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Raising Steam [Anglais] [Poche]

Terry Pratchett
4.9 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (7 commentaires client)
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Description de l'ouvrage

9 octobre 2014
The new Discworld novel, the 40th in the series, sees the Disc's first train come steaming into town.

Change is afoot in Ankh-Morpork. Discworld's first steam engine has arrived, and once again Moist von Lipwig finds himself with a new and challenging job.

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Descriptions du produit

Extrait

It is hard to understand nothing, but the multiverse is full of it. Nothing travels everywhere, always ahead of something, and in the great cloud of unknowing nothing yearns to become something, to break out, to move, to feel, to change, to dance and to experience—in short, to be something.

And now it found its chance as it drifted in the ether. Nothing, of course, knew about something, but this something was different, oh yes, and so nothing slid silently into something and floated down with everything in mind and, fortunately, landed on the back of a turtle, a very large one, and hurried to become something even faster. It was elemental and nothing was better than that and suddenly the elemental was captured! The bait had worked.

Anyone who has ever seen the River Ankh sliding along its bed of miscellaneous nastiness would understand why so much of the piscine food for the people of Ankh-Morpork has to be supplied by the fishing fleets of Quirm. In order to prevent terrible gastric trouble for the citizenry, Ankh-Morpork fishmongers have to ensure that their suppliers make their catches a long, long way from the city.

For Bowden Jeffries, purveyor of the very best in seafood, the two hundred miles or more which lay between the fish docks at Quirm and the customers in Ankh-Morpork was a regrettably long distance throughout the winter, autumn, and spring and a sheer penance in the summertime, because the highway, such as it was, became a linear furnace all the way to the Big City. Once you had had to deal with a ton of overheated octopus, you never forgot it; the smell lasted for days, and followed you around and almost into your bedroom. You could never get it out of your clothes.

People were so demanding, but the elite of Ankh-Morpork and, indeed, everyone else wanted their fish, even in the hottest part of the season. Even with an icehouse built by his own two hands and, by arrangement, a second icehouse halfway along the journey, it made you want to cry, it really did.

And he said as much to his cousin, Relief Jeffries, a market gardener, who looked at his beer and said, “It’s always the same. Nobody wants to help the small entrepreneur. Can you imagine how quickly strawberries turn into little balls of mush in the heat? Well, I’ll tell you: no time at all. Blink and you miss ’em, just when everybody wants their strawberries. And you ask the watercress people how difficult it is to get the damn stuff to the city before it’s as limp as a second-day sermon. We should petition the government!”

“No,” said his cousin. “I’ve had enough of this. Let’s write to the newspapers! That’s the way to get things done. Everyone’s complaining about the fruit and vegetables and the seafood. Vetinari should be made to understand the plight of the small-time entrepreneur. After all, what do we occasionally pay our taxes for?”

Dick Simnel was ten years old when, back at the family smithy in Sheepridge, his father simply disappeared in a cloud of furnace parts and flying metal, all enveloped in a pink steam. He was never found in the terrible haze of scorching dampness, but on that very day young Dick Simnel vowed to whatever was left of his father in that boiling steam that he would make steam his servant.

His mother had other ideas. She was a midwife, and as she said to her neighbors, “Babbies are born everywhere. I’ll never be without a customer.” So, against her son’s wishes, Elsie Simnel decided to take him away from what she now considered to be a haunted place. She packed up their belongings and together they returned to her family home near Sto Lat, where people didn’t inexplicably disappear in a hot pink cloud.

Soon after they arrived something important happened to her boy. One day while waiting for his mother to return from a difficult delivery, Dick walked into a building that looked interesting, and which turned out to be a library. At first he thought it was full of poncy stuff, all kings and poets and lovers and battles, but in one crucial book he found something called mathematics and the world of numbers.

