"Bull,.Emma.-.War.For.The.Oaks" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bull Emma)Those are things only I could tell you; no writer of introductions, no matter how insightful, could deduce them from the text of the novel or the details of my life. But for everything else, the novel can, and should, speak for itself, and your relationship with it is as true as anyone elseТs, including mine. All I can do now is step aside and say, УIТd like you to meet my story.Ф I hope the two of you hit it off. Los Angeles November 2000 Prologue By day, the Nicollet Mall winds through Minneapolis like a paved canal. People flow between its banks, eddying at the doors of office towers and department stores. The big red-and-white city buses roar at every corner. On the many-globed lampposts, tallest buildings snatch out of the sky. The skyway system vaults the mall with its covered bridges of steel and glass, and they, too, are full of people, color, motion. But late at night, thereТs a change in the Nicollet Mall. The street lamp globes hang like myriad moons, and light glows in the empty bus shelters like nebulae. Down through the silent business district the mall twists, the silver zipper in a patchwork coat of many dark colors. The sound of traffic from Hennepin Avenue, one block over, might be the grating of the World-WormТs scales over stone. Near the south end of the mall, in front of Orchestra Hall, Peavey Plaza beckons: a reflecting pool, and a cascade that descends from towнering chrome cylinders to a sunken walk-in maze of stone blocks and pillars for which УfountainФ is an inadequate name. In the moonlight, it is black and silver, gray and white, full of an elusive play of shape and contrast. On that night, there were voices in Peavey Plaza. One was like the susurrus of the fountain itself, sometimes hissing, sometimes with the little-bell sound of a water drop striking. The other was deep and rough; if the concrete were an animal, it would have this voice. |
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