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Crumley Mysteries #1
Смъртта е занимание самотно
Близо до един опустошен бряг с рушащи се бунгала млад писател с богато въображение плете фантастични разкази на шумната си пишеща машина. Но започват да се случват странни неща: поредица загадъчни телефонни обаждания, водорасли на прага, зловещи „инциденти“ с приятелите му. С помощта на детектив Кръмли и една бивша кинозвезда, писателят ще се опита да намери връзка между странните събития и ще разкрие истината за собствените си творчески способности.
256 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1985
About the author
Ray Bradbury
2,339 books23.6k followersRay Douglas Bradbury was an American author and screenwriter. One of the most celebrated 20th-century American writers, he worked in a variety of genres, including fantasy, science fiction, horror, mystery, and realistic fiction.
Bradbury is best known for his novel Fahrenheit 451 (1953) and his short-story collections The Martian Chronicles (1950), The Illustrated Man (1951), and The October Country (1955). Other notable works include the coming of age novel Dandelion Wine (1957), the dark fantasy Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962) and the fictionalized memoir Green Shadows, White Whale (1992). He also wrote and consulted on screenplays and television scripts, including Moby Dick and It Came from Outer Space. Many of his works were adapted into television and film productions as well as comic books. Bradbury also wrote poetry which has been published in several collections, such as They Have Not Seen the Stars (2001).
The New York Times called Bradbury "An author whose fanciful imagination, poetic prose, and mature understanding of human character have won him an international reputation" and "the writer most responsible for bringing modern science fiction into the literary mainstream".
Bradbury is best known for his novel Fahrenheit 451 (1953) and his short-story collections The Martian Chronicles (1950), The Illustrated Man (1951), and The October Country (1955). Other notable works include the coming of age novel Dandelion Wine (1957), the dark fantasy Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962) and the fictionalized memoir Green Shadows, White Whale (1992). He also wrote and consulted on screenplays and television scripts, including Moby Dick and It Came from Outer Space. Many of his works were adapted into television and film productions as well as comic books. Bradbury also wrote poetry which has been published in several collections, such as They Have Not Seen the Stars (2001).
The New York Times called Bradbury "An author whose fanciful imagination, poetic prose, and mature understanding of human character have won him an international reputation" and "the writer most responsible for bringing modern science fiction into the literary mainstream".
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 488 reviews
November 25, 2019
Death is a Lonely Business is Ray Bradbury’s addition to the noir mystery genre.
Told with all the requisite intrigue and catchy simile and metaphor, Bradbury nevertheless cannot be mistaken as anyone but himself. Like an actor who is cast in an odd role, Bradbury remains the sentimental, kooky writer, and that is a part of this novel’s charm.
Set in an aging and decrepit Venice California in 1949, the unnamed protagonist is an overweight, clumsy, near sighted writer who bears a great resemblance to Ray. All the more fun is the frequent allusions to stories he has published that are unmistakably actual Bradbury creations. Like many of this works, Bradbury fills this with a funhouse cornucopia of colorful characters.
It is a little too slow getting started, but the ending is well worth it. Like so many of Bradbury’s works, most of the enjoyment in reading is simply his mastery of language and medium.
Told with all the requisite intrigue and catchy simile and metaphor, Bradbury nevertheless cannot be mistaken as anyone but himself. Like an actor who is cast in an odd role, Bradbury remains the sentimental, kooky writer, and that is a part of this novel’s charm.
Set in an aging and decrepit Venice California in 1949, the unnamed protagonist is an overweight, clumsy, near sighted writer who bears a great resemblance to Ray. All the more fun is the frequent allusions to stories he has published that are unmistakably actual Bradbury creations. Like many of this works, Bradbury fills this with a funhouse cornucopia of colorful characters.
It is a little too slow getting started, but the ending is well worth it. Like so many of Bradbury’s works, most of the enjoyment in reading is simply his mastery of language and medium.
March 16, 2008
I've read this book twice. It is written in a noire style, but with a feel of the fantastical running through it. The main character is a struggling writer (Bradbury himself) who is trying keep his art flowing but is lonely. His girlfriend is an ocean away and he seems so detached from everyone around him. But then a murder mystery unfolds and the writer must solve it. As the novel moves forward you find that Bradbury has many friends, some existing, some new, the relationships brought about through the events in the novel. He also loves each one's uniqueness. The weirder they are the more they are loved because they are themselves. The old, the discarded, the friendless are especially dear to him. They mystery is just the method for us to learn about Bradbury's heart.
September 20, 2021
Така и не успях да стана голям Бредбъри фен, но тази му е от сполучливите книги.
Изгражда убедителна атмосфера, има интрига, има страдащ писател ... всичко необходимо.
Изгражда убедителна атмосфера, има интрига, има страдащ писател ... всичко необходимо.
October 21, 2024
... and when October comes, it’s time to head out to Bradbury country, a place of cold fogs and whispering winds that will send a shiver down your spine and make you wonder what ghost from your past has come to haunt your dreams.
And it was in that time, in one of those lonely years when the fogs never ended and the winds never stopped their laments, that riding the old red trolley, the high-bucketing thunder, one night I met up with Death’s friend and didn’t know it.
A crime story that Bradbury dedicated to the masters who shaped his young imagination and inspired him to follow in their art and become a writer: Chandler, Hammett, Cain, MacDonald. James Crumley, a more recent author, gave for the story the name of the detective who will try to solve a series of suspect deaths around the derelict Venice pier in California, in the year 1949: Elmo Crumley.
If there was a city back there, and people, or one man and his terrible sadness, I could not see, nor hear.
The train was headed for the ocean.
I had this awful feeling it would plunge in.
But it is not the detective who takes us on this dark merry-go-round, but a young writer without a dime in his pocket, a sad man who misses his fiancee, gone to Mexico to study. A young author who feels the pain of the world in his bones every night as he goes around the city collecting the stories of the people who have been marooned on this empty shore: lost souls who have reached the end of their line. Another writer I tried for the first time this year, Nathanael West in The Day of the Locust , noticed that California is the place where people come to die. Ray Bradbury concurs ...
There are some people who live to be thirty-five or forty, but because no one ever notices, their lives are candle-brief, invisible small.
The prologue was one of the best set-up pieces I have read in a very long time. Ominous, poetic, disturbing. You feel like you have fallen off the edge of the world and into another place, a place where monstrous spiders lurk in the night and are waiting for you to fall into their web.
