Пуснато на: Сря Юни 28, 2006 2:45 am Заглавие: => Ужасът върху лист хартия! <=
Тази тема съществуваше и в други форуми, но за съжаление постепенно замря. Надявам се тук съдбата й да бъде по-различна.
И така.
Защо ви харесва литературата на ужаса? Кои са любимите ви автори и книги на ужасите? Кой е най-страховития разказ или роман, който сте чели? Коя е последната хорър книга, която си купихте? Какво четете в момента и какви са впечатленията ви от него? Какви заглавия предстоят да бъдат издадени у нас? Къде в интернет могат да бъдат намерени произведенията на класиците на хоръра?
http://king-bg.info/ - български сайт, посветен на Стивън Кинг и "Тъмната кула"
http://www.forum.king-bg.info/ - форумът на въпросния сайт, в който ще намерите богата информация както за Стивън Кинг, така и за други хорър автори. Търсете най-новите и най-редките творби на Стивън Кинг в раздел "Стивън Кинг - литература".
Последната промяна е направена от deadface на Съб Авг 06, 2011 3:38 am; мнението е било променяно общо 73 пъти
Знаете ли, че Едгар Алан По е повлиял творчеството на много известни художници, музиканти и композитори (Рахманинов, Дебюси, Iron Maiden), режисьори и, разбира се, писатели, като повечето от тях не крият това. Достатъчно е да споменем Артър Конан Дойл, Жул Верн, Шарл Бодлер, Достоевски, Робърт Блох, Хауърд Филипс Лъвкрафт и Стивън Кинг.
Ето какво казват за него:
- Лъвкрафт:
"Poe's fame has been subject to curious undulations, and it is now a fashion amongst the 'advanced intelligentsia' to minimize his importance both as an artist and as an influence; but it would be hard for any mature and reflective critic to deny the tremendous value of his work and the persuasive potency of his mind as an opener of artistic vistas. . . . Certain of Poe's tales possess an almost absolute perfection of artistic form which makes them veritable beaconlights in the province of the short story. . . . Poe's weird tales are alive in a manner that few others can ever hope to be."
и
- Алфред Хичкок:
"It's because I liked Edgar Allan Poe's stories so much that I began to make suspense films."
Освен стихотворения и разкази, По е писал литературна критика, есета, скечове и писма, но в това "ревю" няма да се спирам на тях, най-малкото защото нямат отношение към темата (RE: Ужасът върху лист хартия). За съжаление списъкът с творбите му, които ще публикувам по-долу, навярно е непълен, защото По често пъти е публикувал анонимно или под псевдоним и до ден днешен се водят спорове дали някои стихотворения/разкази са негови или не.
ПОЕЗИЯ
Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827, Poe's first published collection of poetry)
• Tamerlane
• To — — [Song]
• Dreams
• Visit of the Dead [Spirits of the Dead]
• Evening Star
• Imitation
• Untitled [Stanzas] ["In youth have I known . . ."]
• Untitled [A Dream] ["A wilder'd being from my birth . . ."]
• Untitled [The Happiest Day] ["The happiest day — the happiest hour . . ."]
• The Lake
"Wilmer" manuscript collection (about 1828, several poems in manuscript)
Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Other Poems (1829, Poe's second published collection of poetry)
• Untitled [Sonnet — To Science]
• Al Aaraaf - Part I
• Al Aaraaf - Part II
• Tamerlane
• Preface [Romance]
• To — — ["Should my early life seem . . . "]
• To — — [Song]
• To — — ["The bowers wheareat, in dreams, I see . . ." (To Elmira ?)]
• To the River ——
• The Lake — To — [The Lake]
• Spirits of the Dead
• A Dream
• To M——
• Fairyland
Poems, by Edgar A. Poe (1831, Poe's third published collection of poetry)
• Letter to Mr. ——
• Introduction [Romance]
• To Helen
• Israfel
• The Doomed City [The City in the Sea]
• Fairy Land
• Irene [The Sleeper]
• A Pæan
• The Valley Nis [The Valley of Unrest]
• [Sonnet — To Science]
• Al Aaraaf
• Tamerlane
The Raven and Other Poems (1845, Poe's fourth published collection of poetry)
• The Raven
• The Valley of Unrest
• Bridal Ballad
• The Sleeper
• The Coliseum
• Lenore
• Catholic Hymn
• Israfel
• Dream-Land
• Sonnet — to Zante
• The City in the Sea
• To One in Paradise
• Eulalie — A Song
• To F——s S. O——-d [Frances Sargent Osgood]
• To F——
• Sonnet — Silence
• The Conqueror Worm
• The Haunted Palace
• Scenes from "Politian" .
• Sonnet — to Science
• Al Aaraaf
• Tamerlane
• A Dream
• Romance
• Fairy-land
• To —— ["The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see . . . "]
• To the River ——
• The Lake — To ——
• Song
• To Helen
"Richmond Examiner" manuscript collection (late 1849, several poems for which the contents are recorded but the manuscript apparently lost)
The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe (The Griswold Edition) (1850-1856)
• THE RAVEN
• LENORE
• HYMN
• A VALENTINE
• THE COLISEUM
• TO HELEN
• TO — —, ["Not long ago . . ."]
• ULALUME
• THE BELLS
• AN ENIGMA
• ANNABEL LEE
• TO MY MOTHER
• THE HAUNTED PALACE
• THE CONQUEROR WORM
• TO F. S. O.
• TO ONE IN PARADISE
• THE VALLEY OF UNREST
• THE CITY IN THE SEA
• THE SLEEPER
• SILENCE
• A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM
• DREAM-LAND
• TO ZANTE
• EULALIE
• ELDORADO
• ISRAFEL
• FOR ANNIE
• TO ——, ["I heed not . . ."]
• BRIDAL BALLAD
• TO F——
• SCENES FROM "POLITIAN"
• SONNET — TO SILENCE
• AL AARAAF
• TO THE RIVER ———
• TAMERLANE
• TO ——, ["The bowers whereat . . ."]
• A DREAM
• ROMANCE
• FAIRY-LAND
• THE LAKE — TO ——
• SONG
• TO M. L. S.
* Забележка: Част от стихотворенията на Е.А.По по същество са стихотворения на ужаса; такива са да речем най-известното му стихотворение "Гарванът"(The Raven) и "Победител-червей" (The Conqueror Worm) - това всъщност е любимото ми негово стихотворение
ПРОЗА
Приживе Е.А.По публикува три сборника с разкази/новели и един роман ("Историята на Артър Гордън Пим"). Скоро след смъртта му е издаден друг сборник, чийто съставител не е По.
* Tales of the Folio Club (@1832-1836, unpublished as a collection. The tales were printed separately.)
* The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym (1838)
* Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque (1840, volume I and volume II)
* Phantasy Pieces (1842, unpublished second edition of Tales)
* The Prose Romances of Edgar A. Poe (1843)
* Tales by Edgar A. Poe (1845, TALES) (re-issued with a new title page in 1848, but dated 1849.)
