В послесловии Гейман ссылается на Миррлиз, Дансени, Кейбела и Льюиса - и если присутствие двух первых совершенно очевидно (как сформулировал
jaerraeth, "герой Миррлиз в мире Дансени"), то двое последних, по счастью, присутствуют в гомеопатических дозах; я бы еще прибавил Толкина как автора "Кузнеца".Пересказ фабулы ничего не даст - здесь важна атмосфера. Гейман - из числа писателей, которые наделены почти безукоризненным пониманием того, что такое Миф / Сказка / Повесть (да, Холдсток, Пратчетт и Краули из того же тайного общества - хотя Холдстока я и не очень люблю). Двусмысленность пророчеств, ненадежность обещаний, холодящий сквозняк из двери на Ту Сторону.
Вот как Гейман описывает падение девушки-звезды:
It was night in the glade by the pool and the sky was bespattered with stars beyond counting.
Fireflies glittered in the leaves of the elm trees and in the ferns and in the hazel bushes, flickering on and off like the lights of a strange and distant city. An otter splashed in the brook that fed the pool. A family of stoats wove and wound their way to the water to drink. A fieldmouse found a fallen hazelnut and began to bite into the hard shell of the nut with its sharp, ever-growing front teeth, not because it was hungry, but because it was a prince under an enchantment who could not regain his outer form until he chewed the Nut of Wisdom. But its excitement made it careless, and only the shadow that blotted out the moonlight warned it of the descent of a huge grey owl, who caught the mouse in its sharp talons and rose again into the night.
The mouse dropped the nut, which fell into the brook and was carried away, to be swallowed by a salmon. The owl swallowed the mouse in just a couple of gulps, leaving just its tail trailing from her mouth, like a length of bootlace. Something snuffled and grunted as it pushed through the thicket - a badger, thought the owl (herself under a curse, and only able to resume her rightful shape if she consumed a mouse who had eaten the Nut of Wisdom), or perhaps a small bear.
Leaves rustled, water rilled, and then the glade became filled with light shining down from above, a pure white light which grew brighter and brighter. The owl saw it reflected in the pool, a blazing, glaring thing of pure light, so bright that she took to the wing and flew to another part of the forest. The wild things looked about them in terror.
First the light in the sky was no bigger than the moon, then it seemed larger, infinitely larger, and the whole grove trembled and quivered and every creature held its breath and the fireflies glowed brighter than they had ever glowed in their lives, each one convinced that this at last was love, but to no avail...
And then -
There was a cracking sound, sharp as a shot, and the light that had filled the grove was gone.
Or almost gone. There was a dim glow pulsing from the middle of the hazel thicket, as if a tiny cloud of stars were glimmering there.
And there was a voice, a high clear, female voice, which said, "Ow," and then, very quietly, it said "Fuck," and then it said "Ow," once more.
And then it said nothing at all, and there was silence in the glade.
А в целом - роман очень похож на "Зеркальную маску" в том отношении, что очень красив и богат на выдумку... но чего-то не хватает. Не радует, как те елочные игрушки. Я долго пытался понять, чего именно не хватает (как минимум кульминации, но не только в этом дело), и придумал только еще одно сравнение. Гейман - чрезвычайно умелый и ловкий фокусник, который притворяется (и очень хочет быть) волшебником. "Сейчас вылетит птичка" - и вылетает, но только еще один цветной платок. Кажется, Прист в "Престиже" писал о чем-то подобном.
И все-таки - рекомендую. Гейман явно бывал за пределами ведомых нам полей, и не один раз. Жаль, что самый большой успех выпал на долю вещей, которые в наименьшей степени это показывают - "Американских богов" и "Коралины".
