Verwandte Artikel zu What She Saw in Roger Mancuso, Gunter Hopstock, Jason...

What She Saw in Roger Mancuso, Gunter Hopstock, Jason Barry Gold, Spitty Clark, Jack Geezo, Humphrey Fung, Claude Duvet, Bruce Bledstone, Kevin ... 5-8, Neil Schmertz, and Bo Pierce : A Novel - Hardcover

Rosenfeld, Lucinda

 
9780375503757: What She Saw in Roger Mancuso, Gunter Hopstock, Jason Barry Gold, Spitty Clark, Jack Geezo, Humphrey Fung, Claude Duvet, Bruce Bledstone, Kevin ... 5-8, Neil Schmertz, and Bo Pierce : A Novel
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 0375503757 ISBN 13: 9780375503757
Verlag: Random House Inc, 2000

Inhaltsangabe

A funny and poignant novel about growing up female in America follows the romantic ups and downs of Phoebe Fine, as she copes with the diverse men in her life, from her first love Roger Mancuso, who offers her first cigarette, first kiss, and first loss in the fifth grade to the present day. A first novel. 25,000 first printing.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Lucinda Rosenfeld was born in New York City on the last day of the 1960s. She grew up in New Jersey and attended Cornell University. She has written for The New York Times Magazine, Harper's Bazaar, Elle, Slate, Word, and Talk. She was a nightlife columnist for the New York Post from 1996 to 1998. She lives in Brooklyn.

Aus dem Klappentext

fifth grade, Phoebe Fine, the daughter of an oboist in suburban New Jersey, finds that love is a risky game to play. There is Roger Mancuso, who offers Phoebe her first cigarette, her first kiss, and her first experience of loss. There is Spitty Clark, the frat boy and inveterate party animal who's a possible criminal but also somehow a man of honor. Later on, as a young woman living in New York, Phoebe crosses the path of arrogant Pablo Miles (né Peter Mandelbaum), who licks her hand moments after they meet. And so it goes, as Phoebe struggles to reconcile her conflicting desires for safety and adventure, sympathy and conquest. Lucinda Rosenfeld relates Phoebe's serial, seriocomic encounters with freshness, range, economy, and emotional precision:<br><br>"She understood the jealousy emaciation aroused in other women."<br>"She couldn't persuade herself to spend an entire hour's salary on a piece of bread and three zucchini rounds."<br>"Their first date was mo

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1. Roger Mancuso
OR "The Stink Bomb King of Fifth Grade"

On the Tuesday before Easter, a substitute teacher appeared behind Mrs. Kosciouwicz's metal desk. His face looked like a dented Yukon potato. His jazz shoes were the color of cement. He was tall and thin except for a pillow-sized potbelly that spilled helplessly over his plaid pants. "I'm Mr. Spumato," he announced to the assembled fifth-graders. "And I'll be your sub until further notice."

Euphoria swept through the classroom at the thought of Mrs. Kosciouwicz never coming back.

She was always lecturing them about the importance of sitting up straight. She made them read the dictionary and watch boring filmstrips on the origins of math. She was highly intolerant of lateness and (despite her own abysmal record) deranged on the matter of absenteeism. Over the educational-games shelf, she'd hung a poster of a beak-nosed owl reading PROCRASTINATION IS THE THIEF OF TIME. On the back of the door, she'd tacked another one asserting SILENCE IS GOLDEN. The only time she baked them cupcakes was when Reagan beat Carter. The only time she let them leave school early was when Reagan got shot. Her pull-on pants were the color of dog shit. Her bosom hung down to her waist. Her bifocals hung from a necklace. She was probably only sixty.

She seemed about as old as ancient Mesopotamia.

Roger Mancuso's hand shot up-not before he'd blurted out, "Did Mrs. K. croak-or what?"

"What is your name, young man?" snarled Mr. Spumato.

"Mick," he answered. "Mick Jagger. "

"Well, Mr. Jagger," said Spumato, trying to drown out the tsunami of laughter that rose from the back row. "If you'd like to take your question to the principal, I'd be happy to accompany you to his office."

"0000000hhhhh," crooned the class in unison.

"I just wanted to know if the old lady was alive," countered Roger.

"You'll know what I tell you!" cried Spumato.

"I'll know what I want," said Roger. "And I want to know what happened to my friggin' homeroom teacher."

Now the class cheered. Poor Spumato. He must have known he was losing control. He couldn't have been happy about it. He pointed a single, trembling finger at his nemesis. "One more peep, Mr. Jagger, and you're outta here for good!" Then he cranked his thumb backward over his shoulder in the direction of the principal's office, in case anyone thought he was kidding. (No one did.) The class fell silent-even Roger, who went back to his guitar magazine. The rest of them fixated on Mr. Spumato's flaccid backside jiggling up and down as he began to script grammatical terminology on the board.