... and then the first dead body is found in the half-submerged cage of an abandoned circus.
We looked like a mob of miserable clowns abandoned on the bridge, looking down at our drowned circus.
Venice in 1949 was completely different from the sunny, young and hip place we see in recent movies. It’s days of glory are long past, all the tourists and all the money have gone elsewhere. The old arcade pier with its amusement attractions is about to be demolished, the last survivors of that age are now old and forgotten and about to be evicted. For the young writer this is the only place he can afford.
For Ray Bradbury, as for his unnamed narrator, writing is a deeply personal endeavour. Feel first, write later he says to the detective Crumley when they finally meet and discover that they both have the writing bug.
Empathy is the name of the game – this dreamer’s ability to put himself in the skin of the people he meets: the trio of old-timers who spend their day on a bench in the sun, the worst barber in town who still remembers meeting Scott Joplin in his youth, an ancient spinster who used to sell parrots, a former Hollywood diva from the days of the silent movies, an overweight soprano who cannot even leave her tenement apartment and who consumes huge quantities of mayonnaise, the patron of the last cinema hall on the pier, a gay body-builder, a blind man who refuses to use a cane, a clairvoyant with a large library filled only with books about depression, and so on.
The writer collects their lives, trying to keep their memory alive through his typewritten pages, before they fade into nothingness. But it appears as if somebody is hunting down the very same people he meets every day, who are now dying in suspect accidents and suicides. Elmo Crumley asks for hard evidence from the young writer, but this is hard to find for these people who live alone and forgotten.
... the pier was a great Titanic on its way to meet an iceberg in the night, with people busy rearranging the deck chairs, and some singing ‘Nearer my God to Thee’ as he rammed the plunger on the TNT detonator.
This is not your typical crime novel, despite the style that emulates the masters of the pulp era. The pacing is very slow, the dialogues bizarre and filled with metaphors, the clues evident to the experienced reader: all the victims share in one trait: ‘There’s something broken about all those people.’. It’s right there in the title, even if the identity of the dark stranger who rides the tramway on a road to hell remains unclear until the very last pages.
‘You showed me the people you were collecting for your books. All the gravel on the path, chaff in the wind, empty shells on the shore, dice with no spots, cards with no pips. No past, no present. So I gave them no future.’
Even the border between reality and dream, between fiction and fact is lost in the fog. Could the young writer be the hand that cuts the story of these lonely people short? Are they all figments of his imagination? Can all this be a case of supernatural forces that were awakened by the end-of-the-world destruction of the whole Venice shoreline?
Meaningless malignity. Don’t that have a ring? It means someone running around doing lousy things, a bastard, for no reason. Or none we can figure.’
This is not my first Ray Bradbury book, so I could pinpoint some of his favorite imagery here: the circus, the rollercoaster, the old cinema on a boat, the shooting gallery, the magician’s booth, the darkness that whispers secrets in your ear. I know that he tries to use the elements of the classic gumshoe novel, but my own journey was more like an elegy to the lonely people [Eleanor Rigby?] he sees on his daily walks through the city. Because this story, like many others he has written, is anchored in auto-biographical elements, memories that are haunting him since childhood, friends he has lost, places that live now only in old, faded postcards.
It was the elephants’ graveyard, the pier at night, all dark bones and a lid of fog over it and the sea rushing in to bury, reveal, and bury again.
Now all that remained of the old parade had ended here. Some of the cage wagons stood upright in the deep waters of the canal, others were tilted flat over on their sides and buried in the tides that revealed them some dawns or covered them some midnights. Fish swam in and out of the bars. By day small boys came and danced about on the huge lost islands of steel and wood and sometimes popped inside and shook the bars and roared.
This sense of alienation may come directly from the young boy who left an enchanted childhood in Waukegan, Illinois and moved to Venice, California to become a writer. The book was published in 1985, so this pervasive nostalgia is understandable.
When I was fifteen one of them looked at me and said, ‘You going to grow up and change the world only for the best, boy?’
‘Yes, sir!’ I said.
‘I think you’ll do it,’ he said. ‘Won’t he, gents?’
You cannot really separate the author from his writing, at least in the case of Ray Bradbury, for whom honesty and hard work were the most important requirements for the artist.
Remember, Feel first, think later is what he tells Elmo Crumley, when the detective is complaining that inspiration fails to come when bidden.
As a side note, if I were to search for anything critical to say about the book, it would be the candor and the affectation of the dialogues, not only between the writer and the detective, but in all of the narrator’s interactions with the people on his death list. They are like actors reciting the lines of a script, and excellent script but an artificial, contrived one, nevertheless.
‘You’re not one of them, I can tell. You couldn’t rape a chorus line, or use your agent’s desk for a bed. You couldn’t knock your grandma downstairs to cadge the insurance. Maybe you’re a sap, I don’t know, or a fool, but I’ve come to prefer saps and fools, guys who don’t raise tarantulas or yank wings off hummingbirds. Silly writers who dream about going to Mars and never coming back to our stupid daytime world.’
Yet, when it clicks, the style is heartbreaking and powerful, some of the best passages I have read from Bradbury, filled with the bitter truths and the hopes he clings to in his effort to put to sleep the demons who haunt his nights.
The voice from the past, making you remember a familiar thought, a warm breath in the ear, a seizure of passion like a strike of lightning. Which of us is not vulnerable, I thought, when it comes to that three-in-the-morning voice. Or when you wake after midnight to find someone crying, and it’s you, and tears on the chin and you didn’t even know that during the night you had had a bad dream.
This is a story about an elephant’s graveyard in the last days of the Venice amusement pier. This is a story about a voice in the night, calling you with a promise of a shared memory, a respite from loneliness and despair, a dark presence waiting in the fog. It could happen to you, too.
It applied to anyone who had ever loved and lost, meaning every single soul in the whole damn city, state and universe.
Who, reading it, would not be tempted to lift a phone, dial, wait, and whisper at last, late at night:
Here I am am. Please – come find me.
And it was in that time, in one of those lonely years when the fogs never ended and the winds never stopped their laments, that riding the old red trolley, the high-bucketing thunder, one night I met up with Death’s friend and didn’t know it.
