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Hannibal Rising (Anglais) Relié – 4 décembre 2006

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The door to Dr. Hannibal Lecter's memory palace is in the darkness at the center of his mind and it has a latch that can be found by touch alone. This curious portal opens on immense and well-lit spaces, early baroque, and corridors and chambers rivaling in number those of the Topkapi Museum.

Everywhere there are exhibits, well-spaced and lighted, each keyed to memories that lead to other memories in geometric progression.

Spaces devoted to Hannibal Lecter’s earliest years differ from the other archives in being incomplete. Some are static scenes, fragmentary, like painted Attic shards held together by blank plaster. Other rooms hold sound and motion, great snakes wrestling and heaving in the dark and lit in flashes. Pleas and screaming fill some places on the grounds where Hannibal himself cannot go. But the corridors do not echo screaming, and there is music if you like.

The palace is a construction begun early in Hannibal’s student life. In his years of confinement he improved and enlarged his palace, and its riches sustained him for long periods while warders denied him his books.

Here in the hot darkness of his mind, let us feel together for the latch. Finding it, let us elect for music in the corridors and, looking neither left nor right, go to the Hall of the Beginning where the displays are most fragmentary.

We will add to them what we have learned elsewhere, in war records and police records, from interviews and forensics and the mute postures of the dead. Robert Lecter’s letters, recently unearthed, may help us establish the vital statistics of Hannibal, who altered dates freely to confound the authorities and his chroniclers. By our efforts we may watch as the beast within turns from the teat and, working upwind, enters the world.

Chapter 6

"Do you know what today is?" Hannibal asked over his breakfast gruel at the lodge. "It's the day the sun reaches Uncle Elgar's window."

"What time will it appear?" Mr. Jakov asked, as though he didn't know.

"It will peep around the tower at ten-thirty," Hannibal said.

"That was in 1941," Mr. Jakov said. "Do you mean to say the moment of arrival will be the same?"


"But the year is more than 365 days long."

"But, Mr. Jakov, this is the year after leap year. So wasl941, the last time we watched."

"Then does the calendar adjust perfectly, or do we live by gross corrections?"

A thorn popped in the fire.

"I think those are separate questions," Hannibal said.

Mr. Jakov was pleased, but his response was just another question: "Will the year 2000 be a leap year?"

"No—yes, yes, it will be a leap year."

"But it is divisible by one hundred," Mr. Jakov said.

"It's also divisible by four hundred," Hannibal said.

"Exactly so," Mr. Jakov said. "It will be the first time the Gregorian rule is applied.

Perhaps, on that day, surviving all gross corrections, you will remember our talk. In this strange place." He raised his cup. "Next year in Lecter Castle."

Lothar heard it first as he drew water, the roar of an engine in low gear and cracking of branches. He left the bucket on the well and in his haste he came into the lodge without wiping his feet.

A Soviet tank, a T-34 in winter camouflage of snow and straw, crashed up the horse trail and into the clearing. Painted on the turret in Russian were AVENGE OUR SOVIET GIRLS and WIPE OUT THE FASCIST VERMIN. Two soldiers in white rode on the back over the radiators. The turret swiveled to point the tank's cannon at the house. A hatch opened and a gunner in hooded winter white stood behind a machine gun. The tank commander stood in the other hatch with a megaphone. He repeated his message in Russian and in German, barking over the diesel clatter of the tank engine.

"We want water, we will not harm you or take your food unless a shot comes from the house. If we are fired on, every one of you will die. Now come outside. Gunner, lock and load. If you do not see faces by the count of ten, fire." A loud clack as the machine gun's bolt went back.

Count Lecter stepped outside, standing straight in the sunshine, his hands visible. "Take the water. We are no harm to you."

The tank commander put his megaphone aside. "Everyone outside where I can see you."

The count and the tank commander looked at each other for a long moment. The tank commander
showed his palms.

The count showed his palms. The count turned to the house. "Come."

When the commander saw the family he said, "The children can stay inside where it's warm."

And to his gunner and crew, "Cover them. Watch the upstairs windows. Start the pump. You can

The machine gunner pushed up his goggles and lit a cigarette. He was no more than a boy, the
skin of his face paler around his eyes. He saw Mischa peeping around the door facing and smiled at her.

Among the fuel and water drums lashed to the tank was a small petrol-powered pump with a rope starter.

The tank driver snaked a hose with a screen filter down the well and after many pulls on the rope the pump clattered, squealed, and primed itself.

The noise covered the scream of the Stuka dive bomber until it was almost on them, the tank's gunner swiveling his muzzle around, cranking hard to elevate his gun, firing as the airplane's winking cannon stitched the ground. Rounds screamed off the tank, the gunner hit, still firing with his remaining arm.

The Stuka's windscreen starred with fractures, the pilot's goggles filled with blood and the dive bomber, still carrying one of its eggs, hit treetops, plowed into the garden and its fuel exploded, cannon under the wings still firing after the impact. Hannibal, on the floor of the lodge, Mischa partly under him, saw his mother lying in the yard, bloody and her dress on fire.

"Stay here!" to Mischa and he ran to his mother, ammunition in the airplane cooking off now, slow and then faster, casings flying backward striking the snow, flames licking around the remaining bomb beneath the wing. The pilot sat in the cockpit, dead, his face burned to a death's head in flaming scarf and helmet, his gunner dead behind him.

Lothar alone survived in the yard and he raised a bloody arm to the boy. Then Mischa ran to her mother, out into the yard and Lothar tried to reach her and pull her down as she passed, but a cannon round from the flaming plane slammed through him, blood spattering the baby and Mischa raised her arms and screamed into the sky. Hannibal heaped snow onto the fire in his mother's clothes, stood up and ran to Mischa amid the random shots and carried her into the lodge, into the cellar. The shots outside slowed and stopped as bullets melted in the breeches of the cannon. The sky darkened and snow came again, hissing on the hot metal.

Darkness, and snow again. Hannibal among the corpses, how much later he did not know, snow drifting down to dust his mother's eyelashes and her hair. She was the only corpse not blackened and crisped. Hannibal tugged at her, but her body was frozen to the ground. He pressed his face against her. Her bosom was frozen hard, her heart silent. He put a napkin over her face and piled snow on her. Dark shapes moved at the edge of the woods. His torch reflected on wolves' eyes. He shouted at them and waved a shovel. Mischa was determined to come out to her mother—he had to choose. He took Mischa back inside and left the dead to the dark.

Mr. Jakov's book was undamaged beside his blackened hand until a wolf ate the leather cover and amid the scattered pages of Huyghens' Treatise on Light licked Mr. Jakov's brains off the snow. Hannibal and Mischa heard snuffling and growling outside. Hannibal built up the fire. To cover the noise he tried to get Mischa to sing; he sang to her. She clutched his coat in her fists.

"Ein Mannlein . . ."

Snowflakes on the windows. In the corner of a pane, a dark circle appeared, made by the tip of a glove. In the dark circle a pale blue eye.

Revue de presse

“There are images of morbid beauty here.... Harris' handling of the wartime violence is also impressive, as swift and vicious as the blitzkrieg itself.”—Los Angeles Times
“Gripping detail.... [Harris] moves the story along at an impressively fast clip.”—Boston Globe

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Hannibal Lecter, psychiatre psychopathe, ici dépeint dans sa jeunesse, tentant de retrouver les maux dont il a souffert enfant et qu'il n'aura de cesse de répéter, au sens pathologique, tout le long de la saga Hannibal Lecter.
Pour moi le meilleur de la saga, en film comme en livre.
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Après avoir visionné le film Le Silence des Agneaux et lu Dragon rouge, j'ai voulu comprendre comment quelqu'un pouvait devenir aussi cruel , après seulement une cinquantaine de pages on se fait une idée. J'ai reçu le livre des Etats Unis seulement une dizaine de jours après l'avoir commandé et en plus pour même pas 5 € !
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Suite au film (adapté pour le public donc en français), je me disais qu'il sera interessant de lire la vraie histoire, l'écrit de l'auteur.. eh bien, je n'étais pas déçu, déjà une bonne exercice pour mon anglais (scolaire + niveau professionnel), ça permet de plonger dans l'histoire du passé, comment c'est arrivée.. je n'étais pas deçu et je recommande la lecture de ce livre, je vous dis pas plus.. allez découvrir cet univers macabre, glauque, cette minutie dans l'arrangement des règlement de compte.. Je suis très contente d'avoir lu ce roman! Il est passionnant et vous ne lâche plus... il vous suit un petit moment
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur Amazon.com (beta)

Amazon.com: HASH(0x8de5e534) étoiles sur 5 501 commentaires
81 internautes sur 87 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x8dd0ef54) étoiles sur 5 A bit different than his previous work, but good nonetheless 6 décembre 2006
Par C.J. Vincent - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
First of all, if you are expecting yet another Red Dragon, Silence or Hannibal, this isn't quite it, nor was it intended to be. It's mostly the story of an 8-18 year old boy in Lithuania/France during the brutal Eastern Front and its aftermath in WWII. There are plenty of linkages as the character that is Hannibal is connected to the one we know from reading the previous three works (obviously, he turns into that guy), but he surely doesn't start out that way. I feel the need to defend this against the other reviews on this site, because it appears people had the wrong expectations regarding what this work was going to be. Don't let it stop you from buying and enjoying Harris' mind, because there are definitely flashes of Dragon/Silence here, but only that. This book is more about the semi-plotted revenge of a bright artistic teenager and his final revelation. The death of one and the beginning of another. One more thing, if you thought Hannibal wasn't a good book, then stop reading Harris altogether and don't bother reading this one. Keep my review in perspective, because I thought Hannibal was 5 stars and one of the most entertaining books I have ever read and the ending was brilliant, not stupid, because it is the last thing you would have expected. Harris isn't for the "happy ever after" crowd by any means. The ending of Hannibal is even better after you read this book. This one is for true Harris lovers, others need not apply, nor should you listen to them.
33 internautes sur 34 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x8dd0efa8) étoiles sur 5 Not a great read, but certainly a fun one 8 février 2007
Par Tom Benton - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
As a longtime fan of Thomas Harris' novels featuring Hannibal Lecter, I was very excited to read HANNIBAL RISING. The premise intrigued me: I'm one of those people who loves the recent slew of prequels, and the idea of learning the ghastly origins of Hannibal Lecter sounded simply delectable to me. [...] HANNIBAL RISING is not the equivalent of RED DRAGON or THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS - perhaps not even of HANNIBAL, for that matter. But I disagree with those many who have simply dismissed HANNIBAL RISING as "crap". True, it's not a great read, but it is certainly a fun one.

The book opens during Hitler's "Blitzkrieg" operation during World War II, when Axis troops spread across Europe and placed the majority of it under Nazi control. The Lecter family, which consists of the cultured Count and Countess as well as their talented son Hannibal and his little sister, Mischa, flees to their cabin in the woods of Poland to escape from the invading SS. Of course, things go to hell when a fighter plane crashes into the cabin, burning Hannibal's parents and leaving he and his sister to fend for themselves. Then a band of starving Russian thieves come across the cabin, and with nothing left to eat, they turn to Hannibal and his sister ...

The rest of the book deals with Hannibal as a disturbed teenager trying to deal with the pain over the loss with his sister when he is taken in by his uncle Robert and his dazzling wife, Lady Muraski, and subsequently his life as a young medical student in Paris, where he finally begins planning his revenge on the fiends who murdered his sister.

HANNIBAL RISING has nothing - NOTHING - in common with any of the previous Hannibal Lecter books. The character of Hannibal still retains his wit and remains fascinating, but is a little more reckless and humane than his older self, though he's still just as delightfully brilliant as ever. One of the problems with HANNIBAL RISING is that it feels rushed - and not without reason: Thomas Harris wrote and sold the screenplay for the film before he wrote the novel. That's a pity, because at times it feels like Harris is telling the story simply to wow audiences and grab some more cash, rather than because he has a story to tell. The action is fast, but the sentences are simple and almost completely devoid of the eloquence found in HANNIBAL and its predecessors. Much of the narrative reads more like a movie script than a novel, and there are some attempts at artistry that wind up reading more like grammatical errors.

Then there's the questions one would expect the origin story of Hannibal Lecter to clear up. Questions like, "Why does he eat people?" and "How did Hannibal become so sophisticated a killer?" are left unanswered. We get a sumptuous look at Hannibal's youth, but it seems a little far-fetched at times. Perhaps only am I bothered by this, as I was expecting a novel that encompassed most of Hannibal's life up until RED DRAGON. Still, at the end of HANNIBAL RISING we are left with a greater sense of who Hannibal Lecter is, even if we don't finish with the satisfaction one would wish for from an examination of Hannibal's dark beginnings.

And so the question one must ask oneself is "To read or not to read"? In my opinion, to read. HANNIBAL RISING may not be the masterpiece that THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS or RED DRAGON was, it may not have the intricacy and simple satisfaction proved by HANNIBAL, but if you can accept it for what it is, a horrific tale of grisly vengeance, then you won't regret it. On the other hand, those expecting to see a linear path from the innocent boy Hannibal Lecter to the horrific adult Hannibal Lecter may be left confused and enraged. I personally don't feel as though I've a bone to pick with Thomas Harris (sorry, I couldn't resist), but others may. The only way to know what lies in the darkness is to venture into it, and many will enjoy what they find in the darkness of HANNIBAL RISING.
24 internautes sur 26 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x8dd1c3fc) étoiles sur 5 Harris Rises, and the Wound Man waits in the wings 15 janvier 2007
Par Olly Buxton - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
I don't think I've ever seen a book bagged as savagely on Amazon as this - so much so that, despite having pre-ordered and received my copy, I almost didn't bother to read it.

what a pleasant surprise, then to find a beautifully crafted, clever, literary novel, developing ever further one of the most complex characters of modern fiction, packed full of the same metaphor and figure as was Hannibal - a further stage in Thomas Harris' development from author of intelligent thrillers to a proper, literary, writer. Unlike most people, I liked Hannibal, but thought it was a bit baroque for its own good. With Hannibal Rising, Thomas Harris has kept the melody, but cut the ornamentation down to a plainsong.

The character Hannibal Lecter's progress from his walk-on part in Red Dragon is intriguing: Thomas Harris can scarcely have expected, let alone intended, that a character seemingly named for the sake of a cheesy rhyme would, er, consume thirty years of his professional life. In Red Dragon Hannibal Lecter was mostly a bogeyman (at that point he displayed the classic psychopathic trait of childhood cruelty to animals - which has long since been revised into an uncommon affinity for assorted birds and horses): only in the novel Hannibal did Harris really begin to extend a figure who transpired to be more supernatural than human (there are unmistakable resonances of Dracula) and not really immoral at all. Perhaps this is Harris' most shocking initiative of all: A heartless psychopath, via a preference for eating only the rude, is now given a full moral basis and, what's more, we're on his side as he wields the knife. That's a pretty subversive shift in perspective, and Harris has executed it without us even realising what he was up to. Yet people still complain.

The heart quickens briefly in the suspense, but mostly that's not what Harris is interested in, and nor can he really go to town since, by definition, we know what the outcome will be: Hannibal must survive, and given his superhuman faculties it is difficult to believe he is in any real danger throughout.

What Thomas Harris is more interested in is the figurative devices through which he explores his doppelganger and by which he binds him to the existing canon. For those who bemoaned the lack of the writer's craft in this book I can only suggest you read it again, for barely a word is wasted, and Harris' writing is as deft and lyrical here as ever I've read it. There are no accidents, and it is not one that evil is personified by the "totenkopf" (or "death's head") insignia, nor that unspeakable slaughter of innocents once again takes place in a barn, just as it did in Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal (now we have a full circle: by rescuing Catherine, Starling has stopped her lambs screaming, and by avenging Mischa, Hannibal has stopped his). Every sentence is stuffed with allusions to the senses, and particularly smells, and sparks (such as those in Hannibal's maroon eyes) are a constant presence.

The best news is that - albeit another decade away, there is clearly more to come: Will Graham has been the most interesting and complicated of Lecter's antagonists, and it can be no accident that Harris has saved the most fascinating period of both of their lives - between Lecter's arrival in Baltimore and his only proper apprehension by Graham - for last. We have yet to find out what happened to Benjamin Raspail and Mason Verger, and Harris has positioned himself nicely to finish the cycle with the police procedural which most of his fans, judging by this site, seem to crave above all else.

Olly Buxton
26 internautes sur 30 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x8dd1c7c8) étoiles sur 5 Not A Book For Sound Bite Lovers Wanting Instant Gratification 6 février 2007
Par white_raven23 - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
Wow. Lot of negative reviews for this book. Now some points I will agree on with many of you....but for different reasons. I agree, most chapters were kind of choppy and not well laid out. BUT I was paying attention when I read the Prologue, and I understood that Harris was going for that intentionally as these chapters do represent the least developed rooms in Hannibal's memory palace. It does make sense.

Now as for more specific complaints that other's have touched on:

"The reasons for the cannibalism remain unclear": Folks if you really are interested in cannibalism, you will pick up and read other books on the subject. I have. The gulf between the regular joe and the serial killer is huge. Enough happens in Hannibal's developmental years to make the passage across that gulf pretty clear and comprehensive. There isn't much of a gulf between the serial killer and cannibalism. If anything, it's a natural progression. If a serial killer remains free and active long enough, cannibalism is going to be experimented with. So the cannibalism really isn't that interesting. It's a forgone conclusion.

"I wasn't convinced that those kinds of events in childhood would make someone be that way.": Well that's nice. But people making this assessment are looking at it from their point of view, which has likely always been safe, comfortable, and always well-fed. And you really should be careful about making declarative statements like that without making sure there isn't a REAL LIFE precedent. Go to Wikipedia and look up ANDREI CHIKATILO. Read about him. Look familiar? This is the real life example Harris is quite obviously using for Hannibal's childhood. The difference between the two, is that Andrei was insecure, disorganized, and inadequate. Hannibal is not.

"I wanted Hannibal to stay a mystery!": This complaint is ridiculous. Not to mention in direct opposition to other complaints. Funny that. Want Hannibal to stay mysterious? Don't read a book that describes itself as being about Hannibal's early life!

My Assessment: If you didn't like Hannibal (book 3) you aren't going to like Hannibal Rising. The chapters are patterned much like real memory. There are gaps and holes. These are easily filled by the reader's imagination. If the reader has an imagination. If you don't have one, or expect the books you read to lead you unerringly by the nose to exactly where the author wants you to wind up....you aren't going to enjoy Hannibal Rising. A big clue that most of these chapters derive from Hannibal's memory palace? Look at the descriptions of people. WOMEN are described quite well. Most of the men are not. Hannibal's father for example, seems almost overlooked, his uncle? May as well have been a cardboard cut-out. The only two types of men given slightly more attention are those respected for their minds (the childhood tutor, the medical school lecturer Hannbal works for), and those men deemed threats. And even then, the only features given description are those that obviously stand out. Women are described visually AND aromatically (occasionally texturally). The subtleties are noted. You really want to tell me such attention DOESN'T come from Hannibal's memory palace?

Overall, I liked the book well enough. Since Harris wrote the screenplay for the movie at the same time as the book, I'm going to be interested in seeing which aspects the director will give more attention to. I think the movie will be a nice companion piece to the book, as by design, the movie has to be made outside Hannibal's memory palace (as opposed to the book).
13 internautes sur 14 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x8dd1c8ac) étoiles sur 5 Sad . . . 13 janvier 2007
Par M. - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
I hate to say it since I used to love this author, but this was the aboslute worst Thomas Harris book I've ever read. First off, the characters are unbelievably flat. The bad guys are completely evil and otherwise are so lacking in personality that they're basically interchangeable. Lady Murasaki, on the other hand, is absolutely perfect--so beautiful that every guy wants her and so understanding that she loves Hannibal even though she knows he's snacking on people. Other than that, we don't even get physical descriptions of most of the cast. Lady Murasaki is beautiful and Japanese. Hannibal is Hannibal and has red eyes--I think we're supposed to see the rest of him through telepathy. Mischa is just there--I think we're supposed to remember what she looked like from her brief description in another book. The big bad guy gets a basic physical description, and the one inspector hunting Hannibal -almost- gets one--but other than that, the reader is left to make things up. This is a far cry from the descriptions in previous books and the development of Francis Dolarhyde in Red Dragon.

The plot trudges along without any character development whatsoever, and the writing itself is positively awful. Harris jumps verb tenses without rhyme or reason throughout the book, and has completely missed how you make a possessive of a word ending in the letter s. He contradicts what he put down as Hannibal's history in the book Hannibal: there, Hannibal reflects on how the last he saw of his sister was her milk teeth in the stool pit. In Hannibal Rising, he hypnotizes himself and learns that he never saw her teeth there, then goes back to recover her remains and learns that her teeth were never out to begin with. I'm also pretty certain that the number of children in the barn fluctuates from Hannibal to Hannibal Rising.

Then there's how Harris subjects his readers to bits like this: "He dreamed of Mischa in the summer before the war, Nanny had her bathtub in the garden at the lodge, letting the sun warm the water, and the cabbage butterflies flew around Mischa in the water. He cut the eggplant for her and she hugged the purple eggplant, warm from the sun." Holy redundant department of redundancy!

After that: the spacing between lines, the size of the font, and how the publisher has a full blank page between every chapter screams that they were pushing for space. I read this book in three hours. I'd be surprised if it broke 50,000 words.

If you haven't read Harris's other work, don't think the "You killed my family member and I must have bloody revenge" plot hasn't been -just- a little overdone, and don't mind that Hannibal makes like a starving young Indiana Jones by fighting and killing (and sometimes eating) ex-Nazis, then this book may be for you. If you've come to expect better writing, in-depth characterization, and psychological thrills, though, then this is a book to avoid.
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