Compliments of the Season - O.HENRY

O.Henry (William Sydney Porter) (1862 – 1910)

Born in Greensboro, North Carolina, USA. He attende school for a short time, worked as a clerk in a drugstore, later on a ranch. He wrote Cabbages and Kings (1904), The Four Million (1906), Heart of the West and The Trimmed Lamp (1907), The Gentle Grafter and The Voice of the City (1908), Options (1909), Whirligigs and Strictly Business (1910).

There are no more Christmas stories to write. Fiction is exhausted; and newspaper items, the next best, are manufactured by clever young journalists who have married early and have an engagingly pessimistic view of life. Therefore, for seasonable diversion, we are reduced to two very questionable sources—facts and philosophy. We will begin with—whichever you choose to call it. Children are pestilential little animals with which we have to cope under a bewildering variety of conditions. Especially when childish sorrows overwhelm them are we put to our wits’ end. We exhaust our paltry store of consolation; and then beat them, sobbing, to sleep. Then we grovel in the dust of a million years, and ask God why. Thus we call out of the rat-trap. As for the children, no one understands them except old maids, hunchbacks, and shepherd dogs.

The Invisible Man by H.G.Wells

Herbert George Wells (1866 – 1946)

Born in Bromley, London. Started as a schoolmaster in natural sciences, he took to writing articles for the papers.Wrote the books: The Time Machine (1895), The Island of Doctor Moreau (1896), The Invisible Man (1897), The War of the Worlds (1898), When the Sleeper Wakes (1910), The First Men in the Moon (1901), Tono-Bungay (1909), The World Set Free (1914), Russia in the Shadows (1920), etc.

'The Invisible Man' by Herbert G. Wells The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. He was wrapped up from head to foot, and the brim of his soft felt hat hid every inch of his face but the shiny tip of his nose; the snow had piled itself against his shoulders and chest, and added a white crest to the burden he carried. He staggered into the "Coach and Horses" more dead than alive, and flung his portmanteau down. "A fire," he cried, "in the name of human charity! A room and a fire!" He stamped and shook the snow from off himself in the bar, and followed Mrs. Hall into her guest parlour to strike his bargain. And with that much introduction, that and a couple of sovereigns flung upon the table, he took up his quarters in the inn.

John FALKNER - Moonfleet

John Meade Falkner (1858 – 1932)

Born in Manningford Bruce, Wiltshire, England. He attended Marlborough College, then Hertford College at Oxford University. He wrote The Lost Stradivarius (1895), Moonfleet (1898), The Nebuly Coat (1903).

Moonfleet  by John M. Falkner The village of Moonfleet lies half a mile from the sea on the right or west bank of the Fleet stream. I shall first speak of one evening in the fall of the year 1757. It must have been late in October, though I have forgotten the exact date, and I sat in the little front parlour reading after tea. My aunt had few books; a Bible, a Common Prayer, and some volumes of sermons are all that I can recollect now; but the Reverend Mr Glennie, who taught us village children, had lent me a story-hook, full of interest and adventure, called the Arabian Nights Entertainment. At last the light began to fail, and I was nothing loth to leave off reading for several reasons; as, first the parlour was a chilly room with horse-hair chairs and sofa, and only a coloured-paper screen in the grate, for my aunt did not allow a fire till the first of November; second, there was a rank smell of molten tallow in the house, for my aunt was dipping winter candles on frames in the back kitchen; third, I had reached a part in the Arabian Nights which tightened my breath and made me wish to leave off reading for very anxiousness of expectation. It was that point in the story of the "Wonderful Lamp", where the false uncle lets fall a stone that seals the mouth of the underground chamber; and immures the boy, Aladdin, in the darkness, because he would not give up the lamp till he stood safe on the surface again. This scene reminded me of one of those dreadful nightmares, where we dream we are shut in a line room, the walls of which are closing in upon us, and so impressed me that the memory of it served as a warning in an adventure that befell me later on.

John GALSWORTHY - The Forsyte Saga

John Galsworthy (1867 – 1933)

Born in Kingston Hill, Surrey, England. He studied at Oxford. He was awarded by the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1932. He wrote The Forsyte Saga (1906-1928), Strife (1909), Justice (1910), The Skin Game (1920).