* The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe (1850, volume I: Tales and volume II: Poems and Miscellanies; and 1856, volume IV: Arthur Gordon Pym, &c. — WORKS)
По години:
Bon-Bon (1832)
Metzengerstein (1832)
MS. Found in a Bottle (1833)
The Assignation (1835)
Berenice (1835)
Hans Pfaall - A Tale (1835) aka The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall
King Pest (1835)
Morella (1835)
Shadow - A Parable (1835)
The Unparelleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall (1835)
Ligeia (1838)
Narrative of A Gordon Pym (1838)
The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion (1839)
The Fall of the House of Usher (1839)
Silence - A Fable (1839)
William Wilson (1839)
The Man of the Crowd (1840)
A Descent into the Maelstrom (1841)
Eleonora (1841)
Never Bet the Devil Your Head (1841)
Three Sundays in a Week (1841)
The Masque of the Red Death (1842)
The Mystery of Marie Roget (1842)
The Black Cat (1843)
The Gold-Bug (1843)
The Pit and the Pendulum (1843)
The Tell-Tale Heart (1843)
The Angel of the Odd (1844)
The Balloon Hoax (1844)
Mesmeric Revelation (1844)
Morning on the Wissahiccon (1844)
The Oblong Box (1844)
The Premature Burial (1844)
The Purloined Letter (1844)
A Tale of the Ragged Mountains (1844)
'Thou Art the Man' (1844)
The Colloquy of Monos and Una (1845)
The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar (1845)
The Imp of the Perverse (1845)
The Oval Portrait (1845)
The Power of Words (1845)
Some Words with a Mummy (1845)
The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether (1845)
The Thousand-and-Second Tale of Scheherazade (1845)
The Cask of Amontillado (1846)
The Sphinx (1846)
The Domain of Arnheim (1847)
Eureka: an Essay on the Material and Spiritual Universe (1848)
Hop-Frog (1849)
Mellonta Tauta (1849)
Von Kempelen and His Discovery (1849)
X-ing a Paragrab (1849)
The Lighthouse (1953) (with Robert Bloch)
The Devil in the Belfry
Diddling Considered As One of the Exact Sciences
Four Beasts in One: the Homo_Cameleopard
The Island of the Fay
Landor's Cottage
The Raven
The Spectacles
Toby Dammit
Азбучен списък:
• The Angel of the Odd
• The Assignation
• The Balloon Hoax
• The Bargain Lost (see "Bon-Bon")
• Berenice
• The Black Cat
• Bon-Bon
• The Business Man
• The Cask of Amontillado
• The Colloquy of Monos and Una
• The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion
• A Decided Loss (see "Loss of Breath")
• A Descent into the Maelström
• The Devil in the Belfry
• Diddling Considered as One of the Exact Sciences
• A Dream (?) (Poe's authorship is very doubtful)
• The Domain of Arnheim
• The Duc de L'Omelette
• Eleonora
• Epimanies
• The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar
• The Fall of the House of Usher
• Four Beasts in One
• The Gold-Bug
• Hop-Frog
• How to Write a Blackwood Article (introduction to "A Predicament")
• The Imp of the Perverse
• The Island of the Fay
• The Journal of Julius Rodman
• King Pest
• Landor's Cottage
• The Landscape Garden
• Ligeia
• The Light-House
• Lion-izing
• The Literary Life of Thingum Bob, Esq
• Loss of Breath
• The Man of the Crowd
• The Man That Was Used Up. A Tale of the Late Bugaboo and Kickapoo Campaign.
• Manuscript Found in a Bottle (see "MS Found in a Bottle")
• The Masque of the Red Death
• Mellona Tauta
• Mesmeric Revelation
• Metzengerstein
• Morella
• MS. Found in a Bottle
• The Murders in the Rue Morgue
• The Mystery of Marie Roget
• Mystification
• The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket
• Never Bet the Devil Your Head. A Tale with a Moral.
• The Oblong Box
• The Oval Portrait
• The Pit and the Pendulum
• The Power of Words
• A Predicament (introduced by "How to Write a Blackwood Article")
• The Premature Burial
• The Purloined Letter
• Raising the Wind (see "Diddling Considered . . .")
• Shadow — A Parable
• Silence — A Fable
• Siope (see "Silence — A Fable")
• Some Words With a Mummy
• The Spectacles
• The Sphinx
• [Summer and Winter] (? manuscript fragment)
• The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether
• A Tale of Jerusalem
• A Tale of the Ragged Mountains
• The Tell-Tale Heart
• Thou Art the Man
• The Thousand-and-Second Tale of Scheherazade
• Three Sundays in a Week
• The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall
• Von Kempelen and His Discovery
• Why the Little Frenchman Wears His Hand in a Sling
• William Wilson
• X-ing a Paragrab
Смъртта на По
Е.А.По умира на 7 октомври 1849г. във Вашингтонска университетска болница при неизяснени обстоятелства. Съществуват различни теории: че е умрял вследствие на тежко алкохолно отравяне, от инсулт, инфаркт (смята се, че е имал проблеми със сърцето), туберколоза, епилепсия, диабет и дори, че е умрял вследствие на побой.
По и наркотиците
И до ден днешен се водят спорове дали По е използвал наркотици. Предполага се, че е пушил опиум (най-вече заради факта, че в част от разказите му, написани в първо лице, главният герой пуши опиум) и че е пиел абсент. Но това са само предположения. Сигурно е само едно – че Е.А.По е злоупотребявал с алкохола и през последните години от живота си е бил алкохолик.
По - бащата на криминалната проза
С криминалните си разкази По не само полага началото на съвременната криминална литература, но и вдъхновява Артър Конан Дойл да създаде цикъла си от произведения за Шерлок Холмс. Към криминалните разкази на По могат да бъдат причислени: "Murders in the Rue Morgue", "Mystery of Marie Roget", "The Purloined Letter", "Thou Art the Man", "The Gold-Bug", "The Man of the Crowd".
По и научната фантастика
Е.А.По се е проявил и в сферата на научната фантастика. Научнофантастичните му разкази ("Colloquy of Monos and Una", "The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion", "The Power of Words", "The Balloon Hoax", "The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar", "Von Kemplen and His Discovery", "The Unparalled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall", "Mellona Tauta") са оказали голямо влияние върху творчеството на Жул Верн.
Майтапчията По
Голяма част от разказите на По са хумористични, въпреки че някои хора биха намерили хумора му за "черен" и "извратен" (достатъчно е да споменем "The Spectacles", "The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether", "Loss of Breath" /главният герой изгубва дъха си и това далеч не е най-лошото, което му се случва / и "The Premature Burial " /главният герой цял живот се подсигурява да не бъде погребан жив (най-лошият му страх) и накрая, естествено, се случва именно това/).
По и ужасът
Ето, че стигнахме и до най-важната тема По може и да не е родоначалник на литературата на ужаса* (корените на ужаса могат да се търсят в историите за духове, публикувани през 1811 от Фридрих Шулц под заглавието "Разкази за мъртъвци", в романа на Мери Шели "Франкенщайн" (1818), в разказа на Джон Полидори "Вампирът" (1819), в разказа на Шеридан Льо Фану "The Ghost and the Bonesetter" (1838) и т.н.), но под перото му излизат няколко великолепни разкази на ужаса, които служат като модел за подражание и до наши дни. Малко писатели на ужаси успяват да въздействат на човешката психика и въображение така, както го прави По. Тук мога да посоча:
"Metzengerstein" (1832)
"MS Found in a Bottle" (1833) (с известни уговорки)
"Berenice" (1835)
"Morella" (1835)
Shadow - A Parable (1835)
"The Fall of the House of Usher" (1839)
"The Masque of the Red Death" (1842)
"The Black Cat" (1843)
"The Tell-Tale Heart" (1843)
"The Pit and the Pendulum" (1842)
"The Premature Burial (1844)
"Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar" (1845)
"The Cask of Amontillado" (1846)
“Hop-Frog” (1849)
* Според мен (това е лично мое мнение) Е.А.По може да се разглежда като родоначалник на психологическия ужас
ВМЕСТО ФИНАЛ ето ви три от любимите ми творби на По
The Masque of the Red Death Edgar Allan Poe
The “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal — the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.
But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince's own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death."
It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.
It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven — an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different; as might have been expected from the duke's love of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue — and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange — the fifth with white — the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet — a deep blood color. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire that protected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.
It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to hearken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused reverie or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.
But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colors and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure that he was not.
He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fete; and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm — much of what has been since seen in “Hernani.” There were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There was much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these — the dreams — writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away — they have endured but an instant — and a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted windows through which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the maskers who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments.
But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus, too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and surprise — then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.
