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Cargando... The Ebbing Tide (1947)por Elisabeth Ogilvie
Must-Read Maine (101) Cargando...
Inscríbete en LibraryThing para averiguar si este libro te gustará. Actualmente no hay Conversaciones sobre este libro. Well...that was a bit of a let-down. I found the first two books to be excellent, and I assumed the slower pace of the second one was setting up a more active third book. No. Not the case. If anything, this is even slower than the second, with almost all action occurring either off-page or internally. I still think it's worth reading, especially if you enjoyed the first two, but for me this is the weakest of the trilogy. sin reseñas | añadir una reseña
The struggles, hardship, and joy of one woman's life on a Maine island are brought to life in this haunting and enduringly popular trilogy, the first three books of the Bennett's Island series. Elisabeth Ogilvie tells the story of Joanna Bennett and her colorful life on Bennett's Island with a sensitivity and truthfulness born of her own early years on isolated Criehaven, the real Bennett's Island. No se han encontrado descripciones de biblioteca. |
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Google Books — Cargando... GénerosSistema Decimal Melvil (DDC)813.52Literature English (North America) American fiction 20th Century 1900-1944Clasificación de la Biblioteca del CongresoValoraciónPromedio:
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By way of adding some intrigue to the story and exploring the depths of Joanna’s feelings, we are presented with a new man on the island, Dennis Garland. I must say, Ogilvie knows how to draw a man on paper with whom any woman would find herself enamoured. It is the quite strength of her men that appeals so much to me, I know, and the effect they have on a woman who is strong in her own right. They never have to bluster or brag and there is a depth of emotion as deep as an ocean beneath that surface of calm.
I find the imagery of Bennett’s Island intoxicating, and Ogilvie does what few writers can do--she makes you use all your senses, so that you hear the waves as well as seeing them, feel the chill of the cold mornings or the lift of the winds, taste the lobsters on the table and the blueberries on the vine, and smell the salt in the air and the fragrance of the lilacs on the doorstep.
A light salty wind blew against her body, cooling it under the light cotton dress. She lifted her hair from the back of her damp neck, loosened it from her scalp with her fingers. The ridge was the same, the sea was the same; Matinicus Rock rose out of the water as it had always done, and even the fact that there was a gun crew out there, and newly built radio towers, couldn’t change the everlastingness of the rock itself. It was the same with the Island. It had existed before Joanna had, it would exist long afterwards. In the life of the Island, her life was only a sigh.
This finishes the trilogy, but this does not complete my relationship with Elisabeth Ogilvie. She wrote a number of other books and I am looking forward to finding them and, hopefully, enjoying them with the same enthusiasm I have found for these.
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