationaler Buchpreis, Kategorie Kinder- und Jugendbuch 2010". Nominated for "Deutscher Jugendliteraturpreis 2011, Kategorie Preis der Jugendlichen"
(Sprache: Englisch)
From the #1 bestselling author of Turtles All the Way Down and The Fault in Our Stars Winner of the Edgar Award for Best Young Adult Mystery #1 New York Times Bestseller USA Today Bestseller Publishers Weekly Bestseller Now a major motion picture When Margo...
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From the #1 bestselling author of Turtles All the Way Down and The Fault in Our Stars Winner of the Edgar Award for Best Young Adult Mystery #1 New York Times Bestseller USA Today Bestseller Publishers Weekly Bestseller Now a major motion picture When Margo Roth Spiegelman beckons Quentin Jacobsen in the middle of the night-dressed like a ninja and plotting an ingenious campaign of revenge-he follows her. Margo's always planned extravagantly, and, until now, she's always planned solo. After a lifetime of loving Margo from afar, things are finally looking up for Q . . . until day breaks and she has vanished. Always an enigma, Margo has now become a mystery. But there are clues. And they're for Q. Printz Medalist John Green returns with the trademark brilliant wit and heart-stopping emotional honesty that have inspired a new generation of readers.
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PROLOGUEThe way I figure it, everyone gets a miracle. Like, I will probably never be struck by lightning, or win a Nobel Prize, or become the dictator of a small nation in the Pacific Islands, or contract terminal ear cancer, or spontaneously combust. But if you consider all the unlikely things together, at least one of them will probably happen to each of us. I could have seen it rain frogs. I could have stepped foot on Mars. I could have been eaten by a whale. I could have married the queen of England or survived months at sea. But my miracle was different. My miracle was this: out of all the houses in all the subdivisions in all of Florida, I ended up living next door to Margo Roth Spiegelman.
Our subdivision, Jefferson Park, used to be a navy base. But then the navy didn t need it anymore, so it returned the land to the citizens of Orlando, Florida, who decided to build a massive subdivision, because that s what Florida does with land. My parents and Margo s parents ended up moving next door to one another just after the first houses were built. Margo and I were two.
Before Jefferson Park was a Pleasantville, and before it was a navy base, it belonged to an actual Jefferson, this guy Dr. Jefferson Jefferson. Dr. Jefferson Jefferson has a school named after him in Orlando and also a large charitable foundation, but the fascinating and unbelievable-but-true thing about Dr. Jefferson Jefferson is that he was not a doctor of any kind. He was just an orange juice salesman named Jefferson Jefferson. When he became rich and powerful, he went to court, made Jefferson his middle name, and then changed his first name to Dr. Capital D. Lowercase r. Period.
So Margo and I were nine. Our parents were friends, so we would sometimes play together, biking past the cul-de-sacced streets to Jefferson Park itself, the hub of our subdivision s wheel.
I always got very nervous whenever I heard that Margo was about to show
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up, on account of how she was the most fantastically gorgeous creature that God had ever created. On the morning in question, she wore white shorts and a pink T-shirt that featured a green dragon breathing a fire of orange glitter. It is difficult to explain how awesome I found this T-shirt at the time.
Margo, as always, biked standing up, her arms locked as she leaned above the handlebars, her purple sneakers a circuitous blur. It was a steam-hot day in March. The sky was clear, but the air tasted acidic, like it might storm later.
At the time, I fancied myself an inventor, and after we locked up our bikes and began the short walk across the park to the playground, I told Margo about an idea I had for an invention called the Ringolator. The Ringolator was a gigantic cannon that would shoot big, colored rocks into a very low orbit, giving Earth the same sort of rings that Saturn has. (I still think this would be a fine idea, but it turns out that building a cannon that can shoot boulders into a low orbit is fairly complicated.)
I d been in this park so many times before that it was mapped in my mind, so we were only a few steps inside when I began to sense that the world was out of order, even though I couldn t immediately figure out what was different.
Quentin, Margo said quietly, calmly.
She was pointing. And then I realized what was different.
There was a live oak a few feet ahead of us. Thick and gnarled and ancient-looking. That was not new. The playground on our right. Not new, either. But now, a guy wearing a gray suit, slumped against the trunk of the oak tree. Not moving. This was new. He was encircled by blood; a half-dried fountain of it poured out of his mouth. The mouth open in a way that mouths generally shouldn t be. Flies at rest on his pale forehead.
He s dead, Margo said, as if I couldn&rs
Margo, as always, biked standing up, her arms locked as she leaned above the handlebars, her purple sneakers a circuitous blur. It was a steam-hot day in March. The sky was clear, but the air tasted acidic, like it might storm later.
At the time, I fancied myself an inventor, and after we locked up our bikes and began the short walk across the park to the playground, I told Margo about an idea I had for an invention called the Ringolator. The Ringolator was a gigantic cannon that would shoot big, colored rocks into a very low orbit, giving Earth the same sort of rings that Saturn has. (I still think this would be a fine idea, but it turns out that building a cannon that can shoot boulders into a low orbit is fairly complicated.)
I d been in this park so many times before that it was mapped in my mind, so we were only a few steps inside when I began to sense that the world was out of order, even though I couldn t immediately figure out what was different.
Quentin, Margo said quietly, calmly.
She was pointing. And then I realized what was different.
There was a live oak a few feet ahead of us. Thick and gnarled and ancient-looking. That was not new. The playground on our right. Not new, either. But now, a guy wearing a gray suit, slumped against the trunk of the oak tree. Not moving. This was new. He was encircled by blood; a half-dried fountain of it poured out of his mouth. The mouth open in a way that mouths generally shouldn t be. Flies at rest on his pale forehead.
He s dead, Margo said, as if I couldn&rs
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Autoren-Porträt von John Green
John Green
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: John Green
- Altersempfehlung: Ab 14 Jahre
- 2009, 336 Seiten, Maße: 14,1 x 20,7 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Penguin US
- ISBN-10: 014241493X
- ISBN-13: 9780142414934
- Erscheinungsdatum: 15.07.2011
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Winner of the Edgar Award for Best Young Adult MysteryNew York Times bestseller
USA Today bestseller
Publishers Weekly bestseller
A Booklist Best Book of the Year
An SLJ Best Book of the Year
A VOYA Best Book of the Year
Green s prose is astounding from hilarious, hyperintellectual trash talk and shtick, to complex philosophizing, to devastating observation and truths. SLJ, starred review
[Green s] a superb stylist, with a voice perfectly matched to his amusing, illuminating material. Booklist, starred review
Laugh-out-loud humor and heartfelt poignancy. Kliatt, starred review
Green delivers once again with this satisfying, crowd-pleasing look at a complex, smart boy and the way he loves. Genuine and genuinely funny dialogue, a satisfyingly tangled but not unbelievable mystery and delightful secondary characters.
Kirkus
"Stellar, with deliciously intelligent dialogue and plenty of mind-twisting insights a powerfully great read." VOYA
"Compelling." The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books
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