Tag Archives: Literatūra

J.R.R.Tolkien “Žiedų valdovas: Dvi tvirtovės”

8 Lap

J.R.R.Tolkien; “Žiedų valdovas: Dvi tvirtovės”

Knyga: Žiedų valdovas: Dvi tvirtovės

Antroji “žiedų valdovo“ trilogijos dalis. Žiedo brolija yra išardyta. Dalis brolijos žengia į karą su senoviniu blogiu – Sauron. Dalis brolijos ruošiasi į karą su Saruman, baltuoju burtininku, išdaviku.

Tik Frodo ir Sam toliau tęsia kelionę link lemties kalno. Jie paslapčia eina priešo žeme tam, kad sunaikintų galios žiedą, kurio dėka priešas išliko. Jų kelionės gidas yra Gollum. Padaras, kuris anksčiau buvo Smeagol, o dabar išlikęs tik kiautas valdomas žiedo trokškimų.

Ar visi herojai išlaikys savo išbandymų naštą? Ar priešo kariauna laimės ir pavers žemę dykviete? Ar pagaliau Sauron mes prieš juos savo visą armijos galybę? Šie ir daugiau klausimų kyla skaitant antrą trilogijos dalį.

Tamsa aplink juos tirštėja. Vilties vis mažiau lieka. Ar išliks tas trupinėlis, kurį vis dar galima regėti? Ar viskas nueis veltui?

Ištrauka:

“All is lost. Even if my errand is performed, no one will ever know. There will be no one I can tell. It will be in vain.“ Overcome with weakness he wept. <…> Frodo raised his head, and then stood up. Despair had not left him, but the weakness had passed. He even smiled grimly, feeling now as clearly as a moment before he had felt the opposite, that what he had to do, he had to do, if he could, and that whether Faramir or Aragorn or Elrond or Galadriel or Gandalf or anyone else ever knew about it was beside the purpose. He took his staff in one hand and the phial in his other. When he saw that the clear light was already welling through his fingers, he thrust it into his bosom and held it against his heart. Then turning from the city of Morgul, now no more than a grey glimmer across a dark gulf, he prepared to take the upward road.“  358 pg.

Ši ištrauka mane užkabino. Veikėjo mąstymo lūžio momentas. Iki tol jis dar norėjo, kad kas pripažintų jo darbą, įvertintų, bent jau sužinotų, kad viskas buvo atlikta. Tačiau čia jo požiūris dramatiškai kinta. Jis suvokia, kad kas turi būti padaryta, turi būti įgyvendinta. Misija tapo aukštesnė nei jo troškimas. Susimąsčiau, kaip dažnai gyvenime užduotis tampa svarbiau nei mano pačios troškimai. Gerovė kito, tampa svarbiau nei mano patogumas…

  • Išleista: 1954 metais;
  • Žanras: grožinė literatūra, fantastika;
  • Perskaičiau: 2010 lapkričio 9; pastaba: skaitau antrą kartą;
  • Skaitau: Anglų kalba;
  • Įvertinimas: 10/10;

Autorius: J.R.R.Tolkien (1892 – 1973) Plačiau

Ekranizacija: Taip. ‘Žiedų valdovas: Dvi tvirtovės” (2002 metai)

Reklama

Žiedų Valdovas: Žiedo brolija

3 Lap

J.R.R.Tolkien; “Žiedų valdovas: Žiedo brolija“

Knyga: Žiedų valdovas: Žiedo brolija

Bilbo Beggins iš savo ilgos kelionės parsinešė stebuklingą žiedą. Ilgą laiką žiedas prabuvo grafystėje. Bilbo išvykdamas į naują žygį atidavė žiedą Frodui, savo paveldėtojui. Tačiau stebuklingas žiedukas, turėjo dar didesnę paslaptį, nei bet kuris galėjo nuspėti. Jis buvo Tamsos valdovo žiedas apie kurį štai, kas parašyta:

Trys žiedai elfų karaliams, po dangaus skliautu,
Septyni – nykštukų valdovams, jų akmeninėse menėse,
Devyni – žmonių mirtingų, žūčiai pasmerktų,
Vienas tik – Tamsos Valdovui soste sutemų,
Žemėje Mordoro, kur šešėliai driekias.
Vienas žiedas visiems valdyti, Vienas žiedas visiems surasti,
Vienas žiedas visiems sukviesti ir tamsybėse amžiams užsklęsti.
Žemėje Mordoro, kur šešėliai driekias.

Tamsos valdovas Sauronas žino, kad žiedas buvo atrastas, tačiau vis dar nežino kur tiksliai. Jis renka kariuomenę ir jam tereikia galios žiedo, kad pavergtų visą Middle-earth. Žiedas negali pasilikti grafystėje, jis turi būti nugabentas į Rivendell, kur jo likimas bus nuspręstas. Paprastas hobitas nusprendžia rizikuoti savo kailiu ir padaryti tai kas būtina. Prie jo prisijungia dar trys draugai.