'The Forsyte Saga' Those privileged to be present at a family festival of the Forsytes have seen that charming and instructive sight--an upper middle-class family in full plumage. But whosoever of these favoured persons has possessed the gift of psychological analysis (a talent without monetary value and properly ignored by the Forsytes), has witnessed a spectacle, not only delightful in itself, but illustrative of an obscure human problem. In plainer words, he has gleaned from a gathering of this family--no branch of which had a liking for the other, between no three members of whom existed anything worthy of the name of sympathy--evidence of that mysterious concrete tenacity which renders a family so formidable a unit of society, so clear a reproduction of society in miniature…

Jack LONDON - Martin Eden

Рассылка "English Reading" - http://www.english-reading-time.blogspot.com

Посмотреть архив выпусков - http://www.english-2days.narod.ru/archive.html.

Jack Griffith London (1876 – 1916)

Born in San-Francisco, USA. He worked as an oyster pirate, a worker in a canning factory, a deep-sea sailor. He wrote The Son of the Wolf (1900), The Call of the Wild (1903), The Sea-Wolf (1904), White Fang (1906), Marten Eden (1909), John Berleycorn (1913).

Martin Eden by Jack London

The one opened the door with a latch-key and went in, followed by a young fellow who awkwardly removed his cap. He wore rough clothes that smacked of the sea, and he was manifestly out of place in the spacious hall in which he found himself. He did not know what to do with his cap, and was stuffing it into his coat pocket when the other took it from him. The act was done quietly and naturally, and the awkward young fellow appreciated it. “He understands,” was his thought. “He’ll see me through all right.”… He walked at the other’s heels with a swing to his shoulders, and his legs spread “Hold on, Arthur, my boy,” he said, attempting to mask his anxiety with facetious utterance. “This is too much all at once for yours truly. Give me a chance to get my nerve. You know I didn’t want to come, an’ I guess your fam’ly ain’t hankerin’ to see me neither.” “That’s all right,” was the reassuring answer. “You mustn’t be frightened at us. We’re just homely people — Hello, there’s a letter for me.” He stepped back to the table, tore open the envelope, and began to read, giving the stranger an opportunity to recover himself. And the stranger understood and appreciated. His was the gift of sympathy, understanding; and beneath his alarmed exterior that sympathetic process went on. He mopped his forehead dry and glanced about him with a controlled face, though in the eyes there was an expression such as wild animals betray when they fear the trap. He was surrounded by the unknown, apprehensive of what might happen, ignorant of what he should do, aware that he walked and bore himself awkwardly, fearful that every attribute and power of him was similarly afflicted. He was keenly sensitive, hopelessly self-conscious, and the amused glance that the other stole privily at him over the top of the letter burned into him like a dagger-thrust. He saw the glance, but he gave no sign, for among the things he had learned was discipline. Also, that dagger-thrust went to his pride. He cursed himself for having come, and at the same time resolved that, happen what would, having come, he would carry it through. The lines of his face hardened, and into his eyes came a fighting light. He looked about more unconcernedly, sharply observant, every detail of the pretty interior registering itself on his brain. His eyes were wide apart; nothing in their field of vision escaped; and as they drank in the beauty before them the fighting light died out and a warm glow took its place. He was responsive to beauty, and here was cause to respond. An oil painting caught and held him. A heavy surf thundered and burst over an outjutting rock; lowering storm-clouds covered the sky; and, outside the line of surf, a pilot-schooner, close-hauled, heeled over till every detail of her deck was visible, was surging along against a stormy sunset sky. There was beauty, and it drew him irresistibly. He forgot his awkward walk and came closer to the painting, very close. The beauty faded out of the canvas. His face expressed his bepuzzlement. He stared at what seemed a careless daub of paint, then stepped away. Immediately all the beauty flashed back into the canvas. “A trick picture,” was his thought, as he dismissed it, though in the midst of the multitudinous impressions he was receiving he found time to feel a prod of indignation that so much beauty should be sacrificed to make a trick. He did not know painting. He had been brought up on chromos and lithographs that were always definite and sharp, near or far. He had seen oil paintings, it was true, in the show windows of shops, but the glass of the windows had prevented his eager eyes from approaching too near.

