Book : Punkzilla - Rapp, Adam

-Titulo Original : Punkzilla

-Fabricante :

Candlewick

-Descripcion Original:

Rapp’s road trip is populated with good souls who, despite their circumstances, make sacrifices to help. . . . Devastating stuff, but breathtaking, too. - Booklist (starred review) For the runaway Punkzilla, kicking a meth habit and a life of petty crime in Oregon is a prelude to reconnecting with his older brother, who is dying of cancer in Memphis. Against a backdrop of seedy motels, dicey bus stations, and hitched rides, the fourteen-year-old meets a colorful, sometimes dangerous cast of characters. And in letters to his sibling, crackling with visceral details and dark humor, he catalogs them all. With each interstate exit his journey grows more urgent: will he make it to Tennessee in time? This daring novel offers a narrative worthy of Kerouac and a keen insight into the power of chance encounters. Review Beneath a surface of disease, despair, and disfigurements, Rapp’s road trip is populated with good souls who, despite their circumstances, make significant sacrifices to help Punkzilla…This is devastating stuff, but breathtaking, too. -Booklist (starred review) About the Author Adam Rapp is the acclaimed author of several novels for young adults, including Under the Wolf, Under the Dog, a finalist for the L.A. Times Book Prize and winner of the American Library Association’s Schneider Family Book Award, and 33 Snowfish, an American Library Association Best Book for Young Adults (Top Ten Pick). He is also an accomplished playwright and screenwriter. He lives in New York City. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. March 4, 2008 Dear P, Hey. Im finally writing you back. Ive been carrying your letter around in my pocket so its pretty wrinkled but you have good penmanship or cursive or whatever they call it so its still totally readable. It actually looks like Moms writing and I never knew that about you. Ive been meaning to write back for like weeks I swear P but every time I started to do it I would get distracted like Id have some shit to do or I couldnt find a pen or something. Ive never been much of a writer anyway even though this one time in seventh grade I was in detention for skipping class and I had to do this five hundred word essay on politeness and after she read my essay the woman who was running detention this substitute teacher everyone called Mrs. Boobjob told me I had an unusual gift. She wound up giving my essay to this English teacher Mr. Douglas-Roberts and he invited me into a special composition class but I got kicked out right away for chirping like a bird during this thing called an automatic writing exercise. I havent really written anything for a while so I hope this letter doesnt suck too bad. So Im on a Greyhound bus and the drivers wearing a hockey mask. Its clear instead of white and you can see his skin all slimy and pressed up against the mask. When I got on he said hello and his voice was clogged and small. I think he has some sort of infection on his face and I cant tell if hes black or Mexican. Im wearing this hoodie I found the other day and I wish I had something a little warmer. Man I feel like shit. I have the chills and I shouldve eaten something but Ill have to wait for the next refueling point which the driver said would be somewhere in Idaho. P Ive been living in Portland for five months and Im not sure how I feel about it. I probably wont really know for years because thats how it works right? You dont really develop feelings about a place till youve left it. Its like a girl or a dog like that black Lab E brought home after his pony league game that dog Sarge. Remember how Mom accidentally backed over him with the Olds and how you said he made that squealing sound? I miss that dog even though he only lived with us for a summer. Remember how you used to do that trick where you would put extracrunchy peanut butter on the sprinkler in the front yard and he would star