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Kim [Anglais] [Relié]

David Stuart Davies , Rudyard Kipling , H. R. Millar
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Description de l'ouvrage

1 septembre 2012 Collector's Library
Kipling's epic rendition of the imperial experience in India is also his greatest long work. Two men - Kim, a boy growing into early manhood and the lama, an old ascetic priest - are fired by a quest. Kim is white, a sahib, although born in India. While he wants to play the Great Game of Imperialism, he is also spiritually bound to the lama and he tries to reconcile these opposing strands, while the lama searches for redemption from the Wheel of Life. A celebration of their friendship in an often hostile environment, Kim captures the opulence of India's exotic landscape, overlaid by the uneasy presence of the British Raj.
--Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

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Descriptions du produit


Chapter I

Oh ye who tread the Narrow Way

By Tophet-flare to Judgment Day,

Be gentle when the heathen pray

To Buddha at Kamakura!

He sat, in defiance of municipal orders, astride the gun Zam- Zammah on her brick platform opposite the old Ajaib-Gher—the Wonder House, as the natives call the Lahore Museum. Who hold Zam-Zammah, that “fire-breathing dragon,” hold the Punjab; for the great green-bronze piece is always first of the conqueror’s loot.

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. The half-caste woman who looked after him (she smoked opium, and pretended to keep a second-hand furniture shop by the square where the cheap cabs wait) told the missionaries that she was Kim’s mother’s sister; but his mother had been nursemaid in a colonel’s family and had married Kimball O’Hara, a young colour-sergeant of the Mavericks, an Irish regiment. He afterwards took a post on the Sind, Punjab, and Delhi railway, and his regiment went home without him. The wife died of cholera in Ferozepore, and O’Hara fell to drink and loafing up and down the line with the keen-eyed three-year-old baby. Societies and chaplains anxious for the child, tried to catch him, but O’Hara drifted away, till he came across the woman who took opium and learned the taste from her, and died as poor whites die in India. His estate at death consisted of three papers—one he called his “ne varietur” because those words were written below his signature thereon, and another his “clearance-certificate.” The third was Kim’s birth-certificate. Those things, he was used to say, in his glorious opium hours, would yet make little Kimball a man. On no account was Kim to part with them, for they belonged to a great piece of magic—such magic as men practised over yonder behind the Museum, in the big blue and white Jadoo-Gher—the Magic House, as we name the Masonic Lodge. It would, he said, all come right some day, and Kim’s horn would be exalted between pillars—monstrous pillars—of beauty and strength. The Colonel himself, riding on a horse, at the head of the finest regiment in the world, would attend to Kim,—little Kim that should have been better off than his father. Nine hundred first-class devils, whose god was a Red Bull on a green field, would attend to Kim, if they had not forgotten O’Hara—poor O’Hara that was gang-foreman on the Ferozepore line. Then he would weep bitterly in the broken rush chair on the verandah. So it came about after his death that the woman sewed parchment, paper, and birth-certificate into a leather amulet-case which she strung round Kim’s neck.

“And some day,” she said, confusedly remembering O’Hara’s prophecies, “there will come for you a great Red Bull on a green field, and the Colonel riding on his tall horse, yes, and”—dropping into English—“nine hundred devils.”

“Ah,” said Kim, “I shall remember. A Red Bull and a Colonel on a horse will come, but first, my father said, come the two men making ready the ground for these matters. That is how, my father said, they always did; and it is always so when men work magic.”

