Showing posts with label Science Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Science Fiction. Show all posts
Rarely is there a chance to read something that is so intricate in it's design, so perfect in it's scope, that leaves the reader in complete awe at the turn of the last page. If someone is ever named a 'master' at portraying emotion in a character, it would undeniably have to be C. J. Cherryh. There's something so real about this story, that it makes you feel, like few other literary works can do. And that is why this trilogy is borderline perfect.
Too complicated to summarize, let it only be said that this is a classic Sci-Fi story, with intergalactic travel, spaceships, racial feuds, good guys and bad guys; albeit the 'good guys' aren't exactly good, but at least as good as a feudal race of mercenaries could ever get to be. But quietly placed in it's pages is a subliminal drama that gives complete life to the story. In the whole trilogy, the main character uses his 'blaster' a total of about two times, and likewise for his sword. Right off the bat, this is extremely weird in a sci-fi novel, considering the standard overdose of action that stereotypes this genre. But she makes it work. She plans everything out in a way that leaves all actions unquestioned. You do not doubt her methods and trust me, it all pays off in the end.
Now, for those who have read C.J. Cherryh before, this is a standard Cherryh Novel. And for those who've never read from her, let me describe the type of novel that she writes. It is SLOW. Don't pick it up thinking you're going to read star wars because you'll be extremely disappointed. However, trust me, this is normal for Cherryh. This is an epic story that spans years in the process, and it's true beauty lies in the characters. There's no flashy lights, no fancy swordplay (except in the last book, which is unspeakably awesome) and no geeky techno-babble either. This is not 'hard sci-fi', at all. This set of novels is a complete immersion into a group of complicated psyches, that may seem a little simplistic at first but piece by piece they unlock the true genius of the work. You'll get to understand and actively speculate in the political and social factors of each of these species', and what the actions from the novel could mean to the stability and condition of all these characters, even the galaxy.
So, why are these characters so cool? The book portrays three main races, the Humans, the fat evil ones, and the Mri. The humans are the same as ever, the bad ones are kind of like a 'Jabba the hut' but even more conniving and powerful, but the Mri... The Mri are quite possibly the best society ever put on paper. It is a delicate combination of a feudal structure and martial arts, which strikes a perfect balance. They are ninjas, mixed with Rorshack and a few Drow. I think no other race is explained as much as this one, and in good reason. The Mri are so complicated, you'll sometimes read a whole chapter that describes a simple activity they do, and once your finished you realize just why that was so important. Everything they do is for a reason. And if you like them, then the last book will amaze you.
The story follows a human who is 'abducted' by the Mri, and eventually becomes one of them. This process, however, is the most grueling and sometimes scary thing that happen in the novel. But once it does, you'll be screaming in thanks at the author for writing something so good. Of course, there are problems in the galaxy and things that might bring doom to everything, and people who save everyone, but all of that somehow takes a backdrop setting in comparison to the internal drama of the main characters.
There are just no words to fully describe the effect that these novels have on the reader. They are fully recommended and are bound to leave you breathless after the full read.
Too complicated to summarize, let it only be said that this is a classic Sci-Fi story, with intergalactic travel, spaceships, racial feuds, good guys and bad guys; albeit the 'good guys' aren't exactly good, but at least as good as a feudal race of mercenaries could ever get to be. But quietly placed in it's pages is a subliminal drama that gives complete life to the story. In the whole trilogy, the main character uses his 'blaster' a total of about two times, and likewise for his sword. Right off the bat, this is extremely weird in a sci-fi novel, considering the standard overdose of action that stereotypes this genre. But she makes it work. She plans everything out in a way that leaves all actions unquestioned. You do not doubt her methods and trust me, it all pays off in the end.
Now, for those who have read C.J. Cherryh before, this is a standard Cherryh Novel. And for those who've never read from her, let me describe the type of novel that she writes. It is SLOW. Don't pick it up thinking you're going to read star wars because you'll be extremely disappointed. However, trust me, this is normal for Cherryh. This is an epic story that spans years in the process, and it's true beauty lies in the characters. There's no flashy lights, no fancy swordplay (except in the last book, which is unspeakably awesome) and no geeky techno-babble either. This is not 'hard sci-fi', at all. This set of novels is a complete immersion into a group of complicated psyches, that may seem a little simplistic at first but piece by piece they unlock the true genius of the work. You'll get to understand and actively speculate in the political and social factors of each of these species', and what the actions from the novel could mean to the stability and condition of all these characters, even the galaxy.
So, why are these characters so cool? The book portrays three main races, the Humans, the fat evil ones, and the Mri. The humans are the same as ever, the bad ones are kind of like a 'Jabba the hut' but even more conniving and powerful, but the Mri... The Mri are quite possibly the best society ever put on paper. It is a delicate combination of a feudal structure and martial arts, which strikes a perfect balance. They are ninjas, mixed with Rorshack and a few Drow. I think no other race is explained as much as this one, and in good reason. The Mri are so complicated, you'll sometimes read a whole chapter that describes a simple activity they do, and once your finished you realize just why that was so important. Everything they do is for a reason. And if you like them, then the last book will amaze you.
The story follows a human who is 'abducted' by the Mri, and eventually becomes one of them. This process, however, is the most grueling and sometimes scary thing that happen in the novel. But once it does, you'll be screaming in thanks at the author for writing something so good. Of course, there are problems in the galaxy and things that might bring doom to everything, and people who save everyone, but all of that somehow takes a backdrop setting in comparison to the internal drama of the main characters.
There are just no words to fully describe the effect that these novels have on the reader. They are fully recommended and are bound to leave you breathless after the full read.
Tom awoke at exactly 8:15 in the morning.
His eyes did not open gently. His senses did not return with the usual morning delay. His mind did not carry remnants of his previous dream.
He simply awoke.
He sat on the bed and looked out the window. His one room apartment had only one view: an alley.
How many hours had he spent already in his limited lifetime looking out this particular window, at this exact time, every day of his life? Looking at the same dark corners; at the same damp dumpsters; at the same hookers who prowled even at this time of the day.
It was pathetic to him.
He stood and carried out his usual morning routine: undress, shower, shave, brush, dress, comb his hair, make breakfast, clean the dishes afterward, polish his only pair of black shoes and put them on.
He checked the calendar, even though he knew exactly what day it was. He had been dreading this very day for the last year. Every time he went to sleep and woke up the next day, the only thought that raced through his mind was that he was one day closer to this particular day.
And yet, a part of him was anxious to have arrived at this exact point in time. A part of him wanted today to happen. A part of him was happy that he had chosen this day of all the other days and that this day was finally here.
Today he would decide what to do with the world.
Even though he wasn’t exactly sure if he could actually carry out today’s plan, nothing but that simple fact edged him to stop and consider everything all over again. And that little doubt in him was not enough to convince him to change everything again to another day.
This was the day.
At 10 am, exactly, he walked downstairs and, as he passed all his’ neighbors doors, he tried not to pay attention to all the screams and shouts coming from these ‘kind of people’.
He continued downstairs and finally reached the outside driveway. Would he drive or walk? He thought walking might be more pleasing, considering he might never do so again, and decided to take a stroll. He always enjoyed looking at the people who passed him by. He enjoyed trying to figure out if that person was happy or not. You can tell a lot about someone from the way they treat you on the street. Men bumped against him, as they passed him by. They never even seemed to notice he was there, but he was used to this; Women with too many shopping bags, and still finding a way to talk on their cell phone, never even glanced at him as he smiled at them from 2 feet away; Children too enthralled by their own musings to look up at the man walking beside them; Animals picking at whatever scrap they could find on the street or in the trash. All this he was used to. But that didn’t make it right, anyhow.
Everywhere he looked he saw people who didn’t look back; people who didn’t smile; people who didn’t seem to remember that we are here together in this place, to live together, to be together, to know each other’s names, to, at the very least, acknowledge each other’s presence and communicate some greetings.
People who don’t care about other people.
And this was precisely why today was important.