A crime story that Bradbury dedicated to the masters who shaped his young imagination and inspired him to follow in their art and become a writer: Chandler, Hammett, Cain, MacDonald. James Crumley, a more recent author, gave for the story the name of the detective who will try to solve a series of suspect deaths around the derelict Venice pier in California, in the year 1949: Elmo Crumley.
If there was a city back there, and people, or one man and his terrible sadness, I could not see, nor hear.
The train was headed for the ocean.
I had this awful feeling it would plunge in.
But it is not the detective who takes us on this dark merry-go-round, but a young writer without a dime in his pocket, a sad man who misses his fiancee, gone to Mexico to study. A young author who feels the pain of the world in his bones every night as he goes around the city collecting the stories of the people who have been marooned on this empty shore: lost souls who have reached the end of their line. Another writer I tried for the first time this year, Nathanael West in The Day of the Locust , noticed that California is the place where people come to die. Ray Bradbury concurs ...
There are some people who live to be thirty-five or forty, but because no one ever notices, their lives are candle-brief, invisible small.
The prologue was one of the best set-up pieces I have read in a very long time. Ominous, poetic, disturbing. You feel like you have fallen off the edge of the world and into another place, a place where monstrous spiders lurk in the night and are waiting for you to fall into their web.
... and then the first dead body is found in the half-submerged cage of an abandoned circus.
We looked like a mob of miserable clowns abandoned on the bridge, looking down at our drowned circus.
Venice in 1949 was completely different from the sunny, young and hip place we see in recent movies. It’s days of glory are long past, all the tourists and all the money have gone elsewhere. The old arcade pier with its amusement attractions is about to be demolished, the last survivors of that age are now old and forgotten and about to be evicted. For the young writer this is the only place he can afford.
For Ray Bradbury, as for his unnamed narrator, writing is a deeply personal endeavour. Feel first, write later he says to the detective Crumley when they finally meet and discover that they both have the writing bug.
Empathy is the name of the game – this dreamer’s ability to put himself in the skin of the people he meets: the trio of old-timers who spend their day on a bench in the sun, the worst barber in town who still remembers meeting Scott Joplin in his youth, an ancient spinster who used to sell parrots, a former Hollywood diva from the days of the silent movies, an overweight soprano who cannot even leave her tenement apartment and who consumes huge quantities of mayonnaise, the patron of the last cinema hall on the pier, a gay body-builder, a blind man who refuses to use a cane, a clairvoyant with a large library filled only with books about depression, and so on.
The writer collects their lives, trying to keep their memory alive through his typewritten pages, before they fade into nothingness. But it appears as if somebody is hunting down the very same people he meets every day, who are now dying in suspect accidents and suicides. Elmo Crumley asks for hard evidence from the young writer, but this is hard to find for these people who live alone and forgotten.
... the pier was a great Titanic on its way to meet an iceberg in the night, with people busy rearranging the deck chairs, and some singing ‘Nearer my God to Thee’ as he rammed the plunger on the TNT detonator.
This is not your typical crime novel, despite the style that emulates the masters of the pulp era. The pacing is very slow, the dialogues bizarre and filled with metaphors, the clues evident to the experienced reader: all the victims share in one trait: ‘There’s something broken about all those people.’. It’s right there in the title, even if the identity of the dark stranger who rides the tramway on a road to hell remains unclear until the very last pages.
‘You showed me the people you were collecting for your books. All the gravel on the path, chaff in the wind, empty shells on the shore, dice with no spots, cards with no pips. No past, no present. So I gave them no future.’
Even the border between reality and dream, between fiction and fact is lost in the fog. Could the young writer be the hand that cuts the story of these lonely people short? Are they all figments of his imagination? Can all this be a case of supernatural forces that were awakened by the end-of-the-world destruction of the whole Venice shoreline?
Meaningless malignity. Don’t that have a ring? It means someone running around doing lousy things, a bastard, for no reason. Or none we can figure.’
This is not my first Ray Bradbury book, so I could pinpoint some of his favorite imagery here: the circus, the rollercoaster, the old cinema on a boat, the shooting gallery, the magician’s booth, the darkness that whispers secrets in your ear. I know that he tries to use the elements of the classic gumshoe novel, but my own journey was more like an elegy to the lonely people [Eleanor Rigby?] he sees on his daily walks through the city. Because this story, like many others he has written, is anchored in auto-biographical elements, memories that are haunting him since childhood, friends he has lost, places that live now only in old, faded postcards.
It was the elephants’ graveyard, the pier at night, all dark bones and a lid of fog over it and the sea rushing in to bury, reveal, and bury again.
Now all that remained of the old parade had ended here. Some of the cage wagons stood upright in the deep waters of the canal, others were tilted flat over on their sides and buried in the tides that revealed them some dawns or covered them some midnights. Fish swam in and out of the bars. By day small boys came and danced about on the huge lost islands of steel and wood and sometimes popped inside and shook the bars and roared.
This sense of alienation may come directly from the young boy who left an enchanted childhood in Waukegan, Illinois and moved to Venice, California to become a writer. The book was published in 1985, so this pervasive nostalgia is understandable.
When I was fifteen one of them looked at me and said, ‘You going to grow up and change the world only for the best, boy?’
‘Yes, sir!’ I said.
‘I think you’ll do it,’ he said. ‘Won’t he, gents?’
You cannot really separate the author from his writing, at least in the case of Ray Bradbury, for whom honesty and hard work were the most important requirements for the artist.
Remember, Feel first, think later is what he tells Elmo Crumley, when the detective is complaining that inspiration fails to come when bidden.
As a side note, if I were to search for anything critical to say about the book, it would be the candor and the affectation of the dialogues, not only between the writer and the detective, but in all of the narrator’s interactions with the people on his death list. They are like actors reciting the lines of a script, and excellent script but an artificial, contrived one, nevertheless.
‘You’re not one of them, I can tell. You couldn’t rape a chorus line, or use your agent’s desk for a bed. You couldn’t knock your grandma downstairs to cadge the insurance. Maybe you’re a sap, I don’t know, or a fool, but I’ve come to prefer saps and fools, guys who don’t raise tarantulas or yank wings off hummingbirds. Silly writers who dream about going to Mars and never coming back to our stupid daytime world.’
Yet, when it clicks, the style is heartbreaking and powerful, some of the best passages I have read from Bradbury, filled with the bitter truths and the hopes he clings to in his effort to put to sleep the demons who haunt his nights.
