author - "G. K. Chesterton"
Description The Napoleon of Notting Hill, like so many Chesterton novels, deftly straddles the fence between humor and philosophy. The place is London, in the far-future year of 1984. Inexplicably, not too much has changed since the turn of the century—except that the king is chosen at random. Things quickly take a turn for the worse when the people randomly select an imbecile who only cares about a good joke. With the new prankster king in place, the novel continues on with surprisingly
Description Father Brown is a Catholic priest, but a slightly unusual one in that he’s also an amateur detective. Unlike his more famous literary cousin Sherlock, Father Brown takes a less analytical and more intuition-oriented approach to solving the many murders that he happens to come across. This collection of short murder mysteries is Brown’s first appearance on the literary stage. In it we see him practicing his unique brand of sleuthing alongside his sometimes-partner, the reformed
Description Sometimes described as thrilling, sometimes as comic, and sometimes as metaphysical or spiritual, The Man Who Was Thursday is perhaps a little of each. The tale begins when an undercover policeman infiltrates a mysterious Anarchist group. As the novel progresses, things become more comic and improbable, and eventually evolve in to a sort of abstract, dreamlike state. Filled with Christian allegory, Thursday is a glittering, fascinating exploration of good versus evil and theology
at he is hardly even a caricaturist; that he is something very like a realist. Those comic monstrosities which the critics found incredible will be found to be the immense majority of the citizens of this country. We shall find that Sweedlepipe cuts our hair and Pumblechook sells our cereals; that Sam Weller blacks our boots and Tony Weller drives our omnibus. For the exaggerated notion of the exaggerations of Dickens (as was admirably pointed out by my old friend and enemy Mr. Blatchford in a
el path."Who on earth are you?" he gasped, trembling violently. "I am Major Brown," said that individual, who was always cool in the hour of action. The old man gaped helplessly like some monstrous fish. At last he stammered wildly, "Come down--come down here!" "At your service," said the Major, and alighted at a bound on the grass beside him, without disarranging his silk hat. The old man turned his broad back and set off at a sort of waddling run
row of cafes,until I saw again a distant column crowned with a dancing figure;the freedom that danced over the fall of the Bastille.Here at least, I thought, is an origin and a standard,such as I missed in the mere muddle of industrial opportunism.The modern industrial world is not in the least democratic; but it issupposed to be democratic, or supposed to be trying to be democratic.The ninth century, the time of the Norse invasions, was not saintlyin the sense of being filled with saints; it
up in astonishment, and as Mrs MacNab ran down the street to meet them with lean hands similarly spread, and her fierce face in shadow, she was a little like a demon herself. The doctor and the priest made scant reply to her shrill reiterations of her daughter's story, with more disturbing details of her own, to the divided vows of vengeance against Mr Glass for murdering, and against Mr Todhunter for being murdered, or against the latter for having dared to want to marry her daughter, and for
oking for them here."March thought of asking him what he was looking for; but, feeling unequalto a technical discussion at least as deep as the deep-sea fishes,he returned to more ordinary topics. "Delightful sort of hole this is," he said. "This little delland river here. It's like those places Stevenson talks about,where something ought to happen." "I know," answered the other. "I think it's because the place itself,so to speak, seems to happen and not
The Blue CrossThe Secret Garden The Queer Feet The Flying Stars The Invisible Man The Honour of Israel Gow The Wrong Shape The Sins of Prince Saradine The Hammer of God The Eye of Apollo The Sign of the Broken Sword The Three Tools of Death
ome. We need to be happy in this wonderland without once being merely comfortable. It is THIS achievement of my creed that I shall chiefly pursue in these pages.But I have a peculiar reason for mentioning the man in a yacht, who discovered England. For I am that man in a yacht. I discovered England. I do not see how this book can avoid being egotistical; and I do not quite see (to tell the truth) how it can avoid being dull. Dulness will, however, free me from the charge which I most lament;
