Sep
I Love Books Malta
Posted in Uncategorized | Comments Off
Epic Sea Books. The Old Man and the Sea. Ernest Hemingway
The Old Man and the Sea is the story of a fierce battle between an old Cuban fisherman and a great fish. Santiago had fished for 84 days without catching even one fish. He was so unlucky that his young friend and apprentice, Manolin, was forced by his parents to leave the old man and fish with another boat which would be more profitable.
Still the boy loved the old man and visited him each night in his old dilapidated shack. He would chat about the fishing, bring food and discuss American baseball, especially Joe Di Maggio, the old man’s great hero. Santiago would tell the boy that his long run of bad luck would soon end because each day he would sail out further until he was successful again.
Having sailed his little skiff far beyond the island’s coast into the Gulf Stream on his 85th fishless day, the old man hooked a huge marlin. the fish was so big that Santiago couldn’t pull it in and instead the marlin began pulling the boat.
For three days and nights the giant fish pulled the boat, with the line attached to the old man, cutting into his back and shoulders. The pain he endured was extreme, especially when the fish lunged and leaped for freedom, but the old man held firm, determined to fight this great warrior to the death.
After three days of struggle the fish was tiring but the old man was worn out too. With one last heroic effort Santiago managed to pull the marlin to the side of the boat, thrust the harpoon into his massive head, ending the fight with his brave and noble combatant.
Wounded and weary, but proud and happy, the old man tied the great fish to the side of the boat and set sail for home. The scent of the blood trail alerted the sharks and soon they were arriving in numbers to attack the giant carcass. The old man fought bravely but in killing the first group of predators he lost his only weapon of defence, the harpoon, leaving him with only an old knife which he lashed to an oar. He still managed to kill several more sharks but they kept coming and he was powerless to prevent them from devouring the delicious meat of the great marlin.
When the old man reached home at daybreak he only had the skeleton of the great fish still lashed to the side of the boat. Feeling sad and guilty for going out too far and causing the death of the great and noble marlin, he shuffled up the hill to his cabin and collapsed into a deep sleep.
The old man’s boat was the centre of attention next morning as the fishermen gazed in amazement at the size of the fish skeleton attached to its side, without knowing anything of the battle and suffering the old man had endured.
The young boy, Manolin, was so overjoyed to find the old man safely back home in bed, he was moved to tears and brought him coffee, food and news of the baseball results.
The old man and the boy agreed to resume fishing as partners again.
THE AUTHOR.
When The Old Man and the Sea was published in 1952 it sealed Ernest Hemingway’s legacy as one of the great writers of our time.
Born in Illinois in 1899, the son of a doctor and a music teacher, he had already written important books: The Sun also Shines. 1926. A Farewell to Arms. 1929. For Whom the Bell Tolls. 1940. But the worldwide success of The Old Man and the Sea propelled him to a new level. It won the 1953 Pulitzer Prize for fiction and was instrumental in him securing the Nonel Prize for literature in 1954.
Sadly, it was to be his last novel. He suffered from periods of serious depression and in 1961 committed suicide. a sad ending to a great literary voice.
…………………………………..
Another epic sea book is ‘THE CRYING SEA’
This new book is inspired by a true sea tragedy that occurred off Malta in 2008. A fishing boat explodes in a raging inferno and sinks to the depths of the Meditteranean. A young boy clings to his father for six days on a makeshift raft without food or water, while onshore, his mother prays that the massive air and sea search will find them. A gripping story of intense human drama.
Available online at: www.bridgepublishing.net
About the Author
Paddy Cummins Irish author. Books: Three novels. Four collections of short stories and poems. Latest novel: THE CRYING SEA. Like ‘The Old Man and the Sea’ the main characters are a man and a boy; a father and his young son in an epic battle against time, hunger and thirst, as they drift aimlessly on a makeshift raft for six harrowing days and nights, while a huge air and sea search tries to find them. Lives in Ireland in summer and in Malta during winter months.
Great Siege of Malta 1565
|
|
Illegitimates I Have Slaved For $14.47 The private Lillian Rappe talks: about love, sex, food, beauty, fame, work, money, success: about Malta, New York, Michigan – Europe and America: about herself: her young work life in the “Victory kitchens” of war-torn Malta, her move to London, New York and Michigan, good times and bad times in the United States, the explosion of her career from the sixties to the eighties – and the “illegitimate” bosses for whom she labored. Her book illustrates the life of a secretary in the 1960s, 70s and 80s and is at times humorous and at others sad and demoralizing. It is both honest and candid and gives a true life depiction of the plight of the female secretary pre-ERA and women’s lib! |
|
|
Poems $0.99 Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free.This is an OCR edition with typos.Excerpt from book:Portrait of a Lady Thou hast committed — Fornication: but that was in another country, And besides, the wench is dead. The Jew Of Malta. Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself as it will seem to do — With ” I have saved this afternoon for you “; And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet’s tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips. ” So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul Should be resurrected only among friends Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room.” — And so the conversation slips Among velleities and carefully caught regrets Through attenuated tones of violins Mingled with remote cornets And begins. ” You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, And how, how rare and strange it is, to find In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, (For indeed I do not love it … you knew? you are not blind! How keen you are!) To find a friend who has these qualities, Who has, and gives Those qualities upon which friendship lives. How much it means that I say this to you — Without these friendships — life, what cauchemar! ” Among the windings of the violins And the ariettes Of cracked cornets Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins Absurdly hammering aprelude of its own, Capricious monotone That is at least one definite ” false note.” — Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance, Admire the monuments Discuss the late events, Correct our watches by the public clocks. Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks. Now that l… |
|
|
Poems $0.99 Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free.This is an OCR edition with typos.Excerpt from book:Portrait of a Lady Thou hast committed — Fornication: but that was in another country, And besides, the wench is dead. The Jew Of Malta. Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself as it will seem to do — With ” I have saved this afternoon for you “; And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet’s tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips. ” So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul Should be resurrected only among friends Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room.” — And so the conversation slips Among velleities and carefully caught regrets Through attenuated tones of violins Mingled with remote cornets And begins. ” You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, And how, how rare and strange it is, to find In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, (For indeed I do not love it … you knew? you are not blind! How keen you are!) To find a friend who has these qualities, Who has, and gives Those qualities upon which friendship lives. How much it means that I say this to you — Without these friendships — life, what cauchemar! ” Among the windings of the violins And the ariettes Of cracked cornets Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins Absurdly hammering aprelude of its own, Capricious monotone That is at least one definite ” false note.” — Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance, Admire the monuments Discuss the late events, Correct our watches by the public clocks. Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks. Now that l… |
|
|
Poems $6.59 Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free.This is an OCR edition with typos.Excerpt from book:Portrait of a Lady Thou hast committed — Fornication: but that was in another country, And besides, the wench is dead. The Jew Of Malta. Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself as it will seem to do — With ” I have saved this afternoon for you “; And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet’s tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips. ” So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul Should be resurrected only among friends Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room.” — And so the conversation slips Among velleities and carefully caught regrets Through attenuated tones of violins Mingled with remote cornets And begins. ” You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, And how, how rare and strange it is, to find In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, (For indeed I do not love it … you knew? you are not blind! How keen you are!) To find a friend who has these qualities, Who has, and gives Those qualities upon which friendship lives. How much it means that I say this to you — Without these friendships — life, what cauchemar! ” Among the windings of the violins And the ariettes Of cracked cornets Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins Absurdly hammering aprelude of its own, Capricious monotone That is at least one definite ” false note.” — Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance, Admire the monuments Discuss the late events, Correct our watches by the public clocks. Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks. Now that l… |
|
|
