| When God Laughs, and Other Stories Contributor(s): London, Jack (Author) |
|
 |
ISBN: ISBN-13: 9798657112344 Publisher: Independently Published OUR PRICE: $8.96 Product Type: Paperback - Other Formats Published: June 2020 * Not available - Not in print at this time * |
| Additional Information |
| BISAC Categories: - Fiction | Short Stories (single Author) - Fiction | Literary - Fiction | Classics |
| Dewey: FIC |
| Physical Information: 0.29" H x 5.98" W x 9.02" (0.42 lbs) 122 pages |
| Descriptions, Reviews, Etc. |
| Publisher Description: Carquinez had relaxed finally. He stole a glance at the rattling windows, looked upward at the beamed roof, and listened for a moment to the savage roar of the south-easter as it caught the bungalow in its bellowing jaws. Then he held his glass between him and the fire and laughed for joy through the golden wine. "It is beautiful," he said. "It is sweetly sweet. It is a woman's wine, and it was made for gray-robed saints to drink." "We grow it on our own warm hills," I said, with pardonable California pride. "You rode up yesterday through the vines from which it was made." It was worth while to get Carquinez to loosen up. Nor was he ever really himself until he felt the mellow warmth of the vine singing in his blood. He was an artist, it is true, always an artist; but somehow, sober, the high pitch and lilt went out of his thought-processes and he was prone to be as deadly dull as a British Sunday-not dull as other men are dull, but dull when measured by the sprightly wight that Monte Carquinez was when he was really himself. From all this it must not be inferred that Carquinez, who is my dear friend and dearer comrade, was a sot. Far from it. He rarely erred. As I have said, he was an artist. He knew when he had enough, and enough, with him, was equilibrium-the equilibrium that is yours and mine when we are sober. His was a wise and instinctive temperateness that savoured of the Greek. Yet he was far from Greek. "I am Aztec, I am Inca, I am Spaniard," I have heard him say. And in truth he looked it, a compound of strange and ancient races, what with his swarthy skin and the asymmetry and primitiveness of his features. His eyes, under massively arched brows, were wide apart and black with the blackness that is barbaric, while before them was perpetually falling down a great black mop of hair through which he gazed like a roguish satyr from a thicket. - Taken from "When God Laughs and Other Stories" written by Jack London |