If the woman had sent Kim up to the local Jadoo-Gher with those papers, he would, of course, have been taken over by the Provincial Lodge and sent to the Masonic Orphanage in the Hills; but what she had heard of magic she distrusted. Kim, too, held views of his own. As he reached the years of indiscretion, he learned to avoid missionaries and white men of serious aspect who asked who he was, and what he did. For Kim did nothing with an immense success. True, he knew the wonderful walled city of Lahore from the Delhi Gate to the outer Fort Ditch; was hand in glove with men who led lives stranger than anything Haroun al Raschid dreamed of; and he lived in a life wild as that of the Arabian Nights, but missionaries and secretaries of charitable societies could not see the beauty of it. His nickname through the wards was “Little Friend of all the World”; and very often, being lithe and inconspicuous, he executed commissions by night on the crowded housetops for sleek and shiny young men of fashion. It was intrigue, of course,—he knew that much, as he had known all evil since he could speak,—but what he loved was the game for its own sake—the stealthy prowl through the dark gullies and lanes, the crawl up a water-pipe, the sights and sounds of the women’s world on the flat roofs, and the headlong flight from housetop to housetop under cover of the hot dark. Then there were holy men, ash-smeared faquirs by their brick shrines under the trees at the riverside, with whom he was quite familiar—greeting them as they returned from begging-tours, and, when no one was by, eating from the same dish. The woman who looked after him insisted with tears that he should wear European clothes—trousers, a shirt, and a battered hat. Kim found it easier to slip into Hindu or Mohammedan garb when engaged on certain businesses. One of the young men of fashion—he who was found dead at the bottom of a well on the night of the earthquake—had once given him a complete suit of Hindu kit, the costume of a low-caste street boy, and Kim stored it in a secret place under some baulks in Nila Ram’s timber-yard, beyond the Punjab High Court, where the fragrant deodar logs lie seasoning after they have driven down the Ravee. When there was business or frolic afoot, Kim would use his properties, returning at dawn to the verandah, all tired out from shouting at the heels of a marriage procession, or yelling at a Hindu festival. Sometimes there was food in the house, more often there was not, and Kim went out again to eat with his native friends.

As he drummed his heels against Zam-Zammah he turned now and again from his king-of-the-castle game with little Chota Lal and Abdullah the sweetmeat-seller’s son, to make a rude remark to the native policeman on guard over rows of shoes at the Museum door. The big Punjabi grinned tolerantly: he knew Kim of old. So did the water-carrier, sluicing water on the dry road from his goat-skin bag. So did Jawahir Singh, the Museum carpenter, bent over new packing-cases. So did everybody in sight except the peasants from the country, hurrying up to the Wonder House to view the things that men made in their own province and elsewhere. The Museum was given up to Indian arts and manufactures, and anybody who sought wisdom could ask the curator to explain.

“Off! Off! Let me up!” cried Abdullah, climbing up Zam- Zammah’s wheel.

“Thy father14 was a pastry-cook, Thy mother stole the ghi,” sang Kim. “All Mussalmans fell off Zam-Zammah long ago!”

“Let me up!” shrilled little Chota Lal in his gilt-embroidered cap. His father was worth perhaps half a million sterling, but India is the only democratic land in the world.

“The Hindus fell off Zam-Zammah too. The Mussalmans pushed them off. Thy father was a pastry-cook——”

He stopped; for there shuffled round the corner, from the roaring Motee Bazar,16 such a man as Kim, who thought he knew all castes, had never seen. He was nearly six feet high, dressed in fold upon fold of dingy stuff like horse-blanketing, and not one fold of it could Kim refer to any known trade or profession. At his belt hung a long open-work iron pencase and a wooden rosary such as holy men wear. On his head was a gigantic sort of tam-o’-shanter. His face was yellow and wrinkled, like that of Fook Shing, the Chinese bootmaker in the bazar. His eyes turned up at the corners and looked like little slits of onyx.

“Who is that?” said Kim to his companions.

“Perhaps it is a man,” said Abdullah, finger in mouth, staring.

“Without doubt,” returned Kim; “but he is no man of India that I have ever seen.”

“A priest, perhaps,” said Chota Lal, spying the rosary. “See! He goes into the Wonder House!”

“Nay, nay,” said the policeman, shaking his head. “I do not understand your talk.” The constable spoke Punjabi. “Oh, The Friend of all the World, what does he say?”

“Send him hither,” said Kim, dropping from Zam-Zammah, flourishing his bare heels. “He is a foreigner, and thou art a buffalo.”

The man turned helplessly and drifted towards the boys. He was old, and his woollen gaberdine still reeked of the stinking artemisia of the mountain passes.

“O Children, what is that big house?” he said in very fair Urdu.

“The Ajaib-Gher, the Wonder House!” Kim gave him no title—such as Lala or Mian. He could not divine the man’s creed.

“Ah! The Wonder House! Can any enter?”

“It is written above the door—all can enter.”

“Without payment?”

“I go in and out. I am no banker,” laughed Kim.

“Alas! I am an old man. I did not know.” Then, fingering his rosary, he half turned to the Museum.

“What is your caste? Where is your house? Have you come far?” Kim asked.

