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Donkiszot zydowski szkic z literatury zargonowej z
Diane Duane [Young Wizards] Not on My Patch (retail) (epub)
biographia literaria coleridge
Bad Patch A. Bertram Chandler
Czeszko Bohdan Pokolenie(1)
Blood Reunion Connie Suttle
Bovedas de acero Isaac Asimov
Beau and the Beast Hanna Hart
Brooke Cumberland Dangerous Temptations (epub) id
Corum 04 La Lance et le Taure Michael Moorcock

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.(This is no proof that the comic-strip itself came from the USA.I learned many years later that some of the comics I had once assumed to be American were devised by men who toiled all their lives in Sydney or Melbourne.) Late on their first evening at the ranch, when all three were preparing for bed in their separate rooms, Princess Narda, who had not drawn the curtains across her window, saw outside the window a giant human hand poised as though about to thrust through the glass and to grope towards her.Princess Narda screamed and then fainted away.Mandrake and Lothar hurried into her room, but by then the hand was no longer in view, and when Princess Narda had been revived and had told her story, the men were inclined to believe that she had imagined the giant hand.(Later, Mandrake himself found a giant footprint and had glimpses of parts of a threatening giant.Some villains had made the parts out of papier-mâché in order to frighten visitors away from the ranch.The villains wanted to buy the property cheaply and then to profit from the oil that they believed was under the property.) Even as a young child, I saw through, as it were, most of the adventures of Mandrake the Magician; I was almost always aware of the presence behind the line-drawings and the speech-balloons of a person who lived in some or another part of what I called the real world and who struggled continually to imagine.And yet, I got from certain images in comic-strips what I got from certain pieces of fiction in publications such as The Australian Journal: details worthy to be included in the scenery that I needed to have always at the back of my mind and outlines of persons worthy to live among that scenery.For example, I watched unfolding in my mind often as a child the following events.A huge, awkward male person, quite unlike myself to look at but of a disposition not unlike my own, finds himself one evening outside a lighted room in which a good-looking dark-haired young woman is undressing for bed.He had first caught sight of the young woman from some distance away, but when he stands beside the window he is so tall and so clumsy that he can only stoop and fumble with a hand at the lighted panes.His only means of getting past the window is to smash the glass with his knuckles.This he does so easily that the shards of glass bring hardly a trace of blood to his pudgy fingers.He is unable to see into the room, but he trusts his fingertips to be able to distinguish between furniture and fabrics and human flesh.Shortly, his fingers close around the limp female body on the floor of the room.But then he pauses.He had been going to lift the woman out; to hold her up to his face; to admire her miniscule features; to look beneath her clothing.But now, he pauses, perhaps out of pity for the doll-sized creature who lies at his mercy but more, perhaps, because the unfolding of my mind has come to an end.I have lost sight of events.I am in need of a faculty such as I have never possessed.On the verandah of my aunt’s house, I looked into each of the two upper rooms of the doll’s house and then eased the house back to its former position.Then I climbed back into my bed, feeling foolish.I had expected that my looking into the house might reveal to me some sort of secret that my girl-cousins had been keeping from me—perhaps on some bed in an upper room lay a tiny doll with only a thin nightdress covering her female parts.In the event, I had seen in the upper rooms only neat furniture.No doll that my cousins owned was small enough or dainty enough to belong in the house.It was not only I who had no right to poke my fingers through the windows; I began to think of my cousins as hardly worthy to own the house, which I had stopped thinking of as a mere residence for dolls.Three or four years after my visit to the house in the clearing in the Heytesbury Forest, I read a comic-book about a character named Doll-man.Some or another unremarkable citizen of a vaguely American city was able, when the need arose, to compress the molecules of his body and to become a doll-sized man.On the night when I had looked into the doll’s house, I fell asleep as though my own molecules had been somehow compressed so that I was able to lie comfortably in my chosen bed in an upper-storey room overlooking a clearing in the Heytesbury Forest and to hear already in my mind the shrieks of the giant female personages who would look in on me next morning through the windows.I reported at the end of the fifth paragraph before the previous paragraph that I was often afraid of the character known as Aunt Bee in the work of fiction Brat Farrar.I reported even earlier that I sometimes resented the influence that Aunt Bee was allowed to exert over one at least of the other characters in the work.While I was reporting those matters, I seemed to recall from more than fifty years ago my having once or twice doubted whether the one character in a work of fiction should be allowed to possess so many qualities deemed admirable by the narrator as Aunt Bee was allowed to possess in Brat Farrar.Of course, terms such as narrator and even character were unknown to me at the time.I simply observed what happened in my mind while I read.And although I was afraid of Aunt Bee, I must sometimes have been aware that the cause of her appearing as she did in my mind was no more than that a personage known to me only as Josephine Tey had chosen that she, Aunt Bee, should appear thus [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]