Мартин Иден Джека Лондона

Мужчина открыл дверь ключом и вошел внутрь в сопровождении молодого парня, который неловко снял свою кепку. Он был одет в грубую одежду, пропахшую морем, и был совершенно неуместен в просторном зале, в котором оказался. Он не знал, что делать со своей кепкой, и стал засовывать ее в карман пальто, тогда мужчина забрал её у него. Это движение было настолько спокойным и естественным, что неуклюжий парень оценил это. "Он понимает", подумал он. "Он видит меня насквозь…"  Он шел за мужчиной по пятам, двигая в такт плечами и вытягивая ноги. "Держись, Артур, малыш", сказал он, пытаясь скрыть своё беспокойство за остроумными фразами. "Это действительно слишком неожиданно для тебя. Дай мне возможность справиться с нервами. Ты знаешь, что я не хотел приходить, и догадываюсь, что твоя семья тоже не жаждала видеть меня". "Всё в порядке",- прозвучал успокаивающий ответ. "Ты не должен бояться нас. Мы - простые домашние люди. А, вот письмо для меня". Он отступил к столу, разорвал конверт и начал читать, давая незнакомцу возможность придти в себя. Незнакомец понял и был благодарен за это. Его был преисполнен симпатии, понимая всё, его встревоженный вид выдавал это. Он вытер лоб и сдержанно огляделся, в его глазах было такое выражение, которое бывает у  диких животных, когда они боятся ловушки. Он был окружён чем-то неизвестным, опасным, что может случиться, не зная, что ему следует делать, но понимая, что он двигался и вёл себя неловко. Он страшился того, что каждая деталь его внешности и сильного тела была одной полной оплошностью. Его чувства были обострены, он безнадежно стеснялся, и насмешливый взгляд, который украдкой был брошен на него поверх письма, пронзил его как кинжал. Он перехватил этот взгляд, но не показал вида, поскольку в числе прочих вещей, которым научился, была дисциплина. Более того, этот взгляд задел его гордость. Он проклинал себя за то, что пришёл, и в то же самое время решил, будь, что будет, он пройдёт и через это. Черты его лица затвердели, а в глазах появился блеск борьбы. Он огляделся более беззаботно, чётко фиксируя каждую деталь миленького интерьера. Его глаза были широко открыты, ничто не скрылось от них. По мере того, как его взгляд впитывал красоту вокруг, свет борьбы уходил, и на его место пришло теплое свечение. Он был восприимчив к красоте, а здесь было что воспринимать.  Картина, написанная маслом, привлекла его внимание и полностью поглотила. Тяжёлый прибой грохотал и разбивался о выступ скалы, низкие штормовые облака закрывали небо, а за линией прибоя лоцманская шхуна, держась против ветра и накренившись так, что была видна каждая деталь ее палубы, взмывала  вверх к штормовому закату. Было красиво, и эта красота непреодолимо влекла его. Он забыл о своей неуклюжей походке и подошел ближе к картине, очень близко. Красота исчезла с холста. На его лице появилось замешательство. Он неотрывно смотрел на то, что выглядело небрежным смешением красок, потом отступил. Красота вновь вспыхнула на холсте. "Картина с фокусом," подумал он, когда отошёл от нее, хотя из множества впечатлений, которые он получал, в тот момент он почувствовал своего рода негодование, как можно жертвовать такой  красотой ради фокуса. Он не знал живописи. Он был воспитан на хромолитографиях и литографиях, которые всегда были понятны и четки, хоть вблизи, хоть вдали. Правда, он видел картины, написанные маслом, в  витринах магазинов, но стекло не позволяло его пытливым глазам рассмотреть их вблизи.

Kim by Rudyard KIPLING

Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936)

Born in Mumbai, India. He studied at boarding school in England, in 1882 he returned to India to work as a journalist. In 1889 he returned to London, in 1907 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. He wrote Plain Tales From the Hills (1892), Barrack Room Ballads (1892), The Seven Seas (1896), Jungle Books (1894-1895), Kim (1901), Just So Stories (1902), Puck of Pook’s Hill (1906), Something of Myself (1937).

There was some justification for Kim - he had kicked Lala Dinanath's boy off the trunnions - since the English held the Punjab and Kim was English. Though he was burned black as any native; though he spoke the vernacular by preference, and his mother-tongue in a clipped uncertain sing-song; though he consorted on terms of perfect equality with the small boys of the bazar; Kim was white - a poor white of the very poorest.

Great Britain and Her Queen - Annie E.KEELING

Annie E.Keeling

She wrote General Gordon: Hero and Saint, The Pride of the Family, William Dawson, The Oakhurst Chronicles, Andrew Golding, etc.

