'...And then we heard the rain falling, and that was the drops of blood falling; and when we came to get the crops, it was dead men that we reaped.' Harriet TubmanIn five years, Jesmyn Ward lost five men in her life, to drugs, accidents, suicide, and the bad luck that can follow people who live in poverty, particularly black men. Dealing with these losses, one after another, made Jesmyn ask the question: why? And as she began to write about the experience of living through all the dying, she realized the truth--and it took her breath away. Her brother and her friends all died because of who they were and where they were from, because they lived with a history of racism and economic struggle that fostered drug addiction and the dissolution of family and relationships. Jesmyn says the answer was so obvious she felt stupid for not seeing it. But it nagged at her until she knew she had to write about her community, to write their stories and her own. Jesmyn grew up in poverty in rural Mississippi. She writes powerfully about the pressures this brings, on the men who can do no right and the women who stand in for family in a society where the men are often absent. She bravely tells her story, revisiting the agonizing losses of her only brother and her friends. As the sole member of her family to leave home and pursue high education, she writes about this parallel American universe with the objectivity distance provides and the intimacy of utter familiarity.

She fled in the dead of night, Where will she run? No stone left unturned, Who will feel my wrath? A few steps behind her every move, How many more will suffer? Her punishment will be severe, When will she be aware? With each swing of her scythe, Why does it make me writhe? When Selene left us in pursuit of her sister, She had no idea what she let loose. Now I hunt her day and night, Collecting her secrets in plain sight. She doesn't have long until her time runs out, It's her fault the four of us have feelings we can't ignore. If she finds out we've fucked with her plans, We might just find ourselves dead with her scythe on our foreheads.

Zander with his looks so fair, Darius ties his ropes with care, Santos has a psychotic flare, And Blaze holds a devilish glare. Selene holds all their hearts in her hands, Make one wrong move and your neck will be where her scythe lands. They are the Reaper Incarnate.

A bold debut novel that combines a coming-of-age story with the gritty lives and desolate beauty of Vermont's Northeast KingdomJessup Burke, a lonely, naive sixteen-year-old, has grown up fatherless in an indifferent, hardscrabble logging town. Out of high school a year early, he now bikes the back roads and roams the woods, fishing and daydreaming of his sweetheart. When he encounters Reg Cumber, a marijuana grower fresh out of prison, and Reg's younger, married sister, Jessup is lured into a world of danger and violence.With sure and supple prose, Rickstad draws readers into the hot, still air of a summer backwoods to witness Jessup's abrupt awakening into adulthood. A bold, unflinching novel about fate, self-knowledge, and family secrets, Reap is charged with Rickstad's keen sense of place and character and is alive with his vividly conjured natural world.

Reproduction of the original: Sowing and Reaping by Dwight Moody

The Reaper is hot on your tail, What have you done? You've made it onto her list, Who did you hurt? The hunt is just the beginning, How far can you run? Your soul is hers to reap, Where can you hide? Watch out for her scythe, Why do you cry? The life of a vigilante is meant to be a lonely one, Roaming darkened streets and collecting secrets. Until the four of them forced their way into mine, Stirring up feelings I didn't know I had. But if they try to fuck with my plans, My pretty knife will be through their throats and my bloody scythe on their foreheads.

La mémoire de feu Ernest Nyáry, O.C.D. mérite le respect avec lequel le livre écit par sa nièce, la comtesse Éva Nyáry lui rend hommage avec beaucoup d’amour. Il était Archevéque latin de Bagdad entre 1972 et 1983, apôtre de tous les Chrétiens à la capitale irakienne, mais il n’a pas limité ses activités pastorales qu’aux fidèles de rite latin, il prenait soin des fidèles des Eglises orientales, surtout des pauvres, des personnes chassées de leur maison et des réfugiés, et non seulement les Chrétiens.