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    Warrior Angel
    Warrior Angel
    Warrior Angel
    Ebook142 pages2 hours

    Warrior Angel

    By Robert Lipsyte

    3/5

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    About this ebook

    Sonny Bear is a champion. . .but he needs the help of an angel.

    Sonny Bear, the Tomahawk Kid, is on a fast downhill slide with the heavyweight championship at stake. He hardly knows who he is anymore, or why he should keep on fighting.

    Then the first e-mail arrives.

    Do not lose heart. I come on a Mission from the Creator to save you.

    -- Warrior Angel

    The Warrior Angel might be just what Sonny Bear needs -- but will Sonny be prepared to save him, too?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperTeen
    Release dateJan 26, 2010
    ISBN9780061997334
    Warrior Angel
    Author

    Robert Lipsyte

    Robert Lipsyte is the author of twelve acclaimed novels for young adults and is the recipient of the Margaret A. Edwards Award honoring his lifetime contribution in the genre. His debut YA novel, The Contender, has sold more than one million copies. He was an award-winning sportswriter for the New York Times and the Emmy-winning host of the nightly public affairs show The Eleventh Hour. He lives on Shelter Island, New York, with his wife, Lois, and his dog, Apollo.

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    Reviews for Warrior Angel

    3/5

    16 ratings2 reviews

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    • 5/5
      Warrior Angel By Liz and Margarette WeisRating : A great modern fairy tale, that’s easy to get into.Okay we all see these books all the time in the stores. They are romance novels that have a tint of supernatural or fantasy to them. There has been at least a thousand of them in existence ranging from Twilight to Hunter’s Moon to Stardust. As with the ones just mention, they were about love stories between humans, vampires, were wolves and fallen stars. (just in case you didn’t know already) This on is a love story between a woman and a angel.Warrior Angel is written by a mother and daughter pair of authors Liz and Margarette Weir. Who are they? I’m not sure is they even every wrote anything else. But they are good writers in this genre I have to say.So first off let me say something else. This is book that is simple and strait forward. It’s not super complicated over flowing with relationships until the drama drags the book down, and choking the whole concept of the story to death, Then this is super important. This a clean love story. This is totally PG. It flows like a fairy rather than a few in this sort of supernatural love genre, that seems have to meet a quota of sex scenes.Secondly there’s a true story. The story is about a warrior angel named Derek. In life he was a monk devoted to God so much that he died for god’s sake back in medieval days. But when he died, he never went to heaven. He went to Purgatory. He was not allowed into heaven. And with this discovery he declared his hate toward lord and all the lucky ones who in heaven instead of him. But is reluctantly he devotes his after life to being a warrior.The one day he’s given a mission to go down to Earth to protect a woman who may be a key in Satan’s big plot to through the world into chaos. The mission seems random and he hates the idea of it, but as no choice. He falls to earth as a bellboy at the girls hotel. He soon finds she dating a rich man, who’s is not a man at all, but demon. He must find a way to protect her, but in the process the two of them fall in love. And for the first tome ever Derek learns what he had been missing from his life and afterlife.Well I already mentioned the good, and I have nothing to say bad about it. It’s a cute sweet modern day fairy tale. If you like love stores. I totally recommend it.Four Smoothies out of four.
    • 1/5
      I bought this one because the synopsis sounded so good..."Once a dedicated soldier of the Knights Templar, Derek de Molay was betrayed and killed. So instead of an eternity in Heaven, he has decided to battle the Dark Angels of Hell. But as the war between good and evil rages, he is summoned back to the mortal realm to protect a woman standing too close to the edge of darkness." Wow. Sounds awesome! Dark and edgy!Problem is that I have a feeling the same person who wrote that synopsis, didn't write the book, and they should have, because the writing for the actual book is just bad. Amateurish and lacking any kind of depth at all. Dark and edgy it is not. Disappointing and dull might be a better word for it. I found myself starting to get bored and skipping ahead at page 20!! Not good. I should have felt for Derek and started rooting for him from the beginning. I should have wanted to read more about him, and I just thought he was overly sanctimonious and annoying. Then I thought, well, maybe once we meet Rachel, she'll be the interesting one, and I'll want to continue reading for her. No such luck. I found Rachel as annoying as Derek.Yes, I do know that some books are slow getting started, and I can appreciate that. But really good writing can overcome a slow start, and make you think, "Ok, this is slow starting, but there's something about it that's drawing me in, so I'm sticking with it." This one did not in any way give me that feeling. It was more a feeling of "Hell...I just wasted five bucks."You know that quote from "Jerry Maguire" that says, "You had me at hello"? A book REALLY needs to do that...have me at hello...or I just can't continue reading it. This book SO didn't have me at hello.