In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the prince's indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood — and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.
When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.
“Who dares?” he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him — “who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him — that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the battlements!"
It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly — for the prince was a bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.
It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince's person; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber to the purple — through the purple to the green — through the green to the orange — through this again to the white — and even thence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry — and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave-cerements and corpse-like mask which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.
And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
THE TELL-TALE HEART Edgar Allan Poe
TRUE! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily — how calmly I can tell you the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture — a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it — oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly — very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! — would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously (for the hinges creaked) — I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights — every night just at midnight — but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers — of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back — but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out — "Who's there?"
I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; — just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.
Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief — oh, no! — it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself — "It is nothing but the wind in the chimney — it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or "it is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes, he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel — although he neither saw nor heard — to feel the presence of my head within the room.
When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little — a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it — you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily — until, at length a single dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.
It was open — wide, wide open — and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness — all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.
And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses? — now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! — do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me — the sound would be heard by a neighbor! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once — once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.
I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye — not even his — could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out — no stain of any kind — no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all — ha! ha!
When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock — still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, — for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbor during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.
I smiled, — for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search — search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.
The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: — it continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness — until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.
No doubt I now grew very pale; — but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased — and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound — much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath — and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly — more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men — but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed — I raved — I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder — louder — louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! — no, no! They heard! — they suspected! — they knew! — they were making a mockery of my horror! — this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! — and now — again! — hark! louder! louder! louder! louder! —
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! — tear up the planks! — here, here! — it is the beating of his hideous heart!"
The Conqueror Worm Edgar Allan Poe
LO ! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years !
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly —
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo !
That motley drama — oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot !
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude !
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude !
It writhes ! — it writhes ! — with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Последната промяна е направена от deadface на Чет Мар 27, 2008 3:44 am; мнението е било променяно общо 8 пъти
Роден в Провиденс, Род-Айлънд, където живее през целия си живот (с изключение на двете години, прекарани в Ню-Йорк). Поради проблеми със здравето не успява да постъпи в университет. Започва да пише още седемгодишен, когато започва да съчинява разкази на основата на необикновено ярките си сънища (от тази практика Лъвкрафт не се отказва и в зряла възраст). В училище се увлича от наука, издава ръкописни списания по астрономия, математика, химия. Не прекъсва журналистическите си занимания до самата си смърт - отчасти поради това, че са го подпомагали материално и са му помагали да свързва двата края.
Първата му художествена публикация е разказа "Алхимик", публикуван в списание "United Amateur" (1916). Ако не се взема предвид влиянието на лорд Дансен и Едгар По, творческия маниер на Лъвкрафт е самобитен. Романите и повестите му представляват "митове за Ктулху" - първобитна раса, населявала Земята преди появата на човека; в повечето произведения героите по един или друг начин се сблъскват с представители на тази раса, доживяли до наши дни.
Сред почитателите на Лъвкрафт са:
- режисьори като Джон Карпентър, Гийермо дел Торо, Стюарт Гордън, Лучио Фулчи и Браян Юзна;
- художници като Гигер;
- музиканти като Металика;
- писатели като Стивън Кинг, Робърт Блох, Дафни дю Мюрие, Нийл Геймън, Робърт Хауърд, Фриц Лейбър, Клайв Баркър, Хорхе Луис Борхес, Джойс Каръл Оутс, Питър Строб, Дийн Кунц, Ричард Матисън, Ф. Пол Уилсън, Рамзи Кемпбъл, Франк Белкнап Лонг, Кларк Аштън Смит, Огъст Дерлет, Греъм Мастертън, Чайна Миевил, Крис Удинг, Браян Лъмли, Харлан Елисън, Джийн Улф, Хенри Кътнър, Робърт Силвърбърг, Л. Рон Хабърд, Теодор Стърджън, Рей Бредбъри и цял куп други малко или повече бележити автори.
Ето и пълният списък на творбите на Лъвкрафт. За съжаление нямам време да го превеждам; мога само да се надявам, че знаете английски
Below is an alphabetical list of Lovecraft’s fiction, revisions, collaborations, and miscellaneous minor works, as well as some tales that are not extant.
• The Alchemist (1908)
• Ashes (with C. M. Eddy, Jr.; 1923)
• At the Mountains of Madness (February-22 March 1931)
• Azathoth (June 1922)
• The Battle that Ended the Century (with R. H. Barlow; June 1934)
• The Beast in the Cave (21 April 1905)
• Beyond the Wall of Sleep (1919)
• The Book (late 1933?)
• The Call of Cthulhu (Summer 1926)
• The Case of Charles Dexter Ward (January-1 March 1927)
• The Cats of Ulthar (15 June 1920)
• Celephaïs (early November 1920)
• The Challenge from Beyond (with C. L. Moore; A. Merritt; Robert E. Howard, and Frank Belknap Long; August 1935)
• Collapsing Cosmoses (with R. H. Barlow; June 1935)
• The Colour Out of Space (March 1927)
• Cool Air (March 1926)
• The Crawling Chaos (with Winifred V. Jackson; 1920/21)
• The Curse of Yig (with Zealia Bishop; 1928)
• Dagon (July 1917)
• Deaf, Dumb, and Blind (with C. M. Eddy, Jr.; 1924?)
• The Descendant (1926?)
• The Diary of Alonzo Typer (with William Lumley; October 1935)
• The Disinterment (with Duane W. Rimel; September 1935)
• The Doom That Came to Sarnath (3 December 1919)
• The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath (Autumn? 1926-22 January 1927)
• The Dreams in the Witch House (January-28 February 1932)
• The Dunwich Horror (Summer 1928)
• The Electric Executioner (with Adolphe de Castro; 1929?)
• The Evil Clergyman (October 1933)
• Ex Oblivione (1920/21)
• Facts Concerning the Late Arthur Jermyn and His Family (1920)
• The Festival (October 1923)
• From Beyond (16 November 1920)
• The Ghost-Eater (with C. M. Eddy, Jr.; 1923)
• The Green Meadow (with Winifred V. Jackson; 1918/19)
• The Haunted House (1898/1902; nonextant)
• The Haunter of the Dark (November 1935)
• He (11 August 1925)
• Herbert West – Reanimator (September 1921-mid 1922)
• History of the Necronomicon (1927)
• The Horror at Martin’s Beach (with Sonia H. Greene; June 1922)
• The Horror at Red Hook (1-2 August 1925)
• The Horror in the Burying-Ground (with Hazel Heald; 1933/35)
• The Horror in the Museum (with Hazel Heald; October 1932)
• The Hound (September 1922)
• Hypnos (March 1922)
• Ibid (1928?)
• In the Vault (18 September 1925)
• In the Walls of Eryx (with Kenneth Sterling; January 1936)
• John, the Detective (1898/1902; nonextant)
• The Last Test (with Adolphe de Castro; 1927)
• Life and Death (1920?; lost)
• The Little Glass Bottle (1897)
• The Loved Dead (with C. M. Eddy, Jr.; 1923)
• The Lurking Fear (November 1922)
• The Man of Stone (with Hazel Heald; 1932)
• Medusa’s Coil (with Zealia Bishop; May 1930)
• Memory (1919)
• The Moon-Bog (March 1921)
• The Mound (with Zealia Bishop; December 1929-early 1930)
• The Music of Erich Zann (December 1921)
• The Mysterious Ship (1902)
• The Mystery of the Grave-Yard (1898)
• The Mystery of Murdon Grange (1918; nonextant)
• The Nameless City (January 1921)
• The Night Ocean (with R. H. Barlow; Autumn? 1936)
• The Noble Eavesdropper (1897?; nonextant)
• Nyarlathotep (early December 1920)
• Old Bugs (1919)
• The Other Gods (14 August 1921)
• Out of the Aeons (with Hazel Heald; 1933)
• The Outsider (1921)
• Pickman’s Model (1926)
• The Picture (1907; nonextant)
• The Picture in the House (12 December 1920)
• Poetry and the Gods (with Anna Helen Crofts; 1920)
• Polaris (May? 1918)
• The Quest of Iranon (28 February 1921)
• The Rats in the Walls (August-September 1923)
• A Reminiscence of Dr. Samuel Johnson (1917)
• The Secret of the Grave (1898/1902; nonextant)
• The Secret Cave or John Lees Adventure (1898)
• The Shadow Out of Time (November 1934-March 1935)
• The Shadow Over Innsmouth (November?-3 December 1931)
• The Shunned House (16-19 October 1924)
• The Silver Key (1926)
• The Statement of Randolph Carter (December 1919)
• The Strange High House in the Mist (9 November 1926)
• The Street (1920?)