Poems $2.99 Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free.This is an OCR edition with typos.Excerpt from book:Portrait of a Lady Thou hast committed — Fornication: but that was in another country, And besides, the wench is dead. The Jew Of Malta. Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself as it will seem to do — With ” I have saved this afternoon for you “; And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet’s tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips. ” So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul Should be resurrected only among friends Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room.” — And so the conversation slips Among velleities and carefully caught regrets Through attenuated tones of violins Mingled with remote cornets And begins. ” You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, And how, how rare and strange it is, to find In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, (For indeed I do not love it … you knew? you are not blind! How keen you are!) To find a friend who has these qualities, Who has, and gives Those qualities upon which friendship lives. How much it means that I say this to you — Without these friendships — life, what cauchemar! ” Among the windings of the violins And the ariettes Of cracked cornets Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins Absurdly hammering aprelude of its own, Capricious monotone That is at least one definite ” false note.” — Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance, Admire the monuments Discuss the late events, Correct our watches by the public clocks. Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks. Now that l… |
|
|
Poems $0.99 Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free.This is an OCR edition with typos.Excerpt from book:Portrait of a Lady Thou hast committed — Fornication: but that was in another country, And besides, the wench is dead. The Jew Of Malta. Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself as it will seem to do — With ” I have saved this afternoon for you “; And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet’s tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips. ” So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul Should be resurrected only among friends Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room.” — And so the conversation slips Among velleities and carefully caught regrets Through attenuated tones of violins Mingled with remote cornets And begins. ” You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, And how, how rare and strange it is, to find In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, (For indeed I do not love it … you knew? you are not blind! How keen you are!) To find a friend who has these qualities, Who has, and gives Those qualities upon which friendship lives. How much it means that I say this to you — Without these friendships — life, what cauchemar! ” Among the windings of the violins And the ariettes Of cracked cornets Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins Absurdly hammering aprelude of its own, Capricious monotone That is at least one definite ” false note.” — Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance, Admire the monuments Discuss the late events, Correct our watches by the public clocks. Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks. Now that l… |
|
|
The Jukebox Queen Of Malta: A Novel By Nicholas Rinaldi $23.95 <P><I>The Jukebox Queen of Malta</I> is an exquisite and enchanting novel of love and war set on an island perilously balanced between what is real and what is not.<P>It’s 1942 and Rocco Raven, an intrepid auto mechanic turned corporal from Brooklyn, has arrived in Malta, a Mediterranean island of Neolithic caves, Copper Age temples, and fortresses. The island is under siege, full of smoke and rubble, caught in the magnesium glare of German and Italian bombs.<P>But nothing is as it seems on Malta. Rocco’s living quarters are a brothel; his commanding officer has a genius for turning the war’s misfortunes into personal profit; and the Maltese people, astonishingly, testify to the resiliency of the human spirit. When Rocco meets the beautiful and ethereal Melita, who delivers the jukeboxes her cousin builds out of shattered debris, they are drawn to each other by an immediate passion. And, it is their full-blown affair that at once liberates and imprisons Rocco on the island.<P>In this mesmerizing novel, music and bombs, war and romance, the jukebox and the gun exist in arresting counterpoint in a story that is a profound and deeply moving exploration of the redemptive powers of love. |
|
|
Youth without Youth $3.89 Bucharest, 1938: while Hitler gains power in Germany, the Romanian police start arresting students they suspect of belonging to the Iron Guard.  Meanwhile, a man who has spent his life studying languages, poetry, and history—a man who thought his life was over—lies in a hospital bed, inexplicably alive and miraculously healthy, trying to figure out how to conceal his identity. At the intersection of the natural and supernatural, myth and history, dream and science, lies Mircea Eliade’s novella.  Now in its first paperback edition, the psychological thriller features Dominic Matei, an elderly academic who experiences a cataclysmic event that allows him to live a new life with startling intellectual capacity. Sought by the Nazis for their medical experiments on the potentially life-prolonging power of electric shocks, Matei is helped to flee through Romania, Switzerland, Malta and India.  Newly endowed with prodigious powers of memory and comprehension, he finds himself face to face with the glory and terror of the supernatural.  In this surreal, philosophy-driven fantasy, Eliade tests the boundaries of literary genre as well as the reader’s imagination.Suspenseful, witty, and poignant, Youth Without Youth illuminates Eliade’s longing for past loves and new texts, his erotic imagination, and his love of a thrilling mystery.  It will be adapted for the screen in 2007 as Francis Ford Coppola’s first feature film in over ten years. “A wonderful blend of realism, surrealism, and fantasy, [Eliade’s novellas] suggest the importance of the mythic and the supernatural to finding meaning in the everyday. Highly recommended.” —Library Journal “Youth Without Youth reads like a surreal collaboration by Jorge Luis Borges, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., and Carl Jung. Mircea Eliade left me with the rare sense that I had been entertained by |