Today I’m showing a little of the work of Miriam Drori for her new book “Style and The Soliary”
An unexpected murder. A suspect with a reason. The power of unwavering belief.
A murder has been committed in an office in Jerusalem. That’s for sure. The rest is not as clear-cut as it might seem.
Asaf languishes in his cell, unable to tell his story even to himself. How can he tell it to someone who elicits such fear within him?
His colleague, Nathalie, has studied Beauty and the Beast. She understands its moral. Maybe that’s why she’s the only one who believes in Asaf, the suspect. But she’s new in the company – and in the country. Would anyone take her opinion seriously?
She coerces her flatmates, Yarden and Tehila, into helping her investigate. As they uncover new trails, will they be able to reverse popular opinion?
In the end, will Beauty’s belief be strong enough to waken the Beast? Or, in this case, can Style waken the Solitary?
Here is a brief extract to give you a feel for the book.
He would be shoved into a corner, consulted but never praised, all his life, unless he acted to stop that trend.
He hadn’t forgotten the ideas of his lightbulb moment. They were all still there in his brain, and he knew that if he followed them, he would have his solution. But somehow, they didn’t arouse the same excitement that he’d felt before. The light wasn’t as bright as it had been before Ido’s rude interruption.
Asaf hadn’t joined in the cake party. He’d remained in his cubicle, sitting on the little chair and laying his arms in front of the keyboard. He remembered resting his head on his arms and closing his eyes, hearing but not listening to the chatting from people who were, no doubt, pleased he hadn’t turned up.
Although the content of their empty words passed him by, Asaf couldn’t help picking out their voices, and marvelling at the way they all sounded so natural, so unlike him. Besides Ido, there was Omer, his team leader, and Gidon, the big boss, Sagi, the secretary, Kfir, Carmel and Reut. And Nathalie, whose very name could raise his spirits. She was different from the rest, French for a start, her cute accent and often quirky Hebrew bringing unexpected joy. And although she was lively and got on well with everyone, she either actually enjoyed talking to Asaf or she did a very good job of pretending to. Asaf couldn’t make it out. Why would she want to be bothered with a beast like him? Yet, over the three months since Nathalie had joined the team, Asaf had found himself increasingly looking forward to the times he and Nathalie worked together.
While the little party endured, while Asaf heard but didn’t listen, the seed of his idea planted itself in his brain. And he knew he had to put it into action whatever the consequences. Even if it meant never seeing Nathalie again. During the weekend, he thought of nothing else.
Now, on the bus, he hummed two songs to himself, both called Today. He picked out the lines that meant the most to him, the ones that looked forward to this day which was just beginning, and which would be the start of something new, something good, something unusual.
Quicker than ever, yet at the usual time, the bus stopped by the Har Hotzvim Technological Park. Asaf, standing ready by the door, hands in pockets, fingers rubbing the folded note, stepped down to the outside and began the brisk five-minute walk to the office, past the roar of drilling from the building site of yet another office block. Today, the strong, icy wind pushed him on, whispering in his ears, “Go. Reach the office as usual, but be ready for this to be an extraordinary day. A most extraordinary day.” His heart thumping against its walls, Asaf punched in the code and pushed open the door to his block, confident that he understood this message, that he had the situation under control, that every extraordinary thing that would happen on this day depended on him making the first move.
“Morning,” Asaf called to the guard before hurrying on towards the lifts, the guard’s fading reply echoing in his ears.
It had become Asaf’s job to be the first to arrive at the office. Nearly every morning, he’d unlock the door, and then rush to turn off the alarm before it screeched its ugly noise and notified the security company.
Inside the lift, his jacket now hooked in his arm, he pressed the button marked 3 and checked his appearance in the mirror while being transported to the place that had been his second home for three long years. A short walk brought him to the heavy door. He reached into his pocket and brought out the bunch of keys, chose one and pushed it into the lock.
He was ready.
If you’d like to know more of Asaf’s adventures, or Miriam’s writings, here are some links for you.
BOOK LINK: Style and the Solitary
AUTHOR LINKS: miriamdrori.com