The voice from the past, making you remember a familiar thought, a warm breath in the ear, a seizure of passion like a strike of lightning. Which of us is not vulnerable, I thought, when it comes to that three-in-the-morning voice. Or when you wake after midnight to find someone crying, and it’s you, and tears on the chin and you didn’t even know that during the night you had had a bad dream.
This is a story about an elephant’s graveyard in the last days of the Venice amusement pier. This is a story about a voice in the night, calling you with a promise of a shared memory, a respite from loneliness and despair, a dark presence waiting in the fog. It could happen to you, too.
It applied to anyone who had ever loved and lost, meaning every single soul in the whole damn city, state and universe.
Who, reading it, would not be tempted to lift a phone, dial, wait, and whisper at last, late at night:
Here I am am. Please – come find me.
October 28, 2022
4.5/5
Не очаквах, че мрачно заглавие като това ще ме разсмее толкова, но хумора, който присъстваше в изобилие тук беше точно по вкуса ми! Разговорите между главния герой и детектива Кръмли бяха голямо удоволствие за мен. Сладкодумния детектив се оказа глътка чист въздух в сравнение с други, които съм чела. Цялостния подбор от герои тук е чудесен. Знаете ли, че доста от тях са вдъхновени от хора, които Бредбъри е познавал? Но да не се отклонявам от темата.
Тази книга бе първата ми среща с автора. По принцип планът беше друг - “Вино от глухарчета”, разбира се, - но се радвам, че нещата се развиха така. “Смъртта е занимание самотно” е идеалното сурово и меланхолично крими за края на Октомври. Съдържа баланс от всичко и не взима нещата твърде сериозно. Въпреки че по едно време започнах да подозирам извършителя, това не ми повлия на удоволствието, защото както Бредбъри споделя в последните страници, заглавието не е изградено върху основната сюжетна интрига, а върху изкуството да отклонява вниманието. И ако сте чели романа, то то��ава знаете, че го прави страшно добре! Хареса ми тази идея, защото не бях попадала на подобна тактика досега. Ясно си личи колко труд, внимание и безсънни нощи са вложени между тези две корици. С голямо удоволствие ще продължа това Бредбъри приключение!
Не очаквах, че мрачно заглавие като това ще ме разсмее толкова, но хумора, който присъстваше в изобилие тук беше точно по вкуса ми! Разговорите между главния герой и детектива Кръмли бяха голямо удоволствие за мен. Сладкодумния детектив се оказа глътка чист въздух в сравнение с други, които съм чела. Цялостния подбор от герои тук е чудесен. Знаете ли, че доста от тях са вдъхновени от хора, които Бредбъри е познавал? Но да не се отклонявам от темата.
Тази книга бе първата ми среща с автора. По принцип планът беше друг - “Вино от глухарчета”, разбира се, - но се радвам, че нещата се развиха така. “Смъртта е занимание самотно” е идеалното сурово и меланхолично крими за края на Октомври. Съдържа баланс от всичко и не взима нещата твърде сериозно. Въпреки че по едно време започнах да подозирам извършителя, това не ми повлия на удоволствието, защото както Бредбъри споделя в последните страници, заглавието не е изградено върху основната сюжетна интрига, а върху изкуството да отклонява вниманието. И ако сте чели романа, то то��ава знаете, че го прави страшно добре! Хареса ми тази идея, защото не бях попадала на подобна тактика досега. Ясно си личи колко труд, внимание и безсънни нощи са вложени между тези две корици. С голямо удоволствие ще продължа това Бредбъри приключение!
January 7, 2010
Writerly, well-written, and about writing. Also about murder, loneliness, social change, urban decay, old movies, and poetry.
June 4, 2020
A young writer rides the trolleybus late one night in Venice, California, only to have a sinister whisper in his ear that 'Death is a lonely business.' By the time he plucks up the courage to turn round, the person has got off the trolley car. But this is only the prelude to a series of displacements and possible murders as various people that the writer knows are targeted, starting with his discovery when walking home of an old man's body dumped in the canal. Soon he is fully engaged in trying to track down and stop the killer with the help of a cast of eccentric characters including washed-up film stars, a cop who is a secret novelist, a blind man, and a retired opera singer. Even the minor characters are memorable, such as the barber who can't cut hair but lives on the past glory of once having had a piano lesson from Scott Joplin.
Another main character is the setting which brilliantly evokes the rundown former glamour of an area now starting to be demolished. Being Bradbury, the writing is colourful, vivid, slightly sentimental but not overdone. I realised after finishing the book that the protagonist is probably based on his youthful self.
The only thing that held this book back from a full five stars is that the ending is not quite satisfying enough. There were a few candidates for the (what would now be termed serial) killer and I thought it would have been a great twist if it had turned out to be a less obvious one. But other than that I can't fault the book and so it has a well-deserved 4 stars.
Another main character is the setting which brilliantly evokes the rundown former glamour of an area now starting to be demolished. Being Bradbury, the writing is colourful, vivid, slightly sentimental but not overdone. I realised after finishing the book that the protagonist is probably based on his youthful self.
The only thing that held this book back from a full five stars is that the ending is not quite satisfying enough. There were a few candidates for the (what would now be termed serial) killer and I thought it would have been a great twist if it had turned out to be a less obvious one. But other than that I can't fault the book and so it has a well-deserved 4 stars.
March 29, 2015
Влюбен съм в Бредбъри още от дете. "Марсиански хроники" и "451 по Фаренхайт" са книгите, заради които обикнах фантастиката. Чел съм практически всичко негово и смятам, че е един от най-поетичните писатели.
Винаги е пишел различно и нестандартно от останалите.
Няма да забравя и потреса си от първия сблъсък с нефантастичните му романи. Бях седми клас, когато започнах да чета "Вино от глухарчета" и докъм стотната страница чаках кога ще започне фантастиката. Сега това ми е настолна книга.
"Смъртта е занимание самотно" четох за първи път още студент. Нито бях писател, нито бях самотен и гледах на книгата като един интересен експеримент. Препрочитал съм я много пъти, сегашния прочит ме хвана в един по-специален момент и мисля, че започнах да разбирам какво пише в книгата (освен за тежкия и несигурен живот на писателите).
Прочетете тази книга, стилът на Бредбъри е неповторим. И "Вие от Самотниците ли сте?"
Винаги е пишел различно и нестандартно от останалите.