“I came by Kulu—from beyond the Kailas—but what know you? From the hills where”—he sighed—“the air and water are fresh and cool.”

“Aha! Khitai (a Chinaman),” said Abdullah proudly. Fook Shing had once chased h... --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

Revue de presse

“A work of positive genius, as radiant all over with intellectual light as the sky of a frosty night
with stars.”
The Atlantic Monthly --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

Détails sur le produit

  • Relié: 412 pages
  • Editeur : Collector's Library (1 septembre 2012)
  • Collection : Collector's Library
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 1907360662
  • ISBN-13: 978-1907360664
  • Dimensions du produit: 10 x 2,2 x 15,2 cm
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.0 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (1 commentaire client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: 174.879 en Livres anglais et étrangers (Voir les 100 premiers en Livres anglais et étrangers)
  • Table des matières complète
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1 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 A Great Game look from an insider 10 juin 2009
A perfect way to know how life was inside the British Empire in India and helpful to understand certain Great Game ways
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur (beta) 4.1 étoiles sur 5  187 commentaires
164 internautes sur 171 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 A 'Best Kept Secret' of literature 27 mai 2006
Par E. M. Van Court - Publié sur
'Kim' is a work that could receive very different reviews depending on the biases of the reviewer.

Any professor from the English department of my alma mater (Rutgers) would insist that 'Kim' should never under any circumstances receive any praise as it is racist, glorifies imperialism, was writen by a dead white male, and lacks a political philosophy acceptable to a modern progressive liberal. Well, I suppose that it lacks any real political philosophy (except some very general complimentary comments about democracy) and Rudyard Kipling is dead, white and male, but the first two comments are completely wrong and and this sort of review is the voice of ignorance.

A staunch traditionalist, conservative would insist that it is a canonical work that should be read by every school child as a superior example of English literature and the epitomy of the written Enlish language. This is equally ill-informed and ill-considered.

'Kim' is a wonderful story of an orphan in India (the part that is now Pakistan; Abid-please consider it a gesture of respect that I mention the change in geography) in the late 1800s. Kim is the son of an Irish soldier raised by locals, familiar with the customs and languages of the Hindus and Muslims of the area who gets recruited by the British to spy for them. Kim acts as a guide for a Tibetan Buddhist priest who is on a quest in India, broadening his knowledge of the cultures of his world and giving him an excuse to travel even further. He comes upon his father's regiment, and the officers of the regiment arrange for Kim to attend a 'proper' British school. Throughout the story, a British spymaster is helping Kim receive an education (both formal and in the skills needed to serve the British rule in India) and arranging for Kim to carry messages and run small but important tasks for him.

Throughout the book, the only Indian group that is treated with disrespect is Hindus who have sacrificed their own culture's customs in order to get ahead in the British goverment. Frequently, the low opinion of the British held by the Indians (Muslim, Hindu, and Buddhist) is mentioned, and is usually pretty funny. The other European powers that are mention in the book are not treated with respect, but that is understandable (at least to me in context; other readers will have to make up their own minds).

Kipling's passion for the land he was raised in and his love for the peoples he was raised with is unmistakable, as is his love/hate relationship with the British government (N.B. he was not knighted in a time when most prominent authors were; he was entirely too candid about the British rule in India and the Crown's treatment of her soldiers). The language of the book is a little hard to follow, between regional loan words and the English of the time, but a patient and persistant reader will find the effort rewarded.

