Tuesday, 26 January 2016

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Gone GirlGone Girl by Gillian Flynn
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

My rating 2.5 stars. It is a psychological thriller. I added it to my over hyped shelf. But maybe because i don't like these thrillers who have only one or two characters and they keep ruminating throughout. There are no red herrings either. But all said and done some portions of the book are truly good e.g.

All women knows that there biological clocks are ticking. Ageing 30+ woman can be lonely even if they are successful and in cosmopolitan city:

" I think, I am so fucking lonely. I go home and cry for a while. I am almost thirty-two. That’s not old, especially not in New York, but fact is, it’s been years since I even really liked someone. So how likely is it I’ll meet someone I love, much less someone I love enough to marry? I’m tired of not knowing who I’ll be with, or if I’ll be with anyone. I have many friends who are married – not many who are happily married, but many married friends. The few happy ones are like my parents: They’re baffled by my singleness. A smart, pretty, nice girl like me, a girl with so many interests and enthusiasms, a cool job, a loving family. And let’s say it: money. They knit their eyebrows and pretend to think of men they can set me up with, but we all know there’s no one left, no one good left, and I know that they secretly think there’s something wrong with me, something hidden away that makes me unsatisfiable, unsatisfying.

The ones who are not soul-mated – the ones who have settled – are even more dismissive of my singleness: It’s not that hard to find someone to marry, they say. No relationship is perfect, they say – they, who make do with dutiful sex and gassy bedtime rituals, who settle for TV as conversation, who believe that husbandly capitulation – yes, honey, okay, honey – is the same as concord. He’s doing what you tell him to do because he doesn’t care enough to argue, I think. Your petty demands simply make him feel superior, or resentful, and someday he will fuck his pretty, young coworker who asks nothing of him, and you will actually be shocked. Give me a man with a little fight in him, a man who calls me on my bullshit. (But who also kind of likes my bullshit.) And yet: Don’t land me in one of those relationships where we’re always pecking at each other, disguising insults as jokes, rolling our eyes and ‘playfully’ scrapping in front of our friends, hoping to lure them to our side of an argument they could not care less about. Those awful if only relationships: This marriage would be great if only … and you sense the if only list is a lot longer than either of them realizes.

So I know I am right not to settle, but it doesn’t make me feel better as my friends pair off and I stay home on Friday night with a bottle of wine and make myself an extravagant meal and tell myself, This is perfect, as if I’m the one dating me. As I go to endless rounds of parties and bar nights, perfumed and sprayed and hopeful, rotating myself around the room like some dubious dessert. I go on dates with men who are nice and good-looking and smart – perfect-on-paper men who make me feel like I’m in a foreign land, trying to explain myself, trying to make myself known. Because isn’t that the point of every relationship: to be known by someone else, to be understood? He gets me. She gets me. Isn’t that the simple magic phrase?

So you suffer through the night with the perfect-on-paper man – the stutter of jokes misunderstood, the witty remarks lobbed and missed. Or maybe he understands that you’ve made a witty remark but, unsure of what to do with it, he holds it in his hand like some bit of conversational phlegm he will wipe away later. You spend another hour trying to find each other, to recognise each other, and you drink a little too much and try a little too hard. And you go home to a cold bed and think, That was fine. And your life is a long line of fine."

What is true love?

"I was told love should be unconditional. That’s the rule, everyone says so. But if love has no boundaries, no limits, no conditions, why should anyone try to do the right thing ever? If I know I am loved no matter what, where is the challenge? I am supposed to love Nick despite all his shortcomings. And Nick is supposed to love me despite my quirks. But clearly, neither of us does. It makes me think that everyone is very wrong, that love should have many conditions. Love should require both partners to be their very best at all times. Unconditional love is an undisciplined love, and as we all have seen, undisciplined love is disastrous."

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Wednesday, 13 January 2016

Kyonki Woh Beewiyaan Badalte Thay (English: Because they swapped wives) (Vibha Jindal #4) by Ved Prakash Sharma

Kyonki Woh Beewiyaan Badalte Thay (English: Because they swapped wives) (Vibha Jindal #4)Kyonki Woh Beewiyaan Badalte Thay (English: Because they swapped wives) by Ved Prakash Sharma
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Ved Prakash Sharma is one the most popular hindi pulp fiction writer, other being Surendra Mohan Pathak. He is known for miraculous outlandish plots and this novel is no exception.

This is fourth novel in his Vibha Jindal series. Vibha Jindal is a rich heiress who takes only most complicated cases. The plot is based on the concept of wife swapping. Very rich couples swap husbands and wives for sexual thrill. The modus operandi is secret and they choose wives by drawing car keys or chits. If the key/ chit of own spouse is drawn the process is repeated. Then they spend a night together and later own don't even acknowledge each other. One of the wife doesn't agree and protests. And then one by one the members of elite club are murdered and their bodies are found naked with something written.

Can Vibha crack the case? Is the murderer angel or demon? DO they deserve their fate? The novel tries to answer these questions.

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Entice (The Affair, #1) by S. Layne

Entice (The Affair, #1)Entice by S. Layne
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Laurie husband james sleeps with her best friend becky and she is debastated. In her anxious state she meets Liam who is a playboy and start a passionate affair witj him.

This is the brief of story. Its sensuos, free flowing and keeps you interested. Its no high literature but rather a potboiler.
You can read it once.

