The Brewer of Preston
A Novel
(Sprache: Englisch)
The New York Times bestselling author of the Inspector Montalbano series brings us back to Vigàta in the nineteenth century for a rip-roaring comic novel.
1870s Sicily. Much to the displeasure of Vigàta s stubborn populace, the town has just been...
1870s Sicily. Much to the displeasure of Vigàta s stubborn populace, the town has just been...
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The New York Times bestselling author of the Inspector Montalbano series brings us back to Vigàta in the nineteenth century for a rip-roaring comic novel.1870s Sicily. Much to the displeasure of Vigàta s stubborn populace, the town has just been unified under the Kingdom of Italy. They re now in the hands of a new government they don t understand, and they definitely don t like. Eugenio Bortuzzi has been named Prefect for Vigàta, a regional representative from the Italian government to oversee the town. But the rowdy and unruly Sicilians don t care much for this rather pompous mainlander nor the mediocre opera he s hell-bent on producing in their new municipal theater. The Brewer of Preston, it s called, and the Vigàtese are revving up to wreak havoc on the performance s opening night.
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The Wall Street Journal
Shelf Awareness
Publishers Weekly
Library Journal
The New York Times Book Review
Los Angeles Times
USA Today
The Washington Post Book World
The Nation
Camilleri can do a character s whole backstory in half a paragraph. The New Yorker
Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
Houston Chronicle
The Village Voice
In Sicily, where people do things as they please, Inspector Salvo Montalbano is a bona fide folk hero.
The New York Times Book Review
New York Journal of Books
The New York Sun
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It was a frightful night
It was a frightful night, downright scary. As a thunderclap more boisterous than the rest rattled the windowpanes, young Gerd Hoffer, not yet ten years old, woke up with a start, realizing at the same time that he needed to go. It was an old story, this pee problem. The doctors diagnosis was that ever since birth the child had suffered from weak retention of the kidneys, that is and that it was therefore natural for him to relieve himself in bed. His father, however mining engineer Fridolin Hoffer wouldn t hear of it. He could not resign himself to having brought a waste of a German boy into the world, and thus he believed that what was needed was not medical care but a Kantian education of the will. For this reason, every morning that the good Lord brought upon the earth, he would inspect his son s bed, raising the blanket or sheet, depending on the season, insert an inquisitorial hand, and inevitably find a wet spot, whereupon he would deal the boy a powerful slap on the cheek, which
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would swell up like a muffin under the effect of brewer s yeast.
This time, to avoid his father s customary morning punishment, Gerd got up in the dark to the light of the thunderbolts and set out on a tentative journey to the privy, heart galloping in fear of the dangers and ambushes lurking in the night. One time a lizard had climbed up his leg, another time he had crushed a cockroach underfoot, making a squishy sound the mere thought of which still turned his stomach.
Reaching the latrine, he rolled his nightshirt up over his belly and began to urinate. Meanwhile he looked out the low window, as he always did, onto Vigàta and its sea, a few miles beyond Montelusa. He would get excited whenever he managed to spot the faint glow of an acetylene lamp on some lost paranza. A kind of music would burst forth in his head, a rush of sensations he couldn t express; only a few scattered words would appear and glitter like stars in a black sky. He would start to sweat and, when back in bed, could no longer fall back asleep, tossing and turning until the bedsheets became a sort of hangman s rope around his neck. A number of years later he would become a poet and author, but he did not know this yet.
That night it was different. Between the lightning, the thunder, and the flashes on the horizon, all of which frightened him as much as they fascinated him, he saw a phenomenon he had never seen before. Over Vigàta, the sun or something similar seemed to be rising. This, however, was utterly impossible, since his father had shown him, with Teutonic precision and a wealth of scientific detail, that the first light of day always arrived from the opposite direction that is, from the great picture window in the dining room.
He looked
This time, to avoid his father s customary morning punishment, Gerd got up in the dark to the light of the thunderbolts and set out on a tentative journey to the privy, heart galloping in fear of the dangers and ambushes lurking in the night. One time a lizard had climbed up his leg, another time he had crushed a cockroach underfoot, making a squishy sound the mere thought of which still turned his stomach.
