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Brick Lane: A Novel [Paperback]

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  • Category: Books (Fiction)
  • Author:  Ali, Monica
  • Author:  Ali, Monica
  • ISBN-10:  0743243315
  • ISBN-10:  0743243315
  • ISBN-13:  9780743243315
  • ISBN-13:  9780743243315
  • Publisher:  Scribner
  • Publisher:  Scribner
  • Pages:  432
  • Pages:  432
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Pub Date:  01-Apr-2004
  • Pub Date:  01-Apr-2004
  • SKU:  0743243315-11-MING
  • SKU:  0743243315-11-MING
  • Item ID: 100381456
  • List Price: $18.00
  • Seller: ShopSpell
  • Ships in: 2 business days
  • Transit time: Up to 5 business days
  • Delivery by: Nov 28 to Nov 30
  • Notes: Brand New Book. Order Now.

“A book you won’t be able to put down. A Bangladeshi immigrant in London is torn between the kind, tedious older husband with whom she has an arranged marriage (and children) and the fiery political activist she lusts after. A novel that’s multi-continental, richly detailed and elegantly crafted.” —Curtis Sittenfeld, author ofSisterland

After an arranged marriage to Chanu, a man twenty years older, Nazneen is taken to London, leaving her home and heart in the Bangladeshi village where she was born. Her new world is full of mysteries. How can she cross the road without being hit by a car (an operation akin to dodging raindrops in the monsoon)? What is the secret of her bullying neighbor Mrs. Islam? What is a Hell's Angel? And how must she comfort the naïve and disillusioned Chanu?

As a good Muslim girl, Nazneen struggles to not question why things happen. She submits, as she must, to Fate and devotes herself to her husband and daughters. Yet to her amazement, she begins an affair with a handsome young radical, and her erotic awakening throws her old certainties into chaos.

Monica Ali’s splendid novel is about journeys both external and internal, where the marvelous and the terrifying spiral together.Chapter One

Mymensingh District, East Pakistan, 1967

An hour and forty-five minutes before Nazneen's life began -- began as it would proceed for quite some time, that is to say uncertainly -- her mother, Rupban, felt an iron fist squeeze her belly. Rupban squatted on a low three-legged stool outside the kitchen hut. She was plucking a chicken because Hamid's cousins had arrived from Jessore and there would be a feast. Cheepy-cheepy, you are old and stringy, she said, calling the bird by name as she always did, but I would like to eat you, indigestion or no indigestion. And tomorrow I will have only boiled rice, no parathas.

She pulled some more feathers and watched lă#

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