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Language:Slovenščina | Number of Pages: 128 | Format: Hardcover | In other languages: (other languages) English , Chi traditional , German , Spanish

Isbn-10: 8611173090 | Isbn-13: 9788611173092 | Publish date:  | Edition 1

Category: Fiction & Literature , Philosophy , Religion & Spirituality

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Book Description
Mit o Atlasu in Heraklu
»Izbira snovi za zgodbo je – podobno kot izbira ljubimke ali ljubimca – zelo intimna odločitev. Ko so me povabili, naj izberem mit in pišem o njem, sem se zavedela, da sem že izbrala. Zgodba o Atlasu, ki na svojih plečih nosi svet, je bila v mojih mislih, še preden sem odložila telefonsko slušalko.Če klica ne bi bilo, se je nemara nikoli ne bi lotila. Ko pa je zazvonil telefon, je zgodba že čakala, da jo napišem. Na novo napišem. Ponavljajoči se besedni motiv v Teži je ‘zgodbo želim povedati znova’.

Zadnje čase večina ljudi z naravnost grozljivo slastjo hlasta po nečem, čemur pravijo resničnost, pa naj gre za resničnostne televizijske šove, za drugorazredno, suhoparno dokumentaristično prozo ali v najboljšem primeru za televizijske dokumentarne filme, biografije in ‘resnične zgodbe’, ki so zasedli prostor, kjer je nekoč kraljevala domišljija.

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    <<The free man never thinks of escape.
    In the beginning there was nothing. Not even space and time. You could have thrown the universe at me and I would have caught it in one hand. There was no universe. It was easy to bear.
    This happy nothing ended fifteen aeons ago. It was a s ...continue

    <<The free man never thinks of escape.
    In the beginning there was nothing. Not even space and time. You could have thrown the universe at me and I would have caught it in one hand. There was no universe. It was easy to bear.
    This happy nothing ended fifteen aeons ago. It was a strange time, and what I know is told to me in radioactive whispers; that’s all there is left of one great shout into the silence.

    What is it that you contain? The dead. Time. Light patterns of millennia opening in your gut. Every minute, in each of you, a few million potassium atoms succumb to radioactive decay. The energy that powers these tiny atomic events has been locked inside potassium atoms ever since a star-sized bomb exploded nothing into being. Potassium, like uranium and radium, is a long-lived radioactive nuclear waste of the supernova bang that accounts for you.
    Your first parent was a star.

    It was hot as hell in those days. It was Hell, if hell is where the life we love cannot exist. Those ceaseless burning fires and volcanic torments are lodged in us as ultimate fear. The hells we invent are the hells we have known. Hell is; was not, is not, cannot. Science calls it the world before life began — the Hadean period. But life had begun, because life is more than the ability to reproduce. In the molten lava spills and cratered rocks, life longed for life. The proto, the almost, the maybe. Not Venus. Not Mars. Earth.
    Planet Earth, that wanted life so badly, she got it.

    Moving forward a few billion years, there was a miracle. At least that’s what I call the unexpected fact that changes the story. Earth had bacterial life, but no oxygen, and oxygen was a deadly poison. Then, in a quiet revolution as explosive in its own way as a star, a new kind of bacteria, cyanobacteria started to photosynthesise — and a bi-product of photosynthesis is oxygen. Planet earth had a new atmosphere. The rest is history.

    Well not quite. I could list for you the wild optimism of the Cambrian era, pushing up mountains like grass grows daisies, or the Silurian dream-days of starfish and gastropods. About 400 million years ago, shaking salt water from their fins and scales, the first land animals climbed out of the warm lagoons of the vast coral reefs. The Triassic and Jurassic periods belong to the dinosaurs, efficient murder weapons, common as nightmares. Then three or four million years ago — chancy and brand new — what’s this come here — a mammoth and something like a man?
    * * *

    The earth was amazed. Earth was always strange and new to herself. She never anticipated what she would do next. She never guessed the coming wonder. She loved the risk, the randomness, the lottery probability of a winner. We forget, but she never did, that what we take for granted is the success story. The failures have disappeared. This planet that seems so obvious and inevitable is the jackpot. Earth is the blue ball with the winning number on it.

