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All Our Yesterdays Format Kindle

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Longueur : 482 pages Word Wise: Activé Composition améliorée: Activé
Langue : Anglais

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Descriptions du produit


1954 Conn

They were on Harrison Avenue.  Knocko was driving, as he always did.  

"Gus joined the forces of law and order?" Knocko said.  

"Yeah.  City Square.  Gets credit for Korea."  

"Good deal for these new kids," Knocko said.  "Two years head start on the pension."  

Conn had a big paper cup full of black coffee.  He took a pint of Irish whiskey from his coat pocket and poured some into the coffee.  

"For Crissake," Knocko said.  "It's eight in the fucking morning."

"Get my heart going," Conn said.  He sipped the coffee.  Knocko turned off of Harrison Avenue and parked near Tyler Street.  

"Collection day?" Conn said.  

"Friday morning, time to make the rounds," Knocko said.  He got out of the car and walked down the alley to the mah-jongg parlor.  Conn drank coffee and waited for Knocko.  When the cup was half empty he added more whiskey.  Knocko came back up Tyler Street and got in the car.  

"Been collecting money from this place for twenty-five years," Knocko said. "For protection."

"Sure," Conn said.  "Protection."

"Well," Knocko said sadly, "now we gotta earn it."

"I thought we did earn it," Conn said.  "I thought we were getting paid to protect them from us."

"Last six, seven years," Knocko said, "bunch of new gooks coming in. Deserters, mostly, from Chiang's army after the Commies chased him out."

"Land of opportunity," Conn said.  

Knocko jerked his head toward the mah-jongg parlor down the alley.  "They're trying to take Chou over," he said.  

"So let's tell them not to," Conn said.  His coffee cup was empty.  

"You all right for this?" Knocko said.  

"Sure," Conn said.  He took the whiskey from his pocket and had a drink and offered it to Knocko.  Knocko shook his head.

Conn capped the bottle and put it away.  Knocko started the car and they drove two blocks and parked on Beach Street in front of a small variety store with Chinese characters lettered on the window.  Knocko looked at Conn again.        

"In there," he said.  "Guy we want is named Lone."      

"Like in Ranger," Conn said.    

"Yeah," Knocko said.  "Like in Ranger."

They got out of the car.        

"You okay for this?" Knocko said again.

"I was born for this," Conn said.      

"Yeah, well, I wasn't.  So don't be a fucking cowboy."  

"Hi yo, Silver," Conn said, and they walked into the store.

It was dim inside, and smelled of odd things.  Some smoked duck hung on hooks near the front window, and a variety of peculiar looking roots and unrecognizable vegetables lay on a narrow table across the back.  A slender Chinese man stood behind the table counting money.  He wore a white shirt open at the neck.  A maroon silk scarf filled the opening.  His movements were graceful and precise as he transferred bills from a large pile into smaller piles separated by denomination.  

Knocko took out his badge.  

"You Lone?" Knocko said.  

Without looking up the Chinese man nodded.  He separated a twenty from the big pile and put it on top of a smaller pile with the other twenties.

"Boston Police Department," Knocko said.  

Lone continued to count his money.  

"You know a guy named Chou runs a mah-jongg parlor on Tyler Street?" Lone nodded, concentrating on his counting.  

"We got a complaint."

Lone nodded again.  He took the pile of twenties and pushed em across the table at Knocko.  

"Okay?" he said.  

Knocko grinned.  

"Good idea," Knocko said, "but we been taking Chou's money for years.  We sell him out first chance we get and who eIse will give us money?"  

Conn was leaning against the door frame looking at the smoked ducks.  

"No?" Lone said.  

"No," Knocko said.  

Lone nodded and brought his right hand up from below the table.  In it was a .45 automatic, the hammer already back.  He must store it cocked, Conn thought idly.  

"You go," Lone said.  

"Now, Lone, we can't do that," Knocko said.  "You hear me say we're policemen? You're threatening two policemen, Lone."

"You go."

Knocko frowned.  

"Hey, Lone," Conn said from the doorway.  The muzzle of the gun deflected slightly toward Conn.  Conn grinned.  He thought of the last time he saw Mick Collins.  You at born to be shot.  

"Fuck you," Conn said, and walked into the gunfire.


Up front in Holy Cross Cathedral, Mellen in her new black dress prayed audibly along with the priest, kneeling beside her son at the funeral mass that Gus knew Conn would have laughed at.  Knocko Kiernan was there with Faith, and most of his children.  The police commissioner and the mayor were in attendance, and all the members of the City Council.  Afterwards they gave Conn a full killed-in-the-line-of-duty burial.  Police from all over the state were in the burial procession.  A bugler played  taps.  A volley of shots was fired.