And that was why, one day some ten years later, he pulled together every fibre of his being and said, “Mother, you know last year when I said I were going ’iking in the mountains of Uberwald with me mates, well, it were kind of . . . sort of . . . a kind of lie, only very small, mind you.” Dick blushed. “You see, I found t’keys to Dad’s old shed and, well, I went back to Sheepridge and did some experimenting and”—he looked at his mother anxiously “—I think I know what ’e were doing wrong.”

Dick was braced for stiff objections, but he hadn’t reckoned on tears—so many tears—and as he tried to console her he added, “You, Mother, and Uncle Flavius got me an education, you got me the knowing of the numbers, including the arithmetic and weird stuff dreamed up by the philosophers in Ephebe where even camels can do logarithms on their toes. Dad didn’t know this stuff. He had the right ideas but he didn’t have the . . . tech-nol-ogy right.”

At this point, Dick allowed his mother to talk, and she said, “I know there’s no stopping you, our Dick, you’re just like your stubborn father were, pigheaded. Is that what you’ve been doin’ in the barn? Teck-ology?” She looked at him accusingly, then sighed. “I can see I can’t tell you what to do, but you tell me: how can your ‘logger-reasons’ stop you goin’ the way of your poor old dad?” She started sobbing again.

Dick pulled out of his jacket something that looked like a small wand, which might have been made for a miniature wizard, and said, “This’ll keep me safe, Mother! I’ve the knowing of the sliding rule! I can tell the sine what to do, and the cosine likewise and work out the tangent of t’quaderatics! Come on, Mother, stop fretting and come wi’ me now to t’barn. You must see ’er!”

Mrs. Simnel, reluctant, was dragged by her son to the great open barn he had kitted out like the workshop back at Sheepridge, hoping against hope that her son had accidentally found himself a girl. Inside the barn she looked helplessly at a large circle of metal which covered most of the floor. Something metallic whizzed round and round on the metal, sounding like a squirrel in a cage, giving off a smell much like camphor.

“Here she is, Mother. Ain’t she champion?” Dick said happily. “I call her Iron Girder!”

“But what is it, son?”

He grinned hugely and said, “It’s what they call a pro-to-type, Mother. You’ve got to ’ave a pro-to-type if you’re going to be an engineer.”

His mother smiled wanly but there was no stopping Dick. The words just tumbled out.

“The thing is, Mother, before you attempt owt you’ve got to ’ave some idea of what it is you want to do. One of the books I found in the library was about being an architect. And in that book, the man who wrote it said before he built his next big ’ouse he always made quite tiny models to get an idea of how it would all work out. He said it sounds fiddly and stuff, but going slowly and being thorough is the only way forward. And so I’m testing ’er out slowly, seeing what works and what doesn’t. And actually, I’m quite proud of me’sen. In the beginning I made t’track wooden, but I reckoned that the engine I wanted would be very ’eavy, so I chopped up t’wooden circle for firewood and went back to t’forge.”

Mrs. Simnel looked at the little mechanism running round and round on the barn floor and said, in the voice of someone really trying to understand, “Eee, lad, but what does it do?”

“Well, I remembered what Dad said about t’time he were watching t’kettle boiling and noticed t’lid going up and down with the pressure, and he told me that one day someone would build a bigger kettle that would lift more than a kettle lid. And I believe I have the knowing of the way to build a proper kettle, Mother.”

“And what good would that do, my boy?” said his mother sternly. And she watched the glow in her son’s eyes as he said, “Everything, Mother. Everything.”

Still in a haze of slight misunderstanding, Mrs. Simnel watched him unroll a large and rather grubby piece of paper.

“It’s called a blueprint, Mother. You’ve got to have a blueprint. It shows you how everything fits together.”

“Is this part of the pro-to-type?”

The boy looked at his doting mother’s face and realized that a little more exposition should be forthcoming. He took her by the hand and said, “Mother, I know they’re all lines and circles to you, but once you have the knowing of the circles and the lines and all, you know that this is a picture of an engine.”

Mrs. Simnel gripped his hand and said, “What do you think you’re going to do with it, our Dick?”

