Jack London

Kaksi tapausta Kanadan lumisesta ja pakkasen kourissa kärvistelevästä erämaasta. Vahva tarve pysyä hengissä voittaa kaiken muun. Ei ole enää ruokaa eikä ammuksia. Maakin on jäässä ja kaikki paksun lumen alla. Miten ihminen voi kuitenkin selvitä. Elämän jano ja velvollisuuden tunto auttavat eteenpäin. Itsekkyyskään ei aina auta. Myös rakkaus ajaa eteenpäin loppuun asti. Jack London (1876-1916) oli yhdysvaltalainen kirjailija. ”Yhteiskuntakritiikki ja sosialismi yhdistyivät Londonin teoksissa seikkailunjanoon, karuun elämään ja yksilöllisyyteen.”

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Rakkaustarinoita Kultamaasta Jack Londonin terävin huomioin esitettyinä. Kunnes kultaa on löytynyt tarpeeksi rakkaus ei useinkaan ole todellinen vaihtoehto. Silloin mies voi saada työteliään intiaanivaimon avukseen. Hänestä pääsee kyllä kullan avulla eroon, jos on valkoinen nainen tarjolla. Mutta kulta houkuttaa myös epäluotettavia kaunottaria. Avioliittomarkkinat ovat Londonin kuvaamana moninaiset: petollisia miehiä ja uskollisia naisia sekä uskollisia miehiä ja petollisia naisia, miten vain. Välillä syvää, todellista rakkauttakin. Välillä hykerryttävän hauskaa kilpailua. Jack London (1876-1916) oli yhdysvaltalainen kirjailija. ”Yhteiskuntakritiikki ja sosialismi yhdistyivät Londonin teoksissa seikkailunjanoon, karuun elämään ja yksilöllisyyteen.”

London kertoo neljä pientä tarinaa Pohjolasta ja Kaliforniasta: uhkaavasta kolmiodraamasta autiotuvalla, räjähtävästä riidasta ja vedenalaisen jään synnystä; jouluun pakenevasta petoksen uhrista, sekä kadonneen ja löytyneen koiran valinnasta. Jack London (1876-1916) oli yhdysvaltalainen kirjailija. ”Yhteiskuntakritiikki ja sosialismi yhdistyivät Londonin teoksissa seikkailunjanoon, karuun elämään ja yksilöllisyyteen.”

Neste conto Jack London narra a presen a de um objeto de imensa massa vindo do cosmos, e que regula o quotidiano de uma tribo de bosqu manos na regi o da Ilha de Vanuatu. A se encontra um explorador incans vel na descoberta de novas not cias para o Mundo, e que para tal se integra na tribo na busca do segredo e da raz o da presen a daquela enorme massa alien gena naquele local remoto do Mundo.

Cheloveka nevozmozhno smirit. Zhazhdu svobody nevozmozhno unichtozhit. Takova osnovnaja tema pochti neizvestnogo sovremennomu otechestvennomu chitatelju, no nekogda neobyknovenno populjarnogo fantasticheskogo romana Dzheka Londona, geroj kotorogo, objavlennyj sumasshedshim, v dejstvitelnosti obladaet porazitelnym darom usiliem voli pokidat svoe fizicheskoe telo i stranstvovat po samym otdalennym epokham i stranam. Emu ne nuzhna mashina vremeni - mashina vremeni on sam. Brennaja plot mozhet tomitsja za reshetkoj - no razve eto vazhno, esli svobodny razum i dukh?..

Roman "Lunnaja dolina", vpervye opublikovannyj v 1914 godu - odno iz samykh svetlykh i optimistichnykh proizvedenij Dzheka Londona. Molodym vljublennym Sakson Braun i Billu Robertsu, pokinuvshim nischie rabochie predmestja Oklenda v poiskakh luchshej doli, predstoit perezhit nemalo bed i istoptat mnozhestvo dorog v poiskakh mesta, kotoroe oni mogli by nazvat domom. Odnako ne raz i ne dva im predstoit ubeditsja, chto mir polon dobrykh ljudej, gotovykh ne prosto pozhalet junuju paru, no i podderzhat, i prijti na pomosch.

