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Raising Stony Mayhall [Anglais] [Broché]

Daryl Gregory
5.0 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (3 commentaires client)
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Description de l'ouvrage

28 juin 2011

From award-winning author Daryl Gregory, whom Library Journal called “[a] bright new voice of the twenty-first century,” comes a new breed of zombie novel—a surprisingly funny, vividly frightening, and ultimately deeply moving story of self-discovery and family love.
In 1968, after the first zombie outbreak, Wanda Mayhall and her three young daughters discover the body of a teenage mother during a snowstorm. Wrapped in the woman’s arms is a baby, stone-cold, not breathing, and without a pulse. But then his eyes open and look up at Wanda—and he begins to move.

The family hides the child—whom they name Stony—rather than turn him over to authorities that would destroy him. Against all scientific reason, the undead boy begins to grow. For years his adoptive mother and sisters manage to keep his existence a secret—until one terrifying night when Stony is forced to run and he learns that he is not the only living dead boy left in the world.

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Descriptions du produit


Chapter one


Easterly, Iowa

t was a wonder she saw the dead girl at all. The first winter storm of the season had rolled in well ahead of the forecast, and Wanda Mayhall drove hunched over the wheel, squinting through a shrinking ellipse of clear windshield at a road being erased by drifts, and singing in a high, strong voice. The wind buffeted the Ford Falcon station wagon and threw snow across her headlights, making a screen of white static. She sang "I Will Meet You in the Morning," a belter of a hymn that would keep her three girls from worrying.

And there, at the edge of the road, a dark lump on the white snow.

She thought it was a downed cow, or maybe a dog. Then, a moment after her headlights had swept past, she thought she'd seen a glimmer of yellow. Something about that wink of color made her think, Rubber rain boots.

She pressed on the brake as hard as she dared. Still the car slewed, and the two girls in the backseat squawked excitedly. Alice, her oldest at thirteen, braced herself against the dash and yelled, "Mom!" Ever since her father died, Alice had bestowed upon herself all the privileges of an adult, including the permanent right to ride shotgun and criticize her mother's driving.

Wanda put the car in reverse and slowly backed up, her eyes watching the rearview mirror for headlights barreling out of the snow, until she reached the spot where she thought she'd seen the dark blot. She left the car running and the lights on. "Don't get out of the car," she told the girls.

She walked around to the rear of the station wagon. The wind whipped at her skirt, and icy snow bit her ankles through her nylons. Typical Iowa snowstorm, raking the empty fields at fifty miles per hour. A few feet from the taillights the dark closed in; she could barely distinguish gray field from pitch-black sky. She should have taken the flashlight from the glove compartment.

Then she saw the lump, perhaps ten feet from the road. She stepped off the shoulder and instantly plunged into snow up to her shins.

It was a girl, not more than seventeen or eighteen. She lay on her side, half buried in the snow, her arms curled in front of her. She wore an imitation rabbit fur coat, a dark skirt, black tights, and yes, yellow rubber boots. Wanda pulled off one glove and crouched in the snow beside her. She pushed the girl's long brown hair from her face and touched a hand to her neck. Her skin was the same temperature as the snow.

A light illuminated them. "Is she dead?" Alice said. She held the big silver flashlight. Of course she'd remembered it; Alice was as levelheaded as her father had been.

"I told you to stay in the car," Wanda said.

"Chelsea's watching Junie. Who is she?"

Wanda didn't recognize her. Maybe she was a runaway, trying to make it to Des Moines. But how did she get way out here, sixty miles from the city? And what killed her-exposure? A hit-and-run driver?

The girl's arms were wrapped around her stomach. Wanda had a bad thought. She put her hand on the girl's shoulder and tried to push her onto her back, but only moved her a few inches; a drift had formed against her, holding her in place. Wanda pulled on the girl's arm-it felt heavy, but not stiff-and moved it down to her side. Then she tugged up the hem of the jacket.

The infant was wrapped in what looked like bath towels. Only its tiny gray face was visible, its eyes closed, its lips blue. Wanda made a low, sad sound. She worked her hands beneath the child, her hand cradling its neck, and brought it to her chest. It was cold, cold as its mother.

