• Complain

Asa Larsson - Sun Storm

Here you can read online Asa Larsson - Sun Storm full text of the book (entire story) in english for free. Download pdf and epub, get meaning, cover and reviews about this ebook. year: 2006, genre: Detective and thriller. Description of the work, (preface) as well as reviews are available. Best literature library LitArk.com created for fans of good reading and offers a wide selection of genres:

Romance novel Science fiction Adventure Detective Science History Home and family Prose Art Politics Computer Non-fiction Religion Business Children Humor

Choose a favorite category and find really read worthwhile books. Enjoy immersion in the world of imagination, feel the emotions of the characters or learn something new for yourself, make an fascinating discovery.

No cover

Sun Storm: summary, description and annotation

We offer to read an annotation, description, summary or preface (depends on what the author of the book "Sun Storm" wrote himself). If you haven't found the necessary information about the book — write in the comments, we will try to find it.

Asa Larsson: author's other books


Who wrote Sun Storm? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.

Sun Storm — read online for free the complete book (whole text) full work

Below is the text of the book, divided by pages. System saving the place of the last page read, allows you to conveniently read the book "Sun Storm" online for free, without having to search again every time where you left off. Put a bookmark, and you can go to the page where you finished reading at any time.

Light

Font size:

Reset

Interval:

Bookmark:

Make

Contents It grows like a tree of rage behind my brow with flashing red - photo 1

Contents It grows like a tree of rage behind my brow with flashing red - photo 2

Contents


It grows like a tree of rage behind my brow with flashing red leaves, blue leaves, white! A tree still quivering in the wind

And I will crush your house, and nothing will be unfamiliar to me, not even what is human

Like a tree from the inside forces its way out and crushes the skull

And glows like a lantern deep in the forest deep in the darkness

Gran Sonnevi

And evening came and morning came, the first day

W hen Viktor Strandgrd dies it is not, in fact, for the first time. He lies on his back in the church called The Source of All Our Strength and looks up through the enormous windows in its roof. Its as if there is nothing between him and the dark winter sky up above.

You cant get any closer than this, he thinks. When you come to the church on the mountain at the end of the world, the sky will be so close that you can reach out and touch it.

The Aurora Borealis twists and turns like a dragon in the night sky. Stars and planets are compelled to give way to her, this great miracle of shimmering light, as she makes her unhurried way across the vault of heaven.

Viktor Strandgrd follows her progress with his eyes.

I wonder if she sings? he thinks. Like a lonely whale beneath the sea?

And as if his thoughts have touched her, she stops for a second. Breaks her endless journey. Contemplates Viktor Strandgrd with her cold winter eyes. Because he is as beautiful as an icon lying there, to tell the truth, with the dark blood like a halo round his long, fair, St. Lucia hair. He cant feel his legs anymore. He is getting drowsy. There is no pain.

Curiously enough it is his previous death he is thinking of as he lies there looking into the eye of the dragon. That time in the late winter when he came cycling down the long bank toward the crossroads at Adolf Hedinsvgen and Hjalmar Lundbohmsvgen. Happy and redeemed, his guitar on his back. He remembers how the wheels of his bicycle skidded helplessly on the ice as he tried desperately to brake. How he saw the woman in the red Fiat Uno coming from the right. How they stared at each other, the realization in the others eyes; now its happening, the icy slide toward death.

With that picture in his minds eye Viktor Strandgrd dies for the second time in his life. Footsteps approach, but he doesnt hear them. His eyes do not have to see the gleam of the knife once again. His body lies like an empty shell on the floor of the church; it is stabbed over and over again. And the dragon resumes her journey across the heavens, unmoved.

Monday, February 17

R ebecka Martinsson was woken by her own sharp intake of breath as fear stabbed through her body. She opened her eyes to darkness. Just between the dream and the waking, she had the strong feeling that there was someone in the flat. She lay still and listened, but all she could hear was the sound of her own heart thumping in her chest like a frightened hare. Her fingers fumbled for the alarm clock on the bedside table and found the little button to light up the face. Quarter to four. She had gone to bed four hours ago and this was the second time she had woken up.

Its the job, she thought. I work too hard. Thats why my thoughts go round and round at night, like a hamster on a squeaking wheel.

