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Vale a pena galera!
Ryan Chandler's grandmother and meddlesome matchmaker, Allie, decides it's high time her grandson get out and live life a little. After marrying off her two granddaughters, Allie's next victim is Ryan. And what better way to shove him out into the world than at the Bachelor Auction hospital charity event. And in order to ensure success, Allie picks out Janna Monroe (widow and mother) from the bidders and 'helps' her along in the form of a check to make the winning bid.
As the story progresses, we watch Janna learn to love again and Ryan change from a boring corporate businessman into a warm and loving man, whose heart opens up not only to Janna, but to her young son, Zachary. Ryan's first attempt at grilling is hilarious, even if the outcome was not.
I found Ryan and Janna very appealing. I did not find Almira Chandler likeable at all. From her scheming to the way she spoke to others, I found myself wanting to reach out and strangle her. I wasn't particularly fond of Mrs. Ballantine (the housekeeper) either.
Ignore the interfering grandmother and crabby household help. Focus on the story of Ryan and Janna and you won't be disappointed.
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Ryan takes us on a rollercoaster of facts and emotions as the story progresses. The basic theories she tackles are: Collins was hit from behind by IRA members headed to Kerry, Collins was hit by a member of his own party by a close range bullet from the armoured car, Collins was hit by a ricocheted bullet, and Collins was hit by a bullet fired by an IRA member. After dissecting the response of the medical examiners, the embalmer, the men who supposedly buried the cap Collins was wearing on the day he was killed, and the testimony of Emmet Dalton, Collins's friend and comrade who was with him that day, Ryan does give a firm conclusion as to who the shooter was. She dispels the theories that Collins was shot by a bullet from a Mauser pistol and that Collins was killed by a ricocheted bullet. So who shot Michael Collins according to Ryan's studies? Read this engrossing book to find out!
Half the book is on logic, half on model checking. I've only read the logic part so far, so I cannot compare the model checking treatment to that in Clarke et al.'s "Model Checking."
The logic treatment is not specific to computer science (or at least did not seem to be so, for someone not a student of mathematics and logic), so in my opinion the title is a misnomer; perhaps a better title would be "Logic for People, and Model Checking Too."
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If you are looking for a traditional biography of Michael Collins, an introduction to Collins's life and times, or any type of conventional history text, this book is probably not for you. This is the type of book that will likely appeal to those already basically familiar with Collins's story but who are interested in learning more about his personal life. If you already have a good sense of the history of the time and want to know the stories behind the many women who assisted Collins both personally and professionally, this would be an excellent selection.
Meda Ryan isn't a stranger to the life and times of Michael Collins. Her previous book, The Day Michael Collins Was Shot, concentrates on the final days of the man. This effort, Michael Collins and the Women in His Life, spans his lifetime and concentrates on the women in his life. They range from his mother, whose life of toil and devotion had a profound effect on him as a boy, to Kitty Kiernan, whose zest and love of life distracted his mind from his many trials and troubles.
Some of the names will be familiar to readers of Irish history, most will not. All demonstrated the courage and zeal that Ireland needed during her fight for freedom. While this book may not appeal to the "professional scholar", I found that it was a good introduction to Michael Collins' life and supplements other biographies about the man.
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In poem O, the meridian to the countdown-sequence of poems in the first book, the language of human feeling competes with the language of science as it swallows itself, inflicting violence upon the very organs of the poem internally. The evolution/revolution of the waves of Arnold's Dover Beach turn into waves of blood that accuse: "I could tell you in blood if the blood were bled empty/not the oil of the veins, not the spillage, not the heart's/feet stuffed down its throat, not the blood leaping at you/loosed in the streets, the blood that demands it is blood/until it must bleed or bleed you, not the blood of birth/that with its nakedness will only clothe me...." These explore the method by which culture assasinates itself; the emergent identity of the individual, its defining margins, become violence: "The South Americans bleed, it's said, and in Russia/the boots are filled with blood..." as poetry exposes the substance that links us all as human beings, pouring it into the line, it also exposes the force-fed and irresolute means of that exposure: "But see how the white blood that flushes/in the cheeks with the slaughters of roses/I can't tell you with". And it does so until the poem begs itself to stop.
*Eating the Heart of the Enemy" often draws on the pure power of utterance, even syllable--its language seeks to compete with the presumptious tone of science itself, and responds to the extreme compressions available to signification in the postnuclear age. Readers may find themselves confused at times with certain poems' lack of explanation, their antipoetics and the flatlined lyric found in poems like "While the Phone Was Ringing," wherein an unnamed "I" finds himself "listing steps" to "conceal the body." Epiphany and choral direction, even prophesy, occurs from the vantage point of Ryan's particular version of emptiness, what Baudrillard calls "the spiralling cadaver," as in the last lines of the poem where the I sits, thinking about it:
When I lifted the head in the dark/ it flickered twice like a flourescent tube/ and lit
and spoke, saying/ from now on you are the pull chain/ of my dead fixture
If you flee to some obscure city/ and open your desk drawer/ my fingers or my eyes will be there/ On the morning of the day you die/ my head will rise in your window/ in place of the sun
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