Description The Napoleon of Notting Hill, like so many Chesterton novels, deftly straddles the fence between humor and philosophy. The place is London, in the far-future year of 1984. Inexplicably, not too much has changed since the turn of the century—except that the king is chosen at random. Things quickly take a turn for the worse when the people randomly select an imbecile who only cares about a good joke. With the new prankster king in place, the novel continues on with surprisingly
Description Father Brown is a Catholic priest, but a slightly unusual one in that he’s also an amateur detective. Unlike his more famous literary cousin Sherlock, Father Brown takes a less analytical and more intuition-oriented approach to solving the many murders that he happens to come across. This collection of short murder mysteries is Brown’s first appearance on the literary stage. In it we see him practicing his unique brand of sleuthing alongside his sometimes-partner, the reformed
Description Sometimes described as thrilling, sometimes as comic, and sometimes as metaphysical or spiritual, The Man Who Was Thursday is perhaps a little of each. The tale begins when an undercover policeman infiltrates a mysterious Anarchist group. As the novel progresses, things become more comic and improbable, and eventually evolve in to a sort of abstract, dreamlike state. Filled with Christian allegory, Thursday is a glittering, fascinating exploration of good versus evil and theology
at he is hardly even a caricaturist; that he is something very like a realist. Those comic monstrosities which the critics found incredible will be found to be the immense majority of the citizens of this country. We shall find that Sweedlepipe cuts our hair and Pumblechook sells our cereals; that Sam Weller blacks our boots and Tony Weller drives our omnibus. For the exaggerated notion of the exaggerations of Dickens (as was admirably pointed out by my old friend and enemy Mr. Blatchford in a
el path."Who on earth are you?" he gasped, trembling violently. "I am Major Brown," said that individual, who was always cool in the hour of action. The old man gaped helplessly like some monstrous fish. At last he stammered wildly, "Come down--come down here!" "At your service," said the Major, and alighted at a bound on the grass beside him, without disarranging his silk hat. The old man turned his broad back and set off at a sort of waddling run
row of cafes,until I saw again a distant column crowned with a dancing figure;the freedom that danced over the fall of the Bastille.Here at least, I thought, is an origin and a standard,such as I missed in the mere muddle of industrial opportunism.The modern industrial world is not in the least democratic; but it issupposed to be democratic, or supposed to be trying to be democratic.The ninth century, the time of the Norse invasions, was not saintlyin the sense of being filled with saints; it
up in astonishment, and as Mrs MacNab ran down the street to meet them with lean hands similarly spread, and her fierce face in shadow, she was a little like a demon herself. The doctor and the priest made scant reply to her shrill reiterations of her daughter's story, with more disturbing details of her own, to the divided vows of vengeance against Mr Glass for murdering, and against Mr Todhunter for being murdered, or against the latter for having dared to want to marry her daughter, and for
oking for them here."March thought of asking him what he was looking for; but, feeling unequalto a technical discussion at least as deep as the deep-sea fishes,he returned to more ordinary topics. "Delightful sort of hole this is," he said. "This little delland river here. It's like those places Stevenson talks about,where something ought to happen." "I know," answered the other. "I think it's because the place itself,so to speak, seems to happen and not
The Blue CrossThe Secret Garden The Queer Feet The Flying Stars The Invisible Man The Honour of Israel Gow The Wrong Shape The Sins of Prince Saradine The Hammer of God The Eye of Apollo The Sign of the Broken Sword The Three Tools of Death
ome. We need to be happy in this wonderland without once being merely comfortable. It is THIS achievement of my creed that I shall chiefly pursue in these pages.But I have a peculiar reason for mentioning the man in a yacht, who discovered England. For I am that man in a yacht. I discovered England. I do not see how this book can avoid being egotistical; and I do not quite see (to tell the truth) how it can avoid being dull. Dulness will, however, free me from the charge which I most lament;