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Notatki z końca świata

....którego nie było.


Ta powieść zasłużyła sobie u mnie na własny, solidnie analityczny wpis. Na porządne rozpracowanie jej związków z indywidualną twórczością obu autorów, na analizę upakowanych w tej niezwykle, jak dla mnie, zabawnej formie aluzji i dwuznaczników, na przyjrzenie się zarówno postaciom obu protagonistów, jak i - przede wszystkim - Adama, na zachwyt konceptem, że nawet mały synek Szatana wychowany wśród Anglików wyrośnie na Anglika.

No ale, nie ma czasu. Koniec świata. Może innym razem.

Dzisiaj tylko trailer, w pięciu aktach z prologiem i epilogiem, słowami autorów.

I ze SPOJLERAMI, gdzie się tylko da. I nie zawsze po kolei. A, i nie po polsku, nie cierpię polskiego tłumaczenia.



Dawno, dawno temu w odległym rajskim ogrodzie...

"I'm sorry," he [anioł] said politely. "What was it you were saying?" (...)
"I think it was a bit of an overreaction, to be honest," said the serpent. "I mean, first offense and everything. I can't see what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway."


Tymczasem w niebiesiech:

God moves in extremely mysterious, not to say, circuitous ways. God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players*, to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.
* ie., everybody.  



Diabeł i Anioł rezydują  na Ziemi od tysiącleci:


Many people, meeting Aziraphale [anioł] for the first time, formed three impressions: that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.


[Crowley, diabeł] rather liked people. It was a major failing in a demon.
Oh, he did his best to make their short lives miserable, because that was his job, but nothing he could think up was half as bad as the stuff they thought up themselves. They seemed to have a talent for it. It was built into the design, somehow. They were born into a world that was against them in a thousand little ways, and then devoted most of their energies to making it worse.


I nie za bardzo mają ochotę na koniec świata:

"Just you think about it," said Crowley relentlessly. "You know what eternity is? You know what eternity is? I mean, d'you know what eternity is? There's this big mountain, see, a mile high, at the end of the universe, and once every thousand years there's this little bird-"
"What little bird?" said Aziraphale suspiciously.
"This little bird I'm talking about. And every thousand years-"
"The same bird every thousand years?"
Crowley hesitated. "Yeah," he said.
"Bloody ancient bird, then."
"Okay. And every thousand years this bird flies-"
"flies all the way to this mountain and sharpens its beak-"
"Hold on. You can't do that. Between here and the end of the universe there's loads of-" The angel waved a hand expansively, if a little unsteadily. "Loads of buggerall, dear boy."
"But it gets there anyway," Crowley persevered.
"It doesn't matter!"
"It could use a space ship," said the angel.
Crowley subsided a bit. "Yeah," he said. "If you like. Anyway, this bird-"
"Only it is the end of the universe we're talking about," said Aziraphale. "So it'd have to be one of those space ships where your de­scendants are the ones who get out at the other end. You have to tell your descendants, you say, When you get to the Mountain, you've got to-" He hesitated. "What have they got to do?"
"Sharpen its beak on the mountain," said Crowley. "And then it flies back-"
"-in the space ship-"
"And after a thousand years it goes and does it all again," said Crowley quickly.
There was a moment of drunken silence,
"Seems a lot of effort just to sharpen a beak," mused Aziraphale.
"Listen," said Crowley urgently, "the point is that when the bird has worn the mountain down to nothing, right, then-"
Aziraphale opened his mouth. Crowley just knew he was going to make some point about the relative hardness of birds' beaks and granite mountains, and plunged on quickly.
 "-then you still won't have finished watching The Sound of Music."
Aziraphale froze.
"And you'll enjoy it," Crowley said relentlessly. "You really will."


Jednakowoż, niezależnie od ich życzeń, Antychryst się rodzi [w rodzinie ambasadora USA w UK, jakżeby inaczej] i pod nadzorem zakonnic-satanistek.

Sister Mary headed through the night-time hospital with the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness safely in her arms. She found a bassinet and laid him down in it. He gurgled. She gave him a tickle.


Imię dostaje, o dziwo... cóż, znaczące, choć dość przypadkowo.


He stared down at the golden curls of the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness.
"You know," he concluded, after a while, "I think he actually looks like an Adam." 

Po czym - wait for it - zostaje podmieniony za brytyjskie niemowlę.



Pojawia się ogar piekielny (nie, nie ten).

"And I'll call him . . ." said his Master's voice. "I'll call him . . ."
"Yes?" said the girl. "What're you goin' to call it?"
The hound waited. This was the moment. The Naming. This would give it its propose, its function, its identity. Its eyes glowed a dull red, even though they were a lot closer to the ground, and it dribbled into the nettles.
"I'll call him Dog," said his Master, positively. "It saves a lot of trouble, a name like that."


