ellauri077.html on line 207: But not all things emanating from this country move quite so quickly. Take, for instance, David Foster Wallace’s near-canonical mega-novel Infinite Jest: released in the States in 1996, it has in 20 years been translated into just five languages. (A sixth translation into Greek is currently in the works.) At this rate, it is moving only slightly faster than the massive Quixote, which had appeared in England, France, the Germanic territories, and Venice 20 years after its complete Castilian publication in 1615. However, Jest is massively behind the 3,600-page über-novel My Struggle, which—just 5 years after its complete Norwegian release—is available or forthcoming in over 20 languages.
ellauri109.html on line 272: In the late 1980s, Searle, along with other landlords, petitioned Berkeley's rental board to raise the limits on how much he could charge tenants under the city's 1980 rent-stabilization ordinance. The rental board refused to consider Searle's petition and Searle filed suit, charging a violation of due process. In 1990, in what came to be known as the "Searle Decision", the California Supreme Court upheld Searle's argument in part and Berkeley changed its rent-control policy, leading to large rent-increases between 1991 and 1994. Searle was reported to see the issue as one of fundamental rights, being quoted as saying "The treatment of landlords in Berkeley is comparable to the treatment of blacks in the South ... our rights have been massively violated and we are here to correct that injustice." The court described the debate as a "morass of political invective, ad hominem attack, and policy argument".
ellauri236.html on line 460: Fenner was a massively built man of thirty-three. He was dark, with an attractively ugly face and a pugnacious jaw of a man who likes to get his own way and generally does. Fenner on ilmetty narsisti.
ellauri245.html on line 297: Every review of Nesbø´s work now must also, in some refracted way, be a commentary on Larsson´s wonderful and massively successful Millenium trilogy. Nesbø and Larsson share a wit, a world and a languorous command of plotlines that spiral out into new plotlines, resisting the brutal and sometimes deadening efficiency of the American crime novel.
ellauri444.html on line 106: "My father was a tough man", said Smith. "He was used to working with his hands and had massively developed arms from cutting metal. He was a boxer, a hunter, very much a man's man. I don't think he ever read a book in his life, including mine." His mother loved books, read to him every night and later gave him novels of escape and excitement, which piqued his interest in fiction; however, his father dissuaded him from pursuing writing. "There's no money in it", he said. "My father was a colonialist and I followed what he said until I was in my 20s and learned to think for myself", he said. "I didn't want to perpetuate injustices so I left Rhodesia in the time of Ian Smith."
xxx/ellauri121.html on line 311: Graeme Gibson, long-time partner to author Margaret Atwood and father of their only child, Jess, died in London, England earlier this week while he was accompanying Ms Atwood on an extensive book tour to promote her latest novel, The Testaments, a sequel to the massively successful The Handmaid’s Tail. He was 84 and his death was both expected and sudden.
xxx/ellauri224.html on line 365: Eliot was in love three times (not counting the catamites), and each of those loves became events in his artistic and spiritual lives – and two of the women involved were massively the worse for it. Vivien Eliot was a difficult woman, yet Eliot – who had connived at her affair with Bertrand Russell – treated her, with the agreement of his spiritual advisers, with a coldness that helped break her spirit, perhaps her mind. Emily Hale was the woman he deserted for Vivien; she spent her life at his encouragement waiting for Vivien to die, and it was in her presence that he had some of his deepest moments of spiritual intensity – yet she was eventually dismissed from his life with equal coldness. They were both central to his greatest works: Vivien to The Waste Land and Emily to much of The Four Quartets.
xxx/ellauri265.html on line 486: Panzar is a massively multiplayer online game featuring a multiplayer online battle arena developed and published by Russian Panzar Studio for Microsoft Windows. It is a free-to-play game, supported by micro-transactions. A prime example of communicative capitalism from an excommunicated ex-communist society.
xxx/ellauri404.html on line 422: This is massively untrue. Here’s a friendly suggestion to Mr. Alter (from one apologist to another): you would do well to refrain from using universal negatives and sweeping statements (“do not record any“ / “not once . . .”). It leaves you open to being definitively and easily refuted. All your opponents have to do is produce a single counter-example, and your assertion is nullified. As it is, I will produce many NT passages that contradict your claim.
xxx/ellauri417.html on line 546: This is a sequel to 2020's The Morning Star, right? I must have asked myself that at least a dozen times during the first several hundred pages of "The Wolves of Eternity," because it's not at all apparent. At 666 pages, "The Morning Star" was stuffed full of characters. "The Wolves of Eternity," at 800 pages, is really only concerned with two, neither of whom was featured in the previous book. It's not until more than 700 pages in — 700! — that the same star appears in the sky, equally befuddling the characters of this second book. Up until that point, though, "The Wolves of Eternity" feels like it exists in an entirely separate universe from that first one. I'm sorry to say, that's not a good thing. This is the eighth work of fiction I've read by Karl Ove Knausgård, who, following the second entry in his "My Struggle" series, quickly became one of my favorite authors. I loved all six books in that series, and I loved the first entry in this one, the aforementioned "Morning Star." But this? This book feels as soggy as that one felt crisp. Insipid and light whereas that book felt meaningful and weighty. The first book is a thriller of the best sort, a Dostoevsky-like work full of moral dilemmas and gothic horror. This one feels meandering and pointless. An incredibly taxing number of words to no real purpose. If this had been the first book in the series, it would have been my last. Only because the first one was so good will I carry on and read the third part when it's released, but I'll do so warily, much less inclined to forgive than I was going into this one. I mentioned that while "The Morning Star" contained a whole plethora of characters, this one contains only two. Or maybe 2 1/2. There's a barely formed writer character who suddenly begins to be featured toward the end. We're even treated to one of her essays, although "treated" would be the wrong word. It's a bore. Otherwise, "The Wolves of Eternity" rotates entirely around two characters. We spend the first 450 or pages with Syvert in Norway, and 250 or so with Alevtina in Russia before flipping back to Syvert and then back again. It takes a good long while — i.e. 600+ pages — before we learn how these characters are connected but it doesn't really matter because neither one is particularly likable. Knausgård's writing around Syvert is better, which makes this part of the book slightly more readable (not that that's saying much) but Syvert still comes off as something of a charmless oaf. Alevtina, meanwhile, is even more unlikable. Prone to making rash emotional decisions, she's one of the more frustrating characters I've come across. I didn't like her part of the story at all, despite its arguably more interesting setting, and I was very eager to leave her behind. Another real axe I have to grind here concerns Martin Aitken's translation. It's terrible. Like, distractingly bad. For whatever reason, Aitken translates the entire book into what feels like British cockney. Why would a book set in Norway and Russia and consisting entirely of Norwegian and Russian characters have those characters — particularly Syvert — speaking like they're from East London? It doesn't make sense and it is never less than enraging. A book by a major literary star that feels like it was translated specifically for those who like their English in cockney? Why? The awful translation undoubtedly colored my view of the book, as I couldn't help but view Syvert as a lost character from Burgess' "Clockwork Orange." How did this milquetoast Alex DeLarge find himself in a Knausgård novel? I'm not sure I made it clear earlier, but I am a massive Knausgård fan. Truly. But this, for me, is a serious misfire. Perhaps, when the series is laid to rest, this second entry will be redeemed by dint of what comes after, but such redemption would be a miraculous turnaround — tantamount to the appearance of a huge new star in the sky. For now, though, I have to condemn this book not for being such a letdown, but simply for being such a massively dull book on its own. Bloated. Tired. Rudderless. A waterlogged corpse of a book.
10