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Brother & sister / Joanna Trollope.

By: Trollope, Joanna.
Material type: TextTextPublisher: London : Bloomsbury, 2004Description: 311 pages ; 24 cm.Content type: text Media type: unmediated Carrier type: volumeISBN: 074757281X (pbk.); 0747570434 (hbk.) :.Other title: Brother and sister.Subject(s): Brothers and sisters -- England -- Fiction | Adoptees -- Identification -- Fiction | Families -- Fiction | Brothers and sisters -- Fiction | Birthmothers -- Fiction | Adoptees -- Fiction | Family sagas | Adoption -- Fiction | England -- FictionGenre/Form: Domestic fiction. | General fiction. DDC classification: 823.914 Subject: We all need to know where we come from, where we belong. But for David and Nathalie, this need is more urgent than for most people, because they are adopted. Brought up by the same parents, but born to different mothers, they have grown up, fiercely loyal to one another, as brother and sister.
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Item type Current location Collection Call number Copy number Status Date due Barcode Item holds
Fiction Davis (Central) Library
Fiction Collection
Fiction Collection TRO 2 Available T00308978
Total holds: 0

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

We all need to know where we come from, where we belong. But for David and Nathalie, this need to know is more urgent than for most people, because the are adopted. Brought up by the same parents, but born to different mothers, they have grown up, fiercely loyal to one another, as brother and sister. Their decision, in their late thirties, to embark upon the journey to find their birth mothers is no straightforward matter.<br> <br> Exploring her subject with inimitable imagination and humanity, Joanna Trollope once again works her magic. In this rich narrative, at once gritty and graceful, she exposes the extraordinary challenges that arise at the heart of ordinary lives.

We all need to know where we come from, where we belong. But for David and Nathalie, this need is more urgent than for most people, because they are adopted. Brought up by the same parents, but born to different mothers, they have grown up, fiercely loyal to one another, as brother and sister.

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Excerpt provided by Syndetics

<opt> <anon I1="BLANK" I2="BLANK">Chapter One   From where he sat, Steve could see right down the length of the studio. He could see across the width, too, from one stripped brick wall to the other, and then right up high, right up into the roof space where the seventeenth-century beams -- still suggestive, somehow, of the sinuous lines of the branches and trunks they had once been -- formed their crooked and purposeful patterns. He'd designed the lighting so that even in the evenings, even on the darkest days, the eye would be drawn upward, as it was in cathedrals and domes. It was comforting to look upwards, comforting and encouraging. He'd spent hours over the last eight years since the studio was finished looking upwards at those wandering beams and thinking about the trees they had once been, about the sky that was still there above them, through the roof. He liked the measurelessness of those thoughts, just as he liked this nameless, neutral time at the end of each working day, when everyone else had gone home leaving him alone to let his mind slip quietly down through all the jarring preoccupations of the previous hours and lie peacefully at the bottom of some still pool of not quite thinking.   It was a running joke in the office that Steve had to be the last to leave. It was the same with the navy-blue name board above the ground-floor window: 'Steven Ross and Associates', it read, 'Designers'.   'And who might those associates be?' Titus said. Titus had worked for Steve for three years. He was twenty-seven, short and square and vigorous, with the elaborate courtesy of manner that sometimes results from an old-fashioned English upbringing. 'Because it doesn't appear to be me.'   'It's a name,' Steve said, pretending to read some papers. 'It's just a name. To register the company.'   'Not my name,' Justine said. She was straight out of art college and rolled her own cigarettes. She winked at Titus.   'Might be one day,' Steve said. 'If I think you're worth it.'   She liked that. She didn't want straight flirting, but she wanted a challenge from Steve, she wanted him to see that even though she still bit her nails she had drive and focus. When she came for an interview, he'd looked through her portfolio in complete silence and then he'd said, 'Good.' It was her seventh job interview and nobody had done anything before but sigh and say they hadn't actually got a vacancy after all. She lived for months on that 'Good'.   Steve stretched himself slowly, luxuriously upright on his stool -- Swedish, ergonomically designed -- and contemplated his small and satisfying empire. He looked at the original elm floorboards -- enormously wide: whatever size could the trees have been? -- and the angular outlines of Titus's desk and Justine's desk, and the serene, almost clinical area where Meera did the accounts and administration with heart-lifting orderliness. Steve tried very hard not to indulge himself over order, not to nag about neatness. He endeavoured to remember that the precision which seemed to be such a balm to his soul should be properly and appropriately applied to work but should not -- emphasize that not -- spill over into the rest of life.   It was Nathalie who had alerted him to this. Years ago, before he even found this collapsing urban cottage with all its demanding potential as a workplace, he'd tried to persuade her to move in with him.   She'd looked at him doubtfully.   'Thing is,' she'd said, 'you're a bit -- well, a bit careful.'   He'd been wounded.   'You mean fussy,' Excerpted from Brother and Sister by Joanna Trollope All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.</anon> </opt>