Reaching the latrine, he rolled his nightshirt up over his belly and began to urinate. Meanwhile he looked out the low window, as he always did, onto Vigàta and its sea, a few miles beyond Montelusa. He would get excited whenever he managed to spot the faint glow of an acetylene lamp on some lost paranza. A kind of music would burst forth in his head, a rush of sensations he couldn t express; only a few scattered words would appear and glitter like stars in a black sky. He would start to sweat and, when back in bed, could no longer fall back asleep, tossing and turning until the bedsheets became a sort of hangman s rope around his neck. A number of years later he would become a poet and author, but he did not know this yet.
That night it was different. Between the lightning, the thunder, and the flashes on the horizon, all of which frightened him as much as they fascinated him, he saw a phenomenon he had never seen before. Over Vigàta, the sun or something similar seemed to be rising. This, however, was utterly impossible, since his father had shown him, with Teutonic precision and a wealth of scientific detail, that the first light of day always arrived from the opposite direction that is, from the great picture window in the dining room.
He looked
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Andrea Camilleri
Andrea Camilleri is the bestselling author of the popular Inspector Montalbano mystery series. He lives in Rome.Stephen Sartarelli is an award-winning translator and poet. He lives in France.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Andrea Camilleri
- 2014, 256 Seiten, Maße: 12,7 x 19,6 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Übersetzer: Stephen Sartarelli
- Verlag: Penguin US
- ISBN-10: 0143121499
- ISBN-13: 9780143121497
- Erscheinungsdatum: 28.01.2015
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Praise for Andrea Camilleri and the Montalbano Series:Camilleri s Inspector Montalbano mysteries might sell like hotcakes in Europe, but these world-weary crime stories were unknown here until the oversight was corrected (in Stephen Sartarelli s salty translation) by the welcome publication of The Shape of Water This savagely funny police procedural prove[s] that sardonic laughter is a sound that translates ever so smoothly into English. The New York Times Book Review
Hailing from the land of Umberto Eco and La Cosa Nostra, Montalbano can discuss a pointy-headed book like Western Attitudes Toward Death as unflinchingly as he can pore over crime-scene snuff photos. He throws together an extemporaneous lunch of shrimp with lemon and oil as gracefully as he dodges advances from attractive women. Los Angeles Times
[Camilleri s mysteries] offer quirky characters, crisp dialogue, bright storytelling and Salvo Montalbano, one of the most engaging protagonists in detective fiction Montalbano is a delightful creation, an honest man on Siciliy s mean streets. USA Today
Camilleri is as crafty and charming a writer as his protagonist is an investigator. The Washington Post Book World
Like Mike Hammer or Sam Spade, Montalbano is the kind of guy who can t stay out of trouble Still, deftly and lovingly translated by Stephen Sartarelli, Camilleri makes it abundantly clear that under the gruff, sardonic exterior our inspector has a heart of gold, and that any outburst, fumbles, or threats are made only in the name of pursuing truth. The Nation
Camilleri can do a character s whole backstory in half a paragraph. The New Yorker
Wit and delicacy and the fast-cut timing of farce play across the surface but what keeps it from frothing into mere intellectual charm is the persistent, often sexually bemused Montalbano, moving with ease along zigzags created for him, teasing out
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threads of discrepancy that unravel the whole. Houston Chronicle
Sublime and darkly humorous Camilleri balances his hero s personal and professional challenges perfectly and leaves the reader eager for more. Publishers Weekly (starred review)
In Sicily, where people do things as they please, Inspector Salvo Montalbano is a bona fide folk hero. The New York Times Book Review
The books are full of sharp, precise characterizations and with subplots that make Montalbano endearingly human Like the antipasti that Montalbano contentedly consumes, the stories are light and easily consumed, leaving one eager for the next course. New York Journal of Books
The reading of these little gems is fast and fun every step of the way. The New York Sun
Sublime and darkly humorous Camilleri balances his hero s personal and professional challenges perfectly and leaves the reader eager for more. Publishers Weekly (starred review)
In Sicily, where people do things as they please, Inspector Salvo Montalbano is a bona fide folk hero. The New York Times Book Review
The books are full of sharp, precise characterizations and with subplots that make Montalbano endearingly human Like the antipasti that Montalbano contentedly consumes, the stories are light and easily consumed, leaving one eager for the next course. New York Journal of Books
The reading of these little gems is fast and fun every step of the way. The New York Sun
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