Няма да забравя и потреса си от първия сблъсък с нефантастичните му романи. Бях седми клас, когато започнах да чета "Вино от глухарчета" и докъм стотната страница чаках кога ще започне фантастиката. Сега това ми е настолна книга.
"Смъртта е занимание самотно" четох за първи път още студент. Нито бях писател, нито бях самотен и гледах на книгата като един интересен експеримент. Препрочитал съм я много пъти, сегашния прочит ме хвана в един по-специален момент и мисля, че започнах да разбирам какво пише в книгата (освен за тежкия и несигурен живот на писателите).
Прочетете тази книга, стилът на Бредбъри е неповторим. И "Вие от Самотниците ли сте?"
October 28, 2014
I love Ray Bradbury. I love his books, I love his short stories, I love how his cover picture has been the same one (the one of him holding his cat) for as long as I can remember, and I love that people always ask if he's still alive or not. The man is a mystery to me, and some of his books and stories touch me in ways that other books and stories have not. (No, that's not meant to be dirty. For once.)
Dandelion Wine and Something Wicked This Way Comes are the two Most-Important-Bradbury-Books-to-Me. I read them at the right age, they made an impression, they will always be near and dear to me. Most of his short stories are fantastic as well, but since you'renot asking, the story that has stayed with me the most over the years is All Summer in a Day, the title of which I can never remember and I usually have to ask my brother. (This time I did an Interwebz search and found it. Yay me!)
What those books and that story have in common are their sense of the fantastic. That's what I love about Bradbury - they're coming-of-age stories and Bradbury writes children better than most adult writers can, and then he throws in some crazy unimaginable stuff and the whole story goes supernova.
Death Is a Lonely Business isn't quite like that. This is different than his usual writing - this is his attempt at a noir, his homage to Dashiell Hammett or Raymond Chandler. Bradbury uses himself in the story as a younger man. It all seems like something I would probably dig a lot. Unfortunately it didn't quite work for me.
I don't blame Bradbury for this; my head is totally elsewhere. But maybe this isn't the genre for Bradbury. The fact that I don't believe (but could be wrong) he did any other books like this indicates maybe he felt the same way. Still, considering I will read anything Bradbury put on paper, this wasn't a complete disappointment. I think I'll just be sticking with his more fantastical stories in the future.
Dandelion Wine and Something Wicked This Way Comes are the two Most-Important-Bradbury-Books-to-Me. I read them at the right age, they made an impression, they will always be near and dear to me. Most of his short stories are fantastic as well, but since you're
What those books and that story have in common are their sense of the fantastic. That's what I love about Bradbury - they're coming-of-age stories and Bradbury writes children better than most adult writers can, and then he throws in some crazy unimaginable stuff and the whole story goes supernova.
Death Is a Lonely Business isn't quite like that. This is different than his usual writing - this is his attempt at a noir, his homage to Dashiell Hammett or Raymond Chandler. Bradbury uses himself in the story as a younger man. It all seems like something I would probably dig a lot. Unfortunately it didn't quite work for me.
I don't blame Bradbury for this; my head is totally elsewhere. But maybe this isn't the genre for Bradbury. The fact that I don't believe (but could be wrong) he did any other books like this indicates maybe he felt the same way. Still, considering I will read anything Bradbury put on paper, this wasn't a complete disappointment. I think I'll just be sticking with his more fantastical stories in the future.
April 7, 2019
Mysticko-lyrická detektívka, ktorá síce plynula pomalšie ako pondelok v práci, ale za ten poetický jazyk mi to stálo.
(Kniha kúpená na burze a aj keby v nej bola len táto jedna jediná veta:
Jeho úsměvem si člověk mohl podřezat žíly.
stále by to boli najlepšie oplieskané dve eurá tento rok)
(Kniha kúpená na burze a aj keby v nej bola len táto jedna jediná veta:
Jeho úsměvem si člověk mohl podřezat žíly.
stále by to boli najlepšie oplieskané dve eurá tento rok)
November 14, 2018
Перша річ, яку треба тримати в голові, коли читаєш цей роман, - це не нуар, а дуже тонкий стьоб з нуару. Місце дії - 100% нуарівське, атмосфера - недотягує, персонажі - радше пародія на нуарівських персонажів, а от мотив злочинця - 100% Бредбері (як в 451° за Фаренгейтом, а саме, що робить людей людьми, я б сказав, хоча важко передати одним реченням чи словом дух і настрій творів Бредбері).
Щодо пародій, то тут є детектив, який фанат класичної літератури (вільно цитує Шекспіра та Достоєвського), пише роман. Єдине, що нагадує нуарівських детективів - пиво п'є, але вдома - в чудовому садку. Чим не пародія? Є тут і фем-фаталь, але ій за 60 років, і вона 1,5 м зросту, а також повненька. Чому фем-фаталь? Так їі презентує Бредбері - і перед очима постає образ нуарівської фатальної красуні. А потім Бредбері додає деталей її вигляду - і фем-фаталь зникає. І головний герой - не п'є, вірно любить свою кохану / наречену, пише романи. І такою грою Бредбері наче насміхається над всім жанром. Тобто це нуар, де всі персонажі вкрай милі і симпатичні. Або не викликають огиди. Жодної депресивності нуару.
Але якщо не очікувати нуару, то роман - цікавий детектив, який є квазінуаром чи пародійним нуаром. Тому читатиму наступні частини!
Щодо пародій, то тут є детектив, який фанат класичної літератури (вільно цитує Шекспіра та Достоєвського), пише роман. Єдине, що нагадує нуарівських детективів - пиво п'є, але вдома - в чудовому садку. Чим не пародія? Є тут і фем-фаталь, але ій за 60 років, і вона 1,5 м зросту, а також повненька. Чому фем-фаталь? Так їі презентує Бредбері - і перед очима постає образ нуарівської фатальної красуні. А потім Бредбері додає деталей її вигляду - і фем-фаталь зникає. І головний герой - не п'є, вірно любить свою кохану / наречену, пише романи. І такою грою Бредбері наче насміхається над всім жанром. Тобто це нуар, де всі персонажі вкрай милі і симпатичні. Або не викликають огиди. Жодної депресивності нуару.
Але якщо не очікувати нуару, то роман - цікавий детектив, який є квазінуаром чи пародійним нуаром. Тому читатиму наступні частини!
