The Husband's Secret

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Penguin, 27 iun. 2017 - 496 pagini
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One of the Best Books of the Year--Entertainment Weekly
One of the Top Ten Books of the Year--People

At the heart of The Husband's Secret is a letter that's not meant to be read...

My darling Cecilia,
If you're reading this, then I've died...

Imagine your husband wrote you a letter, to be opened after his death. Imagine, too, that the letter contains his deepest, darkest secret--something with the potential to destroy not only the life you built together, but the lives of others as well. And then imagine that you stumble across that letter while your husband is still very much alive...

Cecilia Fitzpatrick has achieved it all--she's an incredibly successful businesswoman, a pillar of her small community, and a devoted wife and mother. But that letter is about to change everything--and not just for her. There are other women who barely know Cecilia--or each other--but they, too, are about to feel the earth-shattering repercussions of her husband's secret.


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LibraryThing Review

Comentariu Utilizator  - zarasecker18 -

Liane Moriarty is not one of my favourite authors. I only read this book because it was a book club book otherwise it wouldn’t have got a look in. I find her work a bit hit and miss. Some of her books ... Citiți recenzia completă

LibraryThing Review

Comentariu Utilizator  - kaulsu - LibraryThing

It took me a while for me to “get into” this book, and I admit to nearly putting it down. There are several couple to get to know, along with their various problems (which eventually will reveal ... Citiți recenzia completă

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Despre autor (2017)


"In The Husband''s Secret, Liane Moriarty has created a contemporary Pandora whose dilemma is spellbinding. Shocking, complex, and thought-provoking, this is a story reading groups will devour. A knockout!"

--Emily Giffin, New York Times bestselling author


--Sophie Hannah, international bestselling author

"I really enjoyed The Husband''s Secret, and raced right through it in two days. It''s a knowing, touching, and entertaining page-turner. What a wonderful writer--smart, wise, funny."

--Anne Lamott, New York Times bestselling author

"A novel that''s perfect for vacation reading: There''s humor, suspense, a circle of appealing women whose dilemmas intersect with Cecilia''s . . ."


"Liane Moriarty is far more than the skillful writer of potboilers. Her compelling characters could be your friends and neighbors, nice and neurotic in equal doses . . . Amid three intertwined storylines and terrific plot twists, Moriarty presents a nuanced and moving portrait of the meaning of love, both marital and familial, and how life can hinge on a misunderstanding or a decision made in haste. The Husband''s Secret is so good, you won''t be able to keep it to yourself."

--USA Today

"Reading groups rejoice. This meaty novel from the bestselling author will probably land on many must-read lists."

--Dallas-Fort Worth Star-Telegram

"A smart, thoughtful read . . . [a] lip-smacking and intelligently written novel."

--Entertainment Weekly

"Moriarty may be an edgier, more provocative, and bolder successor to Maeve Binchy."

--Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

"At first, this reviewer wanted to warn readers not to be taken in by the light tone of Liane Moriarty''s The Husband''s Secret. On second thought, maybe readers should let this rather crafty novelist''s deceptive breeziness and humor sweep them along. It makes the shocks just that much more deliciously nasty, including the gob-smacking twist in the epilogue . . . The genius of The Husband''s Secret is that it makes us start to wonder what in our own lives would--or would not--have happened if, say, we had waited just fi ve more minutes before we walked out the door, had not said that hurtful thing, had applied a bit of logic to that situation."


"Secrets can be sinister; they can eat you alive. But they can also set you free. The Husband''s Secret by Liane Moriarty demonstrates this power with one of the most entertaining stories I have read in ages. Perfect for book clubs--lots to debate in these pages. I just loved it."

--Dorothea Benton Frank, New York Times bestselling author

"This great summer read is hard to put down."

--Library Journal

"A provocative page-turner . . ."

--Woman''s World

Poor, poor Pandora. Zeus sends her off to marry Epimetheus, a not especially bright man she''s never even met, along with a mysterious covered jar. Nobody tells Pandora a word about the jar. Nobody tells her not to open the jar. Naturally, she opens the jar. What else has she got to do? How was she to know that all those dreadful ills would go whooshing out to plague mankind forevermore, and that the only thing left in the jar would be hope? Why wasn''t there a warning label? And then everyone''s like, Oh, Pandora. Where''s your willpower? You were told not to open that box, you snoopy girl, you typical woman with your insatiable curiosity; now look what you''ve gone and done. When for one thing it was a jar, not a box, and for another--how many times does she have to say it?--nobody said a word about not opening it!



It was all because of the Berlin Wall.

If it weren''t for the Berlin Wall, Cecilia would never have found the letter, and then she wouldn''t be sitting here, at the kitchen table, willing herself not to rip it open.