Kai žiedas atkeliauja į Rivendell situacija tampa dar aiškesnė. Žiedas negali atitekti priešui ir jie patys jo negali naudoti, taip pat jo neįmanoma paslėpti amžiams, todėl belieka tik jį sunaikinti. Norint tai padaryti reikia kirsti priešo teritoriją ir pasiekti Lemties kalną. Frodo pasiryžta keliauti toliau, o jam padėti sukuriama žiedo brolija.

  • Išleista: 1954 metais;
  • Žanras: grožinė literatūra, fantastika;
  • Perskaičiau: 2010 lapkričio 1; pastaba: skaitau antrą kartą;
  • Skaitau: Anglų kalba;
  • Įvertinimas: 10/10;

Autorius: J.R.R.Tolkien (1892 – 1973)

Tolkien gimė 1982 metais Pietų Afrikoje. Tik vėliau su mama ir broliu persikėlė gyventi į Angliją. Tolkien tėvas mirė Afrikoje, o po kiek laiko mirė ir mama. Tolkien buvo 12 metų, kai tapo našlaičiu. Juo pasirūpino Francis Morgan, parapijos kunigas.

Kai jam buvo apie 16 metų jis pamilo Edith Bratt. Kuomet jų meilė buvo pastebėta, jų ryšiai buvo prievarta nutraukti. Tik vėliau Tolkien susirado Edith ir jai pasipiršo. Susituokė jie tik po kelių metų. Susilaukė keturių vaikų. Mirus Edith palaužtas sielvarto vos po kelių metų mirė ir Tolkien.

Dar būdamas jauno amžiaus Tolkien parodė didelį susidomėjimą kalbomis. Jis nuolatos ir daug skaitė.  Studijavo Oxfordo universitete filologiją. Domėjosi labai įvairių kultūrų mitologija. Po pirmo pasaulinio karo, kuriame pats dalyvavo, jis buvo pakviestas dėstyti Leeds universitete, vėliau į Oxford universitetą.

1936 metais išėjo “Hobitas“, knyga kuri jį išgarsino. Įdomus dalykas, kuomet knyga pateko į leidėjų rankas vienas iš leidėjų, Urvin, sumokėjo savo 10-mečiui sūnui vieną šilingą tam, kad perskaitytų ir įvertintų knygą. Berniukas liko sužavėtas, o Urvin nusprendė surizikuoti ir išleisti “Hobitą“. Knyga greitai išgarsino Tolkien, nors jis ir taip buvo ganėtinai garsus. Garsus ne vien savo darbais filologijos srityje, bet ir priklausymu grupei pasivadinusiai Inklings. Šios grupės centre buvo C.S.Lewis.

Vėliau, tik atsitiktinumo dėka “Žiedų valdovas“ buvo išleistas. Iš pat pradžių knyga buvo atmesta ir tik vėliau Urvin sūnus įtikino savo tėvą išleisti ją. Urvin sutiko surizikuoti ir išleido šią trilogiją, apie kurios sėkmę iki šiandien girdime.

Ekranizacija: Taip. ‘Žiedų valdovas: Žiedo brolija“ (2001 metai)

Terry Bisson: “They’re Made out of Meat“

29 Spa

“They’re made out of meat.“

“Meat?“

“Meat. They’re made out of meat.“

“Meat?“

“There’s no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They’re completely meat.“

“That’s impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?“

“They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don’t come from them. The signals come from machines.“

“So who made the machines? That’s who we want to contact.“

“They made the machines. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Meat made the machines.“

“That’s ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You’re asking me to believe in sentient meat.“

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they’re made out of meat.“

“Maybe they’re like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage.“

“Nope. They’re born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn’t take long. Do you have any idea what’s the life span of meat?“

“Spare me. Okay, maybe they’re only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside.“

“Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They’re meat all the way through.“

“No brain?“

“Oh, there’s a brain all right. It’s just that the brain is made out of meat! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.“

“So … what does the thinking?“

“You’re not understanding, are you? You’re refusing to deal with what I’m telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat.“

“Thinking meat! You’re asking me to believe in thinking meat!“

“Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?“

“Omigod. You’re serious then. They’re made out of meat.“

“Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made out of meat. And they’ve been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years.“

“Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?“

“First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the Universe, contact other sentiences, swap ideas and information. The usual.“

“We’re supposed to talk to meat.“

“That’s the idea. That’s the message they’re sending out by radio. ‘Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.’ That sort of thing.“

“They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?“

“Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat.“

“I thought you just told me they used radio.“

“They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat.“

“Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?“

“Officially or unofficially?“

“Both.“

“Officially, we are required to contact, welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing.“

“I was hoping you would say that.“

“It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?“

“I agree one hundred percent. What’s there to say? ‘Hello, meat. How’s it going?’ But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?“

“Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can’t live on them. And being meat, they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact.“

“So we just pretend there’s no one home in the Universe.“

“That’s it.“

“Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you probed? You’re sure they won’t remember?“

“They’ll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we’re just a dream to them.“

“A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat’s dream.“

“And we marked the entire sector unoccupied.“

“Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?“

“Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again.“

“They always come around.“

“And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the Universe would be if one were all alone …“

the end

The Progress of Satire

27 Spa

Ištrauka iš mano naujo skaitimėlio: The Blasted Pine: An anthology of Satire, Invective and Disrespectful Verse.