And young Simnel grinned and said happily, “Change things as needs changing, Mother.”

Mrs. Simnel gave her son a curious look for a moment or two, then appeared to reach a grudging conclusion and said, “Just you come with me, my lad.”

She led him back into the house, where they climbed up the ladder into the attic. She pointed out to her son a sturdy seaman’s chest covered in dust.

“Your granddad gave me this to give to you, when I thought you needed it. Here’s the key.”

She was gratified that he didn’t grab it and indeed looked carefully at the trunk before opening it. As he...

Revue de presse

“Consistently funny, wise and clever. . . . Rewarding to both longtime readers and novices, filled with characters who leap off the page and metaphors that make you laugh out loud. . . . Pratchett's appeal isn't just his roller-coaster plots but the depth of his ideas.”
     —Sam Thielman, Newsday
 
“A delightful fantasy send-up of politics, economics and finance, as the Discworld gets a railway and complications ensue. . . . A lovely homage to the courage at the core of technological advance. . . . Pratchett melds politics, finance and the occasional dark turn with his fantasy and humor, and as ever his footnotes are not to be missed. . . . How many writers are more fun to spend time with?”
     —Ken Armstrong, The Seattle Times
 
“A spectacular novel, and a gift from a beloved writer to his millions of fans. . . . A tremendous synthesis of everything that makes Pratchett one of the world’s most delightful writers.”
    —Cory Doctorow, Boing Boing

“From the first, the novels demonstrated Pratchett's eye for telling detail and the absurdities of the human condition. . . . He remains one of the most consistently funny writers around; a master of the stealth simile, the time-delay pun and the deflationary three-part list. . . . I could tell which of my fellow tube passengers had downloaded it to their e-readers by the bouts of spontaneous laughter.”
    —Ben Aaronovitch, The Guardian

"Terry Pratchett’s creation is still going strong after 30 years. . . . Most aficionados, however, will be on the look-out for in-jokes and references from previous novels—of which there is no shortage. Discworld’s success, like that of Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Wooster stories, has never been driven by the plots. . . . It is at the level of the sentence that Pratchett wins his fans.”
    —Andrew McKie, The Times (London)

“A brash new invention brings social upheaval, deadly intrigues, and plenty of wry humor to the 40th installment of Pratchett’s best-selling Discworld fantasy series. . . . As always, Pratchett’s unforgettable characters and lively story mirror the best, the worst, and the oddest bits of our own world, entertaining readers while skewering social and political foibles in a melting pot of humanity, dwarfs, trolls, goblins, vampires, and a werewolf or two.”
     —Publishers Weekly (starred review)
 
“Brimming with Pratchett’s trademark wit, a yarn with a serious point made with style and elegance.” 
     —Kirkus Reviews
 
“Leavened with Pratchett’s usual puns, philosophical quips, and Discworld in-jokes, the story offers an amusing allegory of Earthly technology’s many seductions.” 
     —Booklist 


Praise for Terry Pratchett

“Terry Pratchett may still be pegged as a comic novelist, but . . . he’s a lot more. In his range of invented characters, his adroit storytelling, and his clear-eyed acceptance of humankind’s foibles, he reminds me of no one in English literature as much as Geoffrey Chaucer. No kidding.”
    —Michael Dirda, The Washington Post Book World

“Given his prolificacy and breezy style, it’s easy to underestimate Pratchett. . . .  He’s far more than a talented jokesmith, though. His books are almost always better than they have to be.”
    —Michael Berry, San Francisco Chronicle

“Nonstop wit. . . . Pratchett is a master of juggling multiple plotlines and multiplying punchlines.”
    —Ken Barnes, USA Today

Détails sur le produit

  • Poche: 384 pages
  • Editeur : Anchor (9 octobre 2014)
  • ISBN-10: 0804172307
  • ISBN-13: 978-0804172301
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.9 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (7 commentaires client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: 39.659 en Livres anglais et étrangers (Voir les 100 premiers en Livres anglais et étrangers)
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En savoir plus sur l'auteur

