THE LONG AND THE SHORT OF IT: More Essays on the Fiction of Gene Wolfe

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iUniverse, 17 лют. 2006 р. - 154 стор.
Over the years sf and fantasy writer Gene Wolfe has proven himself to be adept at all lengths of fiction.

Now in THE LONG AND THE SHORT OF IT, once again literary detective Robert Borski brings his critical eye and acumen to the wide array of Wolfe's work, from short stories to novellas to mega-book series.

Along the way he'll reveal to you the hidden alchemical structure of PEACE, why he thinks Latro and several others may be werewolves, what has happened to the missing twenty-four hours in "Seven American Nights," what Biblical story is retold in the pulpish "Tracking Song," who might or might not be an abo in THE FIFTH HEAD OF CERBERUS, and how to navigate your way through dozens of other lupine mazes-all before concluding with an extended examination of Wolfe's dazzling, if often opaque, BOOK OF THE SHORT SUN.

 

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Зміст

1 BARKING AT SHADOWS
1
2 THE DEVIL HIS DUE
17
3 THE COLDHOUSE PRANK
30
4 WOLVES IN THE FOLD
34
5 THE WERWOLF AS HERO
41
6 MARSCHIAN SEXUALITY
46
7 FAR PLUTONIAN SHORE
52
8 SNOW WHITE CAIN AND ODYSSEUS THREE FABULA
62
9 MYSTERY IN SPACE
73
10 THE DICKENS TAKE YOU
77
11 CLUES
81
12 A SOLAR LABYRINTH
83
13 A LUPINE ABECEDARY
86
14 PENUMBRAE OF THE SHORT SUN
105
BIBLIOGRAPHY
140
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Сторінка 7 - I'm afraid you've been led astray by that word perfectly. Dr. Veil, I'm certain, meant to use it loosely rather than as precisely as you seem to think. The imitation could hardly have been exact, since human beings don't possess that talent and to imitate them perfectly the abos would have to lose it." "Couldn't they?" "My dear child, abilities of every sort must evolve. And when they do they must be utilized or they atrophy. If the abos had been able to mimic so well as to lose the power to do so...
Сторінка 4 - ... and the crippled monkey on my father's shoulder pressing itself against his hawk face, with the black scarf and scarlet dressing gown beneath and the rows and rows of shabby books and notebooks behind them, and the sick-sweet smell of formaldehyde coming from the laboratory beyond the sliding mirror. I do not remember what he said or whether it had been I or another who had knocked, but I do recall that after the door had closed, a woman in pink whom I thought very pretty stooped to bring her...

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