“Reading a dead poet

Who complained in his time

Against bad laws, bad manners,

And bad weather in bad rhyme

 

I thought how glad he’d be

To be living in our time

To damn worse laws, worse manners,

and worse weather in worse rhyme“

~ Louis Dudek

Skirta tiems, kurie svajoja apie lygybę.

19 Rgs

HARRISON BERGERON

by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.


THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren’t only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.

 

Some things about living still weren’t quite right, though. April for instance, still drove people crazy by not being springtime. And it was in that clammy month that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron’s fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.

It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn’t think about it very hard. Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn’t think about anything except in short bursts. And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains.

George and Hazel were watching television. There were tears on Hazel’s cheeks, but she’d forgotten for the moment what they were about.

On the television screen were ballerinas.

A buzzer sounded in George’s head. His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits from a burglar alarm.

“That was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did,“ said Hazel.

“Huh“ said George.

“That dance-it was nice,“ said Hazel.

“Yup,“ said George. He tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They weren’t really very good-no better than anybody else would have been, anyway. They were burdened with sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that no one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty face, would feel like something the cat drug in. George was toying with the vague notion that maybe dancers shouldn’t be handicapped. But he didn’t get very far with it before another noise in his ear radio scattered his thoughts.

George winced. So did two out of the eight ballerinas.

Hazel saw him wince. Having no mental handicap herself, she had to ask George what the latest sound had been.

“Sounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a ball peen hammer,“ said George.

“I’d think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds,“ said Hazel a little envious. “All the things they think up.“

“Um,“ said George.

“Only, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?“ said Hazel. Hazel, as a matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper General, a woman named Diana Moon Glampers. “If I was Diana Moon Glampers,“ said Hazel, “I’d have chimes on Sunday-just chimes. Kind of in honor of religion.“

“I could think, if it was just chimes,“ said George.

“Well-maybe make ’em real loud,“ said Hazel. “I think I’d make a good Handicapper General.“

“Good as anybody else,“ said George.

“Who knows better then I do what normal is?“ said Hazel.

“Right,“ said George. He began to think glimmeringly about his abnormal son who was now in jail, about Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head stopped that.

“Boy!“ said Hazel, “that was a doozy, wasn’t it?“

It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling, and tears stood on the rims of his red eyes. Two of of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the studio floor, were holding their temples.

“All of a sudden you look so tired,“ said Hazel. “Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa, so’s you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch.“ She was referring to the forty-seven pounds of birdshot in a canvas bag, which was padlocked around George’s neck. “Go on and rest the bag for a little while,“ she said. “I don’t care if you’re not equal to me for a while.“

George weighed the bag with his hands. “I don’t mind it,“ he said. “I don’t notice it any more. It’s just a part of me.“

“You been so tired lately-kind of wore out,“ said Hazel. “If there was just some way we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls. Just a few.“

“Two years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took out,“ said George. “I don’t call that a bargain.“

“If you could just take a few out when you came home from work,“ said Hazel. “I mean-you don’t compete with anybody around here. You just set around.“

“If I tried to get away with it,“ said George, “then other people’d get away with it-and pretty soon we’d be right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competing against everybody else. You wouldn’t like that, would you?“

“I’d hate it,“ said Hazel.

“There you are,“ said George. The minute people start cheating on laws, what do you think happens to society?“

If Hazel hadn’t been able to come up with an answer to this question, George couldn’t have supplied one. A siren was going off in his head.

“Reckon it’d fall all apart,“ said Hazel.

“What would?“ said George blankly.

“Society,“ said Hazel uncertainly. “Wasn’t that what you just said?

“Who knows?“ said George.

The television program was suddenly interrupted for a news bulletin. It wasn’t clear at first as to what the bulletin was about, since the announcer, like all announcers, had a serious speech impediment. For about half a minute, and in a state of high excitement, the announcer tried to say, “Ladies and Gentlemen.“

He finally gave up, handed the bulletin to a ballerina to read.

