The wisdom of Father Brown E-Book

Gilbert Keith Chesterton

• Herausgeber: Passerino Editore
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

"The wisdom of Father Brown" (1914) is a collection of twelve stories by G.K. Chesterton, featuring his empathetic detective Father Brown. Sherlock Holmes might be sexier, but GK Chesterton's atmospheric Father Brown stories are the best the genre has ever seen. The 12 stories in this collection are: THE ABSENCE OF MR GLASS THE PARADISE OF THIEVES THE DUEL OF DR. HIRSCH THE MAN IN THE PASSAGE THE MISTAKE OF THE MACHINE THE HEAD OF CAESAR THE PURPLE WIG THE PERISHING OF THE PENDRAGONS THE GOD OF THE GONGS THE SALAD OF COLONEL CRAY THE STRANGE CRIME OF JOHN BOULNOIS THE FAIRY TALE OF FATHER BROWN Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874 – 1936) better known as G. