jak ja za nimi tęskniłem nawet o tym nie wiedząc! chyba znowu wejdzie całe malazańskie i kharkanasowskie universum.
--
We are House Atreides. There is no call we do not aswer. There is no faith that we betray.
Forum
>
Filmożercy, Książkoholicy i Muzykanci
>
Anomander Rake, Caladan Brood, Dassem Ultor, Kellanved i Whiskyjack
|
|
Jez_z_lasu
- Bojownik
·
3 lata temu
--
We are House Atreides. There is no call we do not aswer. There is no faith that we betray.
3
Colinek_szczecin
- Superbojownik
·
3 lata temu
--
All that's left are me & the other pissed-off cockroach motherfuckers.
kombinator_83
- Superbojownik
·
3 lata temu
Seria jest super tylko trzeba mieć dużo wolnego czasu. Jeżeli ktoś lubi fantasy a nie zna Malazu to powinien jak najszybciej to zmienić.
Jez_z_lasu
- Bojownik
·
3 lata temu
I za Kadaspalą oraz Teholem 
"Kadaspala considered that for a moment, and then he shook his head. ‘Laws decide which forms of oppression are allowed, Lord. And because of that, those laws are servants to those in power, for whom oppression is given as a right over those who have little or no power. Now, shall we return to art, Lord? When stripped down to its bones, criticism is a form of oppression. Its intent is to manipulate both artist and audience, by imposing rules on aesthetic appreciation. Curiously, its first task is to belittle the views of those who appreciate a certain work but are unable or unwilling to articulate their reasons for doing so. On occasion, of course, one of those viewers rises to the bait, taking umbrage at being dismissed as being ignorant, at which point critics en masse descend to annihilate the fool. No more than defending one’s own precious nest, one presumes. But on another level, it is the act of those in power in protecting their interests, those interests being nothing less than absolute oppression through the control of personal taste.’
Urusander had sat motionless through this, knife point thrust through a sliver of meat and suspended halfway to his mouth. When Kadaspala finished, he set the knife down and reached once more for his wine. ‘But I am not a critic,’ he said.
‘Indeed not, Lord, which is why I said I wasn’t curious about your opinion. I am curious about the opinions of critics. But about the opinions of those with no agenda beyond the aesthetic, I am interested.’
Urusander snorted. ‘Take some wine, Kadaspala, you have just earned it.’
The mouthful he took was modest.
‘Other nights when we sit here,’ Urusander said, now frowning, ‘you will finish off an entire carafe on your own.
‘Other nights, Lord, I am subjected to war stories.’
Urusander laughed, the sound startling the servants with its booming thunder. Somewhere in the kitchen something crashed down to the stone floor.
‘The wine,’ said Kadaspala, ‘is exceptional, Lord.’
‘It is, isn’t it? And do you know why I have not served it before this night?’
‘Every morning, Lord, I check my jugs of cleaning spirits, to ensure Hunn Raal has not plundered them.’
‘Just so, artist, just so. Now, let us eat, but keep your wits about you. On this night, let us stretch our minds in dialogue.’
Kadaspala spoke with utter honesty. ‘Lord, pray we talk these candles down as the only measure of the evening’s passage.’
Urusander’s eyes were narrow and thoughtful. ‘I was warned to expect nothing but foul and bitter regard when in your company.’
‘Only when I paint, Lord. Only when I paint. Now, if it pleases you, I am interested in hearing your thoughts on my work thus far.’
‘My thoughts? I have but one, Kadaspala. I had no idea I was so transparent.’
He nearly dropped the goblet."
Tehol Beddict and his former tutor/crush, Janath, discuss his sabotage of the Letheri economy in Reaper’s Gale, part of Steven Erikson’s Malazan Books of the Fallen.
Tehol is a great character; responsible for some of the most profound statements in the books and, in conjunction with his partner in crime, Bugg, for more than his fair share of hilarity.
"(Janath) “You prey on his self-esteem, you mean.”
(Tehol Beddict) “Now that’s rather hypocritical coming from a tutor, isn’t it?”
“Ooh, all the old wounds still smarting, are they?”
“Never mind old wounds, Janath. You need to leave.”
“What? Are there rumours I’m incapable or something?”
“No, I’m serious. Any day now, there is going to be trouble. Here.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“You need to contact who’s left of your scholarly friends - find one you can trust-”
“Tehol Beddict, really now. I have no friends among my fellow scholars, and certainly not one I can trust. You clearly know nothing of my profession. We crush beaks between our teeth as a matter of course. In any case, what kind of trouble are you talking about? This economic sabotage of yours?”