For the past five years he had been waiting, waiting, waiting. He had constantly changed the date, hoping everything would change. Hoping that people would change. He read books, saw movies, went to work and had his occasional fancy dinner – by himself, of course. He didn’t really have any friends. He saved money, spent money, gave away money and even burned it one night to keep an old man’s burning fire aloft. He traveled, he stayed, he wrote, he filmed; he took pictures of everything he liked and meticulously framed them to later on place on his picture collection. But most of all, he watched, he wept and he waited. Every single day of his pathetic, little existence, he cursed the heavens for putting this burden on him. He thought of ending it himself. Just go out one day and do it. But it had frightened him too much. His body had felt like never before and in that split second he seemed to know everything and everyone. He felt close to everything. At least he thought he did. He stopped after the first shift in sensations and cowered back to his apartment. Since then, he promised himself he would never do that again unless it was the right time.
And by what he was seeing today, that time was now.
He thought of what to do. What would be the last thing to enjoy before he destroyed everything? If that’s what would really happen, which Tom had no doubt it would.
Ice cream.
He would eat ice cream.
He loved ice cream the most, out of all foods. Kind of simplistic, come to think of it. Of all the foods in the entire world, he picks ice cream. However, conveniently, he can find ice cream in a store right in front of him. As he heads towards the ice cream shop, he continues to think of everything he sees. How would it be if everything were perfect? Would we actually be better? Would that utopia lead us to greatness or stump us in a stupor from which we could never recover? Is this constant war with oneself; this self righteousness we don’t deserve; this feeling of hopelessness that drives us to want to die; this desire to want more; this fear of everything we can’t control… is all this exactly what makes this society, this race of human beings, great? Should we be excused of our ways of living our lives, simply because we must be wolves to survive? If we lived in utopist societies, would those feelings still exist?
What about love?
What about love?
Love is merely an illusion; a sense of complacency; a way of ‘giving up’ on an alternate future that perhaps would have come out better for you. Love is a way of not having to deal with life in a much broader spectrum. It’s an anchor.
Fuck love.
Tom sees no love in the people who pass him by. Tom sees no love in the people who don’t even know he exists. But that’s precisely it, isn’t it? People are not supposed to love others, simply because they know them. Love, in its true form, should be a shared ‘thing’ that everyone must feel reciprocally. Love shouldn’t have bounds. Whether we know them or not; whether they’re poor or rich, dirty or clean, everyone should love each other unconditionally.
But now Tom doesn’t have to worry about that anymore. He’s going to eat ice cream. On the way to the shop, he realizes he has no choice. Today is the day he must decide. He thinks of pushing it back another year, but quickly ignores the thought. Something miraculous would have to happen to change his mind.
He’s going to miss ice cream.
He sits in a corner with a view of the outside, as he enjoys this delicacy. He savors every spoonful and wishes with all his might that he’ll remember that taste, whatever happens. Outside, the oblivious world is the same.
When he’s done eating, he sits there for a while, staring at the world one last time. The clouds are beautiful. The sky has that perfect shade of blue that still confounds normal people. The winds grazing the grass and the leaves in an enormous tree makes him want to dream of all the different possibilities his life could have taken. Had he married and had kids, would this moment be any different? Had he found someone to share his life with, would he still go through with this? Would he still be a pathetic wimp with a pudgy gut, a receding hairline and glasses?
He wished he could see his parents again. But they were dead. They were the happiest people he knew. If he ever had a life and love like that couple did, he probably would have been more like his father: A hero to someone else’s eyes.
But this was it.
Now was the time.
The present was now and he was not a hero.
He was a pathetic wimp with a pudgy gut, a receding hairline and glasses.
He took a deep breath and walked outside.
He stood in the middle of the road.
This is how it’s going to happen.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeper. He started to get in touch with his inner strength; that energy that he had glimpsed just once before and wept before it.
He felt his senses tightening. He could feel it again.
It was growing. His body was sensitive to everything.
He could feel, smell and hear everything. He felt warm. Hot, actually.
He saw the light that had grown within him before.
It raced from his inner consciousness and rose towards him like a speeding train through a dark, wide tunnel. He felt it. It was going to come out.
This was it. He had never gone any farther.
Suddenly, he realized he had been wrong. It was not his senses that changed, but himself. He changed. He was now a part of everything. Everything and everyone was he and he was they. He could see into them. He could feel as them, think as them. Everything turned into one. One consciousness.
One life.
One death.
He felt the warmth rush through his skin, cascading out of him like a river. He felt the energy shift as it traveled.
And then, as he opened his eyes and smiled, it was over.
His eyes did not open gently. His senses did not return with the usual morning delay. His mind did not carry remnants of his previous dream.