• Sweet Ermengarde (1917)
• The Temple (1920)
• The Terrible Old Man (28 January 1920)
• The Thing in the Moonlight (spurious)
• The Thing on the Doorstep (21-24 August 1933)
• Through the Gates of the Silver Key (with E. Hoffmann Price; October 1932-April 1933)
• “Till A’ the Seas” (with R. H. Barlow; January 1935)
• The Tomb (June 1917)
• The Transition of Juan Romero (16 September 1919)
• The Trap (with Henry S. Whitehead; late 1931)
• The Tree (1920)
• The Tree on the Hill (with Duane W. Rimel; May 1934)
• Two Black Bottles (with Wilfred Blanch Talman; July-October 1926)
• Under the Pyramids (with Harry Houdini; February-March 1924)
• The Unnamable (September 1923)
• The Very Old Folk (2 November 1927)
• What the Moon Brings (5 June 1922)
• The Whisperer in Darkness (24 February-26 September 1930)
• The White Ship (November 1919)
• Winged Death (with Hazel Heald; 1933)
Below is a chronological list of Lovecraft’s fiction, revisions, collaborations, and miscellaneous minor works, as well as some tales that are not extant.
• 1897? – The Noble Eavesdropper (nonextant)
• 1897 – The Little Glass Bottle
• 1898 – The Secret Cave or John Lees Adventure
• 1898 – The Mystery of the Grave-Yard
• 1898/1902 – The Haunted House (nonextant)
• 1898/1902 – The Secret of the Grave (nonextant)
• 1898/1902 – John, the Detective (nonextant)
• 1902 – The Mysterious Ship
• 1905, April 21 – The Beast in the Cave
• 1907 – The Picture (nonextant)
• 1908 – The Alchemist
• 1917, June – The Tomb
• 1917, July – Dagon
• 1917 – A Reminiscence of Dr. Samuel Johnson
• 1917 – Sweet Ermengarde
• 1918, May? – Polaris
• 1918 – The Mystery of Murdon Grange (nonextant)
• 1918/19 – The Green Meadow (with Winifred V. Jackson)
• 1919 – Beyond the Wall of Sleep
• 1919 – Memory
• 1919 – Old Bugs
• 1919, September 16 – The Transition of Juan Romero
• 1919, November – The White Ship
• 1919, December 3 – The Doom That Came to Sarnath
• 1919, December – The Statement of Randolph Carter
• 1920, January 28 – The Terrible Old Man
• 1920 – The Tree
• 1920, June 15 – The Cats of Ulthar
• 1920 – The Temple
• 1920 – Facts Concerning the Late Arthur Jermyn and His Family
• 1920? – The Street
• 1920? – Life and Death (lost)
• 1920 – Poetry and the Gods (with Anna Helen Crofts)
• 1920, early November – Celephaïs
• 1920, November 16 – From Beyond
• 1920, early December – Nyarlathotep
• 1920, December 12 – The Picture in the House
• 1920/21 – The Crawling Chaos (with Winifred V. Jackson)
• 1920/21 – Ex Oblivione
• 1921, January – The Nameless City
• 1921, February 28 – The Quest of Iranon
• 1921, March – The Moon-Bog
• 1921 – The Outsider
• 1921, August 14 – The Other Gods
• 1921, December – The Music of Erich Zann
• 1921, September to mid-1922 – Herbert West – Reanimator
• 1922, March – Hypnos
• 1922, June 5 – What the Moon Brings
• 1922, June – Azathoth
• 1922, June – The Horror at Martin’s Beach (with Sonia H. Greene)
• 1922, September – The Hound
• 1922, November – The Lurking Fear
• 1923, August-September – The Rats in the Walls
• 1923, September – The Unnamable
• 1923 – Ashes (with C. M. Eddy, Jr.)
• 1923 – The Ghost-Eater (with C. M. Eddy, Jr.)
• 1923 – The Loved Dead (with C. M. Eddy, Jr.)
• 1923, October – The Festival
• 1924? – Deaf, Dumb, and Blind (with C. M. Eddy, Jr.)
• 1924, February-March – Under the Pyramids (with Harry Houdini)
• 1924, October 16-19 – The Shunned House
• 1925, August 1-2 – The Horror at Red Hook
• 1925, August 11 – He
• 1925, September 18 – In the Vault
• 1926? – The Descendant
• 1926, March – Cool Air
• 1926, Summer – The Call of Cthulhu
• 1926, July-October – Two Black Bottles (with Wilfred Blanch Talman)
• 1926 – Pickman’s Model
• 1926 – The Silver Key
• 1926, November 9 – The Strange High House in the Mist
• 1926, Autumn? to 1927, January 22 – The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath
• 1927, January to March 1 – The Case of Charles Dexter Ward
• 1927, March – The Colour Out of Space
• 1927, November 2 – The Very Old Folk
• 1927, November 25 – The Thing in the Moonlight (spurious)
• 1927 – The Last Test (with Adolphe de Castro)
• 1927 – History of the Necronomicon
• 1928 – The Curse of Yig (with Zealia Bishop)
• 1928? – Ibid
• 1928, Summer – The Dunwich Horror
• 1929? – The Electric Executioner (with Adolphe de Castro)
• 1929, December to early 1930 – The Mound (with Zealia Bishop)
• 1930, May – Medusa’s Coil (with Zealia Bishop)
• 1930, February 24 to September 26 – The Whisperer in Darkness
• 1931, February to March 22 – At the Mountains of Madness
• 1931, November? to December 3 – The Shadow Over Innsmouth
• late 1931 – The Trap (with Henry S. Whitehead)
• 1932, January to February 28 – The Dreams in the Witch House
• 1932 – The Man of Stone (with Hazel Heald)
• 1932, October – The Horror in the Museum (with Hazel Heald)
• 1932, October to 1933, April – Through the Gates of the Silver Key (with E. Hoffmann Price)
• 1933 – Winged Death (with Hazel Heald)
• 1933 – Out of the Aeons (with Hazel Heald)
• 1933, August 21-24 – The Thing on the Doorstep
• 1933, October – The Evil Clergyman
• 1933/35 – The Horror in the Burying-Ground (with Hazel Heald)
• late 1933? – The Book
• 1934, May – The Tree on the Hill (with Duane W. Rimel)
• 1934, June – The Battle that Ended the Century (with R. H. Barlow)
• 1934, November to 1935, March – The Shadow Out of Time
• 1935, January – “Till A’ the Seas” (with R.H. Barlow)
• 1935, June – Collapsing Cosmoses (with R.H. Barlow)
• 1935, August – The Challenge from Beyond (with C. L. Moore; A. Merritt; Robert E. Howard, and Frank Belknap Long)
• 1935, September – The Disinterment (with Duane W. Rimel)
• 1935, October – The Diary of Alonzo Typer (with William Lumley)
• 1935, November – The Haunter of the Dark
• 1936, January – In the Walls of Eryx (with Kenneth Sterling)
• 1936, Autumn? – The Night Ocean (with R.H. Barlow)
General
• Bibliography of fiction
• Who's Who of Characters
• Supernatural Horror in Literature with bibliography and links
• RealAudio: The Dunwich Horror, "Suspense" Radio Show, November 5, 1945
Fiction
• The Alchemist
• At the Mountains of Madness
• Azathoth
• The Beast in the Cave
• Beyond the Wall of Sleep
• The Book
• The Call of Cthulhu
• The Case of Charles Dexter Ward
• The Cats of Ulthar
• Celephais
• The Colour Out of Space
• Cool Air
• Dagon
• The Descendant
• The Doom That Came to Sarnath
• The Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath
• Dreams in the Witch-House
• The Dunwich Horror
• The Evil Clergyman
• Ex Oblivione
• Facts Concerning the Late Arthur Jermyn and His Family
• The Festival
• From Beyond
• The Haunter Of The Dark
• He
• Herbert West: Reanimator
• The Horror at Red Hook
• The Hound
• Hypnos
• Ibid
• Imprisoned with the Pharaos
• In The Vault
• The Lurking Fear
• Memory
• The Moon-Bog
• Nyarlathotep
• The Music of Erich Zann
• The Nameless City
• The Other Gods
• The Outsider
• Pickman's Model
• The Picture in the House
• Polaris
• The Quest of Iranon
• The Rats in the Walls
• The Shadow Out of Time
• The Shadow Over Innsmouth
• The Shunned House
