Outra obra que não desaponta. Estou, realmente, a adorar ler as obras deste escritor.
Este singelo livro de contos é poesia em estado puro. Ao virar de cada página somos bafejados por diabólicos/harmoniosos sussurros.
Maravilha!
Ainda só houve um escritor que de tanto ler histórias dele me cansei.
Some days simply lay on you like stones. Some were fickle as cats, sliding away when you needed comfort, then coming back later when you didn’t want them, jostling at you, stealing your breath.
from The Slow Regard of Silent Things
Esta história de Patrick Rothfuss é realmente diferente, não me recordo de ter lido algo em que a personagem principal, Auri (tão frágil, tão forte), interage com objectos inanimados como se estes tivessem alma. Sem qualquer diálogo o livro narra sete dias da sua vida com uma mestria imparável.
É um história estranha, mas que adorei, porque existe “a place for everything and everything in its place“
Just finishing another amazing book published by David Rix: An Emporium of Automata by D. P. Watt. A book that reminds me a quote of Dr. Who:
You want weapons? We’re in a library! Books! The best weapons in the world!
Tooth and Claw in Season 2
The books published by Eibonvale Press are beautiful weapons of ignorance destruction.
So time to read.
What I like most about this books is that when a read it again I get new sensations, new meanings like a living organism. If I read Feather with 50 years old I will get new sensations because I have learn more of life – don’t know if making any sense – tough it does to me.
feather in my lap
The book that send me to my childhood; and I am still immersed in the pages of Feather – I think I’ll need help to get out.
***
Sadly I finished reading Feather. Were good times spent with his words. The book is still on the bedside table for rereading.
The summer morning reflects all its splendor on the beach’s sand and invites you to swim in the salty sea and the vacationers are not unrelated to this appeal.
Children jump, scream, balls bounce from one side to the other, sand flies, tents are assembled, towels are laid, some goofy eat greedily with their eyes women from top to bottom, others nibbling buttocks here, two breasts there, the lucky ones can foresee briefly after a swim one erect nipple daringly homeless from a bikini; older people proudly display the decrepitude of life; fanatics attempt within 30 days to clean the body of fat accumulated in 11 months of gluttony.
rhys hughes
We see men with dump, round, oval, hairy bellies; we see women with pleats, jelly thighs, with baroque bellies. Some young, sculptural women contrast this symphony of flabby and ribbed flesh, diaphanous they glide at the seaside showing steady buttocks; small breasts are transformed into big breasts thanks to modern the engineering of bikinis, triquinis or swimsuits; large breasts are voluptuously bouncing or flattened reminding sardines in a can…
Unaware of all this is a reader of The Lunar Tickle by Rhys Hughes. And why? Simple. Everything that is inside the book is superior to what may be observed outside its pages. What surrounds him is a pale shadow.
The adventure, the environment has no substantive or adjective that can be glued easily. The best definition for the “The Lunar Tickle” is to say “that there isn’t definition” – this prevents me headaches and close in gold the review: I hope.
“Songs for the Lost” was one of the best books I have read recently. And of course for this to have any value I will put the names of some books I read at least this year:
Getting Started…
I finished reading the book “Songs for the Lost” by Alexander Zelenyj, edited by Eibonvale Press, and the first conclusion I reach is that I really haven’t finished reading the book. Sounds absurd, I know. This is said because it’s a book whose words stay in memory and make me think, suddenly of some lines, of some sentences; like that melody that in the morning, for no apparent reason, does not come out of the head and is constantly being hummed.
Alexander Zelenyj is a master weaver holding me in a labyrinthine web of words – when I notice I am stuck (suspended) such as a puppet, inanimate, until the puppeteer gives me life.
Alexander Zelenyj has a complex and visionary writing and here, of course, I’m not saying anything that has not already been said about him. What I can say, as a reader, and not as a literary critic, that I am not of course, is how the book touched me for its beauty, for its insanity, for its soul, for its melancholy.
The words of “Songs for the Lost” are not innocent and paraphrasing Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864):“Words – so innocent and powerless As They are the standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil They Become in the hands of one who knows how to combine Them.” – from “Defrocking the Devil: Theology of Fear” by Thomas J Boynton.
Yes, Alexander Zelenyj is not a prolific writer, but when he writes – writes dazzling stories. Alexander Zelenyj is a writer that makes you sweat, shake your head and makes you think “what next?” at the turn of every the page. This book is really a thunderstorms of words.
To Alexander Zelenyj I just need to throw a sentence of Boris Pasternak: “Immensely grateful, touched, proud, astonished, abashed.”