“Bugg should really learn to keep quiet.”
She was studying him in a most discomforting way. “You know, Tehol Beddict, I never imagined you for an agent of evil.”
Tehol smoothed his hair and swelled his chest.
“Very impressive, but I’m concerned. Why are you doing all this? Is there some wound from the past that overwhelms all others? Some terrible need for vengeance to answer some horrendous trauma of your youth? No, I am truly ruinous.”
“It was all Bugg’s idea, of course.”
She shook her head. “Try again.”
“There are all kinds of evil, Janath.”
“Yes, but yours will see blood spilled. Plenty of it.”
“Is there a difference between spilled blood and blood squeezed out slowly, excruciatingly, over the course of a foreshortened lifetime of stress, misery, anguish and despair - all in the name of some amorphous god that no-one dares call holy? Even as they bend the knee and repeat the litany of sacred duty?”
“Oh my,” she said. “We’ll, that is an interesting question. Is there a difference? Perhaps not, perhaps only as a matter of degree. But that hardly puts you on a moral high ground, does it?”
“I have never claimed a moral high ground,” Tehol said, “which in itself sets me apart from my enemy.”
“Yes, I see that. And of course you are poised to destroy that enemy with its own tools, using its own holy scripture; using it, in short, to kill itself. You are at the very end of the slope on which perches your enemy. Or should I say ‘clings’. Now, that you are diabolical comes as no surprise, Tehol. I saw that in you long ago. Even so, this blood-thirstyness? I still cannot see it.”
“Probably something to do with your lessons on pragmatism.”
“Oh now, don’t you dare point a finger at me! True pragmatism, in this instance, would guide you to vast wealth and the reward of indolence, to the fullest exploitation of the system. The perfect parasite, and be damned to all those lesser folk, the destitute and the witless, the discarded failures squatting in every alley. You certainly possess the necessary talent and genius and indeed, were you now the wealthiest citizen of this empire, living in some enormous estate surrounded by an army of bodyguards and fifty concubines in your stable, I would not in the least be surprised.”
“Not surprised,” Tehol said, “but, perhaps, disappointed, nonetheless?”
She pursed her lips and glanced away. “We’ll, that is another issue. One we are not discussing here.”
“If you say so, Janath. In any case, the truth is, I am the wealthiest citizen in this empire. Thanks to Bugg, of course, my front man.”
“Yet you live in a hovel.”
“Disparaging my abode? You, an un-paying guest! I am deeply hurt, Janath.”
“No you’re not.”
Well, the hens are - and since they do not speak Letherii…”
“Wealthiest citizen or not, Tehol Beddict, your goal is not the ostentatious expression of that wealth, not the fullest exploitation of the power it grants you. No, you intend the collapse of this empire’s fundamental economic structure. And I still cannot fathom why.”
Tehol shrugged. “Power always destroys itself in the end, Janath. Would you contest that assertion?”
“No. So, you are telling me that all this is an exercise in power? An exercise culminating in a lesson no-one could not recognise for what it is? A metaphor made real?”
“But Janath, when I spoke of power destroying itself I was not speaking in terms of metaphor. I meant it literally. So, how many generations of Indebted need to suffer - even as the civilised trappings multiply and abound on all sides, with an ever-increasing proportion of those material follies out of their financial reach? How many before we all collectively stop and say, ‘Aaii! That’s enough! No more suffering, please! No more hunger, no more inequity!’ Well, as far as I can see, there are never enough generations. We just scrabble on, and on, devouring all within reach, including our own kind, as if it was nothing more than the undeniable expression of some natural law, and as such subject to no moral context, no ethical constraint - despite the ubiquitous and disingenuous blathering over invocation of those two grand notions.”
“Too much emotion in your speechifying, Tehol Beddict. Marks deducted.”
“Retreating to dry humour, Janath?”
“Ouch. All right, I begin to comprehend your motivations. You will trigger chaos and death, for the good of everyone.”
“If I were the self pitying kind, I might now moan that no one will thank me for it, either.”
“So you accept responsibility for the consequences.”
“Somebody has to.”
She was silent for a dozen heartbeats, and Tehol watched her eyes - lovely eyes indeed - slowly widen. “You are the metaphor made real.”
Tehol smiled. “Don’t like me? But that makes no sense! How can I not be likeable? Admirable, even? I am become the epitome of triumphant acquisitiveness, the very icon of this great unnamed god! And if I do nothing with my wealth, why, I have earned the right. By every rule voiced in the litany, I have earned it!”
