10 MALIH CRNACA PDF

Start your review of Deset malih crnaca Write a review Shelves: fiction , read-in , classics , adult-thriller-mystery , adult-lit , adult , adult-horror There is scarcely any comfort to be found in this book, only an ancient, arcane horror. The story is a vast underwater cavern, where nothing flows and nothing ebbs and all is as dark and still as the grave. Even my most harrowing nightmares would have never conjured such a soul-fearing tale. And Then There Were None was uncomfortable as it lodged itself in the darkest corner of my mind. The questions it asks and the implications it conceals are still twining up my legs like a barbed vine.

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Start your review of Deset malih crnaca Write a review Shelves: fiction , read-in , classics , adult-thriller-mystery , adult-lit , adult , adult-horror There is scarcely any comfort to be found in this book, only an ancient, arcane horror.

The story is a vast underwater cavern, where nothing flows and nothing ebbs and all is as dark and still as the grave. Even my most harrowing nightmares would have never conjured such a soul-fearing tale. And Then There Were None was uncomfortable as it lodged itself in the darkest corner of my mind.

The questions it asks and the implications it conceals are still twining up my legs like a barbed vine. I There is scarcely any comfort to be found in this book, only an ancient, arcane horror. The whimsy of the moment, however, ebbs away when a disembodied message blaring from a gramophone tallies, in vivid and mordant detail, their unpunished crimes.

Memories of their misdeeds, which used to be a distant and blurry thing, suddenly come into a sharp, lurid focus. Death runs rampant with his bloody scythe on Soldier Island. Each creak and groan is a hunter stalking them, each flutter of wind its breath, close against their necks. This is their sentence coming to retrieve them. The experience of reading this book is akin to walking through a nightmare; I could not orient myself, did not know north from south.

My heart was a fistful of thunder, my mind a whirl pool of possibilities—each more terrible than the last. The not knowing was like a splinter in my mind. And as I was tracing the implications of every new revelation, my small, sickly faith was eroding.

And Then There Were None is not a light read—it is, in fact, unrelentingly harrowing. The hermetic, creepy atmosphere of Soldier Island makes a thriving black petri dish of foreboding and distortion. But what appears to be a thriller is something far more perilous. Christie imbues the story with a well-observed psychological depth that holds its own fascination.

The surface, of course, is arresting, but the harder you think the further you go, and it keeps on getting more productive. The mind is an imperfect engine that does what it will with the information it receives. But what happens when fear, true fear, takes hold of it and scours out all else? When it becomes fractured and wild, crowded with the images of your most torturous evils?

What happens when your flimsy attempts at exonerating yourself and asserting some kind of spurious decency no longer stand up under the glaring attacks of guilt? It is also a forensic examination of remorse—the kind that is sharp enough to slice a man off his shadows.

The truth of it hurts jagged. Try and vary your methods as you will, your tastes, your habits, your attitude of mind, and your soul is revealed by your actions. They are the author of this horrendous drama—a madman of the most blatant kind who suffers an unconquerable confederation of self-righteousness and depravity. But what is most frightening is not the depth of their evil, but how cold it runs.

Are humans really capable of being this infatuated with the blood and groaning of the theatrics of murder? None of these characters are, of course, the kind of people you want to roll the red carpet for, but does anyone really deserve this? Overall, however, And Then There Were None is a highly readable murder mystery and a provocative, pitch-black psychological thriller that will be hard to forget!

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Osam malih crnaca putuje u Devon; Jedan nije htio dalje pa ih osta Sedam.. Jedan mali crnac osta sam i bijedan; Ode pa se objesi i ne osta Nijedan. Ubrzo, jedan po jedan, gosti bivaju ubijeni prema stihovima brojalice, a nakon svakog ubojstva, jedna figura maloga crnca biva uklonjena. To poslijepodne u kuhinji je, ubrizgavanjem cijankalija u vrat, ubijena Emily Brent. Armstrong ode do njega i potvrdi da je zaista mrtav. Uskoro otkrivaju kako je Armstrong nestao. Uskoro se ispostavlja kako je poruka u boci zapravo osobna ispovijest pokojnog suca Wargravea.

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DESET MALIH CRNACA

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