Red is the color of pain all parts. The color of pain. Red
The liters electronic library offers to download a list of books in Eva Hansen’s “The Color of Pain” series in order or read online for free. Books are available for downloading after registration in all formats, such as fb2, txt, epub, pdf.
Best reviews of the series:
A remake isn't always worse than the original Fifty Shades of Gray. Almost the same thing, but written softer and more romantic. It is felt that the author has thoroughly prepared and unobtrusively prepares the reader for the main topic. So to speak, she lifts the veil and leads explanations to specific words, without knowledge of which some of the characters’ phrases will be incomprehensible. But there is still a feeling that “The Color of Pain” is an ennobled literary copyist of the original.
Conclusion: quite readable, but unfortunately unoriginal. Literary plagiarism!
"Erotic detective"
For the first time I downloaded books on liters. I knew nothing about Eva Hansen as a writer. I started reading the first book avidly, followed by the second, then the third. When I finished reading it, I realized that I was a little disappointed with such a mixture of genres. To my taste, the author mixed incompatible ingredients in the novels, which cause slight nausea, like an Olivier salad seasoned with jam. The second book of the trilogy, “The Color of Pain: Black,” is the toughest in terms of plot and the trials the main character faces. A feeling of unreality of the character is created, since the normal psyche of a 20-year-old girl would definitely not be able to cope with the flow of fear, dirt and physical pain. Where can we talk about the ability to think logically and conduct some kind of investigation. After reading the second part, an irresistible desire arises to find out how its epic will end. As it turned out - a happy ending, what else... The detective part is predictable. The sooner the “main villain” is mentioned and the less he then appears in the story, the more likely he is to be exposed by the reader. Everything follows the laws of the genre. My opinion is a good read to keep you occupied free time V new year holidays. Comparisons with “women’s novels” are incorrect; comparisons with male detective stories are obviously a losing proposition. Reminiscent of the early novels of Alexandra Marinina, but with an ero component. Score – 8 points out of 10.
When I started reading the first book, I was upset. If I hadn’t read the “Fifty Shades of Gray” trilogy before this, I would have been interested... but it seemed like the book was simply copied from “Fifty Shades of Gray.” It was boring and unpleasant, but I read it to the end.
The second Book, “The Color of Pain is Black,” pleased me with an interesting, exciting plot. Easy to read.
I would, of course, like to know who the “Boss” of the gang turned out to be, but Eva kept silent about it. Perhaps there will be a 3rd book about the search for the Master.
I think it's Martin.
The series of books “The Color of Pain” left an ambivalent impression!
The series of books “The Color of Pain” left an ambivalent impression. On the one hand, I liked the plot, which grabs you from the first page. On the other hand, this series is very similar to the 50 Shades book series, even though it is a detective novel. It was after reading “50 Shades” that when reading this series I constantly caught myself thinking that there were a lot of coincidences. At the same time, this is more of a detective story than a novel. I, as a reader, would like to know in more detail the character of the main characters, their main features, to plunge deeper into the current situation with them, to feel, to know their thoughts and experiences. It was this “zest” that was missing in this series of books. But in general, I can say that I would recommend reading it for the purpose of comparison, especially since it is quite easy to read.
Photo used for cover design: PawelSierakowski / Shutterstock.com
Used under license from Shutterstock.com
Not everything starts well
Tight shower jets hit the body, calming and exciting at the same time.
How is this possible?
With Britt, anything is possible. Hot water always relaxed her, and the touch of droplets on her hot, not-so-bathed skin reminded her of what happened before the water procedures.
The girl loved to take a bath, turning on music and turning on the water so that it flowed from the tap in all directions, and only then get into the shower. Of course, Gustav grumbled that she was using an incredible amount of water, just as Lynn grumbled when they lived together in a rented apartment on Cedre.
Lynn also grumbled that her friend never took her cell phone with her, which made it impossible to reach her. Why take it if, due to the music, the sound of the water and Britt’s own strong voice singing songs, the bell still cannot be heard?
And now, wearing huge headphones, she was screaming “Oh, Hubble Bubble” at the top of her voice, singing along to the seventies duet “PIPS” and being terribly annoyed that Gustav was in no hurry to join in and also dive into the huge bathtub. Usually he did just that, and the action from the bedroom smoothly flowed into the bathroom, then again transferred to the bedroom... then just a shower followed, and by the morning Gustav was like nothing else, he had to cheer himself up with a large mug of the strongest coffee.