He simply awoke.
He sat on the bed and looked out the window. His one room apartment had only one view: an alley.
How many hours had he spent already in his limited lifetime looking out this particular window, at this exact time, every day of his life? Looking at the same dark corners; at the same damp dumpsters; at the same hookers who prowled even at this time of the day.
It was pathetic to him.
He stood and carried out his usual morning routine: undress, shower, shave, brush, dress, comb his hair, make breakfast, clean the dishes afterward, polish his only pair of black shoes and put them on.
He checked the calendar, even though he knew exactly what day it was. He had been dreading this very day for the last year. Every time he went to sleep and woke up the next day, the only thought that raced through his mind was that he was one day closer to this particular day.
And yet, a part of him was anxious to have arrived at this exact point in time. A part of him wanted today to happen. A part of him was happy that he had chosen this day of all the other days and that this day was finally here.
Today he would decide what to do with the world.
Even though he wasn’t exactly sure if he could actually carry out today’s plan, nothing but that simple fact edged him to stop and consider everything all over again. And that little doubt in him was not enough to convince him to change everything again to another day.
This was the day.
At 10 am, exactly, he walked downstairs and, as he passed all his’ neighbors doors, he tried not to pay attention to all the screams and shouts coming from these ‘kind of people’.
He continued downstairs and finally reached the outside driveway. Would he drive or walk? He thought walking might be more pleasing, considering he might never do so again, and decided to take a stroll. He always enjoyed looking at the people who passed him by. He enjoyed trying to figure out if that person was happy or not. You can tell a lot about someone from the way they treat you on the street. Men bumped against him, as they passed him by. They never even seemed to notice he was there, but he was used to this; Women with too many shopping bags, and still finding a way to talk on their cell phone, never even glanced at him as he smiled at them from 2 feet away; Children too enthralled by their own musings to look up at the man walking beside them; Animals picking at whatever scrap they could find on the street or in the trash. All this he was used to. But that didn’t make it right, anyhow.
Everywhere he looked he saw people who didn’t look back; people who didn’t smile; people who didn’t seem to remember that we are here together in this place, to live together, to be together, to know each other’s names, to, at the very least, acknowledge each other’s presence and communicate some greetings.
People who don’t care about other people.
And this was precisely why today was important.
For the past five years he had been waiting, waiting, waiting. He had constantly changed the date, hoping everything would change. Hoping that people would change. He read books, saw movies, went to work and had his occasional fancy dinner – by himself, of course. He didn’t really have any friends. He saved money, spent money, gave away money and even burned it one night to keep an old man’s burning fire aloft. He traveled, he stayed, he wrote, he filmed; he took pictures of everything he liked and meticulously framed them to later on place on his picture collection. But most of all, he watched, he wept and he waited. Every single day of his pathetic, little existence, he cursed the heavens for putting this burden on him. He thought of ending it himself. Just go out one day and do it. But it had frightened him too much. His body had felt like never before and in that split second he seemed to know everything and everyone. He felt close to everything. At least he thought he did. He stopped after the first shift in sensations and cowered back to his apartment. Since then, he promised himself he would never do that again unless it was the right time.
And by what he was seeing today, that time was now.
He thought of what to do. What would be the last thing to enjoy before he destroyed everything? If that’s what would really happen, which Tom had no doubt it would.
Ice cream.
He would eat ice cream.
He loved ice cream the most, out of all foods. Kind of simplistic, come to think of it. Of all the foods in the entire world, he picks ice cream. However, conveniently, he can find ice cream in a store right in front of him. As he heads towards the ice cream shop, he continues to think of everything he sees. How would it be if everything were perfect? Would we actually be better? Would that utopia lead us to greatness or stump us in a stupor from which we could never recover? Is this constant war with oneself; this self righteousness we don’t deserve; this feeling of hopelessness that drives us to want to die; this desire to want more; this fear of everything we can’t control… is all this exactly what makes this society, this race of human beings, great? Should we be excused of our ways of living our lives, simply because we must be wolves to survive? If we lived in utopist societies, would those feelings still exist?
What about love?
What about love?
Love is merely an illusion; a sense of complacency; a way of ‘giving up’ on an alternate future that perhaps would have come out better for you. Love is a way of not having to deal with life in a much broader spectrum. It’s an anchor.