November 9, 2018
Ух, як моторошно! Хочете чогось справді нуарного - похмурого, туманного, зі скреготом та свистом вітру у дощову ніч, коли хтось стоїть вночі під вашими дверима і чекає..? Тоді сміливо беріться за цей роман. Тут усе просякнуте занепадом (як самого містечка, так і його жителів), самотністю, поразкою і забуттям...Непроглядна темрява, мряка і хлюпіт хвиль.
Обов*язково прочитаю наступні книги цієї серії.
Мені лише не сподобалось оформлення укр.видання від вид. Богдан- з яскрово-рожевим гламурним написом та корінцем... і це до нуарного детективу???
Обов*язково прочитаю наступні книги цієї серії.
Мені лише не сподобалось оформлення укр.видання від вид. Богдан- з яскрово-рожевим гламурним написом та корінцем... і це до нуарного детективу???
August 26, 2009
A dark mystery/detective story (kind of) in typical Bradbury style. Marvelous writing and good, memorable characters.
What I learned: Not to read this book while home alone on a stormy night with family away in the LA area of California. At least I wasn't listening to Tosca.
What I learned: Not to read this book while home alone on a stormy night with family away in the LA area of California. At least I wasn't listening to Tosca.
June 24, 2011
I decided that I'm in the mood for a hard-boiled detective story. And I haven't read a Bradbury novel in a long, long time. Supposedly, the main character is based on some of Bradbury's own experiences while he was rising through the ranks of pulp fiction writers in the 1940's.
Update: I'm about 60 pages from the end, and I must admit, I'm having trouble getting through this book. Bradbury has populated his book with characters who are interesting, if not borderline preposterous. The same goes for the dialog. A little too colorful to be believable.
I was hoping that this would have more the character of hard-boiled fiction (a la Hammett or Chandler). The great thing about those writers and their ilk is that they could write in a terse, matter-of-fact, muscular style. Their characters had feelings, sure, but they avoided expressing them. So when the expression came out, it was all the more poignant.
Bradbury violates the rules of hard-boiled fiction by reveling, if not blubbering, in emotional expression. I'm not saying that this book is lacking in interest, but I am saying that maybe Bradbury tried too hard to make it work on too many different levels.
What he ends up with is rich, but slow-moving. Nothing much happens, but we sure meet a lot of different characters who effusively express themselves about a whole lot of nothing.
Overall, a disappointing read. It has none of the magic that I found in The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, Fahrenheit 451, etc.
Update: I'm about 60 pages from the end, and I must admit, I'm having trouble getting through this book. Bradbury has populated his book with characters who are interesting, if not borderline preposterous. The same goes for the dialog. A little too colorful to be believable.
I was hoping that this would have more the character of hard-boiled fiction (a la Hammett or Chandler). The great thing about those writers and their ilk is that they could write in a terse, matter-of-fact, muscular style. Their characters had feelings, sure, but they avoided expressing them. So when the expression came out, it was all the more poignant.
Bradbury violates the rules of hard-boiled fiction by reveling, if not blubbering, in emotional expression. I'm not saying that this book is lacking in interest, but I am saying that maybe Bradbury tried too hard to make it work on too many different levels.
What he ends up with is rich, but slow-moving. Nothing much happens, but we sure meet a lot of different characters who effusively express themselves about a whole lot of nothing.
Overall, a disappointing read. It has none of the magic that I found in The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, Fahrenheit 451, etc.
May 17, 2022
„Смъртта е занимание самотно“ на Рей Бредбъри се води криминален роман, но спокойно може и да не е. Да, има задължителните елементи за един криминален роман, има ги и препратките и реверансите към ноар криминалните произведения, има го и обяснението на автора, че винаги е искал да напише такава книга, като трибют към негови любими заглавия и творци. И въпреки това се е получило нещо много повече, нещо много по-голямо. Произведение което излиза много извън границите, както на жанра в който трябва да се сгуши, така и извън рамките и на много други жанрове. Това е магически реализъм, биография, мистика, фантастика, фентъзи, но преди всичко Бредбъри. Рей за пореден път доказва, че всичко което пише си е негов, собствен, обаятелен и неподражаем стил. Пленяваща смес от истории и уникален начин на разказване.
„Смъртта е занимание самотно“ започва с едно убийство, но много бързо се измъква от коловоза на това историята да се върти само около разследването и ме понесе на невероятно пътешествие, в което всичко отминава и умира. Цялата книга е алегория за смъртта. На смъртта на един град, на една културна епоха, на залязващи и полузабравени звезди, на хора и вещи, на спомени и идеи, на сенки от миналото, заличавани от пламъка на прогреса, на малките смърти всеки дена на самите нас. За това как човекът който, сме били преди няколко години, вече е мъртъв и на негово място сме ние, които сме други.
Бредбъри трябва да се чете, така както се пие старо бренди – бавно за да се усети букетът от истории, съдби, герои, препратки, сравнения, алегории, пътешествия, емоции и тежестта на булото на времето.
„Смъртта е занимание самотно“ започва с едно убийство, но много бързо се измъква от коловоза на това историята да се върти само около разследването и ме понесе на невероятно пътешествие, в което всичко отминава и умира. Цялата книга е алегория за смъртта. На смъртта на един град, на една културна епоха, на залязващи и полузабравени звезди, на хора и вещи, на спомени и идеи, на сенки от миналото, заличавани от пламъка на прогреса, на малките смърти всеки дена на самите нас. За това как човекът който, сме били преди няколко години, вече е мъртъв и на негово място сме ние, които сме други.
Бредбъри трябва да се чете, така както се пие старо бренди – бавно за да се усети букетът от истории, съдби, герои, препратки, сравнения, алегории, пътешествия, емоции и тежестта на булото на времето.
January 31, 2021
Lonely people die
shy writer suspects the worst
death smells like armpits.
shy writer suspects the worst
death smells like armpits.
January 31, 2017
While not Bradbury's all time best, this is a nice change of pace. Written relatively recently-- 1999-- the book is a postmodern mystery with a young version of the writer himself cast in the role of the detective. The killer is particularly creepy, an unseen presence waiting outside the homes of lonely failures, waiting for a chance to end their lives without ever doing more than gently touching them. Old women scared to death, drunks turned over in bathtubs, blind men tripped on staircases... and an old man drowned in a lion's cage.