    Book preview

    Warrior Angel - Robert Lipsyte

    1

    MINUTES BEFORE THE FIGHT, Sonny Bear felt hollow. He lay on the padded table in the dressing room staring up at shapes moving across the ceiling like black storm clouds. He imagined his body the only tepee on a frozen meadow. His skin was stretched over the tent poles, pulled taut by wooden stakes in the hard earth. The tepee was empty. Nobody home.

    He knew where such images came from, and he hated that place. Shove that tired old Redskin crap, I’m not anything anymore. Not Indian, not white. Leave me alone. I’m not anywhere.

    The noise boiling around him seemed distant, as if it were coming from radios in passing cars. He tilted his head, peered from the corner of one eye.

    His managers, Malik and Boyd, were sniffing like dogs around a short, heavily muscled man with a familiar face. It took Sonny a moment to recognize the actor who had killed a hundred alien invaders in the movie they had watched last night in the hotel room. Sonny had fallen asleep before the movie ended.

    Across the room, facing a wall, Red Eagle chanted as he poured powders from leather sacks into a steel bowl. He struck a wooden match against the zipper of his jeans. Smoke rose from the bowl, and so did the stink of cow dung.

    Sonny’s trainer, checking the boxing gloves, cursed the smell. Two cornermen whose names Sonny couldn’t remember rolled their eyes as they filled a metal pail with taped water bottles, jars of ointments, and cotton swabs. Sonny had given up trying to remember their names. They’d all be gone soon. Nobody lasts.

    The movie star said, Make it an early night, Sonny. I bet you in the third round. He cocked his forefingers and blasted aliens. He growled his big line from the movie: Sayonara, snotface. Malik and Boyd brayed like mules.

    Sonny tried to wave at the movie star, but nothing moved.

    The door banged open. A boxing commissioner marched in with a man wearing a REGGAE KING sweatshirt.

    Sonny heard ringing bells, people yelling. The preliminary fights had started. He would have to go out soon. He wanted to sleep.

    The commissioner said, Hands, champ.

    It took great effort to sit up and stretch out his hands.

    You okay, champ? asked the commissioner.

    It took Sonny a moment to realize the woman was talking to him. He nodded. I’m okay. Just not here tonight.

    The man in the REGGAE KING sweatshirt said, Let’s see your hands. He checked the white tape around Sonny’s knuckles, nodded, and watched Sonny’s trainer, what-was-his-name, push the gloves on. After the laces were tied and taped over, the commissioner initialed the gloves and walked out. How many times have we done this? Sonny thought. But it seemed as though it were happening to someone else.

    A famous rapper in a mink blazer came in, touched Sonny’s glove, and introduced him to a woman whose black dress barely hung from her breasts.

    Ten minutes. An official glanced around the dressing room until someone nodded back at him, then slammed the metal door.

    The rapper sang, Ten more minutes you will, uh-huh, make yourself another five mill, uh-huh. Malik and Boyd brayed and stroked his mink blazer.

    The rapper, the woman in the black dress, and the short movie star left. The room quieted. Boyd began whispering into his cell phone. Malik sat on a stool and opened a skinny little laptop on his knees. Sonny, up. E-mail from Nike wishing you luck. Reply?

    There were no words inside Sonny, no thoughts except the realization that he had no thoughts. He had always felt something before a fight. Until now.

    Stick it to Nike, said Boyd. Remind ’em that sales on the Sonny Bear headbands are flat. Tell ’em we’re talking direct to the Chinese.

    Malik and Boyd touched thumbs and brayed in each other’s face. Who are these fools, why are they here, why am I here?

    Red Eagle had his long nose in the stinky smoke. What is he praying for now? A Nike deal to endorse powwow feathers?

    A cameraman crouched in the middle of the room. He turned slowly, panning: Sonny sitting on the table, the fussing cornermen in their Sonny Bear T-shirts, Malik and Boyd in their red silk jackets, Red Eagle chanting as his hands caressed the rising smoke.

    Do not photograph this, said Red Eagle. He covered the camera lens with his hand. It is sacred.

