Endless love scott spencer pdf

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The impassioned love of two teenagers leaves a path of destruction in its perilous wakeSeventeen-year-old David Axelrod is consumed with his love for Jade. Editorial Reviews. Review. “Scott Spencer is a magnificent writer, and Endless Love is his finest novel.” —Anne Tyler. “The sensations aroused are akin to the. One of the most celebrated novels of its time, Endless Love remains perhaps the most powerful book ever written about young love. Riveting, compulsively.

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Endless Love Scott Spencer Pdf

Read "Endless Love" by Scott Spencer available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first download. Seventeen-year-old David Axelrod is. Scott Spencer writes about love's tenacity with passionate aracer.mobi his remarkable opening sentence he had me in thrall.”—Newsweek. Scott Spencer is the author of nine previous novels, including A Ship Made of Paper, Waking the Dead, and the international bestseller Endless Love. He has.

January 1, AM ET Chapter One When I was seventeen and in full obedience to my heart's most urgent commands, I stepped far from the pathway of normal life and in a moment's time ruined everything I loved - I loved so deeply, and when the love was interrupted, when the incorporeal body of love shrank back in terror and my own body was locked away, it was hard for others to believe that a life so new could suffer so irrevocably. But now, years have passed and the night of August 12, , still divides my life. It was a hot, dense Chicago night. There were no clouds, no stars, no moon. The lawns looked black and the trees looked blacker; the headlights of the cars made me think of those brave lights the miners wear, up and down the choking shaft. And on that thick and ordinary August night, I set fire to a house inside of which were the people I adored more than anyone else in the world, and whose home I valued more than the home of my parents. Before I set fire to their house I was hidden on their big wooden semicircular porch, peering into their window. I was in a state of grief. It was the agitated, snarling grief of a boy whose long rapturous story has not been understood. My feelings were raw and tender, and I watched the Butterfields through the weave of their curtains with tears of true and helpless longing in my eyes. I could see and love that perfect family while they went on and on with their evening without seeing me.

Since my whole faked-up meeting was to be based on the pretense of coincidence, I wanted to leave a little room for the quirky meanderings of fate: I walked past the house, southward this time to the corner of 59th. On 59th Street I did see people walking around, but no one I knew. I saw a rather glamorous older woman meaning, then, a woman in her twenties walking a large, nervous red dog. She wore sunglasses, a floppy straw hat, and smoked a cigarette out of a long black and silver holder.

I think I may have stared at her, just to occupy my thoughts. She cocked her head and smiled at me and said hello. Her voice startled me and I experienced that quick intestinal collapse you sometimes get in bed when you think you are falling. But I felt there was some split-second urgency involved and so I quickly started out toward the house, first at a trot and then at a dead run.

Did I smell smoke or did the part of me that had understood from the beginning the consequence of my actions finally fight its way through the thicket of wilfulness and heartsickness to scream its alarm?

A lick of flame can scurry like a cat while it hunts for the choicest morsel of fuel. An infant flame is subject to the government of the elements. But by adolescence, fire is as brave and artful as a revolutionary band, snatching easy victories here, extending the limits of its power there, consolidating, attacking, brightening with triumph.

At its full force, its victory over the stable world complete and everything from Doric columns to magazine racks within its mercy, fire is messianic—it rules over its domain with a blistering, totalitarian authority and seems to believe that all of creation ought be in flames.

The central flame, headquartered in the stack of newspapers, had sent attack parties of smaller flames to menace the house itself. Points of flame scattered along the side of the house and fluttered like small orange pennants.

A circle of fire had been dispatched to the floor of the porch and seemed to race around the newspapers for a short time, and then, thrilled with the very fact of its existence and drunk with the berserkness of its cause, spread out in a dozen different directions. I backed away. I already felt the heat on my face, burning through the passive warmth of the August air.

I rubbed my back—a moron checking for a bruise on his spine while everyone he loves sits in a burning house. The flames that darted this way and that on the house itself were all on the feeble side, but there were so many of them and they had enough confidence in their power to continually divide themselves.

And then, almost as if the fire was controlled by a dial like the flame on a gas stove, in an instant the flames—all of them—tripled in size and power. I let out a cry and rushed toward the house.

