By Joseph Conrad
"När mr Verloc gick ut på morgonen överlämnade han nominellt sin butik i svågerns händer."
I slutet av 1800-talet genomförde en grupp anarkister ett bombattentat mot Greenwichobservatoriet utanför London. Den händelsen utgör den yttre handlingen i Anarkisten (1907). males romanens egentliga dealing with är kollisionen mellan två helt olika livsnormer. Verloc, anarkisten och provokatören, lever ett stilla familjeliv och hans hustru vet ingenting om hans politiska verksamhet.
Joseph Conrad (1857-1924) hade lower than 1880-talet mönstrat på ångaren Vidar som förste styrman. Vidar lastade rotting, gummi och kryddor utmed floden Pantai på östra Borneo. Från denna miljö hämtade Conrad motiv until sina tidigaste romaner.
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Extra resources for Anarkisten
He has dreamed of this moment for weeks, schemed for a night precisely like this one, but now, confronted by his dream’s fruition, he knows something is not right. The act itself is wrong, he cannot help but know this, and his principles do not fear telling him so. He cuts short his thieving to look down at Wolfe—the slick, pomaded hair, the handsome Hebraic nose, the full lips and penetrating eyes—who is now crouching beside the man on the floor. Abrams watches him stroke the man’s head lovingly, while whispering to him perverse indulgences.
Silently ashamed, grateful for a kindness, young, bruised Gerta accepted the gift. And many times over the ensuing years, she stropped its blade wistfully, dreaming of exposed male necks. No, it is not for this that Abrams remembers his mother as beautiful. He remembers her as beautiful because despite her uneasy gait and the gaps of two lost teeth—keepsakes each from that fateful birthday eve— Gerta was incurably kind to her son. Her smile meant more to him than racing the wharves with his friends, than the catfishing or pipe smoking or the nights slipped into keno halls where he earned tips for running grog to the slow losers.
The slave complied, exposing a broad musculature that forced Lieber to inhale proudly at the thought of past deals shrewdly struck. Woven across the slave’s back was a coarse latticework of whipping scars, each 52 LANDSMAN thread raised thick and white in the noonday sun. ” Lieber asked his son. “How scarred his back is? ” The boy said he did. ” In heading for the great house, Gerta limping a few paces behind, boiling with rage, Elias noticed how the laneside live oaks met over him at the very tips of their limbs, the sun piercing through in gaps of geometry, leaf to leaf, angle to angle.
Anarkisten by Joseph Conrad