Posted: Thu Sep 10, 2009 11:14 am
Perdido Street Station, дотук доста добре 
Page 48 of 241
Posted: Thu Sep 10, 2009 2:49 pm
Може би съм в едночленно малцинство, но Iron Council ми хареса повече от Perdido Street Station и The Scar. Тъй че ти препоръчвам да прочетеш и нея.
Posted: Thu Sep 10, 2009 4:31 pm
като свърша тази
Posted: Sun Sep 13, 2009 7:53 pm
Оня ден прочетох "Сол" на Адам Робъртс, обаче... се оказа, че липсват страниците между 272 и 281, където започва разказът на Рода Титус. Може ли някой, който има българското издание, да ми сканира/снима стр.273-280?
Поръчах 6 книги наведнъж от Инфодар и сега ще трябва да проверя останалите 5 преди да започна да чета. Поне "Камъкът" изглежда читав. "Пергаментът" и "Мастилото" ще ме изморят дори само от проверката
Поръчах 6 книги наведнъж от Инфодар и сега ще трябва да проверя останалите 5 преди да започна да чета. Поне "Камъкът" изглежда читав. "Пергаментът" и "Мастилото" ще ме изморят дори само от проверката
Posted: Mon Sep 14, 2009 9:37 pm
Споделям, че от известно време чета този прехвален Малазан и съм направо потресен колко много ми харесва. Този човек пише по такъв покъртителен начин... Гений! Сега съм към края на Спомени от Лед и съм направо потресен от гениалността, която се лее пред очите ми! Главата, в която Итковиан отива да въздаде правосъдие на Рат-Финир е най-силната глава, която някога съм чел във фентъзи!
Кажете ми, че и следващите томове са толкова силни, колкото първите 3!
Кажете ми, че и следващите томове са толкова силни, колкото първите 3!
Posted: Mon Sep 14, 2009 9:53 pm
За съжаление не са (освен 5-ия), особено последните 3 са доста под нивото на останалите.
Posted: Mon Sep 14, 2009 11:31 pm
Пo една случайност и аз чета Малазана и току що преди 5 минути свърших Deadhouse gates
само едно нещо не разбрах :
само едно нещо не разбрах :
- Spoiler: show
Posted: Tue Sep 15, 2009 4:07 am
Преместете си разговора в малазанската тема, за да не се трием Форплейщини в стил "аз пък НАПОСЛЕДЪК го чета това" тук не минават 
Форплейщини в стил "аз пък НАПОСЛЕДЪК го чета това" тук не минават Posted: Wed Sep 16, 2009 9:46 pm
A Single Man на Christopher Isherwood. Колко обожавам Англия от тази епоха!
Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 2:57 pm
На Дан Браун Новото...
!!!!!!!
Не мога да повярвам, че съм част от хората, допринесли за грандиозните му продажби още първия ден...Срамувам се...
!!!!!!!
Не мога да повярвам, че съм част от хората, допринесли за грандиозните му продажби още първия ден...Срамувам се...
Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 3:08 pm
Аз се срамувам, че те познавам...
Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 3:34 pm
T. H. White: The Once and Future King.
Разбрах, че бил любимия автор на Роулинг: това обяснява защо нейният стил прилича на неговия. Същото спокойно разказване, същите пестеливи, но добре направени описания, същите редки места със смайваща и рязко отличаваща се от остатъка на романа картинност... В последното той е по-добър от нея обаче, както и в избора на думи
Историята си е легендата на Артур, от пристигането на Мерлин при пастрока на младежа чак до старите години на краля и разрухата, предизвикана от Мордред, всичко това в четири книжки формат "Сабриел", към 1000 страници общо. Не знам доколко се е придържал към официалната версия на легендата, нито дори доколко има версия с претенции за официалност, обаче мога да ви кажа, че книгите са супер, основно откъм героите (още нещо, по което Роулинг му прилича бтв, макар че по мое мнение и там той е по-добър). Ланселот е грозен садист, който никога не си позволява да убие беззащитен човек точна заради тази си черта. Мерлин е човек, който живее назад във времето и знае какво ще стане утре, но понякога не е сигурен какво е станало днес. Моргауз е зла вещица, която нарочно ражда детето на брат си и третира всичките си деца по ужасяващ начин (те, горките, после цял живот са хора с проблеми, а детството им е описано сърцераздирателно). Мордред е... уникален.
Препоръчвам. Много препоръчвам.
Разбрах, че бил любимия автор на Роулинг: това обяснява защо нейният стил прилича на неговия. Същото спокойно разказване, същите пестеливи, но добре направени описания, същите редки места със смайваща и рязко отличаваща се от остатъка на романа картинност... В последното той е по-добър от нея обаче, както и в избора на думи
Историята си е легендата на Артур, от пристигането на Мерлин при пастрока на младежа чак до старите години на краля и разрухата, предизвикана от Мордред, всичко това в четири книжки формат "Сабриел", към 1000 страници общо. Не знам доколко се е придържал към официалната версия на легендата, нито дори доколко има версия с претенции за официалност, обаче мога да ви кажа, че книгите са супер, основно откъм героите (още нещо, по което Роулинг му прилича бтв, макар че по мое мнение и там той е по-добър). Ланселот е грозен садист, който никога не си позволява да убие беззащитен човек точна заради тази си черта. Мерлин е човек, който живее назад във времето и знае какво ще стане утре, но понякога не е сигурен какво е станало днес. Моргауз е зла вещица, която нарочно ражда детето на брат си и третира всичките си деца по ужасяващ начин (те, горките, после цял живот са хора с проблеми, а детството им е описано сърцераздирателно). Мордред е... уникален.
Препоръчвам. Много препоръчвам.
Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 4:10 pm
10х
Артуриадата на Уайт (малко отклонение - трудно е да кажеш "верно и точно по оригинала", говорейки за Артуриада, защото реално не е ясно точно къде е оригинала (и нека не забравяме, че Мирдин е "лайнар" )) ми е най-любимата евър, просто защото от авторите, разказвали за Артур, той е единственият, чийто герои са изпипани, малко по-дъблоки и истински. Именно заради него Мордред дълго време ми беше любим герой и образ (е, и заради една песен на Blind Guardian).
Артуриадата на Уайт (малко отклонение - трудно е да кажеш "верно и точно по оригинала", говорейки за Артуриада, защото реално не е ясно точно къде е оригинала (и нека не забравяме, че Мирдин е "лайнар" )) ми е най-любимата евър, просто защото от авторите, разказвали за Артур, той е единственият, чийто герои са изпипани, малко по-дъблоки и истински. Именно заради него Мордред дълго време ми беше любим герой и образ (е, и заради една песен на Blind Guardian).
Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 5:21 pm
Ааа, това откога му се каня
за някоя от книгите на Мартин говореха, че поредицата напомняла за The Once and Future King и оттогава ми грабна окото
за някоя от книгите на Мартин говореха, че поредицата напомняла за The Once and Future King и оттогава ми грабна окото
Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 11:54 pm
От forplay.bg.
http://www.forplay.bg/forums/index.php/ ... 3.495.html
bogy shashav wrote:
Salvation war - web проект, пише се във форум. Малко е странна, но определено забавна. Сюжета се развива около момент в който Бог разпространява послание по света, че райските порти са затворени и земята минава изцяло под властта на Сатаната, като хората им се заповядва(буквално) да лягат и да умират. 90% от истински вярващите по света го правят, останалите му теглят много сочна майна, обявявайки в отговор война и на Рая и на Ада едновременно.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Цитат на: Red and Empty в Днес в 16:52:27
Е па, дай линк, човече!
ето ти за книга първа - Армагедон.
http://bbs.stardestroyer.net/viewtopic. ... f72130add4
Втората сега се пише.
А сега ви давам и един добър Crowning Moment of Awesome, който дори не е спойлер.
“Every morning they came down to the village tea house to drink their morning cup of tea, well laced with an illicit portion of rice wine. There were ten of them now, once there had been fifteen but time and old age had taken its toll and one by one, they had quietly vanished. Even fifteen had been a dramatic fall for sixty of them had left the village in the far off days of 1950 and only those 15 had returned. Now, the ten survivors were old, old men. They youngest, still called ‘the boy’ by his fellows was eighty years old and the oldest, their sergeant, had been a veteran of the People’s Liberation Army even in 1950, and he was far into his mid-nineties. But his moustache still bristled even though it was snow white and his back was still straight.”