Thank you.
In this, his extraordinary debut novel, Jet McDonald has created a heady brew of volatile cocktail ingredients. Madcap surreal humour blends with vicious parody of the world of work, the vanity of “Creative” types, the torments of unrequited love, animal cruelty and the excesses of consumer society. Words and sentences undergo some kind of alchemy under McDonald’s reckless stewardship, he whips them up into little frenzies like performing pooches and makes them jump through the burning hoops of our open mouths and frazzled brains. Not so much a breath of fresh air as a snort of something industrial, read this book and become initiated into a rebellion of the mind that will leave you inspired and laughing with exhilaration.
from the editor
Sense is the enemy of change and nonsense is the powder keg of disorder.
Jet McDonald
Amazing (SUPER FUNNY) story. I didn’t need to say anything about this book because Allen Ashley already did a good job in the Foreword.
OH! You don’t know what Allen said – buy the book.
The end is coming. Logen Ninefingers might only have one more fight in him ‘ but it’s going to be a big one. Battle rages across the North, the King of the Northmen still stands firm, and there’s only one man who can stop him. His oldest friend, and his oldest enemy. It’s past time for the Bloody-Nine to come home. With too many masters and too little time, Superior Glokta is fighting a different kind of war. A secret struggle in which no-one is safe, and no-one can be trusted. His days with a sword are far behind him. It’s a good thing blackmail, threats and torture still work well enough. Jezal dan Luthar has decided that winning glory is far too painful, and turned his back on soldiering for a simple life with the woman he loves. But love can be painful too, and glory has a nasty habit of creeping up on a man when he least expects it. While the King of the Union lies on his deathbead, the peasants revolt and the nobles scramble to steal his crown. No-one believes that the shadow of war is falling across the very heart of the Union. The First of the Magi has a plan to save the world, as he always does. But there are risks. There is no risk more terrible, after all, than to break the First Law …
Gollancz
O último livro da trilogia A Primeira Lei é uma leitura excelente e o final em glória da trilogia.
À primeira vista pode-se ficar com a ideia de que “mas isto acaba assim?”, sim acaba e termina bem. Fica tudo definido e acrescentar mais alguma coisa é tirar ao leitor a oportunidade de saborear o trilogia. Acredito que muita gente odiou o fim do livro, mas é o fim perfeito.
Primeira nota:
a nível gráfico é um livro ímpar; Mário Freitas encarregado da edição, da paginação e da legendagem está de parabéns – a Kingpin Books pode se orgulhar de ter editado um livro invejável.
Outra notas:
André Coelho responsável pelos desenhos conseguiu criar uma atmosfera negra, onírica, sensual. Existem pranchas verdadeiramente espectaculares.
As seis pranchas em que Borges nos oferece um solilóquio têm uma perfeita combinação de texto e imagem e a última das seis pranchas é uma doce surpresa.
Em “Sepulturas dos Pais” temos um David Soares igual a si próprio: ímpar, irrepreensível, sem papas na língua – o que é o pudor? uma palavra castradora da imaginação, que David Soares não teme -, cruel na exploração da natureza humana, modelador de magia, criador de uma narrativa com melodia (o livro a ser lido em voz alta oferece outra leitura porque David Soares utiliza as palavras certas para criar um ritmo de fundo; é como estar a ler e ouvir o som das ondas). Ele, sem qualquer maquilhagem, produziu uma história em que o real não é o que parece e em que o sobrenatural é o real – doce arrepio.
André Coelho e David Soares são o par perfeito. Um com um traço negro, outro com palavras cruas (provocadoras) conseguiram em pouco (62 páginas) contar muito num livro em que a obsessão é, maravilha das maravilhas, a ordem do dia.
Adorei o livro. É disto que eu preciso.
The Evil in Pemberley House, an addition to the Wold Newton cycle, plays with the Gothic horror tradition. Patricia Wildman, the daughter of the world-renowned adventurer and crimefighter of the 1930s and ’40s, Dr. James Clarke “Doc” Wildman, is all alone in the world when she inherits the family estate in Derbyshire, England—old, dark, and supposedly haunted.
Meteor House Press
Foi com agrado que li esta história pulp, a segunda aventura do universo Wold Newton de Philip José Farmer, é uma história pulp impressionante; admiro a escrita de Win Scott Eckert.
the memoirs of pat wildman, vol. i: the evil in pemberley house
Mas adorei muito mais de ler a segunda aventura – The Scarlet Jaguar – da série Pat Wildman.
