Robin Neillands:The War of the Roses
- Livres de poche 2019, ISBN: 9780304340804
Allen & Unwin. Near Fine. 6 x 0.9 x 9.25 inches. Paperback. 2019. 304 pages. <br>This is the extraordinary story of Dr. Sanduk Ruit who, like his mentor Fred Hollows, took on t… Plus…
Allen & Unwin. Near Fine. 6 x 0.9 x 9.25 inches. Paperback. 2019. 304 pages. <br>This is the extraordinary story of Dr. Sanduk Ruit who, like his mentor Fred Hollows, took on the world's medical e stablishment to give the life-changing gift of sight to hundreds and thousands of the world's poorest and most isolated people. It is the story of a boy from the lowest tiers of a rigid caste sys tem who grew up in a tiny, remote Himalayan village with no schoo l to become one of the most respected ophthalmologists in the wor ld and a medical giant of Asia. It is also the story of a young d octor who became Fred Hollows' medical soul mate and who chose to defy the world's medical establishment and the lure of riches to make the world a better place. Editorial Reviews Review I've k nown Dr. Sanduk Ruit for over thirty years. He is one of our grea test living eye surgeons and humanitarians . . . Watching him giv e the gift of sight is like watching someone give a second life. --Richard Gere One of the greatest people I've ever met. --Joel Edgerton About the Author Ali Gripper has written features for G ood Weekend, the Sydney Morning Herald, Australian, Daily Telegra ph, South China Morning Post, and Country Style Magazine. Excerp t. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. CHAPTER 1 Ma rio Wins Again Mario wins again! As the cheesy, overplayed musi c comes to a close and the screen goes dark, I drop my controller into my lap in defeat. Be it the stuffiness of this room or the fact that this is our sixth tournament today, I lost my first gam e of Mario Kart in months ... to my eight-year-old brother. I wat ch through narrowed eyes as Jack catapults around the room in vic tory, lifting his shirt over his head to reveal his pale torso. S eriously, what is it with boys and showing their chest when they win something? Is it some sort of animalistic display of dominanc e originating from our monkey ancestors? I can't help but snort i n amusement as I consider this. He's such a little show-off. My h ands dart out to grab him by the sides and I tug him down to tick le him. You wish, monkey boy, I scoff. We both know that I kicke d your butt on the other games. Jack squirms to free himself fro m my hold, shooting me a glare as he brushes himself down. He hat es me tickling him. Monkey boy? I beat you with Mario, not Donkey Kong. I'm way too lazy to explain my thought process to him so I just roll my eyes. Riley, can you come here please? Mom calls from downstairs. If it wasn't for the urgency I can hear in her v oice, I would probably make more of a scene asking why she can't just come upstairs to me, but she sounds excited about something. There's a spark of vitality in the words that I haven't heard in a while and it intrigues me. Mumbling my protest instead, I swi ng my legs from the beanbag and give Jack a warning look with a c lear subliminal message: Steal my seat, I steal your life. Of cou rse, by the time I've reached the door, he's already sitting ther e. Oh, how I miss the days when I had some kind of authority over him. As I enter the kitchen, I'm hit with the heart-warming aro ma that signals Mom's baking: cupcakes and coffee, like the insid e of a Starbucks, but much cosier. It's something that I haven't smelled for quite a while, and my sourness at having to walk all theway down the stairs disappears in a second at the sweetness of the nostalgia. I can't help but smile as I see her standing behi nd the kitchen counter in an apron. She looks up and brushes her hands off immediately. There's icing sugar in the curls of her ha ir. Come and look at this, she says, beckoning, abandoning her h alf-iced cupcakes. She leads me over to the kitchen window and pu lls back the plaid drapes ever so slightly, just enough for me to peek through. Shooting her a look of bewilderment and wondering if this has anything to do with the new geraniums she bought yest erday, I squeeze my head into the gap and look out at the neighbo urs' driveway. I was expecting a potted plant, so what I see inst ead surprises me greatly. We have new neighbours. Parked next d oor, in the house that has been empty for almost six months now, is a large removal truck. The giant green anomaly overshadows the small car beside it, and my eyebrows rise further upwards as I w atch the family climbing out of the vehicle. A woman steps out fi rst, and reaches into the back to grab a small girl from the back seat. Her dark curls are scraped back into a clasp, and her feat ures are delicate and feminine. It's nice that someone around Mom 's age is moving in next door - my mom could use someone to talk to living so close by. The girl the woman carries is around the a ge of four or five, with the cutest baby face I've ever laid eyes on and two brunette bunches on either side of her head. Adorable . I'm not sure who I was expecting to see get out of the car nex t, but it definitely wasn't the alluring, moody boy that I see no w. He looks around my age, and from what I can see of his ebony h air and angled jaw ... he's hot. No doubt the entire population o f the student body will completely swarm this one. I can't help b ut watch as he threads his