Alice moved closer to her, and Wanda put up a hand-the girl didn't need to see this. The dead girl's pale shirt and dark skirt were stiff with frozen blood. Her black tights, she realized, were crusted with it.

Alice stepped forward anyway, frowning. She didn't scream, didn't panic. She looked at the girl, then the baby in her mother's arms, and said, "We have to get them to the hospital."

"Oh, honey," Wanda said. She'd witnessed a few kinda-sorta miracles in her years as an RN, but there was no hospital on earth that could help this baby now. She held it to her and got to her feet. Then she carried it back to the station wagon. Alice said, "Shouldn't we bring the girl?"

"We'll come back for her," Wanda said. The mother she could leave, but she couldn't imagine abandoning an infant, even a dead one.

When they reached the car she made Alice get in first, then put the baby in her arms, as gently as if it were a living child. The younger girls leaned over the seat back, amazed. "You found a baby?" Chelsea said. She was seven years old, Junie only three and a half.

Alice said, "It's not-"

"Sit in your seats, all of you," Wanda said, cutting her off. The last thing she needed was three hysterical girls. She wouldn't allow herself to cry, either.

She eased the station wagon into the lane. In all the time they'd been pulled over not a car had passed them in either direction. The closest telephone was their own, a couple of miles away. She'd have to call the police, or maybe the fire department and tell them where to find the girl.

Then Alice shouted and Wanda nearly slammed on the brakes. "Alice, you can't-"


The baby's eyes were open.

After a moment Wanda said, "That happens sometimes." She used her nurse voice. Maybe Alice would believe her if she used the nurse voice.

"It's moving," Alice said.

One of the towels had come open, exposing a little gray hand. Wanda looked at the road, back to the child. Its tiny fingers flexed.

Wanda felt a stab of panic. Suddenly she had a dying newborn to save. She couldn't floor it; the Falcon would never stay on the road. "Hold him up to the heater," she said. "Her. It."

The ten minutes to the farm seemed to take forever. The baby's arms shifted feebly under its wrap, and its lips moved silently. Alice talked to it the way she talked to Junie after a bad dream: Don't you worry, little one. Don't you cry.

Wanda drove up the lane and didn't bother to put the car in the garage. She killed the engine and took the baby from Alice. "Help the girls out," she said.

"Chelsea, carry Junie in," Alice said, and followed her mother into the house. With one hand Wanda plugged the kitchen drain and turned on the warm water. The baby looked into her face. Its eyes were the color of clouds before a heavy rain.

"We have to treat it for hypothermia," Alice said.

Wanda had long ago ceased to be surprised by the things Alice knew. "That's right. Now go get me some towels."

Wanda unwrapped the child. Ah, a boy then. He was blue-gray from top to bottom, with a black umbilical cord a couple of inches long, and a tiny gray penis. Dark hair with a bit of curl to it. She stirred the water in the sink, decided it would do, then lowered him into it.

Chelsea dragged over a kitchen chair so she could see. Junie climbed up with her and wrapped her arms around her sister's waist. "We should name him," Chelsea said.

"He's not ours to name," Wanda said.

The boy seemed to like the water. He kicked his legs, waved his arms. He still hadn't made a sound. Then she realized that his chest wasn't moving. No: hadn't moved. The boy wasn't breathing. Junie reached out to touch him. "Get down, girls," Wanda said. "Down!"

She'd never been this scared caring for a patient. She decided she had to treat his hypothermia and breathing at once, so she cradled him in the water with one hand and pinched shut his little nostrils with the other. Then she bent her lips to his. Gentle, she thought. New lungs were fragile.

She puffed a bit of air into his mouth. His chest rose a fraction, dropped-and stayed down. She breathed into him again, and again. After a minute she put her fingers to his neck. No pulse.

He gazed up at her with those cloud-colored eyes, perfectly calm. His hand came up, seemed to reach for her face. And in that moment she made her decision. If it was a decision. If she had any choice at all.

"Mom?" Alice said. "Is he okay? You want me to call the hospital?"