Pomyłka w adresie dostawy ogara piekielnego uświadamia pp. C&A, że przez cały czas inwestowali w wychowanie niewłaściwego Antychrysta. W tzw. międzyczasie jedna z sióstr satanistek zmieniła plany życiowe.

She'd stopped reading the kind of women's magazine that talked about romance and knitting and started reading the kind of women's magazine that talked about orgasms, but apart from making a mental note to have one if ever the occasion presented itself she dismissed them as only romance and knitting in a new form. 

Antychryst rośnie w ukryciu na prowincji w UK. Ma nawet mrocznych towarzyszy (lat jedenaście, plus minus).

It didn't matter what the four had called their gang over the years, the frequent name changes usually being prompted by whatever Adam had happened to have read or viewed the previous day (the Adam Young Squad; Adam and Co.; The Hole-in-the-Chalk Gang; The Really Well-Known Four; The Legion of Really Super-Heroes; The Quarry Gang; The Secret Four; The Justice Society of Tadfield; The Galaxatrons; The Four Just Persons; The Rebels). Everyone else always referred to them darkly as Them, and eventually they did too.

Pojawia się czarownica.

 Anathema Device," said Anathema. "I'm an occultist, but that's just a hobby. I'm really a witch. Well done. You're half an hour late," she added, handing him a small sheet of cardboard, "so you'd better read this. It'll save a lot of time."

Pojawiają się także łowcy czarownic.




Czterej Jeźdźcy Apokalipsy (plus czterej dodatkowi).

Death and Famine and War and Pollution continued biking toward Tadfield.
And Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty to Animals, Things Not Working Properly Even After You've Given Them A Good Thumping But Secretly No Alcohol Lager, and Really Cool People traveled with them.


The Antichrist is alive on earth at this moment, Sergeant. He is bringing about Armageddon, the Day of Judgement, even if he himself does not know it. Heaven and Hell are both preparing for war, and it's all going to be very messy.


Czarownice i łowcy łączą, ahem, siły.


Courting is always difficult when the one being courted has an elderly female relative in the house; they tend to mutter or cackle or bum cigarettes or, in the worst cases, get out the family photograph album, an act of aggression in the sex war which ought to be banned by a Geneva Convention. It's much worse when the relative has been dead for three hundred years. 


Diabeł i Anioł usiłują Coś Zrobić. Nawet działając wbrew interesom swoich własnych mocodawców.


Do you know what this is?" asked Crowley. "This is a Sainsbury's plant mister, cheapest and most efficient plant mister in the world. It can squirt a fine spray of water into the air. Do I need to tell you what's in it? It can turn you into that, " he pointed to the mess on the carpet. "Now, go away."

Plany się nie udają.

Plan A had worked. Plan B had failed. Everything depended on Plan C, and there was one drawback to this: he had only ever planned as far as B.


Konfrontacja z siłami ciemności (i światła)


In one sense there was just clear air overhead. In another, stretching off to infinity, were the hosts of Heaven and Hell, wingtip to wingtip. If you looked really closely, and had been specially trained, you could tell the difference.




Świat się kończy.


Beneath the thunders of the upper deep,as Aziraphale and Tenny­son both knew, Far, far beneath in the abyssal sea/The kraken sleepeth.
And now it was waking up.
Millions of tons of deep ocean ooze cascade off its flanks as it rises. "See," said the navigator. "'Three thousand meters already."
The kraken doesn't have eyes. There has never been anything for it to look at. But as it billows up through the icy waters it picks up the microwave noise of the sea, the sorrowing beeps and whistles of the whalesong.
"Er," said the navigator, "one thousand meters?"
The kraken is not amused.
"Five hundred meters?"
The factory ship rocks on the sudden swell.
"A hundred meters?"
There is a tiny metal thing above it. The kraken stirs.
And ten billion sushi dinners cry out for vengeance.


Tylko że nie.


"I just don't see why everyone and everything has to be burned up and everything," Adam said. "Millions of fish an' whales an' trees an', an' sheep and stuff. An' not even for anything important. Jus' to see who's got the best gang. It's like us an' the Johnsonites. But even if you win, you can't really beat the other side, because you don't really want to. I mean, not for good. You'll just start all over again. You'll just keep on sending people like these two," he pointed to Crowley and Aziraphale, "to mess people around. It's hard enough bein' people as it is, without other people coming and messin' you around."


There never was an apple, in Adam's opinion, that wasn't worth the trouble you got into for eating it.

piątek, 21 grudnia 2012, ninedin

Polecane wpisy

TrackBack URL wpisu:
2012/12/22 11:59:20
Kurczę, Ninedin, jak sobie załatwić takich współautorów na bloga? :D
2012/12/22 12:34:39
Jak już koniec świata, to lepiej słowami kogoś, kto to opisze profesjonalnie :P.
Gość: harpijka, *
2013/01/08 23:54:25
Uwielbiam i książkę, i wpis. Nie wiem, jak mógł mi umknąć. Jest bardzo podstępny: leniwy czytelnik może uznać, że nie musi czytać już książki...
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