“They saved from their pensions to bribe the tea house owner to slip them their rice wine, I knew about it of course, everybody did, but these men were heroes and who denies a hero a little comfort in their old age? The truth was that their small savings wouldn’t buy them the drinks they needed but if the other villagers chose to make up the difference, that was their business, nobody else’s.”
“And so, every day they would come down, and gather around their table, drink their tea and tell their stories. Of how they had held the hill in Korea against the Americans. Of how they had been outnumbered and outgunned and the American artillery never stopped shooting and their planes never stopped bombing but they had held the hill anyway. Every year the story got a little more fanciful, the attacks so much worse, their stand so much braver. They’d tell the stories to everybody who listened, and everybody did because these were old men, whose wives had long died and they were left alone. Lonely as only old men who had outlived their time could be. So the villagers listened to the stories and counted themselves lucky they had not gone to Korea.”
“Then there came that day. The old men hadn’t arrived yet but something else did. A monster, a hideous monster from hell, the one the Americans call the baldrick. The village went black in its middle and the creature stepped out, looking only to kill and mutilate. Most of the men were far away, working in the fields or on the road and could not help. There were just the women and children left and they screamed when they saw the monster and they ran. But the monster could run as well, faster than they could and it started to kill them.”
“As the Party Leader I had a Type 56 rifle in my hut and I got it. I fired a burst at the monster and I think I hit it for it stopped and shook itself. But it wasn’t dead, it seemed hardly hurt and it turned to come for me but it heard more screams where the children were running from the school. It forgot me and went to kill them. I fired again but it was too far away, more than 100 meters.”
“Then I heard a shouted order, one that cut through the noise and screams. The old men were there, all ten of them and they had their old long 3-line rifles. They dropped to the ground in a line, their hands working the bolts of their rifles with the muscle-memory of skills never forgotten. They fired all at once, in a volley and their hands worked the bolts again for another.”
“The monster staggered with the first volley and lurched with the second. It turned away from the children and came for the old men. The sergeant ordered independent fire and the rifles crackled but the monster kept coming at them. The old men’s hearts were brave but their eyes were dim with age and their hands shook, not from fear of course, but from infirmity. I doubt if one bullet in ten they fired was biting home. The monster had a three-point spear and it’s lighting flashed out, killing ‘the youngster’ as he fired his rifle. The others did not pause or hesitate but kept on firing until their pouches were empty. How they had kept their rifles and ammunition I do not know and do not intend to ask.”
“With the monster close and their ammunition gone, they fixed their bayonets, they got to their feet and they advanced on the monster, their bayonets leveled. I had changed my magazine by now and I had run over to where I also could fire on the monster. The old men had surrounded it, it was slashing at them with its claws, but they parried its slashes and thrust their bayonets home. They were old men and slow, they could not evade all the blows from the monster and their numbers shrank even as I watched. But the monster was down, on its knees, and the old men, now down to three with their sergeant still leading them, kept thrusting. I had a clean shot and I emptied my rifle into it, saw it bleeding and dying on the ground. It fired its trident again and the lightning bolt hit me. It must have been weak with death for I did not die when the bolt hit my face.”
“So, you see Doctor, my blindness is nothing to be sorry for. What finer sight could I, Party Leader of Mai Xiao Village, treasure as my last than those ten old men saving our children by bringing down the monster with their bayonets?”
http://www.forplay.bg/forums/index.php/ ... 3.495.html
bogy shashav wrote:
Salvation war - web проект, пише се във форум. Малко е странна, но определено забавна. Сюжета се развива около момент в който Бог разпространява послание по света, че райските порти са затворени и земята минава изцяло под властта на Сатаната, като хората им се заповядва(буквално) да лягат и да умират. 90% от истински вярващите по света го правят, останалите му теглят много сочна майна, обявявайки в отговор война и на Рая и на Ада едновременно.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Цитат на: Red and Empty в Днес в 16:52:27
Е па, дай линк, човече!