At graveside Gus stood with Mellen on his arm by the pile of newly turned earth, which had been covered with a tarp.  Across the grave, somewhat apart from the crowd of mostly official mourners, Gus saw a middle-aged blond woman wearing a black hat with a veil.

She must have been something when she was young, Gus thought.

After the burial, while Mellen was at the center of a great circle of condolences, the blond woman came to stand beside Gus.

"I'm Hadley Winslow," she said softly.  "I knew your father."

"Thanks for coming," Gus said automatically.

"He was a better man than he may have seemed," Hadley said.

Gus turned to stare at her.  She smiled at him, patted his upper arm briefly, and walked away.  Gus stared after her.

Probably was, he thought.


"How's your mother?" Knocko Kiernan said to Gus.

"She's in there with the rosary beads.  Her and God."

"Better than nothing," Knocko said.

Gus shrugged.  They were sitting at the table in Mellen's kitchen.  Each with a glass of whiskey.  There was a bottle on the table between them.

"It wasn't police business," Knocko said.  "We was there to protect a guy was paying us."

Gus nodded.

"I figured that," Gus said.

"Yeah? "

"You hear stuff," Gus said.  "I'm glad you killed the gook."

"Me or him," Knocko said.  "First guy I ever shot."

They were silent, looking at the whiskey, not drinking it.

"My father never cleared his piece," Gus said.

Knocko shook his head.

"Gus," Knocko said, " tell you the truth, Gus, it didn't seem like he tried."

"Just walked into it," Gus said.

Knocko nodded.  "He was always like that, never seemed to give a shit."

"I know."

"Conn was a stand-up guy," Knocko said.

"Conn was crazy," Gus said.

"Hell, Gus."

"He was, the old lady too." Gus jerked his head toward the room.  "They drove each other fucking crazy all my life."  I knew him before you was born.  Before he met your mother.  He was a good man, Gus.  It was just...he just had a part missing, you know?"


It was not easy for him.  Never free.  Never able to shake loose.  Two generations of Sheridans, knowing his secret.  Using it.  It was too much.  Too much pressure.  He thought all the time about the girls now.  The pressure.  He hadn't been with anyone since that girl in Charlestown, before he got sent away.  But he'd thought about them every day.  He'd wanted them every day.  And now the pressure.  Gus Sheridan.  The gangsters.  His own daughter, dating Gus Sheridan's son.  It was too much.  He had to have relief.  He felt as if he'd been overinflated.  As if the surface tension of his very self would burst and scatter.  He needed a girl.  Smooth body.  Innocent legs.  Pale skin, unwrinkled, unblemished, still smooth.  Compliant.  Respectful.  Not mea...

Revue de presse

"The old magician draws you in, absolutely!  Parker has something important and touching to say about fathers and sons, about marriage and love, about courage and anomie.  A compelling look at a corner of one of our century's hundred-year wars.  Parker is a sublime storyteller.  This is a book that will keep you in your seat to the last page."
--New York Newsday

"A complex tale of guilt and corruption reaching down through the generations."
--New York Times

"A resounding success... a sprawling portrait of three generations in an Irish family.  It resonates with historical insight, complex personalities, dramatic events and a powerful story." --Playboy