"Kadaspala considered that for a moment, and then he shook his head. ‘Laws decide which forms of oppression are allowed, Lord. And because of that, those laws are servants to those in power, for whom oppression is given as a right over those who have little or no power. Now, shall we return to art, Lord? When stripped down to its bones, criticism is a form of oppression. Its intent is to manipulate both artist and audience, by imposing rules on aesthetic appreciation. Curiously, its first task is to belittle the views of those who appreciate a certain work but are unable or unwilling to articulate their reasons for doing so. On occasion, of course, one of those viewers rises to the bait, taking umbrage at being dismissed as being ignorant, at which point critics en masse descend to annihilate the fool. No more than defending one’s own precious nest, one presumes. But on another level, it is the act of those in power in protecting their interests, those interests being nothing less than absolute oppression through the control of personal taste.’
Urusander had sat motionless through this, knife point thrust through a sliver of meat and suspended halfway to his mouth. When Kadaspala finished, he set the knife down and reached once more for his wine. ‘But I am not a critic,’ he said.
‘Indeed not, Lord, which is why I said I wasn’t curious about your opinion. I am curious about the opinions of critics. But about the opinions of those with no agenda beyond the aesthetic, I am interested.’
Urusander snorted. ‘Take some wine, Kadaspala, you have just earned it.’
The mouthful he took was modest.
‘Other nights when we sit here,’ Urusander said, now frowning, ‘you will finish off an entire carafe on your own.
‘Other nights, Lord, I am subjected to war stories.’
Urusander laughed, the sound startling the servants with its booming thunder. Somewhere in the kitchen something crashed down to the stone floor.
‘The wine,’ said Kadaspala, ‘is exceptional, Lord.’
‘It is, isn’t it? And do you know why I have not served it before this night?’
‘Every morning, Lord, I check my jugs of cleaning spirits, to ensure Hunn Raal has not plundered them.’
‘Just so, artist, just so. Now, let us eat, but keep your wits about you. On this night, let us stretch our minds in dialogue.’
Kadaspala spoke with utter honesty. ‘Lord, pray we talk these candles down as the only measure of the evening’s passage.’
Urusander’s eyes were narrow and thoughtful. ‘I was warned to expect nothing but foul and bitter regard when in your company.’
‘Only when I paint, Lord. Only when I paint. Now, if it pleases you, I am interested in hearing your thoughts on my work thus far.’
‘My thoughts? I have but one, Kadaspala. I had no idea I was so transparent.’
He nearly dropped the goblet."
Tehol Beddict and his former tutor/crush, Janath, discuss his sabotage of the Letheri economy in Reaper’s Gale, part of Steven Erikson’s Malazan Books of the Fallen.
Tehol is a great character; responsible for some of the most profound statements in the books and, in conjunction with his partner in crime, Bugg, for more than his fair share of hilarity.
"(Janath) “You prey on his self-esteem, you mean.”
(Tehol Beddict) “Now that’s rather hypocritical coming from a tutor, isn’t it?”
“Ooh, all the old wounds still smarting, are they?”
“Never mind old wounds, Janath. You need to leave.”
“What? Are there rumours I’m incapable or something?”
“No, I’m serious. Any day now, there is going to be trouble. Here.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“You need to contact who’s left of your scholarly friends - find one you can trust-”
“Tehol Beddict, really now. I have no friends among my fellow scholars, and certainly not one I can trust. You clearly know nothing of my profession. We crush beaks between our teeth as a matter of course. In any case, what kind of trouble are you talking about? This economic sabotage of yours?”
“Bugg should really learn to keep quiet.”
She was studying him in a most discomforting way. “You know, Tehol Beddict, I never imagined you for an agent of evil.”
Tehol smoothed his hair and swelled his chest.
“Very impressive, but I’m concerned. Why are you doing all this? Is there some wound from the past that overwhelms all others? Some terrible need for vengeance to answer some horrendous trauma of your youth? No, I am truly ruinous.”
“It was all Bugg’s idea, of course.”
She shook her head. “Try again.”
“There are all kinds of evil, Janath.”
“Yes, but yours will see blood spilled. Plenty of it.”
“Is there a difference between spilled blood and blood squeezed out slowly, excruciatingly, over the course of a foreshortened lifetime of stress, misery, anguish and despair - all in the name of some amorphous god that no-one dares call holy? Even as they bend the knee and repeat the litany of sacred duty?”
