10. August 2013

BEDIA 10: Anfangszeilen von 5 Lieblingsbüchern

Heute ein tolles Thema: Bücher. Ich liebe Bücher, wie man in unserer Wohnung und besonders meinem Zimmer unschwer erkennen kann. Hier also von 5 gerade als Lieblingsbuch fungierenden die jeweils ersten Zeilen. Da mein Bücherregal deutsch und englisch quer gemischt ist, gibt es das heute auch jeweils nur in der Sprache, in der das Buch vorhanden ist.

Today's theme is a really great one. I LOVE books as you can easily see once you cet into our flat or more precisely my room in it. You get the opening lines from 5 of my favorite books. As my books are german and english you get them in the language I have at hand. 

The temperature in the room dropped fast. Ice formed on the curtains and crusted thickly around the lights in the ceiling. The glowing filaments in each bulb shrank and dimmed, while the candles that sprang from every available surface like a colony of toadstools had their wicks snuffed out. The darkend room filled with a yellow, choking cloud of brimstone, in which indistinct black shadows writhed and roiled. From far away came the sound of many voices screaming. A pressure was suddenly applied to the door that led to the landing. It bulged inwards, the timbers groaning. Footsteps from invisible feet came pattering across the floorboards and invisible mouths whispered wicked things from behind the bed and under the desk.
The sulphur cloud contracted into a thick column of smoke that vomited forth thin tendrils; they licked the air like tongues before withdrawing. The column hung above the middle of the pentacle, bubbling ever upwards against the ceiling like the cloud of an erupting vulcano. There was a barely perceptible pause. Then to yellow staring eyes materialized in the heart of the smoke.
Hey, it was his first time. I wanted to scar him.
(Jonathan Strout: The Amulet of Amarkand. Bartimaeus Trilogy)

At the dawn of time, long before the ancestors of Styricum slouched, fur clad and club-wielding, out of the mountains and forests of Zermoch onto the plains of central Eosia, there dwelt in a deep caverns lying beneath the perpetual snows of northern Thalesia a dwarfed and mishapen Troll named Ghwerig. Now, Ghwerig was an outcast by reason of his ugliness and his overwhelming greed, and he labored alone in the depths of the earth, seeking gold and precious gems that he might add to the treasure-hoard which he jealously guarded.
(David Edding, The Elenium)

Im Frühling des Jahres 876, Anno Domini 1471, wurde der Knabe Abu Abdallah Muhammad, Sohn des Emirs von Granada, von seinem Sklaven Ibrahim geweckt, als es noch dunkel war. Muhammad war zwölf Jahre, alt genug, um nicht mehr bei den anderen Kindern zu schlafen und seine eigenen Räume zu haben, und überdies war er der Kronprinz. Eigentlich hätte er auf niemanden mehr Rücksicht nehmen brauchen; dennoch kleidete er sich mit Ibrahims Hilfe so leise wie möglich an, fast geräuschlos, nachdem er die morgendlichen Waschungen und Gebete in aller Eile zelebriert hatte. Er war sehr aufgeregt, denn sein Vater hatte versprochen, ihn mit auf die Falkenjagd zu nehmen, und Muhammad würde heute zum ersten mal seinen eigenen Falken fliegen lassen, den er selbst abgetragen hatte.
(Tanja Kinkel, Mondlaub)

The Morris dance is common to all inhabited worlds in the multiverse. It is danced under blue skies to celebrate the quickening of the soil and under bare stars because it's springtime and with any luck the carbon dioxide will unfreeze again. The imperative is felt by deep-sea beings who have never seen the sun and urban humans whose only connection with the cycles of nature is their Volvo once ran ober a sheep. It is danced innocently by raggedy-bearded young mathematicians to an inexpert accordion rendering of "Mrs. Widgery's Lodger" and ruthlessly by such as the Ninja Morris Men of New Ankh, who can do strange and terrible things with a simple handkerchief and a bell.
(Terry Pratchett: Reaper Man)

Und das letzte stellvertretend für eine ganze Reihe / The last one stands for the whole series:
I wasn't thinking of the man who'd blown himself up. Earlier I had. Now I was putting him together. Two sections of skull lay in front of me, and a third jutted from a sand-filled stainless steel bowl, the glue still drying on tis reassembled fragments. Enough bone to confirm identity. The coroner would by pleased.
(Kathy Reichs: Deja Dead)

Mehr Bücher findet ihr bei Natalie
More books are to be found at Natalie's blog
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