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Zusatztext "The story of the monster man whose horrible deformities cause fear and terror! his search for love and acceptance! and his haunting of the opera house in Paris is told in very simple language. Beautifully adapted! the story flows along so easily that readers will be immediately caught up in the tangle of events and emotions. McMullan conveys all of the anger! grief! joy! and love that make the phantom a truly believable character. Will attract reluctant readers."-- School Library Journal. Informationen zum Autor Anne Perry , the Edgar Award–winning author of more than thirty novels, is best known for her two Victorian mystery series. Her recent books include Death of a Stranger , The Whitechapel Conspiracy , and Funeral in Blue . She lives in Scotland. Klappentext Erik has the voice of an angel, but the face of a monster. When he takes off his mask, people scream and run away. So he hides himself away in the darkness below an opera house. There, he falls in love with a beautiful singer. But will she be able to return his love? 1. Is It the Ghost? It was the evening on which MM. Debienne and Poligny, the managers of the Opera, were giving a last gala performance to mark their retirement. Suddenly the dressing-room of La Sorelli, one of the principal dancers, was invaded by half-a-dozen young ladies of the ballet, who had come up from the stage after “dancing” Polyeucte. They rushed in amid great confusion, some giving vent to forced and unnatural laughter, others to cries of terror. Sorelli, who wished to be alone for a moment to “run through” the speech which she was to make to the resigning managers, looked around angrily at the mad and tumultuous crowd. It was little Jammes—the girl with the tip-tilted nose, the forget-me-not eyes, the rose-red cheeks and the lily-white neck and shoulders—who gave the explanation in a trembling voice: “It’s the ghost!” And she locked the door. Sorelli’s dressing-room was fitted up with official, commonplace elegance. A pier-glass, a sofa, a dressing-table and a cupboard or two provided the necessary furniture. On the walls hung a few engravings, relics of the mother, who had known the glories of the old Opera in the Rue le Peletier; portraits of Vestris, Gardel, Dupont, Bigottini. But the room seemed a palace to the brats of the corps de ballet, who were lodged in common dressing-rooms where they spent their time singing, quarreling, smacking the dressers and hair-dressers and buying one another glasses of cassis, beer, or even rhum, until the callboy’s bell rang. Sorelli was very suspicious. She shuddered when she heard little Jammes speak of the ghost, called her a “silly little fool” and then, as she was the first to believe in ghosts in general, and the Opera ghost in particular, at once asked for details: “Have you seen him?” “As plainly as I see you now!” said little Jammes, whose legs were giving way beneath her, and she dropped with a moan into a chair. Thereupon little Giry—the girl with eyes black as sloes, hair black as ink, a swarthy complexion and a poor little skin stretched over poor little bones—little Giry added: “If that’s the ghost, he’s very ugly!” “Oh, yes!” cried the chorus of ballet-girls. And they all began to talk together. The ghost had appeared to them in the shape of a gentleman in dress-clothes, who had suddenly stood before them in the passage, without their knowing where he came from. He seemed to have come straight through the wall. “Pooh!” said one of them, who had more or less kept her head. “You see the ghost everywhere!” And it was true. For several months, there had been nothing discussed at the Opera but this ghost in dress-clothes who stalked about the building, from top to bottom, like a shadow, who spoke to nobody, to whom nobody dared speak and who vanished as soon as he was seen,...