• The Silver Key
• The Statement of Randolph Carter
• The Strange High House in the Mist
• The Street
• Sweet Ermengarde by Percy Simple
• The Temple
• The Terrible Old Man
• The Thing on the Doorstep
• The Tomb
• The Transition of Juan Romero
• The Tree
• The Unnamable
• The Very Old Folk
• What the Moon Brings
• The Whisperer in Darkness
• The White Ship
Fiction: Revisions
• The Crawling Chaos with Elizabeth Berkeley
• The Disinterment with Duane W. Rimel
• The Green Meadow with Winifred V. Jackson
• The Horror at Martin's Beach with Sonia H. Greene
• The Last Test with Adolphe de Castro
• The Man of Stone with Hazel Heald
• Medusa's Coil with Zealia Bishop
• The Night Ocean with R. H. Barlow
• Out of the Aeons with Hazel Heald
• Poetry and the Gods with Anna Helen Crofts
• The Thing in the Moonlight with J. Chapman Miske
• Through the Gates of the Silver Key with E. Hoffmann Price
• Till A’ the Seas with R. H. Barlow
• The Trap with Henry S. Whitehead
• The Tree on the Hill with Duane W. Rimel
• Two Black Bottles with Wilfred Blanch Talman
• Within The Walls Of Eryx with Kenneth Sterling
Poetry
• An American to Mother England
• Astrophobos
• The Bride of the Sea
• The Cats
• Christmas Blessings
• Christmastide
• The City
• The Conscript
• Despair
• To Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, Eighteenth Baron Dunsany
• Fact and Fancy
• Festival
• Fungi from Yuggoth
• The Garden
• Good Saint Nick
• Hallowe'en in a Suburb
• The House
• Laeta; A Lament
• Lines on General Robert E. Lee
• Little Tiger
• The Messenger
• Nathanica
• Nemesis
• Ode for July Fourth, 1917
• On Receiving a Picture of Swans
• Pacifist War Song - 1917
• The Peace Advocate
• The Poe-ets Nightmare
• Poemata Minoria, Volume II
• Providence
• The Rose of England
• On Reading Lord Dunsany's Book of Wonder
• Revelation
• Tosh Bosh
• Where Once Poe Walked
• Waste Paper
• The Wood
Essays
• The Allowable Rhyme
• At the Root
• Cats and Dogs
• The Despised Pastoral
• History of the Necronomicon
• Metrical Regularity
• Notes On Writing Weird Fiction
• Supernatural Horror in Literature with bibliography
Other
• Letter to August Derleth Dec 11, 1919 - describes the dream that formed the basis of The Statement of Randalph Carter
Spurious
• To the American Flag by Jonathan E. Hoag
• Death by Jonathan E. Hoag
• The Inevitable Conflict by Paul H. Lovering. Currently being published (in Italian) as "L'orrore che viene dall'est" ("The Horror That Comes From The East"). Alleged to be a newly discovered work of Lovecraft. I disagree, but read it for yourself.
Ето и малко по-подробна биография, за съжаление пак на английски (имам и още по-подробна, но тя вече e наистина МНОГО дълга):
HOWARD PHILLIPS LOVECRAFT was born at 9 a.m. on August 20, 1890, at his family home at 454 (then numbered 194) Angell Street in Providence, Rhode Island. His mother was Sarah Susan Phillips Lovecraft, who could trace her ancestry to the arrival of George Phillips to Massachusetts in 1630. His father was Winfield Scott Lovecraft, a traveling salesman for Gorham & Co., Silversmiths, of Providence. When Lovecraft was three his father suffered a nervous breakdown in a hotel room in Chicago and was brought back to Butler Hospital, where he remained for five years before dying on July 19, 1898. Lovecraft was apparently informed that his father was paralyzed and comatose during this period, but the surviving evidence suggests that this was not the case; it is nearly certain that Lovecraft’s father died of paresis, a form of neurosyphilis.
With the death of Lovecraft’s father, the upbringing of the boy fell to his mother, his two aunts, and especially his grandfather, the prominent industrialist Whipple Van Buren Phillips. Lovecraft was a precocious youth: he was reciting poetry at age two, reading at age three, and writing at age six or seven. His earliest enthusiasm was for the Arabian Nights, which he read by the age of five; it was at this time that he adapted the pseudonym of “Abdul Alhazred,” who later became the author of the mythical Necronomicon. The next year, however, his Arabian interests were eclipsed by the discovery of Greek mythology, gleaned through Bulfinch’s Age of Fable and through children’s versions of the Iliad and Odyssey. Indeed his earliest surviving literary work, “The Poem of Ulysses” (1897), is a paraphrase of the Odyssey in 88 lines of internally rhyming verse. But Lovecraft had by this time already discovered weird fiction, and his first story, the non-extant “The Noble Eavesdropper,” may date to as early as 1896. His interest in the weird was fostered by his grandfather, who entertained Lovecraft with off-the-cuff weird tales in the Gothic mode.
As a boy Lovecraft was somewhat lonely and suffered from frequent illnesses, many of them apparently psychological. His attendance at the Slater Avenue School was sporadic, but Lovecraft was soaking up much information through independent reading. At about the age of eight he discovered science, first chemistry, then astronomy. He began to produce hectographed journals, The Scientific Gazette (1899-1907) and The Rhode Island Journal of Astronomy (1903-07), for distribution amongst his friends. When he entered Hope Street High School, he found both his teachers and peers congenial and encouraging, and he developed a number of long-lasting friendships with boys of his age. Lovecraft’s first appearance in print occurred in 1906, when he wrote a letter on an astronomical matter to The Providence Sunday Journal. Shortly thereafter he began writing a monthly astronomy column for The Pawtuxet Valley Gleaner, a rural paper; he later wrote columns for The Providence Tribune (1906-08) and The Providence Evening News (1914-18), as well as The Asheville (N.C.) Gazette-News (1915).
In 1904 the death of Lovecraft’s grandfather, and the subsequent mismanagement of his property and affairs, plunged Lovecraft’s family into severe financial difficulties. Lovecraft and his mother were forced to move out of their lavish Victorian home into cramped quarters at 598 Angell Street. Lovecraft was devastated by the loss of his birthplace, and apparently contemplated suicide, as he took long bicycle rides and looked wistfully at the watery depths of the Barrington River. But the thrill of learning banished those thoughts. In 1908, however, just prior to his graduation from high school, he suffered a nervous breakdown that compelled him to leave school without a diploma; this fact, and his consequent failure to enter Brown University, were sources of great shame to Lovecraft in later years, in spite of the fact that he was one of the most formidable autodidacts of his time. From 1908 to 1913 Lovecraft was a virtual hermit, doing little save pursuing his astronomical interests and his poetry writing. During this whole period Lovecraft was thrown into an unhealthily close relationship with his mother, who was still suffering from the trauma of her husband’s illness and death, and who developed a pathological love-hate relationship with her son.