Le plus grand humoriste anglais depuis P.G. Wodehouse est un auteur de fantasy : est-ce l'effet du hasard ? Terry Pratchett est né en 1948 dans le Buckinghamshire ; nous n'en savons pas davantage sur ses origines, ses études ou sa vie amoureuse. Son hobby, prétend-il, c'est la culture des plantes carnivores. Que dire encore de son programme politique ? Il s'engage sur un point crucial : augmentons, dit-il, le nombre des orangs-outans à la surface du globe, et les grands équilibres seront restaurés. Voilà un écrivain qui donnera du fil à retordre à ses biographes !
Sa vocation fut précoce : il publia sa première nouvelle en 1963 et son premier roman en 1971. D'emblée, il s'affirma comme un grand parodiste : La Face obscure du soleil (1976) tourne en dérision L'Univers connu de Larry Niven ; Strata (1981) ridiculise une fois de plus la hard S.-F. en partant de l'idée que la Terre est effectivement plate.
Mais le grand tournant est pris en 1983. Pratchett publia alors le premier roman de la série du Disque-Monde, brillant pastiche héroï-comique de Tolkien et de ses imitateurs.
Traduites dans plus de trente langues, Les Annales du Disque-Monde ont également donné lieu à nombre de produits dérivés ainsi qu'à des adaptations télévisées.

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5.0 étoiles sur 5 Un régal, une fois de plus! 10 avril 2014
Par Sylvie B.
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L'invention de la locomotive à vapeur sur le disque-monde, oui, et l'engouement pour le chemin de fer, mais pas seulement: il y a aussi la recherche de respectabilité d'Henri Roi et de sa tendre épouse...les gobelins qui poursuivent leur ascension sociale...Rhys Rhysson, Roi des Nains, qui doit gérer de délicates situations avec ses intégristes des profondeurs...quelques tête-à-tête amoureux surprenants... On reste plus longtemps témoins des discussions, dans le bureau oblong, de Vétérini (faut-il vous rappeler la définition du mot : tyran?) et de son secrétaire Tambourinœud qui prend de la densité au fil du temps. Moist, "le bandit de Vétérini", est vraiment une sympathique crapule et c'est agréable de le retrouver dans un troisième emploi après la Poste et la Monnaie. Et vous découvrirez même comment, pour quoi faire, et où Vétérini prend des vacances!
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5.0 étoiles sur 5 Raising Steam 26 février 2014
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one of Terry Pratchett's best discworld stories carrying the themes forward still while past story history is not ignored too.
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5.0 étoiles sur 5 My comments are NOT about the book! 31 décembre 2013
Format:Relié|Achat authentifié par Amazon
Amazon really dropped the ball on my order. I literally signed up for this book the day it was announced... however, my delivery date was NEVER corrected and constantly listed as April 2014!!! I finally had to cancel the order and re-order... only to get my book 3 days later. For such a wonderful book from THE author of our times (well, there's a little to do with the actual product) I expected much better on-line service!
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4.0 étoiles sur 5 Pas le meilleur Pratchett 26 décembre 2013
Format:Format Kindle|Achat authentifié par Amazon
Mais comme toujours, ce conte philosophique drolatique nous instruit en nous amusant, et nous fait réfléchir sur des thèmes aussi "lourds" que la naissance du capitalisme industriel et celle des complots extrémistes de toute sorte... Ce n'est pas le meilleur de la série, on regrette un peu mages et sorcières qui apportaient dans les autres volumes du discworld leur humour déjanté... Mais on se fait une raison, quand même : un régal.
Et en anglais, c'est très savoureux, même si c'est un peu difficile à lire à cause des jeux de mots et des néologismes. Mais le dico intégré dans la tablette aide la plupart du temps, et dans les autres cas, les notes abondantes aussi.
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