Category Archives: Fiction

Trafficked: The Diary of a Sex Slave – Sibel Hodge

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Trafficked: Diary of a Sex Slave is a novella purely written to raise awareness in human trafficking. Being an important subject, I just wish it were written better.

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Book description from Goodreads:
My name is Elena and I used to be a human being. Now I am a sex slave.
If you are reading this diary then I am either dead or I have managed to escape…

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Trafficked: The Diary of a Sex Slave is a gritty, gripping, and tear-jerking novella, inspired by real victims’ accounts and research into the sex trafficking underworld. It’s been listed as one of the Top 40 Books About Human Rights by Accredited Online Colleges.

It is estimated that 800,000 people are trafficked across international borders every year – 80% of these are women and girls. (Source: U.S. Department of State, Trafficking in Persons Report: 2007)

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The Water Diviner – Andrew Anastasios and Meaghan Wilson-Anastasios

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29 the water diviner

This novel, I mean the actual book, tells the complete story of The Water Diviner and is based on the original screenplay by Andrew Anastasios and Andrew Knight but the book is written by Andrew Anastasios and Meaghan Wilson-Anastasios. It is usually done the other way around. Anyhow, it’s inspired by true events found within personal accounts and official records from the First World War.

A favourite line from the book:

The bone-chillingly cold air is still. Silent.

A Passage to India – E. M. Forster

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Book Description from Goodreads: When Adela Quested and her elderly companion Mrs Moore arrive in the Indian town of Chandrapore, they quickly feel trapped by its insular and prejudiced ‘Anglo-Indian’ community. Determined to escape the parochial English enclave and explore the ‘real India’, they seek the guidance of the charming and mercurial Dr Aziz, a cultivated Indian Muslim. But a mysterious incident occurs while they are exploring the Marabar caves with Aziz, and the well-respected doctor soon finds himself at the centre of a scandal that rouses violent passions among both the British and their Indian subjects. A masterly portrait of a society in the grip of imperialism, A Passage to India compellingly depicts the fate of individuals caught between the great political and cultural conflicts of the modern world.

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Child 44 – Tom Rob Smith

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To stand up for someone was to stitch your fate into the lining of theirs.

There’s nothing more stubborn than a fact. That is why you hate them so much. They offend you.

Trust but check. Check on those we trust.

—Isn’t this how it starts? You have a cause you believe in, a cause worth dying for. Soon, it’s a cause worth killing for. Soon, it’s a cause worth killing innocent people for.

The price of this story was the audience’s innocence.

His hate wasn’t professional; it was an obsession, a fixation, as if unrequited love had grown awful, twisted into something ugly.

The survival of their political system justified anything. The promise of a golden age where none of this brutality would exist, where everything would be in plenty and poverty would be a memory, justified anything.

Sentimentality could blind a man to the truth. Those who appear the most trustworthy deserve the most suspicion.

The duty of an investigator was to scratch away at innocence until guilt was uncovered. If no guilt was uncovered then they hadn’t scratched deep enough.

“….a man both handsome and repulsive in equal measure-as if his good looks were plastered over a rotten centre, a hero’s face with a henchman’s heart.

For decades no one had taken action according to what they believed was right or wrong but by what they thought would please their Leader.

Precautionary measure. With those words any deaths could be justified. Better to destroy your own people than there be a chance a German soldier might find a loaf of bread.

We should measure a man by what they’re prepared to do themselves. Not by what they’re prepared to have others do for them.

There was no chance you could be found innocent inside these walls. It was an assembly line of guilt.”

Was the difference merely that Vasili was senselessly cruel while he’d been idealistically cruel? One was an empty, indifferent cruelty while the other was a principled, pretentious cruelty which thought of itself as reasonable and necessary.

Hep Sevgili Kalalım – Birol İnan

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hep sevgili kalalim

Hep Sevgili Kalalım’ı bitirmem çok zamanımı aldı. Neden mi? Çünkü ne zaman başına otursam yapmam gereken işlerin hepsini serdim. Yoksa ne iri bir kitap ne de hikâye baştan sona ayağını sürüyor. Aksine konu öyle insanı içine çekiyor ki okumanın haricinde hemen her şey sırasını beklemek zorunda kalıyor.

Kitabı bitirmemin zaman almasındaki bir diğer etken de okurken çok not almam, geri dönüp belli yerleri tekrar tekrar okumam.

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Yukarıda görüldüğü gibi; Hep Sevgili Kalalım benimle kuaföre bile gitti.

Hep Sevgili Kalalım, yeni bir kitap. Bu yılın haziran ayında Mona Kitap’tan çıktı. Benim bu kadar kısa sürede dünyanın öbür ucunda bu kitabı okuma şansına erişme nedenimse yazarın kardeşinin yakın arkadaşım olması.

Belli ki Birol İnan’ın inceliklerle dolu bir dünyası var. Ben özellikle şarap, mimari, müzik, resim ve insanların doğal yapısı arasında kurduğu bağlantıları çok beğendim. Altı çizilenlere geçmeden önce belirtmek isterim 🙂

Altı Çizilenler

Dostluklarının çimentosu ortak damak tatlarıydı.

Ruhumun adresini bilemedi oysa her şey çok güzel olacaktı.

Bulutlar dağılıyordu ama Londra’nın değil, Demir’in ruhundakiler.

Yaptığı imla hatalarındaki viski kokusu burnuna geliyordu.

Asıl üzüldüğü Rüya’nın ondan kopması değil, Rüya’nın anılarında da olsa tanıdığı gibi kalamamasıydı.

Uzun bir sessizlik oldu. Her ikisinin de içinden geçenler vardı elbet, kaybetme korkusuyla konuşamadıkları.

Ben seni gecikmiş trendeki kavuşamamış yolcu misali sevmiştim. Talihsizliğim, sevdiğimi anlamamış olmak.

Bir kadın seni seviyorsa; yanında kedi bile sevemezsin.

Seyrine doyamadığımız kokulu bir oyundu ilişkimiz. Onda hapis kalır, alışır, kendinizi cennette yaşıyor sanırdınız.

Kelimeler kilit vurulduğunda özünü anlatamazsın, özünü anlatamazsan özünü yaşatamazsın.

‘’Sadece yaşam yoğunluğu olanın biçim yoğunluğu vardır.’’ Nafi Çil