Great Britain and Her Queen Rather more than one mortal lifetime, as we average life in these later days, has elapsed since that June morning of 1837, when Victoria of England, then a fair young princess of eighteen, was roused from her tranquil sleep in the old palace at Kensington, and bidden to rise and meet the Primate, and his dignified associates the Lord Chamberlain and the royal physician, who "were come on business of state to the Queen"--words of startling import, for they meant that, while the royal maiden lay sleeping, the aged King, whose heiress she was, had passed into the deeper sleep of death. It is already an often-told story how promptly, on receiving that summons, the young Queen rose and came to meet her first homagers, standing before them in hastily assumed wrappings, her hair hanging loosely, her feet in slippers, but in all her hearing such royally firm composure as deeply impressed those heralds of her greatness, who noticed at the same moment that her eyes were full of tears.

Vanity Fair - William M.THACKERAY

William M. Thackeray (1811 – 1863)

Born in Calcutta, India. He studied at Cambridge, but left it without degree. He worked as a journalist and wrote Vanity Fair (1847-1848), Pendennis (1848), The Newcomes (1853-1855), Henry Esmond (1852).

Vanity Fair by William Thackeray

While the present century was in its teens, and on one sunshiny morning in June, there drove up to the great iron gate of Miss Pinkerton’s academy for young ladies, on Chiswick Mall, a large family coach, with two fat horses in blazing harness, driven by a fat coachman in a three-cornered hat and wig, at the rate of four miles an hour. A black servant, who reposed on the box beside the fat coachman, uncurled his bandy legs as soon as the equipage drew up opposite Miss Pinkerton’s shining brass plate, and as he pulled the bell at least a score of young heads were seen peering out of the narrow windows of the stately old brick house. Nay, the acute observer might have recognized the little red nose of good- natured Miss Jemima Pinkerton herself, rising over some geranium pots in the window of that lady’s own drawing-room.

The Rainbow - David H.LAWRENCE

Born in Eastwood, Nottinghamshire, England. He studied at Nottingham University College, became a schoolmaster, later he left the profession. He wrote The White Peacock (1911), Sons and Lovers (1913), The Rainbow (1915), Women in Love (1919), Aaron’s Rod (1922), Kangaroo (1923), Birds, Beasts and Flowers (1923), The Plumed Serpent (1926), Lady Chatterley’s Lover (1928).

The Brangwens had lived for generations on the Marsh Farm, in the meadows where the Erewash twisted sluggishly through alder trees, separating Derbyshire from Nottinghamshire. Two miles away, a church - tower stood on a hill, the houses of the little country town climbing assiduously up to it. Whenever one of the Brangwens in the fields lifted his head from his work, he saw the church-tower at Ilkeston in the empty sky. So that as he turned again to the horizontal land, he was aware of something standing above him and beyond him in the distance.

The Gold-Bug - Edgar POE

Edgar Allan Poe (1809 - 1849)

Born in Boston, Massachusetts, USA. Studied at the University of Virginia, but soon left it, worked as a clerk, newspaper writer. Later was enlisted in the US Army as private. He wrote Tamurlane and Other Poems (1827), Politian (1835), The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket (1838), Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque (1840), The Balloon-Hoax (1844),The Philosophy of Composition (1846), Eureka: A Prose Poem (1848),The Poetic Principle (1848),The Light-House (1849).

What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad! He hath been bitten by the Tarantula. All in the Wrong.  This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else than the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the main land by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds and slime, a favourite resort of the marsh- hen. The vegetation, as might be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any magnitude are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort Moultrie stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings, tenanted, during summer, by the fugitives from Charleston dust and fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; but the whole island, with the exception of this western point, and a line of hard, white beach on the sea-coast, is covered with a dense undergrowth of the sweet myrtle, so much prized by the horticulturists of England. The shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet, and forms an almost impenetrable coppice, burdening the air with its fragrance.

The Grand Babylon Hotel - Arnold Bennett

  

Arnold Bennett (1867 – 1931)

Born near Hanley, Staffordshire, England. He studied at London University, clerked in London, soon became a journalist. He wrote The Man from the North (1898), Anna of the Five Towns (1902), The Old Wives’ Tale (1908), Clavhanger (1910), Hild Lessways (1911), These Twain (1916).

