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    Les deux dernières nouvelles écrites par Octavia Butler sont disponibles dans les archives de Sci-Fi (oui, comme Sci-Fi Channel), ainsi que des nouvelles de Robert Silverberg, Harlan Ellison, Philip José Farmer ou Brian W. Aldiss, pour ne citer que les quelques noms les plus connus que j'ai pu noter : Le livre de Martha et Amnesty.

         "It's difficult, isn't it?" God said with a weary smile. "You're truly free for the first time. What could be more difficult than that?"
         Martha Bes looked around at the endless grayness that was, along with God, all that she could see. In fear and confusion, she covered her broad black face with her hands. "If only I could wake up," she whispered.
        God kept silent but was so palpably, disturbingly present that even in the silence Martha felt rebuked. "Where is this?" she asked, not really wanting to know, not wanting to be dead when she was only forty-three. "Where am I?"
        "Here with me," God said.
        "Really here?" she asked. "Not at home in bed dreaming? Not locked up in a mental institution? Not … not lying dead in a morgue?"
        "Here," God said softly. "With me."

    Via un article sur Octavia Butler dans Salon.com :

    Octavia Butler was more interested in writing a good story than in worrying about where to slot it. She called herself a writer rather than a science fiction writer and said on at least one occasion, in an interview: "How dull it is to have people defining you." But she used scientific extrapolation in most of her work and did so carefully -- acknowledging what was known to be true and inventing only into the blank spaces on the map.
    In the '70s and '80s, when much of the field was out in the clean, sterile sweep of space or jacking into the Web and leaving the body entirely, Butler's scientific interest was in biology. Her work is all about the body -- about disease, about reproduction, about the horrible realities of the food chain. Many of her stories feature graphic depictions of fluid-spilling, flesh-eating, oozing, gooey physicality. There were times as a reader when you might find yourself wishing her imagination and her prose were a little less vivid. In my opinion, she was one of the field's scariest writers. There was nowhere she wasn't willing to go in her imagination. There was nowhere she wasn't willing to take you.

    Ecrit par Heileen, à 12:27 dans la rubrique "Littérature anglo-saxonne".

    Commentaires :

      Anonyme
    06-04-06
    à 22:41

    Lien croisé

    IokanaaN - Blog d'un spectateur holistique. : "de nouvelles à lire ! Namedropping : Fritz Lieber, Terry Bisson, James Blaylock, Joan Vinge, Walter Jon Williams, Delany, Sturgeon, Gene Wolf, Zelazny, Sheckley, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Di Filippo, Lafferty, Silverberg, Octavia Butler, James Morrow, Aldiss, Fredric Brown, Spinrad, Kate Wilhelm, Christopher Priest, Ursula Le Guin, Elizabeth Hand, Alfred Bester… Via La Muselivre, qui pointe aussi quatre nouvelles en français de Murakami Ryû"



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