"No. No hospital." Alice started to argue, and Wanda said, "They're snowed in. Nobody could get here anyway. Please, put the girls to bed."

Alice managed to get the girls into their pajamas, but none of them would stay out of the kitchen. They watched as Wanda worked, and soon she was sweating like a long-

distance runner. After a half hour the baby was no better and no worse for all the forced resuscitation. In fact he seemed to like it. The air she gave him he turned into gurgles and sighs and whines. His first sounds.

"We have to call the police," Alice said.

"We're not going to do that." Wanda lifted the boy out of the water and his arms waved as if he wanted to get back in. "Not yet."

Alice lowered her voice. "You know what he is. One of those things from that night." Alice was old enough to read the paper, to watch the evening news.

"Those were all back east," Wanda said. "And they're all gone now." The president told them the creatures had all been killed-or whatever you called it when you destroyed their bodies. And if the police found out about this boy, they'd destroy him, too.

At some point Junie had climbed up on the chair again. She softly patted his head. "Lit-tle babeee," she sang to him. "Little old babeee."

Then the boy's chest rose, and he let out a long sigh.

"He's learning to talk," Chelsea said.

"He's just making noises," Wanda said. Though how did he learn that? His ribs moved again, and his mouth made a breathy whistle. Wanda put her ear to his chest. She heard nothing but her own pulse in her ears. Maybe he could learn to pump his heart, too.

And then she thought, Oh no, I can't do this. But of course she'd have to.

"Girls, I have something important to say," Wanda said. She lifted Junie onto her hip. "Alice, Chelsea, give me your hands." She made them place their palms atop one anothe...

Revue de presse

Raising Stony Mayhall, like all of Daryl Gregory’s stories and novels I’ve read, is so good that I grieved when I got to the last page, because I wanted it to just go on and on.”—Chris Roberson, New York Times bestselling author of iZombie

“A brilliant contribution to the literature of the fantastic. Heartfelt, fascinating, suspenseful, and terrifying, this book involves the reader as only the very best stories can: by entering our dreams—and nightmares.”—Jack Skillingstead, author of Harbinger

Praise for Daryl Gregory
“Compelling and creepy . . . evokes the best of Stephen King.”—Kirkus Reviews, on The Devil’s Alphabet
“A wickedly clever entertainment.”—San Francisco Chronicle, on Pandemonium

Détails sur le produit

  • Broché: 450 pages
  • Editeur : Del Rey (28 juin 2011)
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 0345522370
  • ISBN-13: 978-0345522375
  • Dimensions du produit: 20,8 x 14 x 2,3 cm
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 5.0 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (3 commentaires client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: 217.534 en Livres anglais et étrangers (Voir les 100 premiers en Livres anglais et étrangers)
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2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Certes, ce livre est sur les zombies. Et comme tout livre sur les zombies qui se respecte, vous aurez droit aux scènes d'action et de destruction habituelles, avec une petite touche gore. Cependant, cette composante ne vient qu'en deuxième partie du livre, et n'apparaît que très secondaire. Ce livre est surtout pour moi sur la différence, l'acception de la différence et sur les liens familiaux.

Il m'a beaucoup fait penser au livre Sunshine (simplicité, chaleur humaine, acceptation de la différence, style talentueux et maîtrisé, fluidité de la lecture, empathie envers des personnages qu'on imagine tout de suite, y compris le Coréen taiseux et réparateur de voitures). il y a meme quelques moments franchement humoristiques (les repas en particulier).

L'introduction m'est apparue surtout comme un exercice littéraire un peu fermé - mais réussi. Cependant dès que la première partie a démarré avec le bébé dans les bras de la femme, j'etais happée dans l'histoire. La première partie de l'histoire ne comporte pas d'action, autant prévenir le potentiel lecteur de suite. Mais il pose toutes les étapes fondamentales permettant au lecteur de tisser ses liens avec le héros, surnommé affectueusement Stony, un bébé zombie élevé en cachette par des humains, et qui va (fait exceptionnel) se développer comme n'importe quel humain, caractéristiques zombies mises à part.