Lovecraft emerged from his hermitry in a very peculiar way. Having taken to reading the early “pulp” magazines of the day, he became so incensed at the insipid love stories of one Fred Jackson in The Argosy that he wrote a letter, in verse, attacking Jackson. This letter was published in 1913, and evoked a storm of protest from Jackson’s defenders. Lovecraft engaged in a heated debate in the letter column of The Argosy and its associated magazines, Lovecraft’s responses being almost always in rollicking heroic couplets reminiscent of Dryden and Pope. This controversy was noted by Edward F. Daas, President of the United Amateur Press Association (UAPA), a group of amateur writers from around the country who wrote and published their own magazines. Daas invited Lovecraft to join the UAPA, and Lovecraft did so in early 1914. Lovecraft published thirteen issues of his own paper, The Conservative (1915-23), as well as contributing poetry and essays voluminously to other journals. Later Lovecraft became President and Official Editor of the UAPA, and also served briefly as President of the rival National Amateur Press Association (NAPA). This entire experience may well have saved Lovecraft from a life of unproductive reclusiveness; as he himself once said: “In 1914, when the kindly hand of amateurdom was first extended to me, I was as close to the state of vegetation as any animal well can be...With the advent of the United I obtained a renewal to live; a renewed sense of existence as other than a superfluous weight; and found a sphere in which I could feel that my efforts were not wholly futile. For the first time I could imagine that my clumsy gropings after art were a little more than faint cries lost in the unlistening world.”
It was in the amateur world that Lovecraft recommenced the writing of fiction, which he had abandoned in 1908. W. Paul Cook and others, noting the promise shown in such early tales as “The Beast in the Cave” (1905) and “The Alchemist” (1908), urged Lovecraft to pick up his fictional pen again. This Lovecraft did, writing “The Tomb” and “Dagon” in quick succession in the summer of 1917. Thereafter Lovecraft kept up a steady if sparse flow of fiction, although until at least 1922 poetry and essays were still his dominant mode of literary expression. Lovecraft also became involved in an ever-increasing network of correspondence with friends and associates, and he eventually became one of the greatest and most prolific letter-writers of the century.
Lovecraft’s mother, her mental and physical condition deteriorating, suffered a nervous breakdown in 1919 and was admitted to Butler Hospital, whence, like her husband, she would never emerge. Her death on May 24, 1921, however was the result of a bungled gall bladder operation. Lovecraft was shattered by the loss of his mother, but in a few weeks had recovered enough to attend an amateur journalism convention in Boston on July 4, 1921. It was on this occasion that he first met the woman who would become his wife. Sonia Haft Greene was a Russian Jew seven years Lovecraft’s senior, but the two seemed, at least initially, to find themselves very congenial. Lovecraft visited Sonia in her Brooklyn apartment in 1922, and the news of their marriage on March 3, 1924, was not entirely a surprise to their friends; but it may have been to Lovecraft’s two aunts, Lillian D. Clark and Annie E. Phillips Gamwell, who were notified only by letter after the ceremony had taken place. Lovecraft moved into Sonia’s apartment in Brooklyn, and initial prospects for the couple seemed good: Lovecraft had gained a foothold as a professional writer by the acceptance of several of his early stories by Weird Tales, the celebrated pulp magazine founded in 1923; Sonia had a successful hat shop on Fifth Avenue in New York.
But troubles descended upon the couple almost immediately: the hat shop went bankrupt, Lovecraft turned down the chance to edit a companion magazine to Weird Tales (which would have necessitated his move to Chicago), and Sonia’s health gave way, forcing her to spend time in a New Jersey sanitarium. Lovecraft attempted to secure work, but few were willing to hire a thirty-four-year-old-man with no job experience. On January 1, 1925, Sonia went to Cleveland to take up a job there, and Lovecraft moved into a single apartment near the seedy Brooklyn area called Red Hook.
Although Lovecraft had many friends in New York – Frank Belknap Long, Rheinhart Kleiner, Samuel Loveman – he became increasingly depressed by his isolation and the masses of “foreigners” in the city. His fiction turned from the nostalgic (“The Shunned House” (1924) is set in Providence) to the bleak and misanthropic (“The Horror at Red Hook” and “He” (both 1924) lay bare his feelings for New York). Finally, in early 1926, plans were made for Lovecraft to return to the Providence he missed so keenly. But where did Sonia fit into these plans? No one seemed to know, least of all Lovecraft. Although he continued to profess his affection for her, he acquiesced when his aunts barred her from coming to Providence to start a business; their nephew could not be tainted by the stigma of a tradeswoman wife. The marriage was essentially over, and a divorce in 1929 was inevitable.
When Lovecraft returned to Providence on April 17, 1926, settling at 10 Barnes Street north of Brown University, it was not to bury himself away as he had done in the 1908-13 period; rather, the last ten years of his life were the time of his greatest flowering, both as a writer and as a human being. His life was relatively uneventful – he traveled widely to various antiquarian sites around the eastern seaboard (Quebec, New England, Philadelphia, Charleston, St. Augustine); he wrote his greatest fiction, from “The Call of Cthulhu” (1926) to At the Mountains of Madness (1931) to “The Shadow out of Time” (1934-35); and he continued his prodigiously vast correspondence – but Lovecraft had found his niche as a New England writer of weird fiction and as a general man of letters. He nurtured the careers of many young writers (August Derleth, Donald Wandrei, Robert Bloch, Fritz Leiber); he became concerned with political and economic issues, as the Great Depression led him to support Roosevelt and become a moderate socialist; and he continued absorbing knowledge on a wide array of subjects, from philosophy to literature to history to architecture.
The last two or three years of his life, however, were filled with hardship. In 1932 his beloved aunt, Mrs. Clark, died, and he moved into quarters at 66 College Street, right behind the John Hay Library, with his other aunt Mrs. Gamwell in 1933. (This house has now been moved to 65 Prospect Street.) His later stories, increasingly lengthy and complex, became difficult to sell, and he was forced to support himself largely through the “revision” or ghost-writing of stories, poetry, and nonfictions works. In 1936 the suicide of Robert E. Howard, one of his closest correspondents, left him confused and saddened. By this time the illness that would cause his own death – cancer of the intestine – had already progressed so far that little could be done to treat it. Lovecraft attempted to carry on in increasing pain through the winter of 1936-37, but was finally compelled to enter Jane Brown Memorial Hospital on March 10, 1937, where he died five days later. He was buried on March 18 at the Phillips family plot at Swan Point Cemetery.
It is likely that, as he saw death approaching, Lovecraft envisioned the ultimate oblivion of his work: he had never had a true book published in his lifetime (aside, perhaps, from the crudely issued The Shadow over Innsmouth [1936]), and his stories, essays, and poems were scattered in a bewildering number of amateur or pulp magazines. But the friendships that he had forged merely by correspondence held him in good stead: August Derleth and Donald Wandrei were determined to preserve Lovecraft’s stories in the dignity of a hardcover book, and formed the publishing firm of Arkham House initially to publish Lovecraft’s work; they issued The Outsider and Others in 1939. Many other volumes followed from Arkham House, and eventually Lovecraft’s work became available in paperback and was translated into a dozen languages. Today, at the centennial of his birth, his stories are available in textually corrected editions, his essays, poems, and letters are widely available, and many scholars have probed the depths and complexities of his work and thought. Much remains to be done in the study of Lovecraft, but it is safe to say that, thanks to the intrinsic merit of his own work and to the diligence of his associates and supporters, Lovecraft has gained a small but unassailable niche in the canon of American and world literature.