    It’s part of the cable deal, said Boyd.

    It’s okay, said the cameraman. I got what I need.

    What I need, thought Sonny, is a reason to go out there and beat some tomato can into a puddle of flesh.

    Sonny, up. You know a Warrior Angel?

    He shook his head, a cement block on his shoulders.

    He says he’s coming, said Malik.

    Red Eagle said, Warrior Angel. What does he want?

    He says he’s coming to save Sonny.

    Check him out, said Boyd.

    Can’t, said Malik. It’s a blocked address.

    What’s it say? asked Sonny.

    "It says, Dear George Harrison Bayer…’"

    How’s he know Sonny’s real name? asked Boyd.

    It’s in that book—no big deal, said Malik. "Listen up. Dear George Harrison Bayer. Do not lose heart. I come on a Mission from the Creator to save you. It’s signed, Warrior Angel."

    The Creator speaks through me, said Red Eagle. He sounded angry.

    Exclusive deal, huh? asked Malik.

    Is that funny to you? snapped Red Eagle.

    Relax, said Boyd. Sounds like a promotional stunt to get a title fight. Ask Warrior Angel if he’s white. We need a white challenger, an American. He aimed a finger at the cameraman. Don’t tape this.

    Red Eagle looked serious. Did that e-mail come to the web site or a private mailbox?

    To champsonnybear.

    Red Eagle relaxed. It’s nobody. Forget it.

    Forget it, thought Sonny. Forget everything.

    2

    STARKEY WAS ALMOST SORRY he had bagged his meds this morning, clamping them between his cheek and gum while he chugged the orange juice. He had learned that trick in the hospital. The key was not to spit out the pills too soon. They watch for that. The longer you can keep them in your mouth, the better chance you have of getting away with it. He was having second thoughts about not taking the drugs. He had wanted to stay sharp for Sonny’s fight, but now the faces in Circle were beginning to pulsate, and their voices were getting weird. He didn’t want to chuck a ruckus and risk missing the fight. It would be starting in a few minutes. He had to get upstairs.

    But he was losing it.

    Has everyone said hello to Starkey, welcomed our new family member? Dr. Raphael smiled and nodded at him. The shrink was the only one in Circle sitting on a chair. A power thing, thought Starkey. The living-room floor was hard. He felt his underwear twist into his crack.

    There were seven of them, mostly around his own age. The girls smiled a welcome, the boys nodded suspiciously.

    We’re happy you’re here, said Dr. Raphael. Would you like to tell us a little about yourself?

    It was what the Archangels call a defining moment, a moment early in a Mission in which you can give it direction and establish your character.

    I know enough to know I have choices. I can ask the doctor to cut me slack for now because I’m new here. Or I can make some wisecrack to get me off the hook.

    Or I can go for it.

    Go for it, he thought. Just remember that Warrior Angels never lie.

    I am a Warrior Angel, on a Mission for the Creator.

    Where are your wings? That was Roger, big guy, fat but strong looking.

    Be a little obvious down here, don’t you think? said Starkey.

    What kind of Mission? That was PJ, pretty girl, thin, wearing pajamas.

    This is an action job, my specialty, he said. He liked the look in her eyes. He started talking too much. I was never one of your touchy-feely angels, all hope and inspiration, the Guardian Angels or, as we call them behind their backs, the Happy Haloes.

    Sounds like you got to put down other people to feel good about yourself. Tracey was a big girl, scars on her arm.

    C’mon, Tracey, said Roger, are you buying into this psycho’s fantasy?

    Roger, said Dr. Raphael, we make no judgments in Circle. Let’s all hold hands and take a deep breath.

    Starkey held his hands out. Dr. Raphael took Starkey’s left hand in his dry, bony claw. PJ took his right. Her hand was soft and damp, and she rubbed her palm against his, sending a cascade of warmth down his chest, into his groin and legs. It felt good but it reminded him to stay focused. This group home is a perfect hideout, he thought, but these people aren’t going to make it easy. Mental illness is a great disguise for a Warrior Angel; you can tell the truth and still be undercover. But you are dealing with unpredictable minds, genuine nutcases. Be glad to move on out of here into the Mission.

    Starkey, let’s not talk for a moment, said Dr. Raphael.

    He hadn’t realized he’d been talking out loud. I have to remember how the Voices take over, he thought.

    Sure, blame it on voices, said Tracey.

    Starkey concentrated

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