    Make a list. Look around you. Rock, sand, soil, fruit trees, roses, spiders, snails, frogs, fish, cattle, horses, rainfall, sunshine, you and me. This is the grand experiment called life. What could be more unexpected?

    All the stories are here, silt-packed and fossil-stored. The book of the world opens anywhere, chronology is one method only and not the best. Clocks are not time. Even radioactive rock-clocks, even gut-spun DNA, can only tell time like a story.

    When the universe exploded like a bomb, it started ticking like a bomb too. We know our sun will die, in another hundred million years or so, then the lights will go out and there will be no light to read by any more.
    ‘Tell me the time’ you say. And what you really say is ‘Tell me a story.’
    Here’s one I haven’t been able to put down.>>

    <<I am good at walking away. REjection teaches you how to reject. I left my hometown, left my parents, left my life. I made a home and a life elsewhere, more than once. I stayed on the run. Why then, did the burden feel intolerable? What was it that I carried?
    I realise that the future, though invisible, has weight. We are in the gravitational pull of past and future. It takes huge energy - speed-of-light power - to break that gravitational pull.
    How many of us ever get free of our orbit? We tease ourself with fancy notions of free will and self-help courses that direct our lives. We believe we can be our own miracle, and just a lottery win or Mr Right will make the world new.
    The ancients believed in Fate because they recognised how hard it is for anyone to change anything.
    The pull of past and future is so strong that the present is crushed by it. We lie helpless in the force of patterns inherited and patterns re-enacted by our own behaviour. The burden is intolerable.>>

    <<There are two facts that all children need to disprove sooner or later; mother and father. If you go on believing in the fiction of your own parents, it is difficult to construct any narrative of your own.
    In a way I was lucky. I could not allow my parents to be the facts of my life. Their version of the story was one I could read but now write. I had to tell the story again.
    I am not a Freudian. I don't believe I can mine the strata of the past and drill out the fault-lines. There have been too much weathering; ice ages, glacial erosion, meteor impact, plant life, dinosaurs.>>

    <<If only I understood that the globe itself, complete, perfect, unique, is a story. Science is a story. History is a story. These are the stories we tell ourself to make ourself come true.

    What am I? Atoms.
    What are atoms? Empty space and points of light.
    What is the speed of light? 300,000 kilometres per second.
    What is a second? That depends where in the Universe you set your watch.>>

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    你玩過那種腦力激盪說故事接龍的遊戲嗎?這整本書就像是作者自己,赫丘力士及亞特拉斯三個人在說故事接龍一般的對話.東拉西扯的沒啥關聯性.沒什麼情節,更沒什麼高潮起伏.有時候一段句子中會插入一些讓人摸不著腦袋的話.不知道作者這樣安排的用意是什麼.隨手翻個例如:第 67 頁:"拉冬叫他回家.要是他真的回家呢?要是他真的走出園子不再回頭呢?他可以找艘船,換個名字,把赫丘力士當成過往雲煙抛諸腦後.就像拉冬,雜草長了,牠留下的痕跡自然慢慢消失 ...continue



    你玩過那種腦力激盪說故事接龍的遊戲嗎?這整本書就像是作者自己,赫丘力士及亞特拉斯三個人在說故事接龍一般的對話.東拉西扯的沒啥關聯性.沒什麼情節,更沒什麼高潮起伏.有時候一段句子中會插入一些讓人摸不著腦袋的話.不知道作者這樣安排的用意是什麼.隨手翻個例如:第 67 頁:"拉冬叫他回家.要是他真的回家呢?要是他真的走出園子不再回頭呢?他可以找艘船,換個名字,把赫丘力士當成過往雲煙抛諸腦後.就像拉冬,雜草長了,牠留下的痕跡自然慢慢消失." 哇咧,主角在考慮要不要回頭,那雜草長了這兩句話是跟這事兒是什麼關係啊?


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    多少年以前 ...continue



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