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Toll the Hounds von Steven Erikson
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Toll the Hounds (2008. Auflage)

von Steven Erikson

Reihen: Das Spiel der Götter (8), World of Malazan (Book of the Fallen 8), Malazan Chronology (15)

MitgliederRezensionenBeliebtheitDurchschnittliche BewertungDiskussionen
1,800409,398 (4.1)59
In Darujhistan, the city of blue fire, it is said that love and death shall arrive dancing. It is summer and the heat is oppressive, but for the small round man in the faded red waistcoat, discomfiture is not just because of the sun. All is not well. Dire portents plague his nights and haunt the city streets like fiends of shadow. Assassins skulk in alleyways, but the quarry has turned and the hunters become the hunted. Hidden hands pluck the strings of tyranny like a fell chorus. While the bards sing their tragic tales, somewhere in the distance can be heard the baying of Hounds, and in the distant city of Black Coral, where rules Anomander Rake, Son of Darkness, ancient crimes awaken, intent on revenge. It seems Love and Death are indeed about to arrive hand in hand, dancing.… (mehr)
Mitglied:Ananke
Titel:Toll the Hounds
Autoren:Steven Erikson
Info:Bantam Press (2008), Paperback, 896 pages
Sammlungen:Deine Bibliothek
Bewertung:
Tags:Keine

Werk-Informationen

Toll the Hounds von Steven Erikson

Kürzlich hinzugefügt vonagkeery, surkesh, dadoodoflow, oneiros314, AdeptArcana, private Bibliothek, Wraakzucht, TCurrah
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First read: Nov, 2013
Re-read: March, 2016 ( )
  talalsyed | Jul 22, 2023 |
This was a really well crafted book. It shifts away from the grand military conquests and politics that have been dominating prior books, and while the amount of philosophy being packed in may be extreme to some, it felt oddly fitting—very Malazan. I don't think it would have worked nearly as well if it hadn't coincided with a return to Darujhistan, but with the setting of where it all began in GotM, the tying up of certain stories and the beginning of new ones flowed well together. ( )
  aepCaomhan | Jul 20, 2023 |
Toppur sögunnar eru síðustu kaflarnir þegar allt fer í háaloft og blóðið slettist. Erikson er líkt og komið hefur fram áður óhræddur við að slátra mörgum aðalpersónum sagnabálksins og hafir þú lesið fram að þessari bók og fundið vænt um einhverja persónuna þá skaltu fara að biðja bænirnar.
Ókostur þessarar sögu er hins vegar hæg framvinda og miklar heimspeki pælingar nánast hverrar persónu sögunnar. Var orðinn voða þreyttur á þruglinu sannast sagna. ( )
  SkuliSael | Apr 28, 2022 |
After the action-packed [b:The Bonehunters|478951|The Bonehunters (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #6)|Steven Erikson|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1399934281s/478951.jpg|3898723] and [b:Reaper's Gale|459064|Reaper's Gale (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #7)|Steven Erikson|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1356447867s/459064.jpg|4379974], Toll the Hounds fell a little flat for me. However, there were some brilliant moments, the standouts being the meeting of two insane characters, and this:

Sadness was, she well knew, not something that could be cured. It was not, in fact, a failing, not a flaw, not an illness of spirit. Sadness was never without reason, and to assert that it marked some kind of dysfunction did little more than prove ignorance or, worse, cowardly evasiveness in the one making the assertion. As if happiness was the only legitimate way of being. As if those failing at it needed to be locked away, made soporific with medications; as if the cause of sadness were merely traps and pitfalls in the proper climb to blissful contentment, things to be edged round or bridged, or leapt across on the wings of false elation... Sadness belonged. As rightful as joy, love, grief and fear. All conditions of being. ( )
  meerapatel | Dec 29, 2020 |
What a paradoxical book. In a series full of slow burners, this is probably the slowest, but yet most steady, until the most explosive of all of the endings. The Andii being their usual selves are pretty annoying to get through, buy Kruppe's... interesting narration gives it a unique flavour. I can't decide if this book is utter genius, or ridiculous nonsense. probably both.

THE RANKING THUS FAR

DG
  Raykoda3 | Sep 25, 2020 |
keine Rezensionen | Rezension hinzufügen

» Andere Autoren hinzufügen (1 möglich)

AutorennameRolleArt des AutorsWerk?Status
Steven EriksonHauptautoralle Ausgabenberechnet
Lockwood, ToddUmschlagillustrationCo-Autoreinige Ausgabenbestätigt
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This novel is dedicated
to the memory of my father,
R. S. Lundin, 1931-2007.
You are missed.
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'I have no name for this town,' the ragged man said, hands plucking at the frayed hems of what had once been an opulent cloak.
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The world, someone once said, gives back what is given. In abundance. But then, as Kallor would point out, someone was always saying something. Until he got fed up and had them executed.
He was a man who would never ask for sympathy. He was a man who sought only to do what was right. Such people appear in the world, every world, now and then, like a single refrain of some blessed song, a fragment caught on the spur of an otherwise raging cacophony.

Imagine a world without such souls. 

Yes, it should have been harder to do.
Survivors do not mourn together. They each mourn alone, even when in the same place. Grief is the most solitary of all feelings. Grief isolates, and every ritual, every gesture, every embrace, is a hopeless effort to break through that isolation. 

None of it works. The forms crumble and dissolve. 

To face death is to stand alone.
‘Sad truth,’ Kruppe said – his audience of none sighing in agreement – ‘that a tendency towards verbal excess can so defeat the precision of meaning. That intent can be so well disguised in majestic plethora of nuance, of rhythm both serious and mocking, of this penchant for self-referential slyness, that the unwitting simply skip on past – imagining their time to be so precious, imagining themselves above all manner of conviction, save that of their own witty perfection. Sigh and sigh again.'
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In Darujhistan, the city of blue fire, it is said that love and death shall arrive dancing. It is summer and the heat is oppressive, but for the small round man in the faded red waistcoat, discomfiture is not just because of the sun. All is not well. Dire portents plague his nights and haunt the city streets like fiends of shadow. Assassins skulk in alleyways, but the quarry has turned and the hunters become the hunted. Hidden hands pluck the strings of tyranny like a fell chorus. While the bards sing their tragic tales, somewhere in the distance can be heard the baying of Hounds, and in the distant city of Black Coral, where rules Anomander Rake, Son of Darkness, ancient crimes awaken, intent on revenge. It seems Love and Death are indeed about to arrive hand in hand, dancing.

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