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Book Title: Le cavalier de l'orage|
The author of the book: Anne Gracie
ISBN 13: 9782290041475
Edition: J'ai Lu
Date of issue: April 18th 2012
Format files: PDF
The size of the: 16.64 MB
City - Country: No data
Loaded: 1111 times
Reader ratings: 6.9
Read full description of the books:
This was just . . . ouch. Way below what I have come to expect from Gracie. The background was just awkward, with a made-up country that doesn't really fit into Europe very well and whose details weren't very coherent and seemed to exist solely for story purposes (like the supposedly great horses).
But worse than the backdrop was the two main characters. Callie was a one-note ninny stuck in emotional-response mode even when things like the life of her son are at stake. Her plans all suck and her response to any setback was to throw an emotional fit and make demands of all the wrong people. Oh, and to push off the people who might actually be able and willing to help. I'm not sure why there's this trope about having one experience with a man dominating your life but I really hate it. Even the densest block ever born knows that there are differences among people and painting falling in love as the fault for a bad relationship is patently stupid in a world full of diverse personalities and characters. How hard is it to see that Gabe isn't anything like Rupert? She mentally notes it time and time again, but oh no, best not fall in love again because he'd be the same then. Bah.
And Gabe isn't any brighter, sadly. I mean, his plans don't actively suck, but his response to any time Callie argues is to go all sexual. Because that's a healthy response mechanism. Conversations are messy, I guess, and hey, she's pretty so might as well get with the kissing. I guess he may have a point because heaven knows Callie isn't responding rationally, but I can't help thinking that seducing her to his viewpoint is, at best, a stopgap.
So yeah, this was a disappointment. I stuck with it in hopes that the rest of the series doesn't suck. Oh, and because Gracie does her regular very fine job with the secondary characters. Callie's son Nicky and his friend Jim are fun and the rest of the band of brothers were very interesting, too. I look forward to getting to know them better in subsequent books. I hope they aren't the slog this one is, though. It won't take much more of this kind of hard read for me to abandon the series altogether.
A note about Steamy: This was the middle of my steam tolerance. There are two explicit sex scenes, though the first is rather extended. Unfortunately, they're problematic as Gabe has kind of an unhealthy view of sex as the way to win arguments—or at least to delay a decision he feels may go against him until he can figure something else out.
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Read information about the authorI've always loved stories. Family legend has it that I used to spend hours playing in the sand pit, with a dog on either side of me and Rocka the horse leaning over me, his head just touching my shoulder, while I told them stories. I have to say, dogs and horses are great audiences, apart from their tendency to drool occasionally. But people are even nicer.
In case you imagine we were a filthy rich horse-owning family, let me assure you we weren't. The horse period was a time when my parents entered a "let's-be-self-sufficient" phase, so we had a horse, but no electricity and all our water came from the rain tank.
As well as the horse and dogs, we had 2 cows (Buttercup and Daisy and one of them always had a calf), a sheep (Woolly,) goats (Billy and Nanny) dozens of ducks, chooks, and a couple of geese, a pet bluetongue lizard and a huge vegie patch. I don't know how my mother managed, really, because both she and Dad taught full time, but she came home and cooked on a wood stove and did all the laundry by hand, boiling the clothes and sheets in a big copper kettle. Somehow, we were always warm, clean, well fed and happy. She's pretty amazing, my mum.
Once I learned to read, I spent my days outside playing with the animals (I include my brother and 2 sisters here) and when inside I read. For most of my childhood we didn't have TV, so books have always been a big part of my life. Luckily our house was always full of them. Travel was also a big part of my childhood. My parents had itchy feet. We spent a lot of time driving from one part of Australia to another, visiting relatives or friends or simply to see what was there. I've lived in Scotland, Malaysia and Greece. We travelled through Europe in a caravan and I'd swum most of the famous rivers in Europe by the time I was eight.
This is me and my classmates in Scotland. I am in the second front row, in the middle, to the right of the girl in the dark tunic.
Sounds like I was raised by gypsies, doesn't it? I was even almost born in a tent --Mum, Dad and 3 children were camping and one day mum left the tent and went to hospital to have me. But in fact we are a family of chalkies (Australian slang for teachers)- and Dad was a school principal during most of my life. And I am an expert in being "the new girl" having been to 6 different schools in 12 years.The last 4 years, however, were in the same high school and I still have my 2 best friends from that time.
No matter where I lived, I read. I devoured whatever I could get my hands on -- old Enid Blyton and Mary Grant Bruce books, old schoolboys annuals. I learned history by reading Rosemary Sutcliffe, Henry Treece and Georgette Heyer. I loved animal books -- Elyne Mitchell's Silver Brumby books and Mary Patchett and Finn the Wolf Hound. And then I read Jane Austen and Dickens and Mary Stewart and Richard Llewellyn and Virginia Woolf and EF Benson and Dick Francis and David Malouf and Patrick White and Doris Lessing and PD James and...the list is never ending.
This is me posing shamelessly on a glacier in New Zealand.
This is me in Greece with my good friend Fay in our village outfits. The film went a funny colour, but you get the idea. I'm the one in the pink apron.
I escaped from my parents, settled down and went to university.To my amazement I became a chalkie myself and found a lot of pleasure in working with teenagers and later, adults. I taught English and worked as a counsellor and helped put on plays and concerts and supervised camps and encouraged other people to write but never did much myself. It took a year of backpacking around the world to find that my early desire to write hadn't left me, it had just got buried under a busy and demanding job.
I wrote my first novel on notebooks bought in Quebec, Spain, Greece and Indonesia. That story never made it out of the notebooks, but I'd been bitten by the writing bug.
My friends and I formed a band called Platform Souls a
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