Post by account_disabled on Dec 27, 2023 3:45:55 GMT
I purchased Wilbur Smith's latest novel, The Hunter's Tale , at an auction benefiting Telethon. There were several signed books up for grabs. In addition to that volume, I also tried to secure a novel by Andrea Camilleri and one in the original language by Len Deighton, which unfortunately I wasn't able to get. However, I read that book almost immediately, curious about the author's great fame and passionate about adventure books. So far, I must add, I have only read novels of this literary genre now classified as "classics", such as some episodes of the saga dedicated to Tarzan by ER Burroughs and the unforgettable novels by E.
Salgari. While on the one hand the story is well structured, it has no flaws of any kind, the characters are well recognizable and characterized, the writing style seemed flat to me. She didn't tell me anything. She left no signs or memories that could be useful to me. If I read an author, I don't do it only for the beautiful stories he manages to produce, Special Data but also for his writing style. Since I like to write, an author must teach me something. From his writing, from how he constructs sentences and sentences, I must learn. What I instead noticed from Wilbur Smith's writing, or at least from the translation that was made of it, is a sensation similar to water sliding off an impermeable surface. Nothing remains. I have not found elements that would allow me to recognize that author among many. I will therefore read no more of Wilbur Smith.
The mass follows the mass, not the individual. He was amazed to ask himself, or rather to imagine, if an individual, just one, could move the masses. An idea to follow and pursue to reform, for better or for worse, the Rome and Italy of today. It could happen, but what are the consequences? With his mind almost immersed in those thoughts that he considered senseless, he did not notice the immense shadow that darkened the square for a few moments. In front of him he saw people rolling their eyes, but was anyone able to capture what passed over the Roman skies that morning? An elderly woman screamed and fainted. A passing gentleman promptly picked her up, placed her on a bench and tried to revive her. A group of onlookers formed and so no one noticed what that strange and gigantic shadow produced.
Salgari. While on the one hand the story is well structured, it has no flaws of any kind, the characters are well recognizable and characterized, the writing style seemed flat to me. She didn't tell me anything. She left no signs or memories that could be useful to me. If I read an author, I don't do it only for the beautiful stories he manages to produce, Special Data but also for his writing style. Since I like to write, an author must teach me something. From his writing, from how he constructs sentences and sentences, I must learn. What I instead noticed from Wilbur Smith's writing, or at least from the translation that was made of it, is a sensation similar to water sliding off an impermeable surface. Nothing remains. I have not found elements that would allow me to recognize that author among many. I will therefore read no more of Wilbur Smith.
The mass follows the mass, not the individual. He was amazed to ask himself, or rather to imagine, if an individual, just one, could move the masses. An idea to follow and pursue to reform, for better or for worse, the Rome and Italy of today. It could happen, but what are the consequences? With his mind almost immersed in those thoughts that he considered senseless, he did not notice the immense shadow that darkened the square for a few moments. In front of him he saw people rolling their eyes, but was anyone able to capture what passed over the Roman skies that morning? An elderly woman screamed and fainted. A passing gentleman promptly picked her up, placed her on a bench and tried to revive her. A group of onlookers formed and so no one noticed what that strange and gigantic shadow produced.