The porch was already half covered with flame—there were shoots of fire everywhere, an intermediate garden of fire. I flung the screen door open and tried to open the big wooden door, which was usually unlocked not as a gesture of trust but an accommodation to the constant human traffic. Tonight, however, the door was locked. I pounded on it with my fists and shouted—no, not Fire! Let me in, goddamnit!

Let me in! Sammy opened the door. He was, in fact, on his way out because now, finally, they all smelled smoke. David, he said, and put up his small hands as if to stop me. I pulled him out onto the porch and then ran into the house. The small, cluttered foyer already smelled of smoke and when I made the familiar right turn into the living room, Hugh was backing away from the window with his hand over his eyes.

The fire, with its tactical instinct, had surrounded the frame of the largest window on the outside, maneuvering toward the easiest entry into the house. It raced around the pulpy, half-rotten wood, multiplying its intensity, dancing, dancing like warriors working themselves up before a battle, until the heat was powerful enough to explode the window and a long orange arm reached in and turned the curtains to flame.

It is here, at this point, when the window blew out and the curtains caught fire, that the sequence of events become irretrievable. We were, I would suppose, like any other group of people in a burning house, fighting back our terror with the worthless fantasy that really nothing so terribly serious was happening. Only Hugh, who had fought in a war and had spent time in a prison camp, only Hugh knew firsthand how sometimes ordinary life is completely overturned. The rest of us, even as we breathed in the heat and the smoke, even as our lungs burned and our eyes teared and we heard the crackle of the wood, held onto the possibility that disaster would suddenly stop in its tracks, turn around, and disappear.

How are you? I said, putting my lips near her ear. Her hair smelled from the curling gel she had set it with; her neck looked naked and vulnerable.

She did not look at me.

Endless Love: A Novel (P.S.): Scott Spencer: aracer.mobi: Books

She covered her eyes against the smoke and coughed. And scared, she said. Perhaps there had been something more than Jade had said, but I knew immediately that the family had not been smoking grass: He was trying to pull the curtains down and she held onto his shirt and said, Not a good idea, Hugh. Sammy was back in the house. He stumbled and fell to his knees; he began to right himself but it was too much effort. Or did he know that close to the floor was the safest place to be during a fire?

It was the sort of thing Sammy would know. Looking up at his parents from his hands and knees, Sammy said, You should see it. The whole house is burning. Ann finally pulled Hugh away from the curtains—they barely existed anyhow: There was fire on the walls now and, a moment later, fire on the ceiling. She said it in a fed-up voice, a put-upon citizen forced to call in the officials. But she made no move toward the telephone in the kitchen, even though the kitchen was still free of fire.

We all stayed together in the most perilous part of the house, knit together and nailed to our places by astonishment, and I was one of them. It seemed that that house longed to burn, just as a heart can long to be overcome with love. If any of us were to that point still debating whether we were faced with a household mishap or an emergency, it was now certain that all previous bets were off and it was time to do what we could to save our lives.

Ann was shaking her head. Annoyance had given way to grief—and a certain weariness that made me wonder if she wanted to save herself.

She felt the lure of the fire, as someone on a high balcony will suddenly have a curious desire to jump off. Hugh was kneading the sides of his skull as if pacifying its contents.

Everyone stay together, he said. Hold hands. He repeated this two or three times. We go out the back door. And we stay together. It felt like melting ice. On the floor, I said. To my surprise, they listened to me. And then I knew: Oh my God, said Hugh. He dug his knuckles into his eyes. Sammy was on the floor, talking away to someone he imagined was next to him; he sounded perfectly in control of himself as he conversed with the apparition.

Jade took my hand and pressed it against her breast. Is my heart still going? We were on the floor; the room was more than half smoke, much more. A thousand other things must have been racing through my mind but the only one I remember was the hope that someone—Jade—would grab my leg and stop me from going up for Keith.

I took the stairs two at a time and the smoke filled the air with deeper and more absolute authority. I felt the intensity of the heat but saw no flames—they were inside the walls and burning in toward us.

On my hands and knees, I felt the heat coming up through the floor, so tangible that I thought it might actually lift me. Coughing, nauseated, I spit onto the floor. I was on the second story of the house now.