fingers through his hair, slightly ent ranced. I'm a bit of a scientific hermit when it comes to the spe cies of the hot, so the fact that I have an attractive male now l iving next door is enough to make my stomach flip. I pull the dr ape further to the side, but to my complete horror, the boy's hea d snaps up at the movement. His eyes latch onto mine as he notice s me ogling. Oh. I pull away quickly, bumping back into Mom's sho ulder. I can already feel a blush burning my cheeks. He must thin k I'm such a creep. Surprisingly though, by the time I've recover ed enough courage to peek through again, he doesn't look affected in the slightest. Bored almost, which reassures me. Out of fear of being spotted again, I withdraw from the drapes - finally thi s time - and pull them closed. It was only a matter of time befor e we got new neighbours, I knew that, but it still comes as a sur prise. The house next door is fairly large - a two-storey cream-c oloured family house with a front porch and unruly yard. I had gr own quite used to it being empty, and definitely never pictured s omeone of my own age moving in. Mom chortles at my puzzled expres sion and tucks my long hair behind my shoulders. It warms my hear t that she's so excited about this. What do you think, eh? she s ays. New neighbours. I smile half-heartedly, heading over to the fridge. I haven't seen them around Lindale before. They must be new to town. Lindale is one of those fairly small, well-kept com munities where most people know of each other and the sense of to wn pride is strong. There's a school for each age group, lots of community fundraisers and with surroundings of dense Oregon fores t in almost every direction away from the beach. My eyes scour t he shelves of the fridge, but I'm left disappointed. No orange ju ice, I murmur, peering at the remnants of food. All that's left i s wafer-thin ham, flavoured water and an old lettuce. Not much I can make there. Mom shrugs in reply, batting my hand away as I r each for a cupcake instead. We need to go shopping, Ma, I grumbl e. There's no food in this house. The order is coming later! Sh e sticks her tongue out at me, and I'm momentarily stunned by tha t simple action, something that she hasn't done in a long time. I t seems like today is going really well for her. Mom and I are si milar in more ways than one. Along with our almost matching appea rance - auburn curls and fair skin - we're both sarcastic and jok ey with an abnormally weird side. Mom only shows her weird side w hen she's in a good mood nowadays, so when she does, that makes i t all the more special. So, you felt like doing some baking toda y then? I probe, peering over her shoulder as she ices the cupcak es. Her hand falters slightly as I ask, and she nods. I missed i t. Figured I can't mope for ever. She looks back at me with a sma ll smile. Good, I say. I love you. I'm going upstairs to do some studying. I brush past and grab a lollipop from my sweet jar, ju st as my phone begins to vibrate in my pocket. Amusement curves m y lips as I see Violet's particularly horrific caller-ID picture show up on the screen. She and I have a bit of a tradition about how we answer the phone. It takes me only a second to think of an opening line before I pick up. Tampax tampons - for your need t o bleed. How may I be of assistance? This is no time for jokes, Riley! Violet replies in a hushed voice. It's only then that I re member that she's on a blind date. Knowing her pickiness when it comes to guys, it's probably going badly. I'm in the girls' toile ts at the moment. Hiding. Stupid period had to come today, when I 'm wearing white jeans! Plus, he has the table manners of a compl ete pig. He spilt water all over me. Okay, I snort at my eccentr ic best friend. Dry yourself off a bit. If you have a jacket, tie it round your waist and just tell the guy that you have a stomac h ache or something. If he's got a brain, he'll take you home. V iolet mumbles in agreement, and I can hear the rustling of her ja cket down the line. Thanks so much. She sighs gratefully. And he y, nice line. I better get back out there before he starts worryi ng. Text me later? I will, I promise, before hanging up. Violet and I have been best friends since the very beginning of Freshma n year. We sat next to each other in our first Math class, where she slapped a jock for making fun of her dyed purple hair. I resp ected her attitude from that moment onwards. Unlike me, she's gab by and confident and shamelessly herself - she's magnetic. I, on the other hand, am known to be a bit of a dork. Just a little soc ially awkward, my role in our friendship is often to advise her f rom afar while she faces the horrors of social inter-action. I h ead straight back upstairs to my room and shut the door behind me . My bedroom is my haven. It's not particularly glamorous or arts y, but it's rustic and it feels like home. The entire far wall is dedicated to tacked posters of bands and TV shows. Everything in this room, from the mess of books to the mix of old vinyl record s, screams introvert and I love it. My skateboard and old guitar sit propped against the wardrobe, and my double bed, complete wit h Star Wars sheets, sits in its usual unruly state just opposite my window. Funnily enough, my window exactly mirrors a window in the neighbouring house, separated only by a couple of metres. No w that I have neighbours ... Oh crap. I tiptoe towards the wind