Collectionopensource. The Reader (Deutsch). IdentifierDerVorleser. Identifier-ark ark://t0vq42w OcrABBYY FineReader Ppi Editorial Reviews. Language Notes. Text: German site Store · site eBooks · Reference. Der Vorleser (German Edition) 2nd Edition, site Edition. by. Editorial Reviews. Language Notes. Text: German Der Vorleser (German Edition) - site edition by Bernhard Schlink. Download eBook features: Highlight.

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The book Der Vorleser. can give more knowledge and information about everything you want. Read Der Vorleser. by Bernhard Schlink for online ebook. Bernhard Schlink's novel "Der Vorleser" has sold over copies in Germany, in the USA, in Britain, and in France. It. Read "Modern Languages Study Guides: Der Vorleser Literature Study Guide for AS/A-level German" by Paul Elliott available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today.

The first time I ventured outside, it was to go from Blumenstrasse, where we lived on the second floor of a massive turn-of-the-century building, to Bahnhofstrasse.

Every step was an effort.

When I was faced with stairs either at home or at school, my legs would hardly carry me. I had no appetite. Even if I sat down at the table hungry, I soon felt queasy. I woke up every morning with a dry mouth and the sensation that my insides were in the wrong place and pressing too hard against my bones. I was ashamed of being weak.

I was even more ashamed when I threw up. That was another thing that had never happened to me before.

Der Vorleser

My mouth was suddenly full, I tried to swallow everything down again, and clenched my teeth with my hand in front of my mouth, but it all burst out of my mouth anyway straight through my fingers.

I leaned against the wall of the building, looked down at the vomit around my feet, and retched something clear and sticky. When rescue came, it was almost an assault. The woman seized my arm and pulled me through the dark entrance into the courtyard. Up above there were lines strung from window to window, loaded with laundry.

Wood was stacked in the courtyard; in an open workshop a saw screamed and shavings flew. The woman turned on the tap, washed my hand first, and then cupped both of hers and threw water in my face.

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I dried myself with a handkerchief. I took the other one, filled it, and followed her through the entrance. She swung her arm, the water sluiced down across the walk and washed the vomit into the gutter. Then she took my pail and sent a second wave of water across the walk. When she straightened up, she saw I was crying. I stopped crying.

She asked me where I lived, put the pails down in the entrance, and took me home, walking beside me holding my satchel in one hand and my arm in the other. She walked quickly, and her decisiveness helped me to keep pace with her. She said goodbye in front of our building. That same day my mother called in the doctor, who diagnosed hepatitis.

At some point I told my mother about the woman. But my mother simply assumed that as soon as I was better, I would use my pocket money to download some flowers, go introduce myself, and say thank you, which was why at the end of February I found myself heading for Bahnhofstrasse.

Part 1 — Chapter 2 The building on Bahnhofstrasse in no longer there.

I was away from my home town for many years. A plethora of doorbells indicates a plethora of tiny apartments, with tenants moving in and out as casually as you would pick up and return a rented car.

The building was as tall, but with only four floors, a first floor of faceted sandstone blocks, and above it three floors of brickwork with sandstone arches, balconies, and window surrounds. Several steps led up to the first floor and the stairwell; they were wide at the bottom, narrower above, set between walls topped with iron banisters and curving outwards at street level.

The front door was flanked by pillars, and from the corners of the architrave one lion looked up Bahnhofstrasse while another looked down. The entrance through which the woman had led me to the tap in the courtyard was at the side. I had been aware of this building since I was a little boy. It dominated the whole row. I used to think that if it made itself any heavier and wider, the neighbouring buildings would have to move aside and make room for it.

Inside, I imagined a stairwell with plaster mouldings, mirrors, and an oriental runner held down with highly polished brass rods. I assumed that grand people would live in such a grand building.

But because the building had darkened with the passing of the years and the smoke of the trains, I imagined that the grand inhabitants would be just as sombre and somehow peculiar — deaf or dumb or hunchbacked or lame. In later years I dreamed about the building again and again.

The dreams were similar, variations on one dream and one theme. I go on, confused, because the house is familiar but its surroundings are not. This dream recognition comforts me; seeing the house again in different surroundings is no more surprising than encountering an old friend by chance in a strange place. I turn around, walk back to the house, and climb the steps.

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I want to go in. I turn the door handle.

If I see the house somewhere in the country, the dream is more long-drawn-out, or I remember its details better. I see the house on the right and keep going, confused at first only by the fact that such an obviously urban building is standing there in the middle of the countryside.

In the dream, the road is always empty, as I can turn around with my tyres squealing and race back. Then I see it. It is surrounded by fields, rape or wheat or vines in the Palatinate, lavender in Provence.

The landscape is flat, or at most gently rolling. There are no trees. The day is cloudless, the sun is shining, the air shimmers and the road glitters in the heat.

The firewalls make the building look unprepossessing and cut off. They could be the firewalls of any building. I stop on the side of the road and walk over to the entrance. The world is dead.

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I go up the steps and turn the knob. But I do not open the door. Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Other editions. Enlarge cover. Error rating book.

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Sort order. Aug 30, Twig rated it really liked it. Mir war der Titel bekannt und der Grobe Inhalt ich wusste allerdings nicht worum es genau geht. May 03, Jelena Susak rated it it was amazing. Nakon pola sata ponovno sam stajao pred njenim vratima.

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U jednom su trenutku pri pogledu kroz prozor zemlja ili more opasno blizu. Ili se prikazuje film, pa su stjuardese i stjuardi navukli zastore. Vrlo je predvidivo u ovom dijelu, a i ranije, da je Hanna nepismena. Aug 13, Bettina rated it it was amazing. This is a amazing book about the time after the second world war. The author describes his feelings and his thoughts really in a fascinating way.

If you want to know a little more about the situation in Germany after the 2.Piroska rated it liked it Oct 12, Ich mochte auch nicht essen. The dreams were similar, variations on one dream and one theme. The front door was flanked by pillars, and from the corners of the architrave one lion looked up Bahnhofstrasse while another looked down.

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We are all inevitably involved in this larger problem. Several steps led up to the first floor and the stairwell; they were wide at the bottom, narrower above, set between walls topped with iron banisters and curving outwards at street level.

Feb 05, Alexandra rated it liked it Shelves: Please review your cart.

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Feel free to read my other articles. I take pleasure in paralympic association football. I do fancy reading novels brightly .