The envelope was gray with a fine layer of dust. The words on the front were written in a scratchy blue ballpoint pen, the handwriting as familiar as her own. She turned it over. It was sealed with a yellowing piece of sticky tape. When was it written? It felt old, like it was written years ago, but there was no way of knowing for sure.

She wasn''t going to open it. It was absolutely clear that she should not open it. She was the most decisive person she knew, and she''d already decided not to open the letter, so there was nothing more to think about.

Although, honestly, if she did open it, what would be the big deal? Any woman would open it like a shot. She listed all her friends and what their responses would be if she were to ring them up right now and ask what they thought.

Miriam Oppenheimer: Yup. Open it.

Erica Edgecliff: Are you kidding, open it right this second.

Laura Marks: Yes, you should open it and then you should read it out loud to me.

Sarah Sacks: . . .

There would be no point asking Sarah because she was incapable of making a decision. If Cecilia asked her if she wanted tea or coffee, she would sit for a full minute, her forehead furrowed as she agonized over the pros and cons of each beverage, before finally saying, "Coffee! No, wait, tea!" A decision like this one would give her a seizure.

Mahalia Ramachandran: Absolutely not. It would be completely disrespectful to your husband. You must not open it.

Mahalia could be a little too sure of herself at times with those huge brown ethical eyes.

Cecilia left the letter sitting on the kitchen table and went to put the kettle on.

Damn that Berlin Wall, and that Cold War, and whoever it was who sat there back in nineteen forty-whenever-it-was, mulling over the problem of what to do with those ungrateful Germans; the guy who suddenly clicked his fingers and said, "Got it, by Jove! We''ll build a great big bloody wall and keep the buggers in!"

Presumably he hadn''t sounded like a British sergeant major.

Esther would know who first came up with the idea for the Berlin Wall. Esther would probably be able to give her his date of birth. It would have been a man, of course. Only a man could come up with something so ruthless, so essentially stupid and yet brutally effective.

Was that sexist?

She filled the kettle, switched it on and cleaned the droplets of water in the sink with a paper towel so that it shone.

One of the mums from school, who had three sons almost exactly the same ages as Cecilia''s three daughters, had said that some remark Cecilia had made was "a teeny-weeny bit sexist," just before they started the Fete Committee meeting last week. Cecilia couldn''t remember what she''d said, but she''d only been joking. Anyway, weren''t women allowed to be sexist for the next two thousand years or so, until they''d evened up the score?

Maybe she was sexist.

The kettle boiled. She swirled an Earl Grey tea bag and watched the curls of black spread through the water like ink. There were worse things to be than sexist. For example, you could be the sort of person who pinched your fingers together while using the word "teeny-weeny."

She looked at her tea and sighed. A glass of wine would be nice right now, but she''d given up alcohol for Lent. Only six days to go. She had a bottle of expensive Shiraz ready to open on Easter Sunday, when thirty-five adults and twenty-three children were coming to lunch, so she''d need it. Although she was an old hand at entertaining. She hosted Easter, Mother''s Day, Father''s Day and Christmas. John-Paul had five younger brothers, all married with kids. So it was quite a crowd. Planning was the key. Meticulous planning.

She picked up her tea and took it over to the table. Why did she give up wine for Lent? Polly was more sensible. She had given up strawberry jam. Cecilia had never seen Polly show more than a passing interest in strawberry jam, although now, of course, she was always catching her standing at the open fridge, staring at it longingly. The power of denial.

"Esther!" she called out.

Esther was in the next room with her sisters watching The Biggest Loser while they shared a giant bag of salt-and-vinegar chips left over from the Australia Day barbecue months earlier. Cecilia did not know why her three slender daughters loved watching overweight people sweat and cry and starve. It didn''t appear to be teaching them healthier eating habits. She should go in and confiscate the bag of chips, except they''d all eaten salmon and steamed broccoli for dinner without complaint, and she didn''t have the strength for an argument.

She heard a voice from the television boom, "You get nothing for nothing!"

That wasn''t such a bad sentiment for her daughters to hear. No one knew it better than Cecilia! But still, she didn''t like the expressions of faint revulsion that flitted across their smooth young faces. She was always so vigilant about not making negative body-image comments in front of her daughters, although the same could not be said for her friends. Just the other day, Miriam Oppenheimer had said, loud enough for all their impressionable daughters to hear, "God, would you look at my stomach!" and squeezed her flesh between her fingertips as if it were something vile. Great, Miriam, as if our daughters don''t already get a million messages every day telling them to hate their bodies.

Actually, Miriam''s stomach was getting a little pudgy.

"Esther!" she

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