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readme.it
Nessuna massima trovato
del 04/03/2015
Adventure
di Jack London

In the morning David Sheldon decided that he was worse. That he was appreciably weaker there was no doubt, and there were other symptoms that were unfavourable. He began his rounds looking for trouble. He wanted trouble. In full health, the strained situation would have been serious enough; but as it was, himself growing helpless, something had to be done. The blacks were getting more sullen and defiant, and the appearance of the men the previous night on his veranda--one of the gravest of offences on Berande--was ominous. Sooner or later they would get him, if he did not get them first, if he did not once again sear on their dark souls the flaming mastery of the white man. He returned to the house disappointed. No opportunity had presented itself of making an example of insolence or insubordination--such as had occurred on every other day since the sickness smote Berande. The fact that none had offended was in itself suspicious. They were growing crafty. He regretted that he had not waited the night before until the prowlers had entered. Then he might have shot one or two and given the rest a new lesson, writ in red, for them to con. It was one man against two hundred, and he was horribly afraid of his sickness overpowering him and leaving him at their mercy. He saw visions of the blacks taking charge of the plantation, looting the store, burning the buildings, and escaping to Malaita. Also, one gruesome vision he caught of his own head, sun-dried and smoke-cured, ornamenting the canoe house of a cannibal village. Either the Jessie would have to arrive, or he would have to do something. The bell had hardly rung, sending the labourers into the fields, when Sheldon had a visitor. He had had the couch taken out on the veranda, and he was lying on it when the canoes paddled in and hauled out on the beach. Forty men, armed with spears, bows and arrows, and war-clubs, gathered outside the gate of the compound, but only one entered. They knew the law of Berande, as every native knew the law of every white man's compound in all the thousand miles of the far-flung Solomons. The one man who came up the path, Sheldon recognized as Seelee, the chief of Balesuna village. The savage did not mount the steps, but stood beneath and talked to the white lord above. Seelee was more intelligent than the average of his kind, but his intelligence only emphasized the lowness of that kind. His eyes, close together and small, advertised cruelty and craftiness. A gee-string and a cartridge-belt were all the clothes he wore. The carved pearl-shell ornament that hung from nose to chin and impeded speech was purely ornamental, as were the holes in his ears mere utilities for carrying pipe and tobacco. His broken-fanged teeth were stained black by betel-nut, the juice of which he spat upon the ground. As he talked or listened, he made grimaces like a monkey. He said yes by dropping his eyelids and thrusting his chin forward. He spoke with childish arrogance strangely at variance with the subservient position he occupied beneath the veranda. He, with his many followers, was lord and master of Balesuna village. But the white man, without followers, was lord and master of Berande--ay, and on occasion, single-handed, had made himself lord and master of Balesuna village as well. Seelee did not like to remember that episode. It had occurred in the course of learning the nature of white men and of learning to abominate them. He had once been guilty of sheltering three runaways from Berande. They had given him all they possessed in return for the shelter and for promised aid in getting away to Malaita. This had given him a glimpse of a profitable future, in which his village would serve as the one depot on the underground railway between Berande and Malaita. Unfortunately, he was ignorant of the ways of white men. This particular white man educated him by arriving at his grass house in the gray of dawn. In the first moment he had felt amused. He was so perfectly safe in the midst of his village. But the next moment, and before he could cry out, a pair of handcuffs on the white man's knuckles had landed on his mouth, knocking the cry of alarm back down his throat. Also, the white man's other fist had caught him under the ear and left him without further interest in what was happening. When he came to, he found himself in the white man's whale-boat on the way to Berande. At Berande he had been treated as one of no consequence, with handcuffs on hands and feet, to say nothing of chains. When his tribe had returned the three runaways, he was given his freedom. And finally, the terrible white man had fined him and Balesuna village ten thousand cocoanuts. After that he had sheltered no more runaway Malaita men. Instead, he had gone into the business of catching them. It was safer. Besides, he was paid one case of tobacco per head. But if he ever got a chance at that white man, if he ever caught him sick or stood at his back when he stumbled and fell on a bush- trail--well, there would be a head that would fetch a price in Malaita.


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Ritratto o Maschera

Oscar Wilde Il ritratto di Dorian Gray è uno dei romanzi che danno al lettore qualcosa di nuovo ogni volta che si leggono. Può essere letto da persone di qualunque età e ognuno potrà appassionarsi e trovare quello che cerca.

Ci sono almeno due ragioni per cui questo avviene. Prima di tutto, il Ritratto contiene la summa del pensiero di Wilde, espressa in situazioni, dialoghi e naturalmente le immancabili massime: dalle più improbabili ("La sola differenza fra un capriccio e la passione di una vita è che il capriccio dura un po' più a lungo. ") alle più pungenti e profonde ("Il terrore che ci incute la società è la base di ogni morale").

Per il lettore è una sfida continua tra spunti di riflessione e momenti di comcità, tra denuncie all'ipocrisia e apologia dell'estetica.

In secondo luogo Wilde ha trovato, con il Ritratto di Dorian Grey, alcuni archetipi, principi senza tempo che colpiscono chiunque, in qualunque epoca, come soltanto i grandissimi autori sanno fare.

L'interruzione della morte quotidiana, la maschera perfetta, la ricerca del bello assoluto. Sono temi che, come per Shakespeare, affascinano, rapiscono, commuovono sempre.

Buona lettura


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Readme.it si trasforma

Readme.it è un progetto nato nel 2001, con lo scopo di condividere gratuitamente libri e testi senza diritti d'autore sul Web. Sono passati oltre 10 anni da allora, e in questo tempo il libro si è trasformato, smaterializzato. Sono nati sofisticatissimi lettori ebook, l’anno scorso negli Stati Uniti Amazon ha venduto più libri in formato elettronico rispetto a quelli in formato cartaceo, Google ha digitalizzato milioni e milioni di pagine. Questo dimostra che la visione di Readme.it era giusta, e il futuro del libro passa attraverso il digitale.

A questo punto il progetto di Readme.it di si è trovato di fronte a un bivio: essere abbandonato e lasciato morire lentamente oppure, oppure essere rinnovato, trovando nuove forme per renderlo di nuovo attuale.

Abbiamo scelto di tentare la seconda strada, che passa attraverso due passaggi: il primo, che oggi siamo fieri di annunciare, è la trasformazione di tutti i testi di Readme.it in formato compatibile con i più diffusi lettori ebook: in particolare il kindle di Amazon, iPad e iPhone di Apple, i lettori Sony e gli altri lettori più diffusi.

La seconda fase sarà creare una community: su ogni testo apriremo a commenti, critiche, condivisione di opinioni e creeremo un blog aperto a tutti di argomento letterario, con al centro i testi di Readme.it (arrivati ormai ad oltre 3000). Il tutto gratis e accessibile alla maggior parte dei dispositivi. Le idee sono tante, se riusciremo ad ottenere un buon supporto proveremo a realizzarle tutte.

Se l’idea ti piace, sia i suggerimenti, idee, proposte lascia un commento alla nostra nuova pagina Facebook . Cercheremo di modellare il progetto in base alle proposte.

Come sempre, buona lettura su www.readme.it!

...continua