Down at one end of the hall was the room where Jade and I had been sleeping for the past six months. I crawled down the hall and tried not to think about dying—my thoughts were not brave but neither did I turn and run.

I wondered if he even knew that his house was on fire, knew that this danger was not illusion. I knew he must be high and no Butterfield was less likely to handle the shattering of his personality than Keith: The writing is beautiful. Here are some samples: I told her that I knew her and the atmosphere between us became as charged as if I'd finally gotten the courage to lean over and kiss her.

Yet I had no choice but to become more and more forward, like someone pursuing a ghost: I was walking up Fifth Avenue to pass an hour or two before it was time to call Ann. Hugh was with his new lover remembering the things he'd been taught to want when he was young. Who knows how many people were out there with us? A million seems a fair guess. New York is the place in America where you're most likely to meet someone you know; it's our capital of surprise encounters.

If you stay there long enough you might see everyone you ever knew. I'm thinking of a skeleton bent expectantly over a radar screen and Hugh and I are blips of light heading into each other's path with the blind imperiousness of comets.

We are blind to the future. We can barely hold on to our strange versions of the past. We see only a little of what is directly before us.

We know almost nothing. They only way we can stand it is not to care. I care and I can't stand it. I should just breathe in and out and be brave. But not knowing what is going to happen next and living with the hope that whatever it is it won't be too difficult to understand is like driving at top speed with the windshield completely painted over with a picture of where you used to live.

I would never shelf this under a 'YA' heading. View all 15 comments. Invece l'ho iniziato, scettico, dando fiducia a recensioni particolarmente interessanti. I due ragazzi, David e Jade, si amano di un amore troppo forte, troppo esclusivo, troppo intenso, ostinato, quasi tossico. Specialmente David, dimentico del mondo che lo circonda e di ogni sua prospettiva di futuro, insegue con ogni mezzo la sua amata Jade perdendosi definitivamente.

Ma noi non leggiamo di David. Noi " siamo " David. Percepiamo le emozioni, soffriamo e gioiamo con lui, tremiamo con lui, ci disperiamo insieme a lui. Premetto che il sesso nei libri mi lascia totalmente indifferente; non riesce a coinvolgermi, mi sembra sempre tutto o troppo esagerato, o troppo volgare o troppo impossibile o semplicemente troppo ridicolo. E' lo scrittore.

Profondo, toccante, coinvolgente, stimolante, disperato, emozionante. E la fine ci lascia attoniti, stanchi, affranti. Cosa trasforma una storia d'amore in una ossessione distruttiva? Quattro stelle e mezzo, quasi cinque. View all 4 comments.

'Endless' Amour: A Steamy Story Of Teenage Passion

Si amano, son giovani e spensierati Un amore tossico, che come un incendio brucia, divora e risucchia tutti coloro che ne entrano in contatto. Difficile non cadere nel volgare o nel ridicolo quando si parla di sesso. Ecco, Spencer riesce molto bene: E come Ann annichiliti e impotenti testimoni di questo amore immenso che divora e non lascia pace, non possiamo che osservare: Una lettura forte, dolorosa ed estremamente coinvolgente e che ti conduce in un luogo remoto e non sempre esplorato che delimita i confini di Amore e Follia.

This is either a 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5 star book. Seriously, I would understand any one of these ratings. It is about one young man's obsessive to say the least relationship with his high school girlfriend. I'd give a "1" for character likeability. I wish we saw a little more of his parents' relationship because, as Jewish Communists in the late 60s, they are pretty damn interesting. I' This is either a 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5 star book. I'd give a "2" for sexual content.

There are some gnarly scenes. And unless you like references to people getting so hot they are "dilated enough for a premature birth" that's not even the worst of it - not by a long shot, not even the worst on that page you might feel a little squeamish at times.

I'm still reeling from one particular sex scene. I can't even type some of the stuff that was in there. But points for originality here. Lord knows I kept reading jaw. I'd give a "3" to general plot. It held my attention but the angst got a little old after awhile WHY did he love her so much???

A "4" goes to the way the author showed how one person's obsessiveness can spiral out of control and affect multiple people. I did wonder if the things that happened would've without David's involvement. Was he just a catalyst? Would there have been some other catalyst if not for him?