Fuck love.
Tom sees no love in the people who pass him by. Tom sees no love in the people who don’t even know he exists. But that’s precisely it, isn’t it? People are not supposed to love others, simply because they know them. Love, in its true form, should be a shared ‘thing’ that everyone must feel reciprocally. Love shouldn’t have bounds. Whether we know them or not; whether they’re poor or rich, dirty or clean, everyone should love each other unconditionally.
But now Tom doesn’t have to worry about that anymore. He’s going to eat ice cream. On the way to the shop, he realizes he has no choice. Today is the day he must decide. He thinks of pushing it back another year, but quickly ignores the thought. Something miraculous would have to happen to change his mind.
He’s going to miss ice cream.
He sits in a corner with a view of the outside, as he enjoys this delicacy. He savors every spoonful and wishes with all his might that he’ll remember that taste, whatever happens. Outside, the oblivious world is the same.
When he’s done eating, he sits there for a while, staring at the world one last time. The clouds are beautiful. The sky has that perfect shade of blue that still confounds normal people. The winds grazing the grass and the leaves in an enormous tree makes him want to dream of all the different possibilities his life could have taken. Had he married and had kids, would this moment be any different? Had he found someone to share his life with, would he still go through with this? Would he still be a pathetic wimp with a pudgy gut, a receding hairline and glasses?
He wished he could see his parents again. But they were dead. They were the happiest people he knew. If he ever had a life and love like that couple did, he probably would have been more like his father: A hero to someone else’s eyes.
But this was it.
Now was the time.
The present was now and he was not a hero.
He was a pathetic wimp with a pudgy gut, a receding hairline and glasses.
He took a deep breath and walked outside.
He stood in the middle of the road.
This is how it’s going to happen.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeper. He started to get in touch with his inner strength; that energy that he had glimpsed just once before and wept before it.
He felt his senses tightening. He could feel it again.
It was growing. His body was sensitive to everything.
He could feel, smell and hear everything. He felt warm. Hot, actually.
He saw the light that had grown within him before.
It raced from his inner consciousness and rose towards him like a speeding train through a dark, wide tunnel. He felt it. It was going to come out.
This was it. He had never gone any farther.
Suddenly, he realized he had been wrong. It was not his senses that changed, but himself. He changed. He was now a part of everything. Everything and everyone was he and he was they. He could see into them. He could feel as them, think as them. Everything turned into one. One consciousness.
One life.
One death.
He felt the warmth rush through his skin, cascading out of him like a river. He felt the energy shift as it traveled.
And then, as he opened his eyes and smiled, it was over.
The most awesome thing happened in Bangkok (that's an awesome name for a pornstar, as well).
There was an autistic kid in a balcony, unwilling to move for anything or anyone, because he didn't want to go to his first day of school. So a fireman, Sonchai Yoosabai, dressed up as the friendly neighborhood SPIDER MAN!
The kid saw him and stared in awe at the grandiosity of his favorite superhero come to life, and come to rescue him, nonetheless. He ran into spidey's arms and joined the rest of us mechanical morons in a concentration camp of selective programming.
He also has an Ultraman costume. This guy is either very cool, or lonely...
Robots have always been an awesome topic for discussion. They dwell on the matters of fiction and hope.
Here's a bunch of really cool robot drawings and pictures, which I found to be very entertaining. I wonder what Asimov would think of them...
Mass Effect 2 has been announced for release in early 2010!!
For those of you who don't know, this is an amazing open-ended Xbox 360 & PC game.
Think Knights of the old republic PLUS awesome space travel and gun battles.
Here's the teaser trailer!
En el año 1864, cuando todavía la ciencia general no había alcanzado el nivel de productividad con el cual se aceleró en el siglo 20, cuando tal vez no había capturado el interés del público general, un autor célebre Francés escribió “Viaje al centro de la tierra”. Influenciado por ‘Charles Lyell's Geological Evidences of the Antiquity of Man’, un libro que influenció a varios otros escritores, Jules Verne escribió una obra que lanzó la humanidad hacia el futuro.
