Structured rather akin to a Chinese puzzle or a set of Matrioshka dolls, there are dazzling shifts in genre and voice and the stories leak into each other with incidents and people being passed on like batons in a relay race. The 19th-century journals of an American notary in the Pacific that open the novel are subsequently unearthed 80 years later on by Frobisher in the library of the ageing, syphilitic maestro he's trying to fleece. Frobisher's waspish letters to his old Cambridge crony, Rufus Sexsmith, in turn surface when Rufus, (by the 1970s a leading nuclear scientist) is murdered. A novelistic account of the journalist Luisa Rey's investigation into Rufus' death finds its way to Timothy Cavendish, a London vanity publisher with an author who has an ingenious method of silencing a snide reviewer. And in a near-dystopian Blade Runner-esque future, a genetically engineered fast food waitress sees a movie based on Cavendish's unfortunate internment in a Hull retirement home. (Cavendish himself wonders how a director called Lars might wish to tackle his plight). All this is less tricky than it sounds, only the lone "Zachary" chapter, told in Pacific Islander dialect (all "dingos'n'ravens", "brekker" and "f'llowin'"s) is an exercise in style too far. Not all the threads quite connect but nonetheless Mitchell binds them into a quite spellbinding rumination on human nature, power, oppression, race, colonialism and consumerism. --Travis Elborough --このテキストは、絶版本またはこのタイトルには設定されていない版型に関連付けられています。
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The six sections of this massive, generally well-connected opus trace a seemingly random path across history and back again, starting and ending in a diary of the South Pacific in the 19th century and weaving only occasionally tenuous paths through composers trapped between World Wars, 70's pulp detective fiction, an absolutely jaw-dropping contemporary tale about a down-and-out publisher, an interview with a futuristic Korean clone (many ideas of which seem to have been stolen by a forthcoming Ewen MacGregor flick called The Island), and the final, middle section, a post-apocalyptic Hawaii which is the only part of the novel that seems forced and derivative. You have a diary, an epistolary novella, first person and third person and interviews and a somewhat failed attempt at coloquial postmodernism, and for the most part the connections, the separate layers of the atlas of clouds, are connected brilliantly. Naturally on the move, naturally folding in and out of one another, tying together, combinging and recombining, Mitchell's stories keep me up nights even though i already know what happens on the next page.
For those who want more than a simple yarn, for those who want to be challenged and wowed by the virtuoso prose of a cunning linguist and flawlessly crafted stories and images which paint themselves across the page, Cloud Atlas is not one to~ miss.
この本は素晴らしいです。六つのとても違うテーマの物語は六つのとても違う書き方で作ったDavid Mitchellという作家は一つの驚くべきものを作った。各文も各舞台も各物語は美しいです。何回も読んだことがあるおで、まだ読みたい。そんな本は珍しい。~
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