La deuxième partie (que j'ai dévorée d'une traite!
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1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Zombie et poésie : 6 étoiles pour Stony 9 mai 2012
Fans de zombies, vous serez servis, anti-zombies, surtout de grâce ne passez pas votre chemin ! Ce livre est un diamant aux multiples facettes, susceptible de retenir l'attention des amateurs de genre, mais aussi des lecteurs de littérature classique, tant par sa forme que son fond.
L'originalité de la forme du récit tient à ses choix narratifs, choisis de façon éclairée et tenus de main de maître tout au long du roman.
La trame générale m'a beaucoup évoqué un livre classique, de ceux que je lisais jadis, qui n'avaient aucun élément fantastique mais racontaient la vie des gens.
Les gens, dans "Raising stony Mayhall" ce sont quatre femmes, une famille soudée, pas très riche, vivant simplement au cœur de l'Iowa. Une mère et ses trois filles, puis, après une nuit d'hiver, une mère, ses trois filles et son fils adoptif: John - Stony.
Le récit est conté selon le mode que je préfère, le plus subtil à mon sens : à la troisième personne du singulier, mais focalisé sur la même personne du début à la fin, ici, Stony Mayhall, un des personnages le plus attachant de toutes mes lectures jusqu'alors. C'est ainsi le narrateur qui raconte l'histoire de Stony, depuis sa naissance jusqu'à nos jours. Le narrateur ne fait qu'effleurer le contexte, celui que les lecteurs connaissent et sur lequel il n'est pas utile de s'appesantir, celui de l'avènement des zombies dans notre monde, depuis une quarantaine d'années.
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1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Par Kallisthène TOP 500 COMMENTATEURS
Encore un bouquin sur les zombies ... pff ... quel est l'intérêt de ces sempiternels romans-catastrophe-d'horreur pour lesquels je n'ai aucun atome crochu. Sauf que déjà Feed m'a appris l'usage qu'on pouvait faire d'un tel outil (énorme !) lorsque les sociétés décrites restent organisées.
Dans d'autres romans, ce sont les zombies les héros, avec d'énormes défauts narratifs, peu éloquents, peu intelligents et jamais réellement organisés en société.
Et puis voici qu'un auteur réellement spéculatif, Daryl Gregory, rencontre ce thème qu'il traite à sa sauce étonnante.

Tout d'abord le zombie ne sera ni muet, ni stupide, mieux la plupart d'entre eux garderont toute la mémoire de leur état antérieur de 'Breather' (argot zombie pour décrire un être humain encore ... chaud), et puis les zombie n'ont pas causé (encore) la fin du monde (même si des courants politiques en leur sein s'en font l'avocat).

Mieux, les Zombies forment une minorité opprimée par le pouvoir fédéral et doivent, pour survivre, compter sur des Vivants qui les hébergent, les transportent même, pour différentes raisons allant de la résistance au pouvoir fédéral, en passant par l'empathie des membres de famille de zombies abattus jusqu'aux défenseurs des droits civiques.
Cette histoire est racontée par un être d'exception, un certain Stony Mayhall, né directement zombie d'une jeune victime de la première contamination zombie datant des années 60 aux Etats-Unis.
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur Amazon.com (beta)
Amazon.com: 4.6 étoiles sur 5  39 commentaires
14 internautes sur 15 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Rating: 5 Iowan zombies out of 5 3 juillet 2011
Par Eleanor Skinner - Publié sur Amazon.com
Daryl Gregory is the kind of guy who writes a possessed Philip K. Dick into one of his books as a supporting character (not this one). He seems fascinated by human alterations - his first book was about people possessed by archetypes, his second was about transformation into mutants in a small Southern town (sort of), and his third novel is about people who have been turned into zombies. It provides a thesis to unify slow zombie and fast zombie fans, and examines the physics and metaphysics of being the living dead.

When people are first infected and turned, they go through a few days of fever and delirium while they lust for human flesh, so they stagger around and make weird sounds. After the fever breaks, they regain their minds, although sometimes with amnesia or personality alterations. At this point they no longer have homicidal impulses if they don't want to. So Stony, who studied his sister's medical texts and ran experiments to see why his body didn't break down, joins the L.D. (Living Dead) underground and meets all types of dead people while he is drawn slowly into L.D. politics.