- Weak men today, go away! – Britt slapped her hand on the water with all her might, but the dense foam extinguished the splashes. - Grandma told me...
Her grandmother in distant California really told something unimaginable about her lovers who performed “feats” several times every night! Probably, the whole point is that Gustav has a northern temperament, Britt decided for herself and forcefully pulled the plug out of the bathtub; sitting in the foam until the morning waiting for her dozing off husband was stupid.
She got into the shower, but even then Gustav did not join.
- Wait for it! Will you come to me...
Frustrated, Britt wrapped herself in a large towel, wrapped the second one around her head, and grabbed the door handle.
But the bathroom was locked, the handle did not turn. To prevent Britt from locking him out while taking a bath, Gustav simply removed the lock from the inside but left it on the outside. Of course, there was a second bathroom in the house, where everything was in order, but it only had a shower, so Britt preferred this one. In addition, she was never against her husband appearing in the bathroom.
Britt tugged at the handle for a couple of moments, but quickly became convinced that it was leading nowhere and laughed contentedly under her breath: that’s why Gustav didn’t come! She knocked on the door and listened.
- Gustav... well, Gustav... - No reaction. - Gustav, I won’t do it anymore... I’m good... let the girl out of the bathroom... I’ll be obedient...
I listened again...
He fell asleep?! But it’s arrogance to lock her in the bathroom and fall asleep! In general, the audacity to fall asleep while she is awake, and even more so by leaving her in such a stupid position.
Britt pounded on the door.
- Hey! Come on, open it!
But in response, no sound.
Sjeberg could not be so unscrupulous, he understood perfectly well what would follow such an outburst.
Britt made one last attempt to shout out. Useless. An unpleasant chill crept into my heart; something happened to Gustav after he locked the bathroom door!
- So... the main thing is not to panic... maybe he got stuck in the toilet?
It became funny, although the chill did not go away. To calm down, Britt took out a hairdryer and began drying her hair, humming. Let him, when he crawls out of the toilet, hear that she is not at all upset, but her prank threatens him with excommunication for several days.
Suddenly, over the noise of Britt's hairdryer, she heard a lock click. Hmm... she won't rush, let Gustav wait now. Britt didn't think about the fact that he had been waiting for the last hour and a half while she was soaking in the foam, taking a shower and drying her hair.
About twenty minutes later, convinced that she looked stunning, she touched the door handle again. This time she turned and the door opened. It’s dark in this part of the house... Strange, because Gustav loved bright light no less than Britt herself. Downstairs, the side entrance door opened and closed, and then the sound of a car driving away was heard.
Where did he go in the middle of the night? If so, another surprise awaits her, and Gustav is a master at arranging surprises.
But for some reason my anxiety grew. Britt herself couldn’t explain why she felt so anxious, even creepy.
- Gustav?.. Gustav, where are you?
What's the point of calling your husband if you heard his car driving away from the house? And yet she called, because the whole being was already gripped by fear on the verge of panic. What a joke, Gustav would never lock her in the bathroom, he would rather go in there himself!
The light was on in the room where they were doing BDSM. With her heart beating wildly, Britt crossed the threshold and...
In response to her squeal, a window lit up in the neighboring house, then another, but Britt didn’t see any of this, she stood clutching her throat and widening her eyes in horror.
On the crucifix, which was usually intended for her, hung Gustav Sjöberg, or rather, what was left of him! There is a neat bullet hole in the forehead, and below... Oh God! What Gustav was so proud of was cut off at the root, and, cut off during his lifetime, blood flooded everything around. Britt's husband has a gag in his mouth and his hands and feet are shackled in metal handcuffs and leggings.
Lynn woke up from Lars's phone ringing; her husband tried to talk to someone, covering the receiver with his hand, but it didn't work out well. In addition, Lynn recognized the voice of her own close friend, Britt, who, choking on tears, shouted something about Gustav.
Realizing that Lynn was no longer asleep, Lars stopped covering the phone with his hand and tried to reason with their friend:
“I... it’s not my fault...” The sobs choking her friend, which she was diligently holding back, finally broke through with a real roar.
- No one will accuse you of anything. Call the police. I'll come now. - Looking at his wife getting dressed, he clarified: - Lynn and I will arrive now. Just don't touch anything and call the police.
