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Indlæser... Perdidoaf Peter Straub
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''Perdido, '' a fragment from a never completed longer work, is a rare and unexpected gift for Peter Straub's legion of fans. Even in this fragmentary form, it offers the sort of vivid, unexpected pleasures that only the finest imaginative fiction can provide. On one level, ''Perdido'' tells the story of a troubled family: a discontented husband and wife and the teenaged son who was--but is no longer--a musical prodigy. On another, it is the story of the isolated Norwegian resort known as Perdido, and of the impossible, dreamlike things that happen there. Perdido is a place where the rules of ordinary life no longer apply, where reality is malleable and infinitely strange. It is a place where ''you get what you didn't know you wanted'' and where lives are altered forever. For the unhappy couple invited to attend--and for the teenaged son awaiting their return--it is the place where a marriage ends and a life filled with alternate possibilities begins. Mysterious, evocative, and always superbly written, ''Perdido'' offers readers something genuinely special: a visit to an imaginary landscape that only Peter Straub could have created. Ingen biblioteksbeskrivelser fundet. |
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Google Books — Indlæser... GenrerMelvil Decimal System (DDC)813.64Literature English (North America) American fiction 21st CenturyVurderingGennemsnit:
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"Fragment" truly is the operative word here. Unlike the handful of other novellas/shortish pieces that Peter Straub produced as his career drew to a close, Perdido is neither a self-contained story (like The Ballad of Ballard and Sandrine) nor a companion to a major work (like A Special Place and The Process (is a Process All Its Own)). It's a roughly sixty-page fragment of an incomplete novel, and as such is difficult to review. Because the publisher's synopsis already exists at the top of this page, I'll refrain from offering a detailed blow-by-blow here. The premise, while somewhat interesting, is marred by Straub's late-period weakness for repellent female characters who nonetheless are supposed by his narrators to be "good" in some obscure sense. Jay Silsbee, with his slovenly apartment full of watches (and the sinister allusion to his "obsessive, lifelong interest in magic and the occult"), might have become a fascinating character had the novel ever been finished.
My rating doesn't reflect the quality of Straub's writing (which was consistently high), but rather the unsatisfactory nature of the whole package. I must stress that this is not a nearly complete or even half-completed story; there is no resolution. It's just the unfertilized germ of a novel, and is strictly for completists. ( )