ow and cautiously peer round the window frame into the room oppos ite. If my luck is as bad as I estimate it to be, I can't risk be ing spotted staring at Neighbour Dude again. Sure enough, as my e yes rest on the room opposite, I have to fight to restrain my gro an. Of course it's the guy. I guess my drapes will have to remain closed from now on. I tug the purple material further back to se e that he's packing away his things. He hasn't noticed me this ti me, at least. It's only this close up that I realise quite how at tractive this guy is. With a strong, chiselled jawline and define d cheekbones, his face is angular and, dare I say it, sexy. Inky locks curl over his forehead, and his eyes are a deep cobalt. He turns to face the other way and I snap out of my daze, a little surprised with myself that I have stared at him so much already. I will be the first to openly admit that I haven't had the best e xperiences when it comes to boys, so it's really out of the quest ion for me to have a crush. I guess there isn't any harm in looki ng, but I close the drapes and walk away just to be on the safe s ide. Putting on my music, I settle down to do some studying. My grades dropped a lot last year, and I'm determined to get back on track in time for Senior year. Studying is a way to focus my ene rgy so that I feel like I'm actually accomplishing something in m y free time. Twenty One Pilots blast through my docking station. I nod my head in time to the music and stare down at the equation s in front of me until my eyes blur. I've never been good at Math , and now I'm having to fight my hardest to keep up. Nothing seem s to click. I just hope this extra work will be worth it in my fi nal exams next year. My phone buzzes. It's Violet again. I esca ped from that hellish date! I'll tell you all the details on Mond ay xx Don't get distracted by the phone. Ugh goon then. May as w ell reply. I type in a hasty message before turning my phone off . No doubt if I didn't, Mom would walk in, see me texting Violet and think I'd been doing that the entire time. We have some major trust issues in our relationship - mainly due to the bowl cut sh e made me get when I was twelve. Yup, it looked just as bad as it sounds, if not worse. After a solid hour of studying, I finally finish and it's getting late. I stifle my yawn and begin to get changed ready for bed, ensuring the drapes are firmly closed befo re I strip. I would not want Neighbour Dude to get more than he b argained for by moving into that room. I don't think that's the k ind of first impression I want to make, funnily enough. I slide into the covers in my pyjama top, frowning as I realise that the music next door is playing pretty loudly. Surely that heavy metal couldn't belong to the mom of a toddler. No, my bet is placed on the boy in the room next door, which would explain why I seem to be taking the brunt of the volume. Judging by the raucous laught er and heavy rock music, Mr Neighbour has friends over. He hasn't even been here for a day, and already he's having a party. If th is isn't foreshadowing, I don't know what is. I sigh, frustrated , and slam the pillow over my head in an attempt to muffle the so und, curling further into the soft sheets and hoping for the best . Twenty minutes later, I'm still unsuccessful. Looks like this will be a long night. I stir to a small sound near by, and groa n quietly. The music from next door still hasn't stopped! Can a g irl not get her beauty sleep any more? Blinking to clear my visio n, I prop myself up on one elbow and turn on the lamp beside my b ed. Light floods the room, and I survey the lit scene quickly, my jaw slackening in surprise at what I see. I stare wide-eyed at the boy, who seems just as paralysed as I am. His eyes lock onto mine in shock and we, Allen & Unwin, 2019, 4, London: Cassell, 1992. D/J and Book are in a good condition, with usual library stamps/marks. The Wars of the Roses were a series of dynastic civil wars between supporters of the rival houses of Lancaster and York, for the throne of England. They are generally accepted to have been fought in several spasmodic episodes between 1453 and 1487 (although there was related fighting both before and after this period.) Henry of Bolingbroke had established the House of Lancaster on the throne in 1399 when he deposed his cousin Richard II, whose rule had prompted widespread opposition among the nobles. Bolingbroke (who was crowned as Henry IV) and his son Henry V maintained their hold on the crown through sound administration and especially through military prowess, but when Henry V died, his heir was the infant Henry VI, who grew up to be mentally unstable, and dominated by quarrelsome regents. The Lancastrian claim to the throne descended from John of Gaunt, the third son of Edward III. Henry's inability to rule the Kingdom ultimately resulted in a challenge to his right to the crown by Richard, Duke of York, who could claim descent from Edward's second and fourth sons, Lionel of Antwerp and Edmund of Langley, and had also proved himself to be an able administrator, holding several important offices of state. York quarreled with prominent Lancastrians at court and with Henry's queen, Margaret of Anjou, who feared that he might later supplant her son, the infant Edward, Prince of Wales. You will receive the book seen in the image.. 8vo - over 7¾" - 9¾" tall. First Edition. Cloth. Good/Good., Cassell, 1992, 2.5<