“That’s all right-“ Hazel said of the announcer, “he tried. That’s the big thing. He tried to do the best he could with what God gave him. He should get a nice raise for trying so hard.“

“Ladies and Gentlemen,“ said the ballerina, reading the bulletin. She must have been extraordinarily beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous. And it was easy to see that she was the strongest and most graceful of all the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big as those worn by two-hundred pound men.

And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice for a woman to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody. “Excuse me-“ she said, and she began again, making her voice absolutely uncompetitive.

“Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen,“ she said in a grackle squawk, “has just escaped from jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is under-handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous.“

A police photograph of Harrison Bergeron was flashed on the screen-upside down, then sideways, upside down again, then right side up. The picture showed the full length of Harrison against a background calibrated in feet and inches. He was exactly seven feet tall.

The rest of Harrison’s appearance was Halloween and hardware. Nobody had ever born heavier handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the H-G men could think them up. Instead of a little ear radio for a mental handicap, he wore a tremendous pair of earphones, and spectacles with thick wavy lenses. The spectacles were intended to make him not only half blind, but to give him whanging headaches besides.

Scrap metal was hung all over him. Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, a military neatness to the handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison looked like a walking junkyard. In the race of life, Harrison carried three hundred pounds.

And to offset his good looks, the H-G men required that he wear at all times a red rubber ball for a nose, keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his even white teeth with black caps at snaggle-tooth random.

“If you see this boy,“ said the ballerina, “do not – I repeat, do not – try to reason with him.“

There was the shriek of a door being torn from its hinges.

Screams and barking cries of consternation came from the television set. The photograph of Harrison Bergeron on the screen jumped again and again, as though dancing to the tune of an earthquake.

George Bergeron correctly identified the earthquake, and well he might have – for many was the time his own home had danced to the same crashing tune. “My God-“ said George, “that must be Harrison!“

The realization was blasted from his mind instantly by the sound of an automobile collision in his head.

When George could open his eyes again, the photograph of Harrison was gone. A living, breathing Harrison filled the screen.

Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood – in the center of the studio. The knob of the uprooted studio door was still in his hand. Ballerinas, technicians, musicians, and announcers cowered on their knees before him, expecting to die.

“I am the Emperor!“ cried Harrison. “Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at once!“ He stamped his foot and the studio shook.

“Even as I stand here“ he bellowed, “crippled, hobbled, sickened – I am a greater ruler than any man who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can become!“

Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, tore straps guaranteed to support five thousand pounds.

Harrison’s scrap-iron handicaps crashed to the floor.

Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head harness. The bar snapped like celery. Harrison smashed his headphones and spectacles against the wall.

He flung away his rubber-ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, the god of thunder.

“I shall now select my Empress!“ he said, looking down on the cowering people. “Let the first woman who dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!“

A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow.

Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical handicaps with marvelous delicacy. Last of all he removed her mask.

She was blindingly beautiful.

“Now-“ said Harrison, taking her hand, “shall we show the people the meaning of the word dance? Music!“ he commanded.

The musicians scrambled back into their chairs, and Harrison stripped them of their handicaps, too. “Play your best,“ he told them, “and I’ll make you barons and dukes and earls.“

The music began. It was normal at first-cheap, silly, false. But Harrison snatched two musicians from their chairs, waved them like batons as he sang the music as he wanted it played. He slammed them back into their chairs.

The music began again and was much improved.

Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while-listened gravely, as though synchronizing their heartbeats with it.

They shifted their weights to their toes.

Harrison placed his big hands on the girls tiny waist, letting her sense the weightlessness that would soon be hers.

And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang!

Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the law of gravity and the laws of motion as well.

They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun.

They leaped like deer on the moon.

The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it.

It became their obvious intention to kiss the ceiling. They kissed it.

And then, neutraling gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in air inches below the ceiling, and they kissed each other for a long, long time.

It was then that Diana Moon Glampers, the Handicapper General, came into the studio with a double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun. She fired twice, and the Emperor and the Empress were dead before they hit the floor.

Diana Moon Glampers loaded the gun again. She aimed it at the musicians and told them they had ten seconds to get their handicaps back on.

It was then that the Bergerons’ television tube burned out.

Hazel turned to comment about the blackout to George. But George had gone out into the kitchen for a can of beer.

George came back in with the beer, paused while a handicap signal shook him up. And then he sat down again. “You been crying“ he said to Hazel.

“Yup,“ she said.

“What about?“ he said.

“I forget,“ she said. “Something real sad on television.“

“What was it?“ he said.

“It’s all kind of mixed up in my mind,“ said Hazel.

“Forget sad things,“ said George.

“I always do,“ said Hazel.

“That’s my girl,“ said George. He winced. There was the sound of a rivetting gun in his head.

“Gee – I could tell that one was a doozy,“ said Hazel.

“You can say that again,“ said George.

“Gee-“ said Hazel, “I could tell that one was a doozy.“