The climax didn't quite satisfy, but it's a good read. There are a lot of references to Bradbury's science fiction stories. You can see the ostensible roots of "The Veldt" here, of fragments from Something Wicked this Way Comes, and "The Foghorn," which looms larger than life throughout the story. As a Bradbury fan, those moments of recognition added a fun element to the book.
For more on comics, humanity, morality and the world check out The Stupid Philosopher, aka a place where I put my words.
The climax didn't quite satisfy, but it's a good read. There are a lot of references to Bradbury's science fiction stories. You can see the ostensible roots of "The Veldt" here, of fragments from Something Wicked this Way Comes, and "The Foghorn," which looms larger than life throughout the story. As a Bradbury fan, those moments of recognition added a fun element to the book.
For more on comics, humanity, morality and the world check out The Stupid Philosopher, aka a place where I put my words.
February 12, 2024
Bradbury’nin polisiye romanı olduğunu bilmiyordum. Biraz şaşırarak başladım. Romanda iki üç sayfa okunduğunda yazarı tahmin edebilirsiniz. Öyle derin bir karakteristiği var. Bradbury tam olarak kendini yansıtan bir noir yazmış. Amatör bir yazarın dışarıdayken bir gece kulağına “Ölüm yapayalnız bir iştir.” diye fısıldanıyor. Sonrasında da cesedi fark ediyor. Yer yer doğaüstü bir konuya bağlanacakmış hissi veriyor tüm bunlar. Romanın polisiye kısmının iyi olduğunu söyleyemem. Bradbury hemen her kitabında kullandığı çocukluk anıları/travmalarına bu kitabında da yer veriyor. Farklı bir noir yorumu okumak isteyenin hoşlanacağını düşünüyorum.
October 23, 2022
A great mystery from the master wordsmith. A noir thriller that plays out like a classic black and white movie while being a bit surreal at times and uniquely clever. A very Goodread.
June 26, 2019
Като за първа книга, която чета на Бредбъри мога да кажа че ми хареса. Сюжета не беше заплетен колкото очаквах за криминален роман, но героите определено са интересни :)
Read
April 18, 2021The author's youthful surrogate searches for the killer of a menagerie of despairing losers in 1950's Venice. Existentialist neo-noir of the highest order. I've never been a huge Bradbury fan and was shocked at how good this was. It's less a mystery novel than a reworking of genre tropes used to explore the rapidly fading grandeur of 50's Los Angeles and the occasional tragedy of human existence. Its slapstick surrealism reminded me somewhat of Inherent Vice, but its earthy, honest sentimentality, the lived in feel of the scenery and setting, renders it a clear notch above Pynchon's work. In fact there are a lot of over-hyped literary types who've attempted to mine similar territory, more pretentiously and to less effect. In short, Paul Auster would give his left nut to write something half as good. You should really give it a gander.
February 25, 2019
Nuar detektiv. Bredberidən fərqli janrlarda çox oxumuşam. Burada elə oxuduqca adamı qara basır. Detektiv sevərlər bəyənər bəlkə. Mən müəllifin yüngül, baharlı, güllü çiçəkli yazılarını daha çox sevirəm. Kitab oxuduğum saytda Venesiya trilogiyasının ilk hissəsi kimi təqdim edilib. Maraqlıdır ki, trilogiya bəzi mənbələrdə ölüm adı altında,digərlərində baş qəhrəmanın soyadı ilə keçir.
January 7, 2017
Една нощ, когато писателят се прибира след полунощ, сам в трамвая, усеща съмнително присъствие на пиян човек, който слизайки произнася няколко пъти " Смъртта е занимание самотно". Мистериозната компания в самотния трамвай смразява кръвта на писателя и го изпълва с очакване, че нещо ужасно ще се случи.
По- късно, разхождайки се по кея на Венеция, Калифорния, той открива трупa на възрастен човек в лъвска клетка. Полицията смята, че е нещастен случай, но писателят се съмнява, че е убийство и започва да разследва самостоятелно случая. Малко по малко се сближава със следователят Елмо Кръмли и му открива доказателствата, които е намерил.
Писателят живее скромно от продаваните за списания разкази и не смее да си позволи да се обвърже с приятелката си Пег, която е на специализация в Мексико.
След убийството и разпознаването на самоличността на убития, интуицията на писателя показва, че и други хора може да се окажат мишена на убиецът. Дали негови приятели няма да са потърпевши?! Какво ще стане с бръснарят Кейл, който мистериозно изчезва, оставяйки му пианото си; а дали неговата приятелка, оперната певица Фани е в безопасност; защо застаряващата актриса Констанс Ратиган го допуска толкова близо до себе си; защо телефона в телефонната будка, която писателят ползва, звъни в необичайно време, когато някой е убит; защо се появяват водорасли на прага му, а след това и на прага на Кръмли?!
Писателят, заедно с Кръмли се впускат в преживявания и сглобяване на парченцата на пъзела.
Това е по- различна от обичайните истории на Бредбъри, криминална, в която сякаш той играе ролята на главния герой, писателят. Той се въплъщава и в ролята на детектив и благодарение на силната си интуиция открива доста отговори, които убягват на следователя.
С тази история се докосваме още по- близо до света на Бредбъри, до ежедневието, неволите и тревогите на писателя, по онова време.
По- късно, разхождайки се по кея на Венеция, Калифорния, той открива трупa на възрастен човек в лъвска клетка. Полицията смята, че е нещастен случай, но писателят се съмнява, че е убийство и започва да разследва самостоятелно случая. Малко по малко се сближава със следователят Елмо Кръмли и му открива доказателствата, които е намерил.
Писателят живее скромно от продаваните за списания разкази и не смее да си позволи да се обвърже с приятелката си Пег, която е на специализация в Мексико.
След убийството и разпознаването на самоличността на убития, интуицията на писателя показва, че и други хора може да се окажат мишена на убиецът. Дали негови приятели няма да са потърпевши?! Какво ще стане с бръснарят Кейл, който мистериозно изчезва, оставяйки му пианото си; а дали неговата приятелка, оперната певица Фани е в безопасност; защо застаряващата актриса Констанс Ратиган го допуска толкова близо до себе си; защо телефона в телефонната будка, която писателят ползва, звъни в необичайно време, когато някой е убит; защо се появяват водорасли на прага му, а след това и на прага на Кръмли?!
