Начиная речь об одном из самых дорогих в мире брендов, мы должны, прежде всего, избежать ловушки, которой является постоянное упоминание торговой марки. У нас нет желания навязать конкретный товар, оскорбить чувства потребляющих или потревожить чьи-то условные рефлексы. Поэтому оставим «доброе имя» тем, кому дорого «доброе имя». И поговорим о репутации компании, которая уже 126 лет изготавливает и продает «сахарно-сиропное счастье», «напиток цвета жженой карамели из штата Джорджия»

Paris in the 1920s — dizzy and decadent. Where a young man can make a fortune with his wits … unless he is led into temptation. Cocaine’s dandified hero Tito Arnaudi invents lurid scandals and gruesome deaths, and sells these stories to the newspapers. But his own life becomes even more outrageous than his press reports when he acquires three demanding mistresses. Elegant, witty and wicked, Pitigrilli’s classic novel was first published in Italian in 1921 and charts the comedy and tragedy of a young man’s downfall and the lure of a bygone era. The novel’s descriptions of sex and drug use prompted church authorities to place it on a list of forbidden books, while appealing to filmmaker Rainer Werner Fassbinder who wrote a script based on the tale. Cocaine retains its venom even today

There’s something wrong with Estrella Del Mar, the lazy, sun-drenched retirement haven on Spain’s Costa Del Sol. Lately this sleepy hamlet, home to hordes of well-heeled, well-fattened British and French expatriates, has come alive with activity and culture; the previously passive, isolated residents have begun staging boat races, tennis competitions, revivals of Harold Pinter plays, and lavish parties. At night the once vacant streets are now teeming with activity, bars and cafes packed with revelers, the sidewalks crowded with people en route from one event to the next. Outward appearances suggest the wholesale adoption of a new ethos of high-spirited, well-controlled collective exuberance. But there’s the matter of the fire: The house and household of an aged, wealthy industrialist has gone up in flames, claiming five lives, while virtually the entire town stood and watched. There’s the matter of the petty crime, the burglaries, muggings, and auto thefts which have begun to nibble away at the edges of Estrella Del Mar’s security despite the guardhouses and surveillance cameras. There’s the matter of the new, flourishing trade in drugs and pornography. And there’s the matter of Frank Prentice, who sits in Marbella jail awaiting trial for arson and five counts of murder, and who, despite being clearly innocent, has happily confessed. It is up to Charles Prentice, Frank’s brother, to peel away the onionlike layers of denial and deceit which hide the rather ugly truth about this seaside idyll, its residents, and the horrific crime which brought him here. But as is usually the case in a J.G. Ballard book, the truth comes with a price tag attached, and likely without any easing of discomfort for his principal characters. Cocaine Nights marks a partial return on Ballard’s part to the provocative, highly-successful mid-career methodology employed in novels such as Crash and High Rise: after establishing himself as a science fiction guru in the 1960s, Ballard stylistically shifted gears towards an unnerving, futuristic variant on social realism in the 1970s. Both Crash and High Rise were what-if novels, posing questions as to what the likely results would be if our collective fascination with such things as speed, violence, status, power, and sex were carried just a little bit further: How insane, how brutal could our world become if we really cut loose? Cocaine Nights asks a question better suited to the ’90s, the age of gated communities and infrared home security systems: Does absolute security guarantee isolation and cultural death? Conversely, is a measure of crime an essential ingredient in a vibrant, living, properly functioning social system? Is it true, as a character asserts, that “Crime and creativity go together, always have done,” and that “total security is a disease of deprivation”? Suffice to say that the answers presented in Nights will be anathema to moral absolutists; the world of Ballard’s fiction, like life in the hyperkinetic, relativistic 1990s, abounds with uncomfortable grey areas. On the surface, Cocaine Nights is a whodunit and a race against time, but as it proceeds – and as preconceived conceptions of good and evil begin to dissolve – it evolves into a thoughtful, faintly frightening look at under-examined aspects of 1990s western society. As is his wont, Ballard confronts his readers with some faintly outlandish hypotheses unlikely to be embraced by many, but which nonetheless serve to provoke both thought and a bit of paranoia; it’s a method that Ballard has developed and refined on his own, and as usual, it propels his novel along marvellously. Cocaine Nights doesn’t have either the broad sweep or brute impact of the landmark Crash, but it retains enough social relevance and low-key creepiness to more than satisfy Ballardphiles. As is often the case in Ballard’s alternate reality, it’s a given that his most appealing, human characters turn out to be the most twisted, and that even the most normal of events turn out to be governed by a perverse, malformed logic; that this logic turns out to be grounded in sound sociological and psychological principles is its most horrific feature. David B. Livingstone