ето ти за книга първа - Армагедон.
http://bbs.stardestroyer.net/viewtopic. ... f72130add4
Втората сега се пише.
А сега ви давам и един добър Crowning Moment of Awesome, който дори не е спойлер.
“Every morning they came down to the village tea house to drink their morning cup of tea, well laced with an illicit portion of rice wine. There were ten of them now, once there had been fifteen but time and old age had taken its toll and one by one, they had quietly vanished. Even fifteen had been a dramatic fall for sixty of them had left the village in the far off days of 1950 and only those 15 had returned. Now, the ten survivors were old, old men. They youngest, still called ‘the boy’ by his fellows was eighty years old and the oldest, their sergeant, had been a veteran of the People’s Liberation Army even in 1950, and he was far into his mid-nineties. But his moustache still bristled even though it was snow white and his back was still straight.”
“They saved from their pensions to bribe the tea house owner to slip them their rice wine, I knew about it of course, everybody did, but these men were heroes and who denies a hero a little comfort in their old age? The truth was that their small savings wouldn’t buy them the drinks they needed but if the other villagers chose to make up the difference, that was their business, nobody else’s.”
“And so, every day they would come down, and gather around their table, drink their tea and tell their stories. Of how they had held the hill in Korea against the Americans. Of how they had been outnumbered and outgunned and the American artillery never stopped shooting and their planes never stopped bombing but they had held the hill anyway. Every year the story got a little more fanciful, the attacks so much worse, their stand so much braver. They’d tell the stories to everybody who listened, and everybody did because these were old men, whose wives had long died and they were left alone. Lonely as only old men who had outlived their time could be. So the villagers listened to the stories and counted themselves lucky they had not gone to Korea.”
“Then there came that day. The old men hadn’t arrived yet but something else did. A monster, a hideous monster from hell, the one the Americans call the baldrick. The village went black in its middle and the creature stepped out, looking only to kill and mutilate. Most of the men were far away, working in the fields or on the road and could not help. There were just the women and children left and they screamed when they saw the monster and they ran. But the monster could run as well, faster than they could and it started to kill them.”
“As the Party Leader I had a Type 56 rifle in my hut and I got it. I fired a burst at the monster and I think I hit it for it stopped and shook itself. But it wasn’t dead, it seemed hardly hurt and it turned to come for me but it heard more screams where the children were running from the school. It forgot me and went to kill them. I fired again but it was too far away, more than 100 meters.”
“Then I heard a shouted order, one that cut through the noise and screams. The old men were there, all ten of them and they had their old long 3-line rifles. They dropped to the ground in a line, their hands working the bolts of their rifles with the muscle-memory of skills never forgotten. They fired all at once, in a volley and their hands worked the bolts again for another.”
“The monster staggered with the first volley and lurched with the second. It turned away from the children and came for the old men. The sergeant ordered independent fire and the rifles crackled but the monster kept coming at them. The old men’s hearts were brave but their eyes were dim with age and their hands shook, not from fear of course, but from infirmity. I doubt if one bullet in ten they fired was biting home. The monster had a three-point spear and it’s lighting flashed out, killing ‘the youngster’ as he fired his rifle. The others did not pause or hesitate but kept on firing until their pouches were empty. How they had kept their rifles and ammunition I do not know and do not intend to ask.”
“With the monster close and their ammunition gone, they fixed their bayonets, they got to their feet and they advanced on the monster, their bayonets leveled. I had changed my magazine by now and I had run over to where I also could fire on the monster. The old men had surrounded it, it was slashing at them with its claws, but they parried its slashes and thrust their bayonets home. They were old men and slow, they could not evade all the blows from the monster and their numbers shrank even as I watched. But the monster was down, on its knees, and the old men, now down to three with their sergeant still leading them, kept thrusting. I had a clean shot and I emptied my rifle into it, saw it bleeding and dying on the ground. It fired its trident again and the lightning bolt hit me. It must have been weak with death for I did not die when the bolt hit my face.”
“So, you see Doctor, my blindness is nothing to be sorry for. What finer sight could I, Party Leader of Mai Xiao Village, treasure as my last than those ten old men saving our children by bringing down the monster with their bayonets?”