ВМЕСТО ФИНАЛ можете да прочетете част от творбите на Лъвкрафт, преведени на български език ето тук
Последната промяна е направена от deadface на Пет Мар 04, 2011 7:06 am; мнението е било променяно общо 5 пъти
Мислех да карам авторите по хронологичен ред, но ще ми трябва адски много време да подготвя необходимата информация, затова ще прескоча няколко допринесли изключително много за литературата на ужаса автори като Мери Шели, Шеридан Льо Фану, Кларк Аштън Смит, Амброуз Биърс, Брам Стоукър, Абрахам Мерит, Ричард Матисън, Дейвид Залцер, Уилям Хьортбърг, Греъм Мастертън, Ричард Леймън и любимият ми Стивън Кинг (с идеята да се върна към тях по-късно) и ще премина към
Предполагам тепърва ще си говорим за Краля, но бързам да дам един от най-добрите български фен сайтове, посветен на творчеството му. _________________
In my restless dreams, I see that town... Silent Hill. You promised you'd take me there again some day... but you never did. Well, I'm alone there now.In our special place... waiting for you.
Чудесна тема и евала за положения труд.
Искам да кажа няколко думи за един не толкова известен японски хорър писател – Коджи Сузуки
Коджи Сузуки (Koji Suzuki) е роден през 1957 година. Автор е на няколко книги, най-известната от които е Ringu. Ringu има три екранизации – японска, корейска и американска.
Ringu е първата книга от цикъла Ringu.
Следващите книги са:
Spiral (book 2)
Loop (book 3)
Друга книга на Сузуки е Dark Water. Dark Water е сборник от разкази, като на първия от тях Floating Water са базирани японският Honogurai mizu no soko kara (Dark Water) както и американския римейк от миналата година. До края на тази година се очакват още две книги – Birthday и Paradise
За съжаление съм чел единствено Ringu и мога да напиша впечатленията си от нея. Героят в романа (за разлика от филма) е мъж – журналистът Асакава. Историята започва, когато шофьор на такси му разказва за странен смъртен случай на моторист. Асакава се заинтересува, тъй като се оказва че племенницата му умира в същия ден и час със същата диагноза – инфаркт. След стартираното разследване, той открива още два смъртни случая. Постепенно разследването се превръща в кошмар, в който той и негов приятел – професор по философия се състезават с приближаващата смърт.
Романът поддържа високо ниво на напрежение и бързо развитие на историята. Описанието на смъртта причинена от проклятието е силно впечатляващо.
В книгата има фантастика, мистика, ужас, малко генетика, трилър, напрежение. Ако я откриете някъде не пропускайте да я прочетете.
"Кръгът" наистина не е лоша книга, но вероятно щеше да ми хареса повече, ако я бях прочел преди да гледам екранизацията (Предизвестена смърт). За съжаление преводът й не е добър и това разваля до голяма степен удоволствието от четенето. Хубавото е, че между книгата и филма има доста разлики (особено с американската версия), така че романът ще ви бъде интересен, дори да сте гледали филмовата му версия.
*
Впрочем, ето още един чудесен български фен сайт, посветен на Стивън Кинг - http://king-bg.info
Последната промяна е направена от deadface на Нед Юни 20, 2010 2:55 am; мнението е било променяно общо 2 пъти
И аз искам да те поздравя за хубавата тема. Докосването до истинкия Ужас е по-реално посредством книгата, отколкото чрез киното. Книгата дава това уникално усещане и тази уникална възможност да пречупиш света от книгата през своя личен поглед и собствени страхове... докато повечето филми поднасят всичко наготово, показват погледа на сценарист, режисьор и т.н.
Така, че браво за хубавата тема
И може да е "изтъркано", но какво да направя като просто е факт - Кинг е истинкият гений в тази сфера. _________________
Не се впрягай много в живота, и без т'ва няма да излезеш жив от него...
Относно Лъвкрафт публикувам мой постинг от Ужасът...Ужасът (не помня вече на кой сървър, че много се смениха )
Първият ми „сблъсък” с творчеството на Лъвкрафт беше през 1992 година. По това време имаше едно издателство Орфия, което си беше поставило за цел да издаде неиздадени дотогава поради една или друга причина шедьоври на фантастиката. Първите книжки бяха на Шекли и Саймък и излязоха още през 91 година. Книгите бяха малък формат и съдържаха предимно новели. Още в началото на поредицата издадоха книга с три новели на Лъвкрафт – „Дебнещия страх”. В книгата бяха включени "Цветът от Космоса", "Сянка над Инсмут" и "Безименният град".
Това беше единствената издадена книга от Лъвкрафт до 2002 година, когато издадоха сборника с разкази „Шепнещия в тъмнината”, а миналата година издадоха и още един сборник разкази „Двойната сянка”. В различни списания от рода на „Чародей” и Зона Ф на Мелконян (които отдавна не съществуват) също има разкази, по късно включени в някои от горепосочените сборници.
През 1993 четох един сборник с разкази (около 500 страници) на руски. Просто руснаците винаги са били много по напред от нас в издаването на фантастика и литература на ужаса. Няколко разказа на Лъвкрафт има публикувани във виртуалната библиотека на Минковски http://sf.ludost.net
Общо взето трагедията е пълна – почти нищо издадено в България от този истински крал на ужаса. Съответно и феновете му сме много много малко.
Издаденото в България е малко и откъслечно – то не може да покрие цялостната митология създадена от този гений – като се започне с книгата Некрономикон и лудия арабски поет Абдул Ал Хазред и се стигне до ужасните същества – например описаното в разказа Дагон.
Лъвкрафт е роден през 1890 година в Роуд Айлънд, САЩ. Още от малък геният в него си личи– когато е на две години, рецитира стихотворения; тригодишен може да чете; пише още от шестгодишен. Интересува се живо от арабска история – още като дете прочита „1001 нощи”, както и от древногръцка митология.
Лъвкрафт е бил болнав – страдал е от различни болести, част от които определено психиатрични. Почти не е посещавал училище, но в многото си свободно време е четял. Сам се е запознал с химията, астрономията – публикува и статии в научни списания.
Първите по известни разкази на Лъвкрафт датират от 1917 година. Това са „Дагон” и „Гробът”. През 1924 година се оженва, като тогава вече професионално се занимава с писане и има няколко публикувани разказа в списание Weird Tales.
През 1926 той се заселва в Провидънс – тогава започва и истинслия му твочрески период, в който написва шедьоври като „Зовът на Ктулу”, „В планината на лудостта”, „Сянката на времето” и други.
В последните няколко години от живота си Лъвкрафт изпитва големи финансови затруднения. Творбите му стават все по дълги и сложни – от което страдат продажбите. По това време той заболява и от рак на червата, който в крайна сметка го закарва в гроба. Умира в болницата на 10 Март 1937 година само на 47 години.
Трагедията на Лъвкрафт е, че преживе той няма нито една публикувана книга, с изключение на „Сянка над Инсмут” от 1936 година. Всичките му разкази, новели, статии и поеми са разпръснати в безбройни списания. Но приятелите му не го забравят и издават hardcover сборник с най-блестящите му разкази през 1939 г. В последствие в цял свят се издават негови сборници с разкази и есета.