After the daily grind at their jobs all Sonya and Callie want is to enjoy a quiet night out together at a new restaurant. But they’re verbally assaulted by some men on their way to the restaurant. A radio in the restaurant’s kitchen is playing a hate filled message against women and it’s being delivered by the President. And logic tells them they need to terminate the chaos at its source

Peek behind the cockpit door and see who is flying the plane. Where do they find such men? Irreverent realism, full of loves, laughs and tremors; their layovers and prayovers. Much more than a pilot with a few good stories. Only the Title Is Good By Dave English What a disappointment. What a waste of money. The title sounds good, there is the promise of going along in the cockpit of a heavy jet around the world—but this book is mostly a waste of time. The grammar, the organization, the presentation, the jumping from one unrelated topic to another, the introduction of characters and situations that then are never heard of again are all annoying and distracting. And it all ends with weird TWA 800 missile conspiracy stuff. Er what? This is really just another personal website that would be OK reading for free, but is not deserving of a place on a bookshelf. Keshner never really talks about the actual flying, and while there are some sorta neat stories in the book, and I’d love to hear them at an airport bar, I was left feeling cheated out of my money. I’d pass on this book, and move on to great flying books by Gann, Bach, Drury, Morgan and many more. Cockpit Trash By K. Caldo This is one of the worst books I’ve ever read. Or make that started to read. I had to throw it in the trash it was so awful. Being a former airline employee, I thought this would be a funny look at airline life. Instead, all the author talks about are the many trysts he encounters along the way. Plus, he uses foul language like there’s no tomorrow. I’m also astounded that this book ever got past editing in it’s current condition. It is the worst editing job I have ever seen. I would NOT recommend this book to anyone!

Cockroach is as urgent, unsettling, and brilliant as Rawi Hage's bestselling and critically acclaimed first book, De Niro's Game. The novel takes place during one month of a bitterly cold winter in Montreal's restless immigrant community, where a self-described thief has just tried but failed to commit suicide. Rescued against his will, the narrator is obliged to attend sessions with a well-intentioned but naive therapist. This sets the story in motion, leading us back to the narrator's violent childhood in a war-torn country, forward into his current life in the smoky emigre cafes where everyone has a tale, and out into the frozen night-time streets of Montreal, where the thief survives on the edge, imagining himself to be a cockroach invading the lives of the privileged, but wilfully blind, citizens who surround him. In 2008, Cockroach was a finalist for the Scotiabank Giller Prize, the Governor General's Literary Award, and the Rogers Writers' Trust Fiction Prize. It won the Paragraphe Hugh MacLennan Prize for Fiction, presented by the Quebec Writers' Federation

The controversial story of Chanel, the twentieth century's foremost fashion icon. Revolutionizing women's dress, Gabrielle "Coco'' Chanel was the twentieth century's most influential designer. Her extraordinary and unconventional journey-from abject poverty to a new kind of glamour- helped forge the idea of modern woman. Unearthing an astonishing life, this remarkable biography shows how, more than any previous designer, Chanel became synonymous with a rebellious and progressive style. Her numerous liaisons, whose poignant and tragic details have eluded all previous biographers, were the very stuff of legend. Witty and mesmerizing, she became muse, patron, or mistress to the century's most celebrated artists, including Picasso, Dalí, and Stravinsky. Drawing on newly discovered love letters and other records, Chaney's controversial book reveals the truth about Chanel's drug habit and lesbian affairs. And the question about Chanel's German lover during World War II (was he a spy for the Nazis?) is definitively answered. While uniquely highlighting the designer's far-reaching influence on the modern arts, Chaney's fascinating biography paints a deeper and darker picture of Coco Chanel than any so far. Movingly, it explores the origins, the creative power, and the secret suffering of this exceptional and often misread woman

Tu as déjà acheté de la viande sous cellophane, toi ? Oui ? Ben, faut vivre avec son temps bouffe-merdique, que veux-tu. Mais des bites sous cellophane, t'en as déjà vu des bites sous cellophane ? Jamais ? Moi si ! Lis ce book et t'en auras plein la musette (plein l'amusette). Une aventure pareille, j'ai bien cherché : tu peux pas la trouver ailleurs que dans mon œuvre. En plus des biroutes par paquets, t'auras droit à des frangines ultra-rapidos du réchaud. Elles te regardent et ton bénouze se transforme en socquette. Je les appelle des cocottes-minute