'YES, sir?' Jules, the celebrated head waiter of the Grand Babylon, was bending formally towards the alert, middle-aged man who had just entered the smoking-room and dropped into a basket-chair in the corner by the conservatory. It was 7.45 on a particularly sultry June night, and dinner was about to be served at the Grand Babylon. Men of all sizes, ages, and nationalities, but every one alike arrayed in faultless evening dress, were dotted about the large, dim apartment. A faint odour of flowers came from the conservatory, and the tinkle of a fountain. The waiters, commanded by Jules, moved softly across the thick Oriental rugs, balancing their trays with the dexterity of jugglers, and receiving and executing orders with that air of profound importance of which only really first-class waiters have the secret. The atmosphere was an atmosphere of serenity and repose, characteristic of the Grand Babylon. It seemed impossible that anything could occur to mar the peaceful, aristocratic monotony of existence in that perfectly-managed establishment. Yet on that night was to happen the mightiest upheaval that the Grand Babylon had ever known.

The Wisdom of Father Brown - Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874 – 1936)

Born in London, UK. He studied at the Slade School of Art, then turned to writing. He wrote The Innocence of Father Brown  (1911), Wisdom of Father Brown and other novels.

It must not be supposed that Dr Hood's apartments excluded luxury, or even poetry. These things were there, in their place; but one felt that they were never allowed out of their place.  Luxury was there: there stood upon a special table eight or ten boxes of the best cigars; but they were built upon a plan so that the strongest were always nearest the wall and the mildest nearest the window.  A tantalus containing three kinds of spirit, all of a liqueur excellence, stood always on this table of luxury; but the fanciful have asserted that the whisky, brandy, and rum seemed always to stand at the same level. Poetry was there:  the left-hand corner of the room was lined with as complete a set of English classics as the right hand could show of English and foreign physiologists… Dr Hood treated his private book-shelf as if it were a public library. And if this strict scientific intangibility steeped even the shelves laden with lyrics and ballads and the tables laden with drink and tobacco, it goes without saying that yet more of such heathen holiness protected the other shelves that held the specialist's library, and the other tables that sustained the frail and even fairylike instruments of chemistry or mechanics…

Washington Irving - The legend of Sleepy Hollow (Легенда Сонной Долины)

 

Washington Irving (Geoffrey Crayon) (1783 - 1859)

Born in New York City, USA. He was educated privately and studied law. He wrote A History of New York (1809), The Sketch Book (1819-1820).

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail and implored the protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town… Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little valley or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world.

27 книг в 2012 г.

В 2012 г. были опубликованы отрывки из 27 книг на английском языке с переводом на русский. Ниже приведён их список со ссылкой на страницы блога, там же можно найти видеоролики, фильмы, линки для скачивания книг.

1. George Grossmith - The Diary of a Nobody
   
2. Philip Chesterfield - Letters to his Son 
   
3. Ernest Hemingway - The Old Man and the Sea (+ Movie Clip) 
   
4. Lewis Carroll - Alice in Wonderland 
   
5. Oscar Wilde - The Picture of Dorian Gray (+ Movie clip) 
   
6. Jonathan Swift - Gulliver's Travels 
   
7. Eleonor Porter - Pollyanna (+ Movie Clip) 
   
8. Daniel Defoe - Robinson Crusoe (+Movie Clip) 
   
9. Jerome K. Jerome - Three Men in a Boat (+Movie Clip) 
   
10. Winston Churchill - Richard Carvel 
    
11. George Orwell - Animal Farm (+Cartoon) 
    
12. Joseph Conrad - The Secret Agent (+Movie Trailer)
    
13. John Strachey - The Adventure of Living 
    
14. Lilyan Stratton - Reno - A Book of Short Stories and Information
    
15. Benjamin Franklin - The Autobiography 
    
16. Kate Chopin - The Awakening
    
17. Arthur Conan Doyle - The Adventure of the Empty House
    
18. Rafael Sabatini - Captain Blood
    
19. Jane Austen - Pride and Prejudice
    
20. Robert L.Stevenson - Across the Plains
    
21. Robert L.Stevenson - Treasure Island
    
22. William S.Maugham - The Moon and Sixpence
    
23. Francis.S.Fitzgerald - This Side of Paradise
    
24. Agnes Repplier - The Mission of Humour
    
25. Richard Davis - The Reporter Who Made Himself King
    
26. Joseph Walker - Robin Hood
    
27. Mark Twain - The Adventures of Tom Sawyer