“Oh my,” she said. “We’ll, that is an interesting question. Is there a difference? Perhaps not, perhaps only as a matter of degree. But that hardly puts you on a moral high ground, does it?”
“I have never claimed a moral high ground,” Tehol said, “which in itself sets me apart from my enemy.”
“Yes, I see that. And of course you are poised to destroy that enemy with its own tools, using its own holy scripture; using it, in short, to kill itself. You are at the very end of the slope on which perches your enemy. Or should I say ‘clings’. Now, that you are diabolical comes as no surprise, Tehol. I saw that in you long ago. Even so, this blood-thirstyness? I still cannot see it.”
“Probably something to do with your lessons on pragmatism.”
“Oh now, don’t you dare point a finger at me! True pragmatism, in this instance, would guide you to vast wealth and the reward of indolence, to the fullest exploitation of the system. The perfect parasite, and be damned to all those lesser folk, the destitute and the witless, the discarded failures squatting in every alley. You certainly possess the necessary talent and genius and indeed, were you now the wealthiest citizen of this empire, living in some enormous estate surrounded by an army of bodyguards and fifty concubines in your stable, I would not in the least be surprised.”
“Not surprised,” Tehol said, “but, perhaps, disappointed, nonetheless?”
She pursed her lips and glanced away. “We’ll, that is another issue. One we are not discussing here.”
“If you say so, Janath. In any case, the truth is, I am the wealthiest citizen in this empire. Thanks to Bugg, of course, my front man.”
“Yet you live in a hovel.”
“Disparaging my abode? You, an un-paying guest! I am deeply hurt, Janath.”
“No you’re not.”
Well, the hens are - and since they do not speak Letherii…”
“Wealthiest citizen or not, Tehol Beddict, your goal is not the ostentatious expression of that wealth, not the fullest exploitation of the power it grants you. No, you intend the collapse of this empire’s fundamental economic structure. And I still cannot fathom why.”
Tehol shrugged. “Power always destroys itself in the end, Janath. Would you contest that assertion?”
“No. So, you are telling me that all this is an exercise in power? An exercise culminating in a lesson no-one could not recognise for what it is? A metaphor made real?”
“But Janath, when I spoke of power destroying itself I was not speaking in terms of metaphor. I meant it literally. So, how many generations of Indebted need to suffer - even as the civilised trappings multiply and abound on all sides, with an ever-increasing proportion of those material follies out of their financial reach? How many before we all collectively stop and say, ‘Aaii! That’s enough! No more suffering, please! No more hunger, no more inequity!’ Well, as far as I can see, there are never enough generations. We just scrabble on, and on, devouring all within reach, including our own kind, as if it was nothing more than the undeniable expression of some natural law, and as such subject to no moral context, no ethical constraint - despite the ubiquitous and disingenuous blathering over invocation of those two grand notions.”
“Too much emotion in your speechifying, Tehol Beddict. Marks deducted.”
“Retreating to dry humour, Janath?”
“Ouch. All right, I begin to comprehend your motivations. You will trigger chaos and death, for the good of everyone.”
“If I were the self pitying kind, I might now moan that no one will thank me for it, either.”
“So you accept responsibility for the consequences.”
“Somebody has to.”
She was silent for a dozen heartbeats, and Tehol watched her eyes - lovely eyes indeed - slowly widen. “You are the metaphor made real.”
Tehol smiled. “Don’t like me? But that makes no sense! How can I not be likeable? Admirable, even? I am become the epitome of triumphant acquisitiveness, the very icon of this great unnamed god! And if I do nothing with my wealth, why, I have earned the right. By every rule voiced in the litany, I have earned it!”
--
We are House Atreides. There is no call we do not aswer. There is no faith that we betray.
hen_cerbin
- Superbojownik
·
3 lata temu
I coś Ty najlepszego zrobił? W tym roku, pierwszy raz od dawna, udawało mi się nie przeczytać tego po raz kolejny. A teraz znowu będę musiał
Tehol i Bugg. Anomander. Szybki Ben i jego plany. Iskaral Krost! Icarium... Aż trudno wybrać.
P.P.S. Kiedy się czyta to po raz kolejny i kolejny można dostrzec we wczesnych tomach sporo zapowiedzi tego co będzie w kolejnych, czasem napisanych niemal otwartym tekstem, o ile się wie gdzie szukać.
Tehol i Bugg. Anomander. Szybki Ben i jego plany. Iskaral Krost! Icarium... Aż trudno wybrać.