Ochen neprivychnyj Dzhek London, silnyj, fantasticheskij i mnogogrannyj. Proizvedenija, voshedshie v etu knigu, perenosjat chitatelja v drugie epokhi i zastavljajut sovershenno po-novomu vzgljanut na tvorchestvo pisatelja. "Alaja chuma" - besposchadnaja, pugajuschaja antiutopija o strashnoj epidemii, okhvativshej chelovechestvo i unosjaschej vse novye i novye zhertvy. "Do Adama" - porazhajuschaja voobrazhenie istorija o nashikh dalekikh predkakh-neandertaltsakh, tolko-tolko nachinajuschikh osoznavat sebja ljudmi.

The Jacket (The Star-Rover) By Jack LondonThe Star Rover is a novel by American writer Jack London published in 1915 (published in the United Kingdom as The Jacket). It is science fiction, and involves both mysticism and reincarnation. A framing story is told in the first person by Darrell Standing, a university professor serving life imprisonment in San Quentin State Prison for murder. Prison officials try to break his spirit by means of a torture device called "the jacket," a canvas jacket which can be tightly laced so as to compress the whole body, inducing angina. Standing discovers how to withstand the torture by entering a kind of trance state, in which he walks among the stars and experiences portions of past lives. I trod interstellar space, exalted by the knowledge that I was bound on vast adventure, where, at the end, I would find all the cosmic formulae and have made clear to me the ultimate secret of the universe. In my hand I carried a long glass wand. It was borne in upon me that with the tip of this wand I must touch each star in passing. And I knew, in all absoluteness, that did I but miss one star I should be precipitated into some unplummeted abyss of unthinkable and eternal punishment and guilt. The accounts of these past lives form the body of the work. They are a series of powerfully written, but disconnected and unresolved, vignettes set in different ages and cultures. According to Kevin Starr, London planned a historical novel about the American West and used some of this material in The Star Rover. The jacket was actually used at San Quentin at the time Jack London's descriptions of it were based on interviews with a former convict named Ed Morrell, which London used as a name for a character in the novel. For his role in the Sontag and Evans gang which robbed the Southern Pacific Railroad in the 1890s, Morrell spent fourteen years in California prisons (1894-1908), five of them in solitary confinement. London championed his pardon. After his release, Morrell was a frequent guest at London's Beauty Ranch. The Star Rover (1920 movie)A silent film based on The Star Rover was released in 1920, starring Courtenay Foote, a well-known stage and screen actor of the time, as Dr. Hugh Standing. The Jacket (2005 movie)The 2005 movie The Jacket has a story credited to Marc Rocco and Tom Bleecker. Jack London is not mentioned. However, the director has said that the film is "loosely based on a true story that became a Jack London story."