El genero de ciencia ficción, como se conoce en el siglo 21, era casi inexistente cuando Verne escribió esta novela. Por ende, los factores por los cuales se caracteriza este genero en la actualidad no se encuentran. El contenido no está lleno de violencia rápida y no es tan orientado a la acción, las batallas, etc. El texto se lee rápido, pero gira más en torno a la aventura y a los descubrimientos que hayan los personajes en el camino, en vez de batallas increíbles. La experiencia de esta lectura es más como una clase de arqueología interesante, no tanto como una película que desborda con sangre. Logra entretener al lector solamente con el contenido detallado y refrescante. No utiliza muchos recursos adicionales.
La trama es bastante lineal; un suceso lleva a otro, sin momentos confusos. Se concentra en tres personajes, lo que hace la historia fácil de seguir, y el desarrollo de los personajes bien personal. Es narrada como una anécdota, por lo que un lector astuto puede adivinar que, por lo menos el narrador, sobrevive. Mientras la historia progresa, los descubrimientos y los peligros amplifican en intensidad, creando una anticipación en el lector que va aumentándose sutilmente y llega desprevenida.
En la obra de Verne, se puede notar el lenguaje antiguo del siglo 19, pero no se apodera del contenido. No abunda con palabras innecesarias, y va directo al grano. La síntesis se puede ver claramente, lo que puede significar influencias, o interés, en la literatura moderna. El primer indicio de la síntesis se puede notar en el título. El título es un resumen de la novela. Con leer el nombre, se sabe inmediatamente lo que ocurre en la historia. No utiliza retóricas, símbolos, ambigüedades, etc. No pierde el tiempo del lector.
La novela es narrada en primera persona-secundaria, un punto de vista inusual y difícil de utilizar. El sobrino del científico Lidenbrock, Axel, nos cuenta la aventura como si él mismo fuera un personaje secundario. Esto no significa que no tiene importancia en su relato.
Cuando el profesor Lidenbrock se apodera de un libro antiguo islándico de Snorri Sturluson, quien supuestamente había encontrado la manera de llegar al centro de la tierra, se obsesiona con descifrar el texto. Finalmente logran obtener las coordenadas precisas, y con la ayuda de un guía llamado Hans Bjelke, encuentran la entrada al primer túnel por el cual comienzan a descender. A medida que atraviesan diferentes túneles y pasadizos, encuentran evidencia de las diferentes etapas del planeta tierra y de las diferentes especies que abundaban en el pasado.
El texto ha sido tan debatido que realmente es casi imposible dividir cuales son los temas centrales y cuales no. “El viaje hacia el centro de la tierra” se puede interpretar como un reto a la ciencia de esos tiempos. Muchos lo consideran simplemente un elemento simbólico. ¿Era el viaje hacia el centro del mundo en realidad un viaje hacia el centro de sí mismo? El querer explorar, aventurar, encontrar, esas ganas íntimas del profesor, se pueden mirar como una búsqueda hacia el centro de él; una búsqueda interna. Puede representar la investigación infinita de la ciencia; evidencia de que siempre hay algo que buscar, que encontrar, que no se debe quedar la sociedad complaciente en un punto en el tiempo.
Tal vez se ha complicado la teoría de esta novela a una severidad que no era la intención del autor. Por eso todo es una especulación. No te quedas con un sentimiento de moraleja, no sientes que hay unos valores que el autor te está queriendo empujar. Tal vez sólo es una aventura que entretiene.
En mi opinión, el conflicto principal de los personajes es la supervivencia; tienen que salir vivos. El profesor se concentra tanto en su búsqueda, que a veces, si no fuese por sus acompañantes, hubiera muerto. La obsesión inicial, de ver si realmente existía un camino hacia el centro del mundo, se convierte en una lucha continua para sobrevivir. Creo que el tema secundario podría ser algo tan simple como una moraleja conocida: “La curiosidad mató al gato”. No todo lo que parece ser algo, necesariamente es lo que parece ser. El juego y la aventura se convirtió en un peligro real. Incluso, cuando el profesor pierde esperanzas de volver a la superficie, está dispuesto a dejar todo atrás por tal de salir. Se da cuenta de que su tenacidad torpe podría significar la muerte de no sólo él, si no de su sobrino. Todo cambia en torno a encontrar una manera de salir, y se olvidan de la gloria, de la diversión inicial.