P.P.S. Kiedy się czyta to po raz kolejny i kolejny można dostrzec we wczesnych tomach sporo zapowiedzi tego co będzie w kolejnych, czasem napisanych niemal otwartym tekstem, o ile się wie gdzie szukać.
Ostatnio edytowany:
2020-10-09 13:10:55
--
One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life. No, that word is not "painkillers". Nor therapy. No, money not too. Not even beer. It's "love". But "cynism" is my favourite substitute.
Jez_z_lasu
- Bojownik
·
3 lata temu
:hen_cerbin
przepraszam
Ale przyznaj, że trzymanie w swojej głowie potężnej osobowości kogoś żyjącego 300 000 lat jest uzależniające
przepraszam
Ale przyznaj, że trzymanie w swojej głowie potężnej osobowości kogoś żyjącego 300 000 lat jest uzależniające
--
We are House Atreides. There is no call we do not aswer. There is no faith that we betray.
kombinator_83
- Superbojownik
·
3 lata temu
Postacie są super napisane, chociaż przyznam, że irytował mnie Karsa i Kruppe. Za to Szybki Ben jest chyba moja ulubiona postacią 
Iznogud
- Superbojownik
·
3 lata temu
:hen_cerbin fakt, można czytać parę razy, wątków bez liku, intryga na intrydze, no i fajny pomysł na magię.
--
667 -- nowy lepszy szatan
kombinator_83
- Superbojownik
·
3 lata temu
Ehh właśnie skończyłem czytać drugi tom i powoli za trzeci się zabieram.
Gutex1
- Superbojownik
·
3 lata temu
oby było lepsze od czarnej kompanii - zacząłem ją czytać i porzuciłem w połowie bo takiego bełkotu nie mogę znieść.
Gutex1
- Superbojownik
·
3 lata temu
oby było lepsze od czarnej kompanii - zacząłem ją czytać i porzuciłem w połowie bo takiego bełkotu nie mogę znieść.
kombinator_83
- Superbojownik
·
3 lata temu
:Gutex1 jak dla mnie to te dwie serie są bez porównania. Co prawda Czarną Kompanię czytałem dawno ale nie zrobiła na mnie jakiegoś super wrażenia. Natomiast Malazańska Księga Poległych po pierwszym przeczytaniu wgniotła mnie w fotel. Autor miał świetny pomysł na magię, na postacie i na cały świat. Oczywiście to tylko moje zdanie, które obiektywne nie jest ale uważam że warto samemu się przekonać.
tomcat_tc
- Student prawa
·
3 lata temu
Ja z kolei odbiłem się już od Ogrodów Księżyca. Ale było to chyba z 12 lat temu. Może czas dać tej serii drugą szansę 
--
Jestem bohaterem :lasowego
Czarna lista- :gen_italia
Czy wspominałem już że jestem studentem prawa?
kombinator_83
- Superbojownik
·
3 lata temu
:tomcat_tc za pierwszym razem Ogrody Księżyca tez mi ciężko wchodziły, za to kolejne tomy coraz lepiej. Po przeczytaniu całej serii miałem wrażenie, że pierwszy tom był po prostu najgorszy, w necie też raczej jest taka opinia. Za to za drugim razem czytało mi się wszystko lepiej. Chyba dlatego, że człowiek miał już wszystko z tego świata ogarnięte a na początku jest tego rzeczywiście dużo. Dopuszczam jednak myśl, że są osoby którym tez świat pasować nie będzie, w końcu nie ma książki która podobała by się każdemu.
NastyFantasy
- Superbojowniczka
·
3 lata temu
Dziękuję za przypomnienie. Przeczytam czwarty raz
--
Dostępna tylko na receptę.
|
|
|
Forum
>
Filmożercy, Książkoholicy i Muzykanci
>
Anomander Rake, Caladan Brood, Dassem Ultor, Kellanved i Whiskyjack
- Kawałki Mięsne
- Palma Pikczers
- HydePark
- FotoSzopki
- Filmożercy, Książkoholicy i Muzykanci
- Moto Forum
- Jestem nowy i…
- Kuchnia Pełna Niespodzianek
- Grajdołek Potworny
- Głupie Pytania
- Narzekalnia :>
- Poezja Luźna
- Cmok Forum
- Półmisek Literata
- Inteligentna Jazda
- Pytania Do Redakcji
- English Jokes & Life (en)
- Nu, pagadi! (ru)
- L'esprit pointu (fr)
- Deutsche Welle (de)
- Sportowa Arena
Ciekawe wątki