Няколко интересни факта и градски легенди за Лъвкрафт:
- И до ден днешен в големи библиотеки бесни фенове търсят книгата на Некрономикон на Абдул Ал Хазред. Разбира се безуспешно, но знае ли човек
- Легендата за смъртта на Лъвкрафт твърди че той се е самоубил с пет пистолетни изстрела в главата
- Известния дизайнер Гигер (автор на Пришълеца, Сил и други) има сборник с графики наречен Некрономикон
- Един от героите в разказите на Лъвкрафт (например „Нещото на портата”) е се казва Робърт Блох. Това е нгов приятел, известен като автора на „Психо”
- Лъвкрафт е страдал от рядкото заболяване poikilothermism – състояние на „студенокръвие”. Това е болест, при която тялото се стреми да да изравни температурата си с тази на околната среда – т.е. Лъвкрафт е бил нещо като влечуго
Разкази в оригинал можете да прочетете тук http://www.dagonbytes.com/thelibrary/lovecraft/
С митологията на Лъвкрафт можете да се запознаете тук http://www.yankeeclassic.com/miskatonic/dmetaphysics/mythos/mythos2.htm
Virakocha, много добра информативна статия, личи си, че си истински фен на Лъвкрафт Искам само да добавя един малко известен, но любопитен факт - Лъвкрафт е бил приятел на Робърт Хауърд, създателят на Конан Варварина, и двамта са водили активна кореспонденция с писма. У нас Хауърд е известен главно с разказите си за Конан, но той също се е интересувал живо от свръхестественото и има доста разкази на ужасите, в които се разказва за духове и различни свръхестествени чудовища.
И още нещо. От сигурни източници знам, че скоро у нас ще излезе нов сборник с разкази на Лъвкрафт. А ако достатъчно много хора си го купят, ще бъдат издадени и други сборници
Благодаря на всички, които отклихнаха на призива ми и се включиха в темата, вашето участие наистина означава много за мен
Аз не съм специалист в тази област и не съм изчел кой знае колко книги от въпросния жанр, но ще си позволя да добавя един автор с може би единствената му книга на ужасите:
Л. Рон Хабърд - Страх
Книгата е издадена в България от издателство Вузев.
Да, "Страх" наистина си заслужава да бъде спомената в тази тема. Този кратък роман, написан от Хабърд по време на няколкочасово пътуване с влак (!) е едно своеобразно изследване на лудостта, предизвикана от коварната болест малария, от което могат да ви се изправят косите. Главният герой тръгва по следите на изгубената си шапка, за да разбере къде е бил и какво е правил през четири часа от живота си... и открива, че е било по-добре изобщо да не научава
Mоже би сте чували за проекта Гутенберг. Основната му цел е съхраняване в електронен вид (текст или аудио) на класически произведения, за които поне в САЩ никой не притежава авторските права. Затова те са свободни за даунлоуд и разпространенение.
Лично аз намерих следните неща на http://www.gutenberg.org. Там където заглавията се повтарят има TXT и аудио версия.
Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849
* Alone (English)
* The Fall of the House of Usher (English)
* The Fall of the House of Usher (English)
* Famous Modern Ghost Stories (English) (as Contributor)
* First Project Gutenberg Collection of Edgar Allan Poe (English)
* The Great English Short-Story Writers, Volume 1 (English) (as Contributor)
* The Lock and Key Library
The most interesting stories of all nations: American (English) (as Contributor)
* The Raven (English)
* Several Works by Edgar Allan Poe (English)
* The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 1 (English)
* The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2 (English)
* The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3 (English)
* The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 4 (English)
* The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 5 (English)
* The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Volume 1 (English)
* The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Volume 2 (English)
* The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Volume 3 (English)
* The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Volume 4 (English)
* The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Volume 5 (English)
Stoker, Bram, 1847-1912
* Dracula (English)
* Dracula (English)
* Dracula's Guest (English)
* The Jewel of Seven Stars (English)
* The Lady of the Shroud (English)
* Lair of the White Worm (English)
* The Man (English)
Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft, 1797-1851
* Frankenstein (English)
* Frankenstein (English)
Bierce, Ambrose, 1842-1914?
* Grile, Dod
* Black Beetles in Amber (English)
* Can Such Things Be? (English)
* Cobwebs from an Empty Skull (English)
* The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce — Volume 2: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and Civilians (English)
* The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce, Volume 1 (English)
* The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce, Volume 8
Epigrams, On With the Dance, Negligible Tales (English)
* A Cynic Looks at Life (English)
* The Devil's Dictionary (English)
* Famous Modern Ghost Stories (English) (as Contributor)
* Fantastic Fables (English)
* The Fiend's Delight (English)
* The Lock and Key Library
The most interesting stories of all nations: American (English) (as Contributor)
* An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge (English)
* The Parenticide Club (English)
* Present at a Hanging and Other Ghost Stories (English)
* Shapes of Clay (English)
* A Son of the Gods and A Horseman in the Sky (English)
* Write It Right
A Little Blacklist of Literary Faults (English)
Да, "Страх" наистина си заслужава да бъде спомената в тази тема. Този кратък роман, написан от Хабърд по време на няколкочасово пътуване с влак (!) е едно своеобразно изследване на лудостта, предизвикана от коварната болест малария, от което могат да ви се изправят косите. Главният герой тръгва по следите на изгубената си шапка, за да разбере къде е бил и какво е правил през четири часа от живота си... и открива, че е било по-добре изобщо да не научава
Звучи доста интересно! При първа възможност ще си я купя.
А какво ще кажете за Филип Дик? Ето какво написах по повод съвсем скоро излизащият A Scanner Darkly:
outlaw000 написа:
Филип Дик и модификацията на параноята
Добре си го формулирал, Outlaw. Специално за Дик четох, че до зрялата си възраст е бил страшно мрачен, тъжен и лабилен човек. Години след като вече има семейство, един ден просто се събужда и заявява, че светът е прекрасен. Цялото му обкръжение е в пълен мат от пълната промяна в този наче меланхоличен човек. Дик започва да твърди, че е обсебен от свръх-интелект (по-късно го нарича ангел). Интересното е, че след тази промяна започва да управлява много по-добре живота си, "предвижда" рискови сделки с издаделите си и даже открива болест на сина си, за която и докторите не са подозирали....Препоръчвам на всеки, който иска да се докосне до изпълнение със съмнения свят на Ф. Дик и неговата параноя за "несъществуващата реалност", да започне с едноименната екранизация по негово произведение-"Impostor". _________________
In my restless dreams, I see that town... Silent Hill. You promised you'd take me there again some day... but you never did. Well, I'm alone there now.In our special place... waiting for you.
Не знаех че Scanner Darkly е по Филип Дик. Още една причина да очаквам с нетърпение филма! Между другото слаб филм по негово произведение не съм гледал (с изключение на Paycheck). Напротив филми като Total Recall и Screamers са едни от най- добрите фантастични филми. Особено препоръчвам Screamers, тъй като малко хора са го гледали.
Първата книга, която четох от Дик беше Човекът във високия замък - издадоха я от Бард ако не се лъжа през 92 или 93 година. Това е алтернативна история, показваща какво би станало ако Германия и Япония бяха победили в WW2.
Друг интересен роман е "Сънуват ли роботите електроовце" - в България е издадена като "Беглец по острието" - заемка от известния филм Blade Runner (който е по мотиви на романа).
Романите и разказите на Дик са пропити от страх от бъдещето, параноя и съмнения.
Ако желаете да прочетете на някои негови произведения можете да го направите тук
Важно!
Тъй като в линковете към HTML версиите е стрария хост sf.ludost.net, трябва ръчно да промените линка на sf.bgway.com
Сега видях че са издали Scanner Darkly на български с заглавието "Камера помътняла" - малко ми звучи като народна песен , но ще се чете - няма начин.
Часовете са според зоната GMT + 3 Часа Иди на страница 1, 2, 3 ... 92, 93, 94Следваща
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Не Можете да пускате нови теми Не Можете да отговаряте на темите Не Можете да променяте съобщенията си Не Можете да изтривате съобщенията си Не Можете да гласувате в анкети
Въпроси/Отговори
Търсене
Потребители
Потребителски групи
Регистрирайте се
Профил
Влезте, за да видите съобщенията си
Вход
?) (Poe's authorship is very doubtful)
)
, но ще се чете - няма начин.