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 822 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 482 pages
  • Editeur : Dell (31 août 2009)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ASIN: B002NEOK48
  • Synthèse vocale : Non activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Word Wise: Activé
  • Composition améliorée: Activé
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur (beta) HASH(0x9369ef30) étoiles sur 5 62 commentaires
20 internautes sur 21 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x93753cf0) étoiles sur 5 The Way to Dusty Death 4 janvier 2001
Par John W. Bates - Publié sur
Format: Poche
Surprise! Surprise! This Robert B. Parker novel is not only not about Spenser and Hawk foiling the bad guys by playing the game just a little close (or even just over) to the line of legal behavior. It isn't even about a private detective. Parker's All Our Yesterdays (as in Macbeth's "have lighted fools their way to dusty death." is a generational saga reminiscent of Jeffrey Archer--and at least as good. The setting is still the Boston of Spenser, Hawk, and Susan, but not the trendy, yuppie Boston they frequent. Instead we are in Charlestown, the lace-curtain Irish district, and following the lives of three Boston cops. The first, Conn Sheridan, was a sixteen year old sniper during the Easter Rebellion in Dublin. Later, after breaking out of a British jail just before his hanging, he immigrated to Boston where he joined the police. Conn was involved with the young wife of an American industrialist, a Boston Brahmin, in Dublin. Conn's son, Gus, inherits his father's secrets and rises to power in Boston Homicide, while connections to the underworld enable him to send his son, Chris, to Harvard Law. Eventually Chris, who is unknowingly involved with the granddaughter of his grandfather's lover, is appointed special investigator to stop a gang war and catch a serial killer of teenaged girls. Gus, however, already knows about the killer--his father caught him and let him go years before. After everything comes apart, Chris goes to Dublin to find his roots and understand the story his father has finally told him. The book is Chris telling the story in flashbacks to Grace as they try to reconcile their life together. It is a well-told story, with love, hate, war, revolution, cops and robbers, and some interesting twists and turns. It is much more complex than Spenser and Hawk shooting down the bad guys while Susan worries and supports. All Our Yesterdays is a good read.
20 internautes sur 24 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x93753f90) étoiles sur 5 Better than most Spenser novels, give it a chance 18 février 2001
Par D Byrd - Publié sur
Format: Poche
OK, here's the deal. Robert B Parker wants to write something different, and he's just cranked out about 6 Spenser novels in a row. So, he sits down and writes this, All Our Yesterdays, a very good thriller, but often trashed novel. Why? Its easy... Robert B Parker is a simpistic writer, often taking for granted that you have read all the earlier novels,and you want no background material and no filler. Well, this isnt a Spenser novel, so background material is needed, you just met these guys. That for one agrivates Spenser fans, they like there novels to start on page one and never drag, but you do need a little background here. Heres the catcher, Robert B Parker also hates background material and explanitory writing. So he writes a vast, sprawling novel existing on three generations, with as little writing as possible.He does it in about 460 pages, (about the lengh of 2 Spenser novels). Does it work? Yes, its a gritty, fun yarn that is fast pased and slightly dark at times. Its also a little sterotypical towards the Irish, but Robert B Parker is Irish, so let that be. Its a welcome change of pace, more filling than most of his Spenser novels. Not a steak dinner filling, but more filling than say a Snickers.
7 internautes sur 7 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x9f5cea0c) étoiles sur 5 Most Underrated Writer in The 2oth Century 19 février 2010
Par Bookstore Willie - Publié sur
Format: Poche
I'm not going to go into a blow by blow description of this Brilliant Novel. Simply put, who am I to comment on writing of this quality. I have long felt that Robert Parker is if not the most underrated writer of the 20th Century then certainly one of the ones at the head of the list. And the quality of writing and thinking encountered in this novel clearly represents some of the best of his impressive body of work! What other writer alive today could sum up an entire year (or more) of a character's life with a chapter consisting of only one or two pages? And get away with it!

Sadly, I fear that many who read this guy fail utterly to grasp the depth of his writing, the breadth of his wisdom, the grasp of his mind. Like a great actor who makes the mistake of playing the same sort of character one too many times, Parker let himself be sucked into the detective genre to the extent that many of those reading him got into the bad habit of speed reading their way through his books with only a chuckle here and there at the many witty moments that were the hallmark of the dialog between his well drawn characters.

Big mistake!

Robert Parker was a man of incredible depth, with an understanding of the human condition that many of today's novelists so sadly lack. The kind of guy Steinbeck would have loved, and Hemmingway would have feared. Reading him I am often put in mind of Raymond Carver one of the greatest short story writers of all time. Like Carver, Parker misses nothing as life unfolds before him and his command of seemingly unimportant detail brings his sentences, paragraphs, chapters and books alive in a way seldom encountered today.

When I heard Robert Parker had died I felt a huge empty hole instantly develop within my life. In some very real sense I felt I'd lost a friend though I never met him. Lost many friends, actually, as Spenser, Susan, Hawk, and all his other memorable characters died with him. He was that good! And better!

I will forever wish I'd shared my admiration for his work with him before he died...
8 internautes sur 8 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x93753fd8) étoiles sur 5 Review: "All Our Yesterdays" by Robert B. Parker 26 avril 2012
Par Kay Melton - Publié sur
Format: Relié Achat vérifié
When I received this book and glanced through it, I thought I would seriously not like it!! It seemed to be so different from Mr. Parker's usual writing. However, it turned out to be one of the "couldn't put it down" books for me!! It was different, but wonderful. We have lost a great "story teller" with the passing of Mr.Robert B. Parker. So sad. kdm
7 internautes sur 8 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x9348d8e8) étoiles sur 5 I Had To Give Up On This Book And Made It Part Of All My Yesterdays! 4 octobre 2007
Par Bobbewig - Publié sur
Format: Poche
I usually like Parker's books,and particularly when he deviates from his Spenser books. So, I really was expecting to enjoy All Our Yesterdays, probably Parker's most significant departure from his 'norm" However, much to my disappointment, I found this book to be have erratic pacing, slow to develop, and not very believable or interesting characters. As such, I wound up skimming through large passages and then, ultimately, giving up on it. There are just too many books and not enough time to waste time reading All Our Yesterdays.
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