Chris Roberson said, 'so good that I grieved when I got to the last page, because I wanted it to just go on and on.' It really is. Gregory's writing gets better with each book, and the plot never slows down or becomes predictable (except in that zombie trope way the fans all love).
10 internautes sur 10 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Zombies are People, Too 13 juillet 2011
Par Christy Delafield - Publié sur Amazon.com
The thing I love best about Gregory's work is that no matter how crazy the world he presents us with is, (there's a demon trapped inside you? your former self OD'd on a strange drug and left you with no memory? you're oozing mystical mucus?) the people in that world are REAL. Vivid characters are the thing I like best in a novel, and I love how Gregory's people aren't stiff, convenient sci-fi straw men. They act and feel how you imagine real people would under these bizarre circumstances.

Stony Mayhall is no exception. So you're the undead? It doesn't stop you from being annoyed by your sisters, wanting to be allowed off the farm, conducting scientific research, or writing fan fiction.

I don't want to spoil this book for you, so all I'm going to say is - it's kind of epic. You should pick it up.
8 internautes sur 9 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 A Novel of Humanity 30 décembre 2011
Par Maria E. - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Broché|Achat vérifié
I went into "Stony" very, very skeptically: the zombie genre is becoming somewhat of a dead horse that has been beaten to a bloody pulp, in my opinion. It actually sat on my shelf for months before I picked it up as a last resort "oh well, this will have to do until I get a new one" book. Am I ever glad that I was bored that day and made the decision to crack it open.

Raising Stony Mayhall is by far the best book I read in 2011, and the more I reflect on it, I think it is slowly eeking it's way into my top ten novels of all time, if not top five. Yes, there are zombies involved, but at its heart "Stony" is a story of life. It covers everything from coming of age to religion to politics to family without being over-bearing or preachy on a single one. It's a sprawling story of one person's life, told in a voice so fresh and so alive, so utterly HUMAN, that you will forget it is a book about the dead.

Simply put, if you do not find yourself staying up late into the night unable to stop turning pages, laughing, and crying, you may be as heartless as the living in Raising Stony Mayhall (stupidly) assume zombies to be. Long live Stony!
7 internautes sur 8 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Amazing... 23 août 2011
Par John Hornor Jacobs - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Broché|Achat vérifié
Some books speak of the human condition and expand our understanding of it. Some books tell great stories, full of adventure and discovery. Some books take genre conventions, shuffle them around, stand them on end and in doing so totally revitalize the genre they're deconstructing. Some books are by turns heart-stopping in their emotional purity and hilarious in their lighter moments.

RAISING STONY MAYHALL is all of these things.

I am an author, and Daryl Gregory's books are so good, so resounding, so frickin' complete, they make me question what the hell I'm doing publishing. That I need to go back to the woodshed and hone my craft.

Like PANDEMONIUM before it, STONY is the best book I've read all year.

It's that simple.
4 internautes sur 4 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 I don't usually read Zombie novels--but this is awesome 31 août 2011
Par ToddlerMom - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Broché|Achat vérifié
I really was not sure I wanted to read a Zombie novel because I didn't think I really would be at all interested in zombies. But this is really an awesome book. If you think you're anti-zomie or if you couldn't care less about zombies, don't let that keep you from reading this book. I could hardly put it down. I stayed up way too late because I couldn't wait to find out what would happen to Stony. I really cared about him. So the plot is great--a total page turner. But this novel is so much more...it made me think a lot--about society, about spirituality, about getting older, about who I really am (and I'm middle-aged, so it's tough to get me thinking new things in that area!). There is so much that is handled tenderly, affectionately, and spot on. Like what it's like to "come out" as a part of any marginalized community, what it's like to find your community (with all it's warts and all), what it's like to live in a world full of oppression, what it's like to discover you own deepest strengths--something no one can teach you. I even thought the adoption part of the story was treated very sensitively, which is typically not the case. Usually people don't get adoption. In sum, this is a great book--everything you could want--very relaxing, fun escapism--while at the same time being emotionally real and thought-provoking. What fun!
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