“I can’t... better than you...” Britt hiccupped and sniffled, something that had never happened to her in her life, in any case, her friends not only had not seen this, but could not even imagine it.
- Okay, I'll call, just pull yourself together.
Lars actually called the police and reported that a murder had been committed at such and such an address; he did not know the details, but their friend, the owner of the house, said that her husband had been killed. The duty officer sighed and promised to immediately send the police there to check everything on the spot.
Lars was already pulling the sweater right over his naked body; there was no time to choose what to wear. A minute later, they looked into the room where grandmother Lynn Åse and her husband, Lars’ long-time mentor Sven, woke up due to the commotion, and asked them to look after little Marie, rolled head over heels down the stairs and ran to the car.
In the car, Lynn still asked:
- Lars, what happened there?
– I didn’t really understand anything. Britt just screamed that Gustav was killed and that she was not to blame for anything.
- Oh my God!
Along the way, they called Doug Wanger, an agency investigator who knew both Britt and Gustav very well. Vanger promised to come over immediately.
A police car was already parked at Gustav and Britt's house, and they were not allowed inside. Lynn tried to convince the tall policeman that they were the closest friends of the owners of the house and that they were the ones who called the police, but he calmly shook his head:
- Especially. But don't leave, you may be needed.
- Of course we won’t leave!
For several minutes the Johanssons stood huddled together and anxiously looking at the illuminated windows. The autumn wind pierced through, and they were dressed lightly, because there was no time to think about the peculiarities of the weather. They were just about to go into their car so as not to freeze completely, when a policeman appeared from the house and nodded to the one standing outside:
- Call the experts. A murder, and a brutal one at that.
He answered something quietly, nodding towards Lars and Lynn. The elder beckoned them to him:
- Did you call the police?
– Yes, I’m Lars Johansson, and this is my wife Lynn. We are close friends of the owners of this house. They came because Britt called and screamed into the phone that Gustav was killed and she was not guilty of anything. I called the police. I don't know anything else.
- Okay, go into the house, just don’t go up to the second floor and don’t touch anything.
In the house Britt rushed to them:
- Lynn! Lars! I…
- What's happened? Is Gustav really killed?
- Yes... while I was in the bathroom, he... was killed...
- Don't know…
Everything around was turned upside down, as if they were looking for something.
- Britt, who did this?
- Don't know…
The perky and usually confident Britt's teeth were chattering and she was shaking all over. Lynn pulled her friend towards her:
- Come here to the fireplace.
But they didn’t allow them to light the fireplace; a policeman rushed towards them:
-What are you burning there?!
Lynn snorted.
- Two corpses. Dismemberment.
- What?! – the law enforcement officer was stunned.
- Firewood! What else can we burn in the fireplace? Don't you see that the man is simply frozen?
Britt was indeed too lightly dressed for the cold autumn evening, or rather, too undressed - she was left in a towel. Lynn snatched Gustav's large jacket from the hanger at the entrance and wrapped her unfortunate friend in it:
- Come on, sit down in a chair with legs. If they won’t let you light the fireplace, then at least I’ll cover it.
Vanger entered the house:
- Well, what’s there?
“Doug, Gustav was killed...” Britt sobbed.
-Where were you at this time?
- In the bathroom…
- At two o'clock in the morning? – Doug winced. What sane investigator would believe such a ridiculous explanation?
“Of course,” Britt was genuinely surprised by the question. If she hadn’t been so shocked by what had happened, she would have certainly sarcastically asked if he himself didn’t take a shower after sex.
Dedicated to A.K., without whom this book would not have happened.
This month not only turned my life upside down, it made me change all my ideas about myself. Four weeks contained so much hope and fear, joy and horror, happiness and pain... Pain of all colors and shades, from simple physical to severe mental pain. But no matter what I experienced, I did not regret for a moment what happened, because without this pain there would not have been the greatest happiness.
And it all started as usual...
PINK
Briton! Brie-itt! - tying my sneakers, I call my friend not at all so that she will keep me company. This is something like the first ringing of an alarm clock. When I return from my run, a second one will follow, and only then will the smell of freshly brewed coffee get Britt out of bed.
Mooing comes from my friend's room:
I ran.