Some excerpts :

Except counseling. I scowl. Because counseling is for people who aren’t smart enough to work out their own issues.
I don’t even remember the last time someone hit on me. Has it been that long? A part of my femininity wants to preen and rub against him, have his hands run down my side at the thought that he believes I’m beautiful enough to want to have a drink with me.
But there’s still a part of me that wants to be at the bar at eight o’clock and see what a conversation with him would be like.Because after feeling so used and abandoned…and just hurt…that part of me wants to give James a taste of his medicine. Make him hurt the way he’s hurt me.
As soon as I unpacked, I did what any woman does and picked up the phone to ask for advice.
My core clamps down on him and he groans as he sinks inside of me. My hands move to his shoulders, but he quickly grabs them, clasps them in one hand, and pushes them back to the bed.“Leave them.”I shake my head. “I need to touch you.”He rocks forward until I’m completely filled with him, and covers my body with his. I shift, needing him to move, but he stays perfectly still and his mouth drops to mine. His lips hover, not touching me, and I inhale a gasp.
“You’ll take what I give you,” he commands, and my mouth snaps closed.
I want to give him what he’s given me. I want to dig my nails into his skin and leave a mark on him, forcing him to remember this night.But his grip is strong, his eyes determined, and as his hips pull back I feel every inch of him leave me. I tighten my muscles, pulling him back into me, and when he does…I cave.I surrender to everything he wants to give me.If it’s anything like the other two orgasms he’s already given me, this is sure to be even better.“Holy…” I groan as he slides back in. There’s a slight burst of pain as he hits the end of me. He’s stretching me wide and his hand leaves my wrists with only a warning glare.“Keep them there.”
“I will.” I nod. I’ll do anything to have that feeling in me all over again.Liam smirks and his hands move to my thighs. He pulls me wide open and presses my legs into the mattress as he begins moving inside me.He pushes and pulls, harder and faster, and I can do nothing except thrash my head back and forth.Sweat from his forehead drips onto my abs, but I can’t open my eyes long enough to see what he’s doing.It feels like hours—it possibly could be—when he releases a roar and seats himself balls-deep inside me, and my insides clench and pulse around him as he releases himself inside me.My brain has turned to mush.My body melts into the mattress
and I take the moment to revel in what I’ve done.What I’ve felt.It’s powerful and inspiring…and I instantly regret that I only get this for the night.That it’s over.I turn my head to the side to hide the emotions flooding my body.
hips, caressing my rear end until his thumbs spread my cheeks apart.“Liam.” I warn him, but I doubt it’d do much as he lightly brushes the skin of my crease, a forbidden area I’ve never considering using for anything other than its intended purpose. “No.”“Hmmm…disappointing.” But he leaves that area and continues until his fingers separate my folds. “So wet for me already.”
I move to walk past him into the kitchen when his arm sticks out and wraps me around the middle.Tears instantly fall down my cheeks.I love him. I always have. I hate him, too, though. And I don’t know which one is more powerful. I don’t even know if love is enough anymore.
I should win an Academy Award for my acting abilities. If there is ever an awards ceremony for women who dream about their bosses at night but don’t act like it during the day, I’m a guaranteed winner.Every morning I wake up, sweat lining my brow and my shirt sticking to my back. My breath heaves in quick, panting gasps while memories of Liam taking me over and over again flood my mind.I can’t stop thinking about him.Wanting him.
It exposes the side of my neck and he drops his lips to my skin, sucking hard.“Oh,” I exhale. His touch does magical things to my body.“
I go to bed dreaming of sad brown eyes and heated blue ones. They fight in my head, screaming their desires until I’m curled into a ball, tortured by both of them.And when the dream shifts and disappears, I wake up the next day determined.I will get my shit together. Figure out how to make that happen and go for it, and never again will my decisions be swayed by the desires of another man.

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Wednesday, 6 January 2016

Split second by David Baldacci

Split Second (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell, #1)Split Second by David Baldacci
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I bought it in India international trade fair at Pragati Maidan, New Delhi. I wanted to read a new thriller writer and the salesman suggested this. I am thankful to him.

All it takes is a split second to ruin your career. Maxwell and king of secret service has this is common. Now both unite and try to redeem themselves. will they b successful?

I enjoyed it thoroughly. It is a page turner. Kept me engrossed. Highly recommended.

Sean is very fastidious and judicious. Michelle is very unorganised and spontaneous. Though Sean is more experienced and older but he is equally energetic. They complement each other and form a good team of investigators. The relationship is platonic though is wished it should be somewhat romantic. The pace is breakneck and mystery is satisfying. It gives very good thrill. Climax explains everything and ties up loose ends.

Some excerpts:

It only took a split second, although to Secret Service agent Sean King it seemed like the longest split second ever. They were on the campaign trail at a nondescript hotel meet-and-greet in a place so far out you almost had to use a satellite phone to reach the boonies. Standing behind his protectee, King scanned the crowd while his ear mike buzzed sporadically with unremarkable information.

Michelle raced through the wreckage, dodging flames and smoke and screaming out his name. “Sean! Sean!”

Another explosion rocked the structure, and she jumped off the front porch a few seconds before it came tumbling down. The concussive force of a second explosion knocked her through the air, and she landed hard, all the breath squeezed from her. She felt all sorts of heavy things hitting all around her, like mortar fire. She lay there in the dirt, her head cut, her lungs drowning in lethal fumes, her legs and arms bruised and battered.

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Sunday, 3 January 2016

Bhakshak (Sunil #114) by Surender Mohan Pathak

BhakshakBhakshak by Surender Mohan Pathak
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Vintage SMP. Usual Sunil fare. A treat for fans of Sunil. A whodunnit and murder mystery. All the typical sunilian elements are present.

चिराग कासनीवाल को रात के अंधेरे में अपने पड़ोस से मौत का फरिश्ता अपनी तरफ झांकता जान पड़ता था, जो अपनी बाहें पसारे उसे उनमें समा जाने के लिए उकसाता था, हर घड़ी उसे एहसास दिलाता था कि कोई अनहोनी होने वाली थी। क्या वो सच में हलकान पशेमान था या वो उसके दिमाग का खलल था ?

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