: David Almond
: Nesting
: Iron Press
: 9780957503250
: 1
: CHF 4.50
:
: Kinderbücher bis 11 Jahre
: English
: 200
: kein Kopierschutz
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
David Almond is now known around the world as the author of the novels Skellig, Kit's Wilderness and The Savage. His first two books - Sleepless Nights (1985) and A Kind of Heaven (1997) - were published by Iron Press, a selection of which appears in Nesting alongside two previously unpublished tales. The stories draw deeply from the Tyneside estate of Almond's childhood, exploring the themes that would inform his later work, and displaying all the rhythm, lyricism and drive for which he is acclaimed today. 'A master storyteller.' The Independent 'There is nobody quite like Almond writing in adults' or children's fiction today. A writer of visionary, Blakean intensity.' The Times 'David Almond's books are strange, unsettling wild things. They are, like all great literature, beyond classification.' The Guardian David Almond was born in Newcastle upon Tyne. His many awards include the Whitbread Children's Book Award (twice), the Carnegie Medal and the Hans Christian Andersen Award. My Name is Nina, the prequel to Skellig, was published in 2010. His books have been translated into over 40 languages, and adapted for both stage and screen. He now lives in Northumberland. This book is also available as a eBook. Buy it from Amazon here.

Joffy


‘Nn-nn-ooo-nnnooot… Nnnoott-en-enn…’

‘Not enough? That’s what you’re saying, Joffy?’

‘Yyyy-yy…’

The cleaver came down again, cutting away more from the red wedge of meat between the butcher’s hands. Joffy, his head level with the marble slab, watched the pile of cubes before his eyes grow.

‘How much more, Joffy? Your mammy only wrote steak.’

Joffy held the meat between his hands, then held his head in the same way.

‘As big as your head,’ his mother had said, sending him out. ‘Get enough steak that would fill up your head.’

Faced with the meat now, though, he couldn’t tell how much that was. It could be squashed, it fell into a sunken heap, but his head had its own hard shape. He looked up at the butcher, Mr McCaufrey, the only man who came to see them now, the only person, apart from those who came to pry and ask questions. Mr McCaufrey waited patiently, as usual, smiling, his face red as the blood on his broad hands, but this was too hard for Joffy. There was nowhere to begin. His tongue squirmed uselessly between his teeth.

‘Tell you what, Joffy. You take this, and if you need more, you can come back for it. Okay?’

Walking the hill out of the village, Joffy could feel the meat sliding beneath the pressure of his fingers. He watched blood collect in the corners of the white plastic bag. He knew it didn’t matter if there was too little or too much. She was angry anyway, and all yesterday, all this morning, had been shouting at him.

‘The cow better not start nosing about again,’ she said, her mouth twisted, scornful, ‘She’s just like the rest of us underneath it all. Thinks her money gives her some right, but it doesn’t.’

The cow was Auntie Eileen. She was coming today, Saturday, to spoil it. On Saturdays he liked to be alone. His mother went out, not to return until the next morning, telling him he must stay near the house, go no further than the garden. He’d go to the quarry to sit by the pond there. It had begun to be packed with frogs now that spring was on its way. He’d play with them, until darkness came near, then run quickly home, trembling with anticipation.

But today he would have to stay with them, his mother and his aunt. Auntie Eileen had been before, and he hated her, was frightened by her. She wouldn’t just leave him like most other people did, but was always wanting to t