Писателят, заедно с Кръмли се впускат в преживявания и сглобяване на парченцата на пъзела.
Това е по- различна от обичайните истории на Бредбъри, криминална, в която сякаш той играе ролята на главния герой, писателят. Той се въплъщава и в ролята на детектив и благодарение на силната си интуиция открива доста отговори, които убягват на следователя.
С тази история се докосваме още по- близо до света на Бредбъри, до ежедневието, неволите и тревогите на писателя, по онова време.
July 9, 2016
Every Bradbury novel out there is worth your time.
May 6, 2022
Изпитвам трудност да обобщя мнението си за тази книга.
Хареса ми, но и не ми хареса.
Бях запленена, но и отегчена на моменти.
Особен автор, но със забележителен начин на изразяване.
Хареса ми, но и не ми хареса.
Бях запленена, но и отегчена на моменти.
Особен автор, но със забележителен начин на изразяване.
November 4, 2024
Ray Bradbury’nin “Ölüm Yapayalnız Bir İştir” kitabı (“Death is a Lonely Business”), gizem ve noir unsurlarını içeriyor. 1949 yılında Kaliforniya’nın Venice bölgesinde geçiyor ve genç bir yazarın karşılaştığı esrarengiz cinayetleri çözme çabasını konu alıyor. Yazar, cinayetlerin peşine dü��erken kaygı, ölüm korkusu ve yalnızlık temaları üzerinden de içsel bir yolculuk yaşarken yazarimiz karmaşık bir dil ve üslup kullaniyor.
Ben insanda da kitapta da netlik severim 😁. Bu kitaba başlarken bir polisiye okuyacak olmanin heyecani içindeydim . Daha ilk on sayfada ben ne okuyorum şu an diye kafam karıştı, devam ettikçe aydinlanmam gerekirken kitaba daha da yabancılaştım.
Klasik bir dedektif hikayesi gibi görünse de, esasen yalnızlık, yaşlanma ve ölüm gibi felsefi temalara yoğunlaşmis ve ben bu derin ve sembolik anlatım tarzından hoşlanmadığım için 1,5’tan 2 yildiz veriyorum kitaba.
Ben insanda da kitapta da netlik severim 😁. Bu kitaba başlarken bir polisiye okuyacak olmanin heyecani içindeydim . Daha ilk on sayfada ben ne okuyorum şu an diye kafam karıştı, devam ettikçe aydinlanmam gerekirken kitaba daha da yabancılaştım.
Klasik bir dedektif hikayesi gibi görünse de, esasen yalnızlık, yaşlanma ve ölüm gibi felsefi temalara yoğunlaşmis ve ben bu derin ve sembolik anlatım tarzından hoşlanmadığım için 1,5’tan 2 yildiz veriyorum kitaba.
May 26, 2018
Es ist vorbei!!! Endlich. Aus meiner Sicht nur etwas für ganz große Bradbury Fans.
May 28, 2015
With this book, Ray Bradbury not only returned to writing full-length fiction after a long absence, but returned to the roots of his writing after an even longer absence. Here we have a tale of mystery that, at least at first glance, might have appeared in the detective pulps of the Thirties, but in a style of writing seasoned by decades of honing storytelling skills, a fully developed poetic style, and an unabashed love of the English language.
The narrator is a stand-in for the young Ray Bradbury, furiously writing his tales of mystery, mayhem and fantasy, not yet “discovered” by the readers of the time, and dwelling amidst the creeping corruption of Venice (California) with characters as eccentric as any he ever inserted into his tales of dark dwarves, lurking shadows and shy Martians. He discovers an old man, murdered, down in one of the canals filled with the remains of a circus long gone bust. Finding the body was enough of a shock to his mind, but it was made worse by finding it after hearing an unseen man sitting behind him on a trolley whisper, “Death is a lonely business.” Was it the murderer? Was it Death himself?
Tenuously allied with a police detective, the narrator searches for the answer to the mystery. In doing so, he crosses paths with the bizarre inhabitants of the odd little community, among whom are a barber who would rather play Scott Joplin tunes than give bad haircuts, a canary lady who might live forever, a cinema owner who refuses to show films with soundtracks, and a fat lady who loves opera. They are all possible suspects and possible victims. And then there is the Unknowable, the Unnamable, the dark presence that stands outside a house in the dead of night, leaving behind only damp weeds and the scent of dead things.
At times, Bradbury revels so much in his characters and in the telling of the tale that the tale itself seems to slip to the background. In those moments, we are fully absorbed into Bradbury’s world, a realm of mystery and darkness, of characterization and beguiling words. But Bradbury the Storyteller always returns to rescue us from that world, to put us back on the track of a killer. An extremely enjoyable book for those who love moody and atmospheric mysteries peopled with unique characters, and rewarding for those who can truly appreciate Bradbury’s love affair with the English language.
The narrator is a stand-in for the young Ray Bradbury, furiously writing his tales of mystery, mayhem and fantasy, not yet “discovered” by the readers of the time, and dwelling amidst the creeping corruption of Venice (California) with characters as eccentric as any he ever inserted into his tales of dark dwarves, lurking shadows and shy Martians. He discovers an old man, murdered, down in one of the canals filled with the remains of a circus long gone bust. Finding the body was enough of a shock to his mind, but it was made worse by finding it after hearing an unseen man sitting behind him on a trolley whisper, “Death is a lonely business.” Was it the murderer? Was it Death himself?
Tenuously allied with a police detective, the narrator searches for the answer to the mystery. In doing so, he crosses paths with the bizarre inhabitants of the odd little community, among whom are a barber who would rather play Scott Joplin tunes than give bad haircuts, a canary lady who might live forever, a cinema owner who refuses to show films with soundtracks, and a fat lady who loves opera. They are all possible suspects and possible victims. And then there is the Unknowable, the Unnamable, the dark presence that stands outside a house in the dead of night, leaving behind only damp weeds and the scent of dead things.
At times, Bradbury revels so much in his characters and in the telling of the tale that the tale itself seems to slip to the background. In those moments, we are fully absorbed into Bradbury’s world, a realm of mystery and darkness, of characterization and beguiling words. But Bradbury the Storyteller always returns to rescue us from that world, to put us back on the track of a killer. An extremely enjoyable book for those who love moody and atmospheric mysteries peopled with unique characters, and rewarding for those who can truly appreciate Bradbury’s love affair with the English language.
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