And a "5" goes to the writing itself. Intense, unique descriptions. Sometimes a little too intense or unique see above: I'm a little emotionally exhausted by this book.

I find it easy to specify what makes a 1, 2, or 5 star book and often struggle when it's between a 3 and a 4. Ultimately I ask myself whether the work is easily replicated or somewhat simple. The answer here is a resounding no. So it's a four. View all 6 comments. May 28, steffie rated it it was amazing. I have always loved this book. A nice primer on love and sex. It's a great portrait of obsession.

Mesmerizing prose. I remember getting a scornful look from Mrs. Juliet" and "West Side Story. So much more interesting than Rita Moreno dancing on rooftops! I try to read it every couple of year I have always loved this book. I try to read it every couple of years.

I also try to avoid the movie and that horrible song every day of my life. Jun 11, Amy rated it really liked it. I expected a lightweight story of teenage love; instead, I read a dark tale of delirium and reckless obsession.

It happens every so often and it was certainly the case with Endless Love. It saddens me whenever I discover a book too many years too late. This book was published in and I probably would have been more shocked reading it during my younger years.

I feel maybe I read it at the right time in my life. I'm still young enough to identify with this story, but old enough to be wise in seeing how young love can be misinterpreted and more than likely just lust mixed with infatuation. This goes beyond your average teenage love story. As the reader, I was able to delve into the mind of young David who is slowly going mad with his highly passionate love for Jade.

What I found most endearing was he never made excuses for his feelings. He seemed to be almost revel in his obsession. He believed he had found something special. Jade was his life. Her family was all he cared about. More than his own family. Anything else was an obstacle in his way of returning to them. What amazes me is how even though his actions were at times questionable and borderline stalker, I was able to walk away feeling sympathetic for David.

He never had any ill intentions. He was not crazy to the point of harming anyone maliciously. He simply made mistakes without thinking clearly. He let his own emotions do the thinking for him and take over his logic. Yet he moves forward with his one mind track of eventually getting back together with Jade.

It was a times unrealistic and overly sentimental and dated, but it works. Scott Spencer is able to write some very meaningful lines and thought provoking dialogue about people and their true hidden meanings and interactions. Yes the sex is over the top, but I think it had to be in order to show just how insanely wrapped up in Jade he was.

There was no other way to get that point across. I often feel books like these should be read by the young crowd because it offers a disturbingly harsh look into the unhealthy mind. If parents are not watching out for their kids and they are left to completely consume their time with another this could very well happen. When that bond was rudely interrupted he simply could not bear it. Not for one day let alone thirty.

This book made me feel, made me reflect on my own emotions, and made me really connect with the main protagonist. These are my utmost favorite types of books which are able to hit a nerve time and time again with each read. I'd seen the horrific Zeffirelli film several years ago, and had no idea it was loosely based on this novel, because I didn't know this novel existed until a couple of my GR friends added it to their shelves. It sounded interesting, and quite unlike the movie, so I thought I'd read it.

To its credit, I managed to read Endless Love fairly quickly, so it wasn't intolerable. The book is, not so much to its credit, consistently tedious, because David Axelrod is just a tedious character and reading p I'd seen the horrific Zeffirelli film several years ago, and had no idea it was loosely based on this novel, because I didn't know this novel existed until a couple of my GR friends added it to their shelves. The book is, not so much to its credit, consistently tedious, because David Axelrod is just a tedious character and reading page after page of his lonely, delusional rants is fundamentally an exhausting task.

But Endless Love also functions as a moderately ballsy exploration of obsession it is, like other famous books that get called love stories a lot, more about obsession.

The prose is often elegant, though it deteriorates, I guess an excusable deterioration given the narrator, during the sex scenes.

Lines like "her asshole was shuddering like a puppy, like a small frightened heart. The book's also about the 60s' climate and its impact on young interpersonal stuff. It's fairly convincing in dealing with that stuff. Spencer includes letters by other characters, more tolerable characters, to David, our narrator.

This, crucially, gives us a break from reading page after page of David being a total imbecilic dumbfuck.

Endless Love

Still, most of the book just is David being a total imbecilic dumbfuck. The trouble is that I just don't think he's an interesting character. It's not that he's a dick.

