Anything That Isn't This
ΠΎΠΊΡ. 2015β―Π³. Β· Hot Key Books
Π-ΠΊΠ½ΠΈΠ³Π°
480
Π‘ΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡΠΈ
family_home
Π‘ΠΎΠΎΠ΄Π²Π΅ΡΠ½Π°
info
reportΠΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡΠ΅ ΠΈ ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½Π·ΠΈΠΈΡΠ΅ Π½Π΅ ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ²ΡΠ΄Π΅Π½ΠΈ Β ΠΠΎΠ·Π½Π°ΡΡΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΠ΅
ΠΠ° Π΅-ΠΊΠ½ΠΈΠ³Π°Π²Π°
Shortlisted for the Peters Book of the Year.
Seventeen-year-old Frank Palp lives in a grim little apartment, in a grim little building, in an exceedingly grim (and rather large) city. Cobbled streets and near-destroyed bridges lead one through Old Town and Old New Town, and war-damaged houses stand alongside post-war characterless, concrete hutches. Most people walk hunched over, a habit from avoiding snipers, but others are proud to stand tall and make the world take notice . . . This is a city full of contradictions, and Frank is no exception.
He mostly hates his life, he definitely hates the ludicrous city he is forced to live in and he absolutely with complete certainty hates the idiots he's surrounded by . . . and yet he is in love. A love so pure and sparkling and colourful, Frank feels sure it is 'meant to be'. His love is a reward for all the terrible grey that he is surrounded by - which would be great, if the girl in question knew he existed. And then one day, the perfect sign lands in his lap. A message, in a bottle. A wish, for 'anything that isn't this'. The girl who wrote this is surely his soulmate - and now he just needs to find her.
Seventeen-year-old Frank Palp lives in a grim little apartment, in a grim little building, in an exceedingly grim (and rather large) city. Cobbled streets and near-destroyed bridges lead one through Old Town and Old New Town, and war-damaged houses stand alongside post-war characterless, concrete hutches. Most people walk hunched over, a habit from avoiding snipers, but others are proud to stand tall and make the world take notice . . . This is a city full of contradictions, and Frank is no exception.
He mostly hates his life, he definitely hates the ludicrous city he is forced to live in and he absolutely with complete certainty hates the idiots he's surrounded by . . . and yet he is in love. A love so pure and sparkling and colourful, Frank feels sure it is 'meant to be'. His love is a reward for all the terrible grey that he is surrounded by - which would be great, if the girl in question knew he existed. And then one day, the perfect sign lands in his lap. A message, in a bottle. A wish, for 'anything that isn't this'. The girl who wrote this is surely his soulmate - and now he just needs to find her.
ΠΠ° Π°Π²ΡΠΎΡΠΎΡ
Chris Priestley spent his childhood in Wales and Gibraltar, and his teens in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, before going to art college in Manchester. He moved to London and freelanced as an illustrator and cartoonist for twenty years before getting his first book for children published. He has written lots of books, fiction and non-fiction, has won awards here and abroad and been nominated for many others, including the Carnegie Medal. He now lives in Cambridge and spends a great deal of time looking out of the window... Follow Chris at https://chris-priestley.com or on Twitter: @crispriestley
ΠΡΠ΅Π½Π΅ΡΠ΅ ΡΠ° Π΅-ΠΊΠ½ΠΈΠ³Π°Π²Π°
ΠΠ°ΠΆΠ΅ΡΠ΅ Π½ΠΈ ΡΡΠΎ ΠΌΠΈΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠ΅.
ΠΠ½ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ Π·Π° ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠ΅
ΠΠ°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ½ΠΈ ΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΡΠΎΠ½ΠΈ ΠΈ ΡΠ°Π±Π»Π΅ΡΠΈ
ΠΠ½ΡΡΠ°Π»ΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠ° Π°ΠΏΠ»ΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠ° Google Play Books Π·Π° Android ΠΈ iPad/iPhone. ΠΠ²ΡΠΎΠΌΠ°ΡΡΠΊΠΈ ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΈΠ½Ρ
ΡΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠ·ΠΈΡΠ° ΡΠΎ ΡΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΊΠ°ΡΠ° ΠΈ Π²ΠΈ ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΡΠ²Π° Π΄Π° ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠ΅ ΠΎΠ½Π»Π°ΡΠ½ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΠΎΡΠ»Π°ΡΠ½ ΠΊΠ°Π΄Π΅ ΠΈ Π΄Π° ΡΡΠ΅.
ΠΠ°ΠΏΡΠΎΠΏΠΈ ΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΠΈ
ΠΠΎΠΆΠ΅ Π΄Π° ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅ Π°ΡΠ΄ΠΈΠΎΠΊΠ½ΠΈΠ³ΠΈ ΠΊΡΠΏΠ΅Π½ΠΈ ΠΎΠ΄ Google Play ΡΠΎ ΠΊΠΎΡΠΈΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ Π½Π° Π²Π΅Π±-ΠΏΡΠ΅Π»ΠΈΡΡΡΠ²Π°ΡΠΎΡ Π½Π° ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΠΎΡ.
Π-ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠΈ ΠΈ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈ ΡΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΈ
ΠΠ° Π΄Π° ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠ΅ Π½Π° ΡΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΈ ΡΠΎ Π΅-ΠΌΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ»ΠΎ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΎ ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠ΅ Π΅-ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠΈΡΠ΅ Kobo, ΡΠ΅ ΡΡΠ΅Π±Π° Π΄Π° ΠΏΡΠ΅Π·Π΅ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅ Π΄Π°ΡΠΎΡΠ΅ΠΊΠ° ΠΈ Π΄Π° ΡΠ° ΠΏΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠ΅ Π½Π° ΡΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΎΡ. Π‘Π»Π΅Π΄Π΅ΡΠ΅ Π³ΠΈ Π΄Π΅ΡΠ°Π»Π½ΠΈΡΠ΅ ΡΠΏΠ°ΡΡΡΠ²Π° Π²ΠΎ Π¦Π΅Π½ΡΠ°ΡΠΎΡ Π·Π° ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΡ Π·Π° ΠΏΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ»Π°ΡΠ΅ Π½Π° Π΄Π°ΡΠΎΡΠ΅ΠΊΠΈΡΠ΅ Π½Π° ΠΏΠΎΠ΄Π΄ΡΠΆΠ°Π½ΠΈ Π΅-ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠΈ.