A great spy novel, read it for yourself and don't trust the critics who speak based on assumptions rather than knowledge.
65 internautes sur 65 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Kipling's Kim and Komments on Kim 26 juin 2003
Par Highlander - Publié sur
Format:Broché|Achat authentifié par Amazon
Kim is a book that I had meant to read for nearly 20 years. When I finally got around to it, I first read the reviews and noted they seemed to divide into two camps. The first camp was overwhelmingly favorable; the other was guardedly favorable. The reviews that were guarded said, in the aggregate, that Kim was enjoyable for various reasons, but that it bore the baggage of racism and imperialism. For these and other reasons, Kim must be seen for what it really was. And there were some reviews were quite critical -- describing Kim as a plotless, meandering exercise in boredom.
The Kim that I read had a plot. A common plot. Those who have read Huckleberry Finn would recognize it. It is a coming of age novel placed about 130 years ago.
Imperialism and racism. Well, yes -- if you are viewing Kim from the viewpoint of a revisionist political commentator. Kim's India has a white ruling class and a darker skinned ruled class. This social structure is strikingly similar to the historical relationship between the British and the Indians during the Raj. And Kim is caught up in the Great Game, much like the historical Great Game. The British did want to continue to hold India from enemies foreign and domestic and Kim reflects that historical point of view. It was, after all, written during the Raj and within chronological shouting distance of the Game.
Racism. Yes. British characters, often presented in most unsympathetic ways, do have a racial stereotype of the Indians. And, the Indians have a racial stereotype of the sahibs. But the Indians are not what they want to seem to the British -- they are much, much deeper. Babu is a Babu -- if his mask is all the reader sees. Strikingly like real life.
When caught in the web of current social generalities, Kim is certainly a suspect tome. But Kim is literature. And, as literature, it is a tour de force of language and description and imagery of an India and a Raj long gone. Its main characters are all human and complex and the opposite of stereotyped. The interplay between the values and growth of the lama and the growth and experience of Kim is compelling and warming. When all is said and read, the lama has found his river in the only place it could be found. And Kim, I think, has found himself in the dust of an Indian plain ... an Indian in a Englishman's skin and an Englishman who has the gift of seeing himself as the Indian others see him.
If you are interested in India, pre- or post-Raj, do yourself a favor. Settle down with Kim and travel the Great Trunk Road, winter in Simla, and seek the River of the Arrow with your lama. Don't allow modern, political generalities deny you a wonderful adventure.
82 internautes sur 88 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
1.0 étoiles sur 5 Simple conversion of public domain text. 30 avril 2010
Par Paul Durrant - Publié sur
Format:Format Kindle|Achat authentifié par Amazon
This review is for Kim
Published by Start Publishing LLC

This is a review of this particular edition, not of Kim as a book. Kim is a splendid novel by Rudyard Kipling. It's well worth a read.

This edition has text taken from Project Gutenberg, and is missing all italics and accents. It also has the errors in the text that are present in the Project Gutenberg text. It does have curly quotes and em-dashes, but that's the extent of the formatting. The verses at the start of chapters is very poorly formatted, and the in-line verses are even worse.

The are no illustration or annotations for the public domain text. This edition really has nothing to recommend it over the much better free version available at mobileread.

If you're looking for a Kindle edition of Kim, don't just search for "Kim". That only finds a few of the many editions. You'll need to used the advanced book search and search for title kim and author kipling and format Kindle Books. And also look for my review "Kindle Edition Choice is critical" for a review of all the available editions as of January 2012. I can't give a live link to the mass review here, but its web address is:
57 internautes sur 60 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 A captivating clasic of Indian Literature 20 février 2001
Par Gerrit Ruitinga - Publié sur
Kim is probably one of the best books ever written on India and certainly within the league of E.M.Forster and Paul Scott.
This little treasure describes India with a love and power of observation that is absolutely captivating and charming at the same time.
Kim is a rogue like Huck Finn and Oliver Twist. He is the man for all opportunities and is called the "Friend of all Mankind". He is neither Hindu nor Muslim, he is neither Buddhist nor Christian. Given his background as the orphan son of a Irish military man and a local girl he is a little bit of everything.
In Kim Kipling personifies all the good of Inida while playing down the contrasts, in particular the religious one; he shows us what India would have been like in an ideal situation of mutual tolerance.
Apart from these philosophical considerations, Kim is simply a very well written book. Every passage betrays Kiplings background as a poet and sometimes passages really need to be reread for their beauty. His observations are striking and one realises from time to time that it is not the writers imagination about a period long gone; he was actually part of that period.
One thing Kim is not: a childrens book. Like Siddharta ,a child may be the main character, but the book is far to philosophical and aimed observing intricate human behaviour to be of much interest to children. I would even maintain that Kim should not be the first book to read about India.
However, one of the best reads I had in a long time.
56 internautes sur 59 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
1.0 étoiles sur 5 Don't bother! 21 décembre 2007
Par Thomas C. Linton - Publié sur
Format:Format Kindle|Achat authentifié par Amazon
This one's not properly formatted
for the Kindle
Don't bother!
It will drive you nuts

But don't overlook the book
Kipling is a lot more sophisticated than he looks
Some have called this a mystery or thriller
I loved the intricate look at culture
and a little bonus
A lama's enlightenment
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