On the Makaloa Mat/Island Tales By Jack LondonUnlike the women of most warm races, those of Hawaii age well and nobly. With no pretence of make-up or cunning concealment of time's inroads, the woman who sat under the hau tree might have been permitted as much as fifty years by a judge competent anywhere over the world save in Hawaii. Yet her children and her grandchildren, and Roscoe Scandwell who had been her husband for forty years, knew that she was sixty-four and would be sixty-five come the next twenty-second day of June. But she did not look it, despite the fact that she thrust reading glasses on her nose as she read her magazine and took them off when her gaze desired to wander in the direction of the halfdozen children playing on the lawn. It was a noble situation-noble as the ancient hau tree, the size of a house, where she sat as if in a house, so spaciously and comfortably house-like was its shade furnished noble as the lawn that stretched away landward its plush of green at an appraisement of two hundred dollars a front foot to a bungalow equally dignified, noble, and costly. Seaward, glimpsed through a fringe of hundred-foot coconut palms, was the ocean beyond the reef a dark blue that grew indigo blue to the horizon, within the reef all the silken gamut of jade and emerald and tourmaline. And this was but one house of the half-dozen houses belonging to Martha Scandwell. Her town-house, a few miles away in Honolulu, on Nuuanu Drive between the first and second "showers," was a palace. Hosts of guests had known the comfort and joy of her mountain house on Tantalus, and of her volcano house, her mauka house, and her makai house on the big island of Hawaii. Yet this Waikiki house stressed no less than the rest in beauty, in dignity, and in expensiveness of upkeep. Two Japanese yard-boys were trimming hibiscus, a third was engaged expertly with the long hedge of nightblooming cereus that was shortly expectant of unfolding in its mysterious night-bloom. In immaculate ducks, a house Japanese brought out the teathings, followed by a Japanese maid, pretty as a butterfly in the distinctive garb of her race, and fluttery as a butterfly to attend on her mistress. Another Japanese maid, an array of Turkish towels on her arm, crossed the lawn well to the right in the direction of the bath-houses, from which the children, in swimming suits, were beginning to emerge. Beyond, under the palms at the edge of the sea, two Chinese nursemaids, in their pretty native costume of white yee-shon and-straight-lined trousers, their black braids of hair down their backs, attended each on a baby in a perambulator. And all these, servants, and nurses, and grandchildren, were Martha Scandwell's. So likewise was the colour of the skin of the grandchildren-the unmistakable Hawaiian colour, tinted beyond shadow of mistake by exposure to the Hawaiian sun. One-eighth and one-sixteenth Hawaiian were they, which meant that seven-eighths or fifteen-sixteenths white blood informed that skin yet failed to obliterate the modicum of golden tawny brown of Polynesia. But in this, again, only a trained observer would have known that the frolicking children were aught but pure-blooded white.

The Faith of Men By Jack LondonI wash my hands of him at the start. I cannot father his tales, nor will I be responsible for them. I make these preliminary reservations, observe, as a guard upon my own integrity. I possess a certain definite position in a small way, also a wife and for the good name of the community that honours my existence with its approval, and for the sake of her posterity and mine, I cannot take the chances I once did, nor foster probabilities with the careless improvidence of youth. So, I repeat, I wash my hands of him, this Nimrod, this mighty hunter, this homely, blue-eyed, freckle-faced Thomas Stevens. Having been honest to myself, and to whatever prospective olive branches my wife may be pleased to tender me, I can now afford to be generous. I shall not criticize the tales told me by Thomas Stevens, and, further, I shall withhold my judgment. If it be asked why, I can only add that judgment I have none. Long have I pondered, weighed, and balanced, but never have my conclusions been twice the same-forsooth because Thomas Stevens is a greater man than I. If he have told truths, well and good if untruths, still well and good. For who can prove? or who disprove? I eliminate myself from the proposition, while those of little faith may do as I have done-go find the same Thomas Stevens, and discuss to his face the various matters which, if fortune serve, I shall relate. As to where he may be found? The directions are simple: anywhere between 53 north latitude and the Pole, on the one hand and, on the other, the likeliest hunting grounds that lie between the east coast of Siberia and farthermost Labrador. That he is there, somewhere, within that clearly defined territory, I pledge the word of an honourable man whose expectations entail straight speaking and right living. Thomas Stevens may have toyed prodigiously with truth, but when we first met (it were well to mark this point), he wandered into my camp when I thought myself a thousand miles beyond the outermost post of civilization. At the sight of his human face, the first in weary months, I could have sprung forward and folded him in my arms (and I am not by any means a demonstrative man) but to him his visit seemed the most casual thing under the sun. He just strolled into the light of my camp, passed the time of day after the custom of men on beaten trails, threw my snowshoes the one way and a couple of dogs the other, and so made room for himself by the fire. Said he'd just dropped in to borrow a pinch of soda and to see if I had any decent tobacco. He plucked forth an ancient pipe, loaded it with painstaking care, and, without as much as by your leave, whacked half the tobacco of my pouch into his. Yes, the stuff was fairly good. He sighed with the contentment of the just, and literally absorbed the smoke from the crisping yellow flakes, and it did my smoker's heart good to behold him. Hunter? Trapper? Prospector?