Ïîèñê ïî êàòàëîãó ïå÷àòíûõ èçäàíèé

Àííîòàöèÿ: Íîâàÿ, èñ÷åðïûâàþùå ïîëíàÿ áèîãðàôèÿ Àíòîíà Ïàâëîâè÷à ×åõîâà ñòàëà â Àíãëèè íàñòîÿùåé ñåíñàöèåé. Àðòóð Ìèëëåð â áîëüøîé ðåöåíçèè îòìåòèë, ÷òî â ýòîé êíèãå ×åõîâ âïåðâûå âûõîäèò èç ñóìåðåê òðàäèöèîííûõ òðàêòîâîê åãî ëè÷íîñòè è òâîð÷åñòâà è ïðåäñòàåò ïåðåä íàìè æèâûì ÷åëîâåêîì, ïðîæèâøèì ñëîæíóþ è ïîðîé áóðíóþ æèçíü. Ïðîôåññîð Ðåéôèëä íåñêîëüêî ëåò èçó÷àë îáøèðíûå àðõèâíûå ìàòåðèàëû â ôîíäàõ Îòäåëà ðóêîïèñåé Ðîññèéñêîé ãîñóäàðñòâåííîé áèáëèîòåêè è ÐÃÀËÈ. Èç íåèçäàííûõ ðàíåå ìàòåðèàëîâ, èçâåñòíûõ òîëüêî óçêîìó êðóãó àðõèâèñòîâ, èç ñåìåéíîé ïåðåïèñêè, èç âîñïîìèíàíèé ðîäñòâåííèêîâ, êîëëåã, ëþáèìûõ æåíùèí, äðóçåé è âðàãîâ âîçíèêàåò ñîâåðøåííî äðóãîé, íåèçâåñòíûé äî ñèõ ïîð ×åõîâ. Åãî ñîâðåìåííèêè, áëèçêèå ëþäè òîæå ïðèîáðåòàþò íîâûå ÿðêèå ÷åðòû. Êíèãà íàïèñàíà îáúåêòèâíî, áåç ïðèóêðàøèâàíèé è çàìàë÷èâàíèé. Ñàì ×åõîâ íåíàâèäåë áèîãðàôèè è àâòîáèîãðàôèè, îäíàêî, êàê íèêòî äðóãîé, îñòàâèë ïîäðîáíóþ ëåòîïèñü ñâîåé æèçíè è òâîð÷åñòâà.

Àííîòàöèÿ: What real reader does not yearn, somewhere in the recesses of his or her heart, for a really literate, first-class thriller - one that chills the body, but warms the soul with plot, perception, and language at once astute and vivid? In other words, a ghost story written by Jane Austen? Alas, we cannot give you Austen, but Susan Hill's remarkable Woman In Black comes as close as our era can provide. Set on the obligatory English moor, on an isolated causeway, the story has as its hero Arthur Kipps, an up-and-coming young solicitor who has come north from London to attend the funeral and settle the affairs of Mrs. Alice Drablow of Eel Marsh House. The routine formalities he anticipates give way to a tumble of events and secrets more sinister and terrifying than any nightmare: the rocking chair in the deserted nursery, the eerie sound of a pony and trap, a child's scream in the fog, and most dreadfully - and for Kipps most tragically - The Woman In Black. The Woman In Black is both a brilliant exercise in atmosphere and controlled horror and a delicious spine-tingler - proof positive that this neglected genre, the ghost story, isn't dead after all.

Àííîòàöèÿ: Ðýé Êðîê, îñíîâàòåëü êîðïîðàöèè McDonald's,- ÷åëîâåê-ëåãåíäà, îêàçàâøèé îãðîìíîå âëèÿíèå íà êóëèíàðíûå âêóñû íåñêîëüêèõ ïîêîëåíèé ëþäåé âî âñåì ìèðå. Ñâîé ïåðâûé ðåñòîðàí áûñòðîãî ïèòàíèÿ îí îòêðûë â 1955 ãîäó, íå ïîäîçðåâàÿ, ÷òî ÷åðåç ïàðó äåñÿòèëåòèé "çîëîòûå àðêè" ïðåâðàòÿòñÿ â îäèí èç ãëàâíûõ àìåðèêàíñêèõ áðåíäîâ è ñòàíóò èçâåñòíûìè âî âñåõ óãîëêàõ ïëàíåòû. Çàõâàòûâàþùàÿ, æèâàÿ è êðàñî÷íàÿ àâòîáèîãðàôèÿ Êðîêà ïîêàçûâàåò, êàêèõ âûñîò ìîæåò äîñòè÷ ÷åëîâåê, ñïîñîáíûé ïîä÷èíèòü ñâîåé âîëå äàæå ñàìûå íåáëàãîïðèÿòíûå îáñòîÿòåëüñòâà. Èñòîðèÿ McDonald's â ýòîé êíèãå òåñíî âïëåòåíà â èñòîðèþ ÑØÀ è XX âåêà â öåëîì è ïîýòîìó áóäåò èíòåðåñíà ñàìîìó øèðîêîìó êðóãó ÷èòàòåëåé

Àííîòàöèÿ: The tranquility of Mars is disrupted by the earthmen who have come to conquer space, colonize the planet, and escape a doomed earth

Àííîòàöèÿ: World-renowned fantasist Ray Bradbury has on several occasions stepped outside the arenas of horror, fantasy, and science fiction. An unabashed romantic, his first novel in 1957 was basically a love letter to his childhood. (For those who want to undertake an even more evocative look at the dark side of youth, five years later the author would write the chilling classic Something Wicked This Way Comes.) Dandelion Wine takes us into the summer of 1928, and to all the wondrous and magical events in the life of a 12-year-old Midwestern boy named Douglas Spaulding. This tender, openly affectionate story of a young man—s voyage of discovery is certainly more mainstream than exotic. No walking dead or spaceships to Mars here. Yet those who wish to experience the unique magic of early Bradbury as a prose stylist should find Dandelion Wine most refreshingÝòà ïîâåñòü - î âïå÷àòëåíèÿõ äâåíàäöàòèëåòíåãî ïîäðîñòêà, åãî âîñïðèÿòèè ìèðà. Ìàëü÷èê âïåðâûå ñòàðàåòñÿ ïîíÿòü, ÷òî òàêîå æèçíü è ñìåðòü, ó÷èòñÿ âèäåòü ìèð "ïî-âçðîñëîìó", ðàäîâàòüñÿ ïåðâûì ïîáåäàì.