Claro, los descubrimientos tienen su recompensa al final, cuando todos son reconocidos mundialmente y abren las puertas al hallazgo más importante en la historia. Verne convierte a sus personajes en héroes pero el grueso de la historia es una lucha contra el tiempo para salir con sus vidas intactas.
En mi opinión, todavía la novela es mejor que muchas otras obras publicadas en el sigo 20. Tiene ingenio, trama, acción, credibilidad difícil de duplicar y muchos otros rasgos que hacen la obra una joya. Increíble que algo que se escribió 145 años atrás todavía preserve ingenuidad y pueda entregar una historia tan llena de fuerza e impacto.
Verne no rompió estándares lingüísticos y no creó un personaje que perduró en el tiempo. Lo que sí hizo fue escribir una novela que fue reconocida mundialmente, que influenció un genero literario y que lo llevó a ser considerado por muchos como el padre de la ciencia ficción. Fue escrita en un momento donde la ciencia era ineficiente, tenía mucha especulación. La novela fue un salto en el tiempo, un empuje hacia el futuro. Por muchos años, hasta se pensó que lo que decía Verne era arqueológicamente correcto. Tardó años para poder comprobar que los datos eran falsos, e imposibles. Gracias a que Verne decidió inventarse que había un camino hacia el centro de la tierra, y decidió utilizar la ciencia como el medio para darle verosimilitud, es que ahora podemos apreciar las maravillas científicas que nos rodean, y observar la fantasía desde un punto de vista único.
El genero de ciencia ficción, como se conoce en el siglo 21, era casi inexistente cuando Verne escribió esta novela. Por ende, los factores por los cuales se caracteriza este genero en la actualidad no se encuentran. El contenido no está lleno de violencia rápida y no es tan orientado a la acción, las batallas, etc. El texto se lee rápido, pero gira más en torno a la aventura y a los descubrimientos que hayan los personajes en el camino, en vez de batallas increíbles. La experiencia de esta lectura es más como una clase de arqueología interesante, no tanto como una película que desborda con sangre. Logra entretener al lector solamente con el contenido detallado y refrescante. No utiliza muchos recursos adicionales.
La trama es bastante lineal; un suceso lleva a otro, sin momentos confusos. Se concentra en tres personajes, lo que hace la historia fácil de seguir, y el desarrollo de los personajes bien personal. Es narrada como una anécdota, por lo que un lector astuto puede adivinar que, por lo menos el narrador, sobrevive. Mientras la historia progresa, los descubrimientos y los peligros amplifican en intensidad, creando una anticipación en el lector que va aumentándose sutilmente y llega desprevenida.
En la obra de Verne, se puede notar el lenguaje antiguo del siglo 19, pero no se apodera del contenido. No abunda con palabras innecesarias, y va directo al grano. La síntesis se puede ver claramente, lo que puede significar influencias, o interés, en la literatura moderna. El primer indicio de la síntesis se puede notar en el título. El título es un resumen de la novela. Con leer el nombre, se sabe inmediatamente lo que ocurre en la historia. No utiliza retóricas, símbolos, ambigüedades, etc. No pierde el tiempo del lector.
La novela es narrada en primera persona-secundaria, un punto de vista inusual y difícil de utilizar. El sobrino del científico Lidenbrock, Axel, nos cuenta la aventura como si él mismo fuera un personaje secundario. Esto no significa que no tiene importancia en su relato.
La novela cuenta la historia de un descubrimiento científico increíble y de la aventura de tres exploradores -Lidenbrock, Axel y Hans-, llena de peligros, acción y elementos fantásticos. Todo ocurre en el año 1863. Aunque comienza la historia en Hamburgo, los personajes viajan a diferentes áreas de Europa, hasta llegar a Islandia. Desde este momento en adelante, los personajes reanudan su trayectoria dentro de las cuevas y los tubos subterráneos de un volcán.
Verne no rompió estándares lingüísticos y no creó un personaje que perduró en el tiempo. Lo que sí hizo fue escribir una novela que fue reconocida mundialmente, que influenció un genero literario y que lo llevó a ser considerado por muchos como el padre de la ciencia ficción.