He about-faced several minutes later. "Who can tell me the difference between a pronoun and a noun?" he wanted to know, his tobacco-stained moustache twitching ever so slightly. But not a single hand rose. "None of you little punks knows the difference between a pronoun and a normal noun," he tried again. And then again: "I SAID WHO THE CRAP KNOWS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A NOUN AND A PRONOUN?" Now the class shrieked in ecstasy. Crap was the kind of word Mrs. K. deemed grounds for suspension, and here was the substitute teacher making unrepentant use of it.

"Spumato! Spumato! Spumato!" Roger started to chant, palms pounding rhythmically on his ink-stained desktop, and the rest of the class quickly joined in. "Spumato! Spumato! Spumato! Spumato!"

It was when Spumato started to shake that they finally shut up. They were suddenly mortified for their sub-for his failure to control them, for his irrational fear of their harmless delirium. They stared at their hands. They prayed for the bell. They didn't really want to see him fall apart.

They were rescued by the introduction of a terrible odor.

It wafted through the classroom, inflicting punishment on all possessed of a sense of smell. It wasn't long before the situation became insufferable. Their throats threatening to close, they ran for the door gasping. The smart ones pinched their noses. "Come back here, you little punks!" roared Mr. Spumato.

But then he, too, succumbed to the stench-and followed the stampede into the hall.

That was the last anyone saw of Plaid Pants.

As for Roger Mancuso, after confessing to the stink bomb, he was suspended for three days and threatened with expulsion. He was only too happy to have the time off to listen to his favorite Rolling Stones album, Some Girls, another hundred times. And upon his arrival back at Whitehead Middle (a.k.a. Blackhead Middle and/or Shit-Head Middle) the following week, he was given a hero's welcome, complete with chanting, backslapping, synchronized farting, and a new nickname: "Stinky."


He was also presented with a change of seats. Seemingly back from the dead, Mrs. K. moved the so-anointed Stink Bomb King to the front row, one seat to the left of Phoebe Fine, who couldn't believe her luck. Not that she was expecting Stinky to feel the same way. When he slipped a note under her elbow, she didn't even think it was for her. Then she saw her name printed on the outside. She waited until Mrs. K. turned her back to write the word volunteerism on the board. Then she pushed the note into her lap.

Waiting for her was the following declaration: "YOU LOOK FINE!"

Her face turned red; her hands began to tremble like Mr. Spumato's. Was this Stinky's idea of a joke? Was he passing the note on someone else's behalf? Was he mocking her last name? Was she merely a convenient target? Had he heard from someone, who'd heard from someone else, who'd heard from her best friend, Brenda Cuddihy, that she had a huge crush on him-and was this his way of telling her that he already knew?

Or might he have meant exactly what he'd written?

The latter possibility seemed unlikely, especially considering the only extracurricular contact she'd had with Stinky in the past year consisted of a single, recent occasion during which he'd circled her with his BMX bike on her way to her violin lesson, sung her excerpts from Fiddler on the Roof, and demanded that she play him "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." She kept telling him she didn't know how. He eventually performed a wheelie and disappeared. In short, it didn't seem like Stinky Mancuso was madly in love with her. If anything, it seemed like he thought it was pretty weird that she played the violin.

But what if he liked her for the reason that she was unique among her peers? Which is to say that he'd never encountered anyone quite as "gifted and talented" as Phoebe, with the encouragement of her parents and teachers, imagined herself to be?

Reluctant to make eye contact until she had more information one way or the other, Phoebe stared straight ahead for the rest of the class period. And when the bell rang, she jumped out of her chair and bolted for the door.

In the girls' room some time later, she caught up with Brenda Cuddihy. "Did you tell Stinky I liked him?" she challenged her Born Again best friend.

"I swear on the Bible I didn't tell anyone!" her Born Again best friend held fast.

"Well, look at this," said Phoebe, pulling Stinky's note out of the patch pocket of her tie-dyed apron dress and handing it over to Brenda, who read it out loud before she gasped, "Oh my God, Stinky likes you!"

"How do you know he's not just joking around?" said Phoebe.

"Well, he didn't send me a note," said Brenda.

"Well, you don't sit next to him in homeroom."

"So? "

"So...

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Verlag
Random House Inc
Erscheinungsdatum
2000
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0375503757
ISBN 13 
9780375503757
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
284
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Purmerul LTD
https://strengholt.nl/en/

22 Liuleburgaz Str., floor 4, app. 9
Plovdiv
Bulgarien

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