It's that he's not a remotely interesting dick. See Humbert Humbert for a totally fascinating literary character who is a complete dick, and see Lolita for a great book that is hardly very similar to Endless Love , but is also a narrative of obsession told by a complete dick. It gets really stupidly Freudian, too, so be ready for that. Overall, it's not a terrible book, and some of it does a good job of invoking the madness of love and the fragmentation of personal identity and the nature of obsession, and other shit.

The supporting characters are mostly fairly interesting. For the most part, though, Endless Love is another of those acclaimed books that makes me wonder what the fuck literary critics were on in the 70s. But I guess the book's reputation has declined steadily, and deservedly, so there's that.

View 1 comment. Apr 23, Abel rated it it was amazing. I finished this book only moments ago. It feels like I sustained some kind of wound. The emotional intensity, made more acute after sometimes long periods of lull, replicate exactly the mania of obsessiveness. I was drawn in by the prose, which was just this side of popular fiction, having heady ideas and great turns of phrase, artful syntax, but so readable with nothing to break the story's spell.

I was drawn in and kept there by the emotion, emotion associated with the unbridled highs of you I finished this book only moments ago. I was drawn in and kept there by the emotion, emotion associated with the unbridled highs of youth, but also of the unique and peculiar powers of first love: Scott Spencer gave such a variety of tone, too, that when we finally get to the ending pages--after a denouement and a steep despairing tumble down a psychic cliff--we are weakened into a state of receptivity, so that we are living the events in Rockville, in Fox Run, as David Axelrod adrift in a sea of pathos.

Until we arrive at the closing paragraph, a perfect exeunt, showing not only his preoccupation with Jade Butterfield, but also with himself. I was really caught up in this one, and it is a good reminder of the power of emotional resonance in a book and its ability to shape ones waking life, and think, What would I sacrifice in pursuit of intensity?

Oct 29, Gill rated it it was amazing Shelves: It's nearly thirty years since I first read Endless Love. Now when I pick it up, I notice an awkward sentence, an odd rhetorical decision that wasn't visible to me in , but still I love everything about this bighearted book. Read this book, and if you can, recommend other books that evoke first love so powerfully or seem to understand how dangerous it can be when you've never wanted anything in your life as much, and you feel out of control, off balance and utterly devoted.

Il lungo racconto di questo amore e delle sue infauste conseguenze viene narrato dal protagonista, David, e inizia con una distruzione, compiuta attraverso l'ineluttabile simbolo della passione: Fuoco che arde e si diffonde, fuoco che si autoalimenta e si dirama, incessante, fuoco che divampa e tutto brucia, tutto spazza via.

Chi l'oltrepassa muore. Scott Spencer riesce a scrivere il diario, lucido e insieme allucinato, di questa follia, passando attraverso la percezione e i sensi acutizzati di David, in modo che non possiamo evitare di esserne toccati, quasi involti, non possiamo evitare di tremare per come David segue fatalmente e va disegnando con meticoloso istinto suicida il proprio destino di falled in love. View all 12 comments. Feb 10, Charlie rated it it was amazing Shelves: Favorite quotes from Endless Love: This is a classic book which has been reviewed by hundreds, if not thousands of readers and admired by the most credible book reviewers and magazines.

So, instead of composing a traditional review, I'm choosing to blog about the impressi Favorite quotes from Endless Love: So, instead of composing a traditional review, I'm choosing to blog about the impression that Endless Love made on me. Rules of Fascination Dougald Pippard, Lord Raeburn, is deviously satisfied when his plan to trap Hannah springs itself successfully.

But his satisfaction is short-lived as the indomitable Hannah draws the battle lines and kisses him with the pent-up passion Dougald hasn't felt for nine long years. The fire that has always flared between them rages again with every touch, every glance,until Dougald is almost ready to forget his wounded memories and plans of revenge for just one more night with her.

Steam Books, Dara Tulen 6 0 Landon Reed had lived for three centuries, shunning the human world and maintaining a safe distance. In all his years, he'd never considered taking a human as a lover.

Then, one night, he is drawn to an alley where he finds Sean Caffrey, a college student, left beaten and bloody.

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