Відео

The best audiobook!thank you from iran

I AM SO SAD

Bro was about to get his rizz on then she trauma dumped him ts crazy

Thank you 🙏

this is the best audiobook reading i've ever used for class omg

Just wonderful, thank you for reading this story. You get this comment a lot but this helps with my homework! I'd rather listen to assigned readings than physically read them.

It was my third time with this story and it still made me cry. I love it but it wretches my heart. Especially the letter. Thank you for this one. Your voice is eloquent and a melody. Love and blessings your way 💕

You made me cry. And think about how I grew up. I’m Chinese. This story is so touching…😭😭

Ty for this !! You read this beautifully!! I have to do this for an English 101 class!! You brought this story to life in my head. If that makes sense !! ❤

👍 In india this story in class 11 syllabus ISE baord we studied full story but some part of it , is removed for students in our book

The expression you use is just awesome ❤

So thankful you made this! ❤ Have to analyze this short story for class.

Proper diction and such a nice control on each ❤words

Love the way you read. Beautiful.

I had to read this for class and can say with certainty that your reading added so much to the emotional core of this story, amazing work. I can tell you are a pure soul 🥹 Have ur little furry friend wipe your tears away.

Love your reading!

This is an excellent story and your narration did complete justice to it. My favorite, however, of Jhumpa Lahiri's oeuvre remains her short story, Only Goodness. Absolutely heartwrenching and powerful stuff.

Amazing!

Thank you so much mam❤

I bought a gigantic collection of his short stories specifically to own this one, and the collection didn’t have it 😫 there’s a million of them in the collection, too. How many did he write? Anyway… thanks, I love this story.

This is SOOOOO well read, holy crap!

very nice!😀

Great reading, brings the narrator's voice fully into perspective

What a touching story. You did a wonderful job bringing all the characters to life. Thanks

Thank you for narrating this. I cried at the end as you narrated the part about Allison's parents. Great job.

I’ve shared this with a few people now. You do such an effective job with Artie’s voice. Really excellent!

What a treat. Thank you

I think that this story does not five anything to the reader.

Thank you so much for this. I didn't have it in me to read yet another short story for class at the end of a truly crazy week, and you brought it life in a way that my tired brain never could have.

greatly helped, thanks

This is amazing! Definitely fun and helped so much when reading it for my class

I loved your voices, this has got to be my favorite reading I've listened to!

I did not watch this, at first. I only listened to the reading. I'm now re-listening and watching for the first time. Very well done. Thank you. Twice. 8)

This is an incredible performance. There's so much care and emotion put into this reading, I am shocked it doesn't have more attention. Fantastic job.

Quality of sound and storytelling is really good! I had to read this story for my creative writing class so I'm glad I found an audio version to listen to while I draw <3

ur accents are fire

Beautiful

use micphone please

Amazing reading, thank you for posting this. ❤

this was an amazing narration!

Thank you this short story is so boring to read

@26:19 spoiler: who is "you", "the voice is yours"? anyone know?

sad story, thanks!

Here i was thinking this was just gonna be a simple short story for an assignment.... this hurtttt

Thank you

I'm a English teacher of high school in Korea. I'm happy to find such a wonderful reading video. In my class, twice in a week, we have read "The Paper Manegerie" with your video. Thanks for your clear voice and expression. My students are enjoying your reading. Due to your reading, we can enjoy and share the impression. Thanks^^

you helped me through comp2 thx mate ;)

I’m teaching this today and just found out it’s blocked on the school wifi. 😢You read so well. I hate that I can’t show it to the students.

The notice informed them that it was a temporary matter: for five days their electricity would be cut off for one hour, beginning at eight P.M. A line had gone down in the last snowstorm, and the repairmen were going to take advantage of the milder evenings to set it right. The work would affect only the houses on the quiet tree-lined street, within walking distance of a row of brick-faced stores and a trolley stop, where Shoba and Shukumar had lived for three years. "It's good of them to warn us," Shoba conceded after reading the notice aloud, more for her own benefit than Shukumar's. She let the strap of her leather satchel, plump with files, slip from her shoulders, and left it in the hallway as she walked into the kitchen. She wore a navy blue poplin raincoat over gray sweatpants and white sneakers, looking, at thirty-three, like the type of woman she'd once claimed she would never resemble. She'd come from the gym. Her cranberry lipstick was visible only on the outer reaches of her mouth, and her eyeliner had left charcoal patches beneath her lower lashes. She used to look this way sometimes, Shukumar thought, on mornings after a party or a night at a bar, when she'd been too lazy to wash her face, too eager to collapse into his arms. She dropped a sheaf of mail on the table without a glance. Her eyes were still fixed on the notice in her other hand. "But they should do this sort of thing during the day." "When I'm here, you mean," Shukumar said. He put a glass lid on a pot of lamb, adjusting it so only the slightest bit of steam could escape. Since January he'd been working at home, trying to complete the final chapters of his dissertation on agrarian revolts in India. "When do the repairs start?" "It says March nineteenth. Is today the nineteenth?" Shoba walked over to the framed corkboard that hung on the wall by the fridge, bare except for a calendar of William Morris wallpaper patterns. She looked at it as if for the first time, studying the wallpaper pattern carefully on the top half before allowing her eyes to fall to the numbered grid on the bottom. A friend had sent the calendar in the mail as a Christmas gift, even though Shoba and Shukumar hadn't celebrated Christmas that year. "Today then," Shoba announced. "You have a dentist appointment next Friday, by the way." He ran his tongue over the tops of his teeth; he'd forgotten to brush them that morning. It wasn't the first time. He hadn't left the house at all that day, or the day before. The more Shoba stayed out, the more she began putting in extra hours at work and taking on additional projects, the more he wanted to stay in, not even leaving to get the mail, or to buy fruit or wine at the stores by the trolley stop. Six months ago, in September, Shukumar was at an academic conference in Baltimore when Shoba went into labor, three weeks before her due date. He hadn't wanted to go to the conference, but she had insisted; it was important to make contacts, and he would be entering the job market next year. She told him that she had his number at the hotel, and a copy of his schedule and flight numbers, and she had arranged with her friend Gillian for a ride to the hospital in the event of an emergency. When the cab pulled away that morning for the airport, Shoba stood waving good-bye in her robe, with one arm resting on the mound of her belly as if it were a perfectly natural part of her body. Each time he thought of that moment, the last moment he saw Shoba pregnant, it was the cab he remembered most, a station wagon, painted red with blue lettering. It was cavernous compared to their own car. Although Shukumar was six feet tall, with hands too big ever to rest comfortably in the pockets of his jeans, he felt dwarfed in the back seat. As the cab sped down Beacon Street, he imagined a day when he and Shoba might need to buy a station wagon of their own, to cart their children back and forth from music lessons and dentist appointments. He imagined himself gripping the wheel, as Shoba turned around to hand the children juice boxes. Once, these images of parenthood had troubled Shukumar, adding to his anxiety that he was still a student at thirty-five. But that early autumn morning, the trees still heavy with bronze leaves, he welcomed the image for the first time.

You’re a great story teller! Glad I didn’t have to read this myself for lit