Eu Fui um Grande Escritor Durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial
De repente, ao atravessar o tempo, abri os olhos e estava na Nova York de 1940. Era o auge da Segunda Guerra Mundial, e a guerra sangrenta não representava apenas o confronto nos campos de batalha, mas também uma intensa disputa de ideologias. E Nova York, como centro do mundo, reunia sem dúvida as mentes mais brilhantes daquela época. Hemingway, Asimov, Sinclair Lewis, John Steinbeck, Pearl S. Buck, Maugham, Gide, Lin Yutang, Fitzgerald... Além deles, havia ainda outros que, mesmo distantes no continente europeu, enfrentavam as Potências do Eixo, como Camus, Agatha Christie, George Orwell, Arthur C. Clarke... Diante disso, Enni declarou: “Aqui todo mundo é talentoso, adoro este lugar!” ... Anos depois, um jovem capaz tanto de lutar no campo de batalha quanto de escrever no escritório, empunhando uma arma em uma mão e uma caneta na outra, destacou-se, brilhando intensamente e ascendendo nesta era dourada da literatura. Até, finalmente, alcançar o topo de sua época. Este livro também é conhecido como “O Literato sob Fogo Cruzado”...
Eu Fui um Grande Escritor Durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial
1940, New York City.
Morning fog drifted along the streets, and the dawn chill made the homeless men huddled under newspapers in the alleys shiver and stir. Newsboys, out early to earn a few cents for their families, shouted hoarsely, hawking the latest edition of The New York Times. The headline blazed in bold letters—Full-Scale Escalation of the European War. Cars rolled by, their tires splashing dirty water from the wet streets, and the newsboys cursed at their retreating backs.
The youthful cries and the roar of engines seeped into the bedroom.
Alongside them came the piercing wail of a baby from upstairs.
Ernie stirred under the covers a few times before reluctantly rising from bed.
After all, a cheap street-facing apartment could keep out the wind and rain but nothing else.
Bleary-eyed, Ernie got up, walked to the window, and pushed it open. From the fifth floor, he gazed down at the desolate streets of Manhattan’s Lower East Side.
Then, breathing in the morning breeze thick with car exhaust and factory fumes, he suddenly felt fully awake...
Alas! This isn't a dream—I really have been transported here!
Ernie sighed softly, feeling a pang of nostalgia for his former life as “Lee En.”
Though poor, just a struggling freelance writer of online novels, he had lived in a stable country, with no worries about food or drink, and could enjoy his daily milk tea and hearty meal.
Yet, he never imagined he would end up here...
It had been just over two weeks since he arrived. Today was May 15, eight mo
