Masafumi Fuse từ Densmores Mills, NS , Canada

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12/03/2024

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Masafumi Fuse Sách lại (12)

2019-08-27 05:30

Người Kể Chuyện Lúc Nửa Đêm Và Những Giấc Mộng Thư viện Sách hướng dẫn

Sách được viết bởi Bởi: Nguyễn Quang Thiều

As a child, I fondly remember reading many Chrestomanci books and after recently enjoying Howl's Moving Castle and it sequels, I decided to pick up a few more of Jones' books. Maybe it's just because I'm no longer a kid but this didn't do it for me. Jones' characters are, as always, very colorful and I loved the developing relationship between Mr. Lynn and Polly. I also loved the numerous references to many classics and the story-telling both characters did. However, I disliked how Jones enshrouds her fantasy worlds in mystery: she only gives you the vaguest picture, forcing the reader to come up with their own ideas about this world when she goes into such detail about each character and their relationships. Needless to say, this imbalance left me frustrated. Not knowing more about the world she created kept the reader (me) at a distance from it as a stranger, rather than allowing the reader to dive into the fantasy with the characters. I was also annoyed with how Polly seemed to just know things. I'm doubtful this lack of detail was due to laziness. I've read somewhere that Jones does this on purpose in her children's books because children don't need an explanation since they have not developed a concrete picture of the world with rigid logic that adults seem to have. Magic, can, just happen randomly and children don't need to know to how. So perhaps my mind lacks the imagination to "make the magic happen." Of course, I disagree. Children and adults alike don't need a lot of detail for their imaginations to take off, but they need more than what this book offers. I think this is one of the reasons Harry Potter and Tolkien did so well -- the world was written in enough detail and familiarity for the reader to happily dive into. Funnily enough, I can't remember whether or not this was done in Howl's Moving Castle but I don't remember being frustrated by it.

2019-08-27 11:30

Cuộc Săn Lùng Quái Vật - Phần 2: Thuồng Luồng Biển Sepron Thư viện Sách hướng dẫn

Sách được viết bởi Bởi: Adam Blade

Clarissa had a theory in those days - they had heaps of theories, always theories, as young people have. It was to explain the feeling they had of dissatisfaction; not knowing people; not being known. For how could they know each other? You met every day; then not for six months, or years. It was unsatisfactory, they agreed, how little one knew people. But she said, sitting on the bus going up Shaftesbury Avenue, she felt herself everywhere; not 'here, here, here'; and she tapped the back of the seat; but everywhere. She waved her hand, going up Shaftesbury Avenue. She was all that. So that to know her, or any one, one must seek out the people who completed them; even the places. Odd affinities she had with people she had never spoken to, some woman in the street, some man behind a counter - even trees, or barns. It ended in a transcendental theory which, with her horror of death, allowed her to believe, or say that she believed (for all her scepticism), that since our apparitions, the part of us which appears, are so momentary compared with the other, the unseen part of us, which spreads wide, the unseen might survive, be recovered somehow attached to this person or that, or even haunting places, after death. Perhaps - perhaps. Since it was a very hot night and the paper boys went by with placards proclaiming in huge red letters that there was a heat-wave, wicker chairs were placed on the hotel steps and there, sipping, smoking, detached gentlemen sat. Peter Walsh sat there. One might fancy that day, the London day, was just beginning. Like a woman who had slipped off her print dress and white apron to array herself in blue and pearls, the day changed, put off stuff, took gauze, changed to evening, and with the same sigh of exhilaration that a woman breathes, tumbling petticoats on the floor, it too shed dust, heat, colour; the traffic thinned; motor cars, tinkling, darting, succeeded the lumber of vans; and here and there among the thick foliage of the squares an intense light hung. I resign, the evening seemed to say, as it paled and faded above the battlements and prominences, moulded, pointed, of hotel, flat, and block of shops, I fade, she was beginning, I disappear, but London would have none of it, and rushed her bayonets into the sky, pinioned her, constrained her to partnership in her revelry. LOVE the car going down Bond Street: Passers-by who, of course, stopped and stared, had just time to see a face of the very greatest importance against the dove-grey upholstery, before a male hand drew the blind and there was nothing to be seen except a square of dove grey. Yet rumours were at once in circulation from the middle of Bond Street to Oxford Street on one side, to Atkinson's scent shop on the other, passing invisibly, inaudibly, like a cloud, swift, veil-like upon hills, falling indeed with something of a cloud's sudden sobriety and stillness upon faces which a second before had been utterly disorderly. But now mystery had brushed them with her wing; they had heard the voice of authority; the spirit of religion was abroad with her eyes bandaged tight and her lips gaping wide. But nobody knew whose face had been seen. Was it the Prince of Wales's, the Queen's the Prime Minister's? Whose face was it? Nobody knew. (...) The car had gone, but it had left a slight ripple which flowed through glove shops and hat shops and tailors' shops on both sides of Bond Street. For thirty seconds all heads were inclined the same way - to the window. (...) Something so trifling in single instances that no mathematical instrument, though capable of transmitting shocks in China, could register the vibration; yet in its fulness rather formidable and in its common appeal emotional; for in all the hat shops and tailors' shops strangers looked at each other and thought of the dead; of the flag; of Empire. In a public house in a back street a Colonial insulted the House of Windsor which led to words, broken beer glasses, and a general shindy, which echoed strangely across the way in the ears of girls buying white underlinen threaded with pure white ribbon for their weddings. For the surface agitation of the passing car as it sunk grazed something very profound." Only connect ---------- For Woolf, the external event is significant primarily for the way it triggers and releases the inner life. While an exterior incident or perception may be only a brief flash of chronological time, its impact upon the individual consciousness may have a much greater duration and meaning. Like other modernist writers experimenting with the representation of consciousness, Woolf was interested in capturing the flux of random associations. In addition, she wanted to understand how half-buried memories and interpretations created mood. Elaine Showalter, introduction to Mrs Dalloway.

Người đọc Masafumi Fuse từ Densmores Mills, NS , Canada

Người dùng coi những cuốn sách này là thú vị nhất trong năm 2017-2018, ban biên tập của cổng thông tin "Thư viện Sách hướng dẫn" khuyến cáo rằng tất cả các độc giả sẽ làm quen với văn học này.