A friend pretends that she has a cold and therefore stayed home today, although this is not uncommon. Britt often looks for excuses not to run in the morning, not because she is lazy, but because she is a pathological night owl, for her getting up before nine is sheer torture. The mood spoiled by getting up at seven in the morning will not be improved by anything, not even Swedish chocolate, which Britt is ready to eat in kilograms.
Of course, she has an excuse, and it’s quite logical - Britt is American, although she considers herself Swedish. She remembers America when she needs to explain night waking and daytime sleep:
It's still night in America.
It's not yet dawn in America.
Although after so many months of studying in Stockholm, you could change your biological clock.
Running out of the house, I decisively turn towards Master Michael's Gate. This is already a ritual: I always go to Fjällgatan alone, but give Britt the exact opposite route - to the Market and the Boffil Arch, where, you see, the conditions are better and the lighting is also better. And I like to run down the Last Penny Staircase a couple of times, but not only because the stairs themselves are good for training muscles, I just adore the island of Södermalm, namely the SoFo area (Söder south of Folkunkagatan - for those who find the whole of Stockholm outside of Gamla Stana is “somewhere out there”), no matter what they say about him. And also small, almost village houses near Katarina-churka and gardens on Fjällgatan. Why? I don't know myself.
Of course, SoFo wasn't always a pleasant area. Master Mikaels, whose name is given to a tiny square, for example, is simply a Stockholm executioner, and on the site of the charming Norska-churka (Norwegian Church) there once stood a huge gallows, on which the executed dangled like coats in a wardrobe - in rows. And it’s not for nothing that Häkkelfjell was called Devil’s Mountain; according to legend, it was here that witches gathered before their flight over the city for the Sabbath on Mount Blockulla. No one saw this with their own eyes, but everyone believed in it. The best way to get even with a neighbor who liked her husband was a statement that she was in a hurry to Häkkelfjell at midnight, however, they could have wondered what she was doing on the street at such an inopportune hour...
This is all in the past, witches now drive Saabs or the metro, Katarina-Churka was once again restored after a fire, but the charm of antiquity and the village town remains. Small wooden houses with gardens behind painted fences and even water from taps - how many megacities can boast of this? For some reason it seems to me that it is this corner of SoFo that is the key to the vitality of Stockholm.
When my snide stepsister, for whom Stockholm is Norrmalm and Östermalm, reminded me of the dark past of some SoFo towns, I snorted in response:
How long ago was there a puddle in the place of your beloved Berzelius Park, called, by the way, Katthawet. Don't know why?
Teresa just shrugged her shoulders, and I answered with pleasure myself:
Because the whole city took kittens there to drown them! Look under the bushes, there are probably a lot of cat bones.
Having grown up in the center of Norrmalm, while studying at university, I had already chosen the other end of the city for my own home - SoFo, which is mockingly said that everyone there is so independent that they are as similar to each other as two peas in a pod.
This is not true because the people of SoFo are not alike at all. And the fact that sometimes they dress like a carbon copy is because of too great a desire to look like Stockholmers, because provincials often gather in SoFo, eager to taste the delights of metropolitan life. It goes away quickly, but this is where design geniuses come from.
Thinking about the people of SoFo, I ran past the beautiful Norsca Church and headed towards my beloved Staircase. Tourists are rare in this area, they are attracted by Gamla Stan, and if on this shore, they prefer Södermalmstorg (ridiculous, now they demand that its old name be returned - Rüssgarden, “Russian Compound”) near Slussen, central Jotgatan with the Market and a lot of shops, and now Here is also Stieg Larsson's adored Maria Torjet Square and St. Paulsgatan. From now on, around the fountain of Fishing Thor, crowds of excursionists, with their mouths open, listen to how wonderful life was for the heroes of Larsson’s “Millennium.”
Of course, it’s wonderful that a simple journalist could afford an apartment in such a place. But no one cares about the discrepancy, just like the lack of a real address at Carlson’s roof. For some reason, the guides decided that Carlson lived in a red house opposite the sculpture of St. George with the Serpent on Kupecheskaya Street, and even the author was unable to convince anyone of this. The Swedes don’t care, they don’t really like Carlson. And why should we love? A slacker, a lazy person and a glutton. Well, let Mikael Blomkvist live in a penthouse on Bellmansgatan, if that’s what Stieg Larsson wanted. I have never been attracted to what people love in crowds, it seems that this is not love or even interest, but simply a desire to “check in,” they say, and I was here.