Her head and the back of her neck were aching. She must have been grinding her teeth in her sleep. Might as well get up. She wound the duvet around her and went into the kitchen. Her feet knew the way without her needing to switch on the light. She put on the coffee machine and the radio. Bellmans music played over and over as the water ran through the filter and Rebecka showered.

Her long hair could dry in its own time. She drank her coffee while she was getting dressed. Over the weekend she had ironed her clothes for the week and hung them up in the wardrobe. Now it was Monday. On Mondays hanger was an ivory blouse and a navy blue Marella suit. She sniffed at the tights shed been wearing the previous day; theyd do. Theyd gone a bit wrinkly around the ankles, but if she stretched them and tucked them under her feet it wouldnt show. Shed just have to make sure she didnt kick her shoes off during the day. It didnt bother her; it was only worth spending time worrying about your underwear and your tights if you thought somebody was going to be watching you get undressed. Her underwear had seen better days and was turning gray.

An hour later she was sitting at her computer in the office. The words flowed through her mind like a clear mountain stream, down her arms and out through her fingers, flying over the keyboard. Work soothed her mind. It was as if the mornings unpleasantness had been blown away.

Its strange, she thought. I moan and complain like all the other young lawyers about how unhappy the job makes me. But I feel a sense of peace when Im working. Happiness, almost. Its when Im not working I feel uneasy.

The light from the street below forced its way with difficulty through the tall barred windows. You could still make out the sound of individual cars among the noise below, but soon the street would become a single dull roar of traffic. Rebecka leaned back in her chair and clicked on print. Out in the dark corridor the printer woke up and got on with the first task of the day. Then the door into reception banged. She sighed and looked at the clock. Ten to six. That was the end of her peace and quiet.

She couldnt hear who had come in. The thick carpets in the corridor deadened the sound of footsteps, but after a while the door of her room opened.

Am I disturbing you? It was Maria Taube. She pushed the door open with her hip, balancing a mug of coffee in each hand. Rebeckas copy was jammed under her right arm.

Both women were newly qualified lawyers with special responsibility for tax laws, working for Meijer & Ditzinger. The office was at the very top of a beautiful turn-of-the-century building on Birger Jarlsgatan. Semi-antique Persian carpets ran the length of the corridors, and here and there stood imposing sofas and armchairs in attractively worn leather. Everything exuded an air of experience, influence, money and competence. It was an office that filled clients with an appropriate mixture of security and reverence.

By the time you die you must be so tired you hope there wont be any sort of afterlife, said Maria, and put a mug of coffee on Rebeckas desk. But of course that wont apply to you, Maggie Thatcher. What time did you get here this morning? Or havent you been home at all?

Theyd both worked in the office on Sunday evening. Maria had gone home first.

Ive only just got here, lied Rebecka, and took her copy out of Marias hand.

Maria sank down into the armchair provided for visitors, kicked off her ridiculously expensive leather shoes and drew her legs up under her body.

Terrible weather, she said.

Rebecka looked out the window with surprise. Icy rain was hammering against the glass. She hadnt noticed earlier. She couldnt remember if it had been raining when she came into work. In fact, she couldnt actually remember whether shed walked or taken the Underground. She gazed in a trance at the rain pouring down the glass as it beat an icy tattoo.

Winter in Stockholm, she thought. Its hardly surprising that you shut down your brain when youre outside. Its different up at home, the blue shining midwinter twilight, the snow crunching under your feet. Or the early spring, when youve skied along the river from Grandmothers house in Kurravaara to the cabin in Jiekajrvi, and you sit down and rest on the first patch of clear ground where the snow has melted under a pine tree. The tree bark glows like red copper in the sun. The snow sighs with exhaustion, collapsing in the warmth. Coffee, an orange, sandwiches in your rucksack.

Next page
Light

Font size:

Reset

Interval:

Bookmark:

Make

Similar books «Sun Storm»

Look at similar books to Sun Storm. We have selected literature similar in name and meaning in the hope of providing readers with more options to find new, interesting, not yet read works.


Reviews about «Sun Storm»

Discussion, reviews of the book Sun Storm and just readers' own opinions. Leave your comments, write what you think about the work, its meaning or the main characters. Specify what exactly you liked and what you didn't like, and why you think so.