Cuando el profesor Lidenbrock se apodera de un libro antiguo islándico de Snorri Sturluson, quien supuestamente había encontrado la manera de llegar al centro de la tierra, se obsesiona con descifrar el texto. Finalmente logran obtener las coordenadas precisas, y con la ayuda de un guía llamado Hans Bjelke, encuentran la entrada al primer túnel por el cual comienzan a descender. A medida que atraviesan diferentes túneles y pasadizos, encuentran evidencia de las diferentes etapas del planeta tierra y de las diferentes especies que abundaban en el pasado.
El texto ha sido tan debatido que realmente es casi imposible dividir cuales son los temas centrales y cuales no. “El viaje hacia el centro de la tierra” se puede interpretar como un reto a la ciencia de esos tiempos. Muchos lo consideran simplemente un elemento simbólico. ¿Era el viaje hacia el centro del mundo en realidad un viaje hacia el centro de sí mismo? El querer explorar, aventurar, encontrar, esas ganas íntimas del profesor, se pueden mirar como una búsqueda hacia el centro de él; una búsqueda interna. Puede representar la investigación infinita de la ciencia; evidencia de que siempre hay algo que buscar, que encontrar, que no se debe quedar la sociedad complaciente en un punto en el tiempo.
Tal vez se ha complicado la teoría de esta novela a una severidad que no era la intención del autor. Por eso todo es una especulación. No te quedas con un sentimiento de moraleja, no sientes que hay unos valores que el autor te está queriendo empujar. Tal vez sólo es una aventura que entretiene.
En mi opinión, el conflicto principal de los personajes es la supervivencia; tienen que salir vivos. El profesor se concentra tanto en su búsqueda, que a veces, si no fuese por sus acompañantes, hubiera muerto. La obsesión inicial, de ver si realmente existía un camino hacia el centro del mundo, se convierte en una lucha continua para sobrevivir. Creo que el tema secundario podría ser algo tan simple como una moraleja conocida: “La curiosidad mató al gato”. No todo lo que parece ser algo, necesariamente es lo que parece ser. El juego y la aventura se convirtió en un peligro real. Incluso, cuando el profesor pierde esperanzas de volver a la superficie, está dispuesto a dejar todo atrás por tal de salir. Se da cuenta de que su tenacidad torpe podría significar la muerte de no sólo él, si no de su sobrino. Todo cambia en torno a encontrar una manera de salir, y se olvidan de la gloria, de la diversión inicial.
Claro, los descubrimientos tienen su recompensa al final, cuando todos son reconocidos mundialmente y abren las puertas al hallazgo más importante en la historia. Verne convierte a sus personajes en héroes pero el grueso de la historia es una lucha contra el tiempo para salir con sus vidas intactas.
En mi opinión, todavía la novela es mejor que muchas otras obras publicadas en el sigo 20. Tiene ingenio, trama, acción, credibilidad difícil de duplicar y muchos otros rasgos que hacen la obra una joya. Increíble que algo que se escribió 145 años atrás todavía preserve ingenuidad y pueda entregar una historia tan llena de fuerza e impacto.
Verne no rompió estándares lingüísticos y no creó un personaje que perduró en el tiempo. Lo que sí hizo fue escribir una novela que fue reconocida mundialmente, que influenció un genero literario y que lo llevó a ser considerado por muchos como el padre de la ciencia ficción. Fue escrita en un momento donde la ciencia era ineficiente, tenía mucha especulación. La novela fue un salto en el tiempo, un empuje hacia el futuro. Por muchos años, hasta se pensó que lo que decía Verne era arqueológicamente correcto. Tardó años para poder comprobar que los datos eran falsos, e imposibles. Gracias a que Verne decidió inventarse que había un camino hacia el centro de la tierra, y decidió utilizar la ciencia como el medio para darle verosimilitud, es que ahora podemos apreciar las maravillas científicas que nos rodean, y observar la fantasía desde un punto de vista único.
Hello.
I don't necessarily intend to make some kind of breakthrough blog here. However, I just want to write about what I want to write about. Yes, I WILL write in english and spanish, so be prepared.
What exactly do I want to write about?
Well, hopefully stories and info on Fantasy & Science Fiction in general. Maybe a rant or two...
All these things interest me, and I KNOW there are others who also find it appealing....there just HAS to be other people like me...
I hope you find it interesting.
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