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This brilliant, boundary-leaping debut novel traces 12-year-old genius map-maker T.S. Spivet's attempts to understand the ways of the world, taking T.S. on a journey from his family ranch just north of Divide, Montana, to the Smithsonian's hallowed halls.
BookshelfMonstrosity: The precocious young narrators in each of these novels embark on journeys alone, providing illustrations to enhance their complex narratives, which include family history as well as current concerns. T. S. travels across the U.S, while Oskar travels throughout New York City.… (más)
T. S. Spivet es un genio de doce años que vive en un rancho en Montana. Su padre es un silencioso cowboy y su madre una científica obsesionada con una mítica especie de escarabajo; su hermano ya no está, y su hermana parece normal, pero sólo lo parece. T. S. intenta entender este caos dibujando mapas e ilustraciones de una exactitud impresionante. Su talento pronto tiene recompensa: una institución científica le concede un prestigioso premio y, armado con una pequeña maleta, cruza el país para recogerlo. Las obras escogidas de T. S. Spivet es una novela sobre los grandes y pequeños misterios de la vida, y sobre cómo un niño con un telescopio y cuatro compases puede resolverlos.
T. S. Spivet es un genio de doce años que vive en un rancho en Montana. Su padre es un silencioso cowboy y su madre una científica obsesionada con una mítica especie de escarabajo; su hermano ya no está, y su hermana parece normal, pero sólo lo parece. T. S. intenta entender este caos dibujando mapas e ilustraciones de una exactitud impresionante. Su talento pronto tiene recompensa: una institución científi ca le concede un prestigioso premio y, armado con una pequeña maleta, cruza el país para recogerlo. Las obras escogidas de T. S. Spivet es una novela sobre los grandes y pequeños misterios de la vida, y sobre cómo un niño con un telescopio y cuatro compases puede resolverlos.
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
"It is not down in any map; true places never are." -Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
Dedicatoria
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
For Katie
Primeras palabras
El teléfono sonó bien avanzada una tarde de agosto, cuando mi hermana mayor, Gracie, y yo descansábamos en el porche de la parte trasera, desgranando el maíz sobre las enormes tinajas de latón.
Citas
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
"Angela Ashford says [AIDS] are bad and that I probably have 'em."
Dr. Clair looked at Layton. The mancala pieces were still in her hand.
"If Angela Ashford ever says anything like that to you ever again, you tell her that just because she's insecure about being a little girl in a society that puts an inordinate amount of pressure on little girls to live up to certain physical, emotional, and ideological standards- many of which are improper, unhealthy, and self-perpetuating- it doesn't mean she has to take her misplaced self-loathing out on a nice boy like you. You may be inherently part of the problem, but that doesn't mean you aren't a nice boy with nice manners, and it certainly doesn't mean you have AIDS."
"I'm not sure I can remember all that," Layton said.
"Well then, tell Angela that her mother is a white-trash drunk from Butte." p. 37
I do love the sound of ripping corn husks. The violence of the noise, the sustained popping and shoring of the silky organic threads, made me think of someone tearing up an expensive and potentially Italian set of trousers in a fit of madness that this person might just regret later. p. 10
The moment that latch on my door ticked shut, I began agonizing. For the art of packing I changed into an athletic costume complete with sweatband and kneepads. This was going to be more difficult than the President's Fitness Challenge, in which I couldn't manage a single pull-up. I put a little Brahms on the record player to calm the nerves. p. 77
How lucky I was to have grown up on such a ranch, such a castle of imagination, where hounds gnawed on bones and the mountains signed with the weight of the heavens on their backs. p. 350
"... A map does not just chart, it unlocks and formulates meaning; it forms bridges between here and there, between disparate ideas that we did not know were previously connected. To do this right is very difficult." - Mr. Benefideo, p. 138
Everywhere in the Sett'ng Room there were fading and faded photographs of nameless men on nameless horses. Soapy Williams riding crazy old Firefly, his elastic frame impossibly twisted yet still somehow clinging to the back of the bucking beast. It was like looking at a good marriage.
My father saw conversing as a chore, like shoeing a horse: it was not done for enjoyment; it was done when it needed to be done.
Dr. Clair was the kind of mother who would teach you the periodic table while feeding you porridge as an infant but not the type, in this age of global terrorism and child kidnappers, to ask who might be calling her children on the telephone.
Últimas palabras
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
Then my hands were on the door. I hesitated. My father clucked his tongue and gave me a nod. I pushed open the door and walked into the light.
This brilliant, boundary-leaping debut novel traces 12-year-old genius map-maker T.S. Spivet's attempts to understand the ways of the world, taking T.S. on a journey from his family ranch just north of Divide, Montana, to the Smithsonian's hallowed halls.
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