Sad će biti ludilo za dva mjeseca kada izađe nova knjiga Dan Browna.

http://www.amazon.com/Lost-Symbol-Dan-Brown/dp/0385504225/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_1

Možda bi valjalo otvoriti poseban slijed: Preporuke za trendovske čitatelje

Franz Kafka: Zamak: u spiralnom hodu se autor trudi ući u zamak
koji je misterija nad misterijama- metafora Boga

Koje su knjige lakmus za "pozere"? Sve od Dan Brown? Alkemičar?

Inače je sva ta pozerska i "trend" kultura ogoljena i ismijana na satiričan način na sajtu (sada i knjiga) - "Stuff White People Like". Svakako preporučam za pogledati.

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/full-list-of-stuff-white-people-like/

Zanimljivo, i većim dijelom istinito.
No-postoje li takve analize za obojene- crnce, azijce i sl ?

A zašto bi se analizirale manjinske grupe? Ionako je naziv te stranice sporedna stvar. A zloban bi čovjek rekao da bi lista za crnce i azijce sadržala max 5-10 stavki (bar kako mi bijelci percipiramo njihov život i kulturu). No neću previše u

Hroboatos, naveo si klasike, koji možda i nisu baš "zabavni" a vjerojatno ni laki za pročitati (treba puno koncentracije).

Postoji li nešto zabavno, čitljivo, i po mogućnosti da ne zahtijeva da se previše napinju moždane vijuge (razlog što ja nisam fiction knjigu pročitao već 5 godina) - dakle alternativa TV seriji, filmu, dakle nešto za raju, ali da ipak zadovoljava neke standarde kvalitete

Released on September 15, 2009, it is the third Brown novel to involve the character of Harvard University symbologist Robert Langdon, after 2000's Angels & Demons and 2003's The Da Vinci Code.[2] It had a first printing of 6.5 million (5 million in North America, 1.5 million in the UK), the largest in its publisher's history. On its first day the book sold one million in hardcover and e-book versions in the U.S., the U.K. and Canada, making it the fastest selling adult novel in history.[6]

Neckties had been required six days a week when Langdon attended Phillips Exeter Academy, and despite the headmaster's romantic claims that the origin of the cravat went back to the silk fascalia worn by the Roman orators to warm their vocal cords, Langdon knew that etymologically, cravat actually derided from a ruthless band of Croat mercenaries who donned knotted neckerchiefs before they stormed into battle. To this day, this ancient battle garb was donned by modern office warriors hoping to intimidate their enemies in daily boardroom battles.

Od Browna sam čitao Digitalnu tvrđavu, Da Vincijev kod, te Anđeli i demoni.

Isuviše je lako predvidjeti što će se događati do kraja nakon što se pročita uvod i zaplet.

Pogotovo je to izraženo u Anđeli i demoni i Da Vincijevom kodu. Podsjeća me na teen horor romane od R.L.Stine koje sam čitao kad sam bio osnovac.

I ova je rađena od istog kalupa, radnja skoro identična, samo drukčija lokacija i malo izmjenjeni zlikovac.

Properly speaking, there is no such thing as revenge. Revenge is an act which you want to commit when you are powerless and because you are powerless: as soon as the sense of impotence is removed, the desire evaporates also.

Who would not have jumped for joy, in 1940, at the thought of seeing S.S. officers kicked and humiliated? But when the thing becomes possible, it is merely pathetic and disgusting. It is said that when Mussolini's corpse was exhibited in public, an old woman drew a revolver and fired five shots into it, exclaiming, ‘Those are for my five sons!’ It is the kind of story that the newspapers make up, but it might be true. I wonder how much satisfaction she got out of those five shots, which, doubtless, she had dreamed years earlier of firing. The condition of her being able to get close enough to Mussolini to shoot at him was that he should be a corpse.

What they are doing is to give expression to the Sancho Panza view of life, the attitude to life that Miss Rebecca West once summed up as ‘extracting as much fun as possible from smacking behinds in basement kitchens’. The Don Quixote-Sancho Panza combination, which of course is simply the ancient dualism of body and soul in fiction form, recurs more frequently in the literature of the last four hundred years than can be explained by mere imitation. It comes up again and again, in endless variations, Bouvard and Pécuchet, Jeeves and Wooster, Bloom and Dedalus, Holmes and Watson (the Holmes-Watson variant is an exceptionally subtle one, because the usual physical characteristics of two partners have been transposed). Evidently it corresponds to something enduring in our civilization, not in the sense that either character is to be found in a ‘pure’ state in real life, but in the sense that the two principles, noble folly and base wisdom, exist side by side in nearly every human being. If you look into your own mind, which are you, Don Quixote or Sancho Panza? Almost certainly you are both. There is one part of you that wishes to be a hero or a saint, but another part of you is a little fat man who sees very clearly the advantages of staying alive with a whole skin. He is your unofficial self, the voice of the belly protesting against the soul. His tastes lie towards safety, soft beds, no work, pots of beer and women with ‘voluptuous’ figures. He it is who punctures your fine attitudes and urges you to look after Number One, to be unfaithful to your wife, to bilk your debts, and so on and so forth. Whether you allow yourself to be influenced by him is a different question. But it is simply a lie to say that he is not part of you, just as it is a lie to say that Don Quixote is not part of you either, though most of what is said and written consists of one lie or the other, usually the first.....
I never read the proclamations of generals before battle, the speeches of flihrers and prime ministers, the solidarity songs of public schools and left-wing political parties, national anthems, Temperance tracts, papal encyclicals and sermons against gambling and contraception, without seeming to hear in the background a chorus of raspberries from all the millions of common men to whom these high sentiments make no appeal. Nevertheless the high sentiments always win in the end, leaders who offer blood, toil, tears and sweat always get more out of their followers than those who offer safety and a good time. When it comes to the pinch, human beings are heroic. Women face childbed and the scrubbing brush, revolutionaries keep their mouths shut in the torture chamber, battleships go down with their guns still firing when their decks are awash. It is only that the other element in man, the lazy, cowardly, debt-bilking adulterer who is inside all of us, can never be suppressed altogether and needs a hearing occasionally.

It is Sunday afternoon, preferably before the war. The wife is already asleep in the armchair, and the children have been sent out for a nice long walk. You put your feet up on the sofa, settle your spectacles on your nose, and open the News of the World. Roast beef and Yorkshire, or roast pork and apple sauce, followed up by suet pudding and driven home, as it were, by a cup of mahogany-brown tea, have put you in just the right mood. Your pipe is drawing sweetly, the sofa cushions are soft underneath you, the fire is well alight, the air is warm and stagnant. In these blissful circumstances, what is it that you want to read about?

Naturally, about a murder. But what kind of murder? If one examines the murders which have given the greatest amount of pleasure to the British public, the murders whose story is known in its general outline to almost everyone and which have been made into novels and re-hashed over and over again by the Sunday papers, one finds a fairly strong family resemblance running through the greater number of them. Our great period in murder, our Elizabethan period, so to speak, seems to have been between roughly 1850 and 1925, and the murderers whose reputation has stood the test of time are the following: Dr. Palmer of Rugely, Jack the Ripper, Neill Cream, Mrs. Maybrick, Dr. Crippen, Seddon, Joseph Smith, Armstrong, and Bywaters and Thompson.
..........
Before returning to this pitiful and sordid case, which is only interesting from a sociological and perhaps a legal point of view, let me try to define what it is that the readers of Sunday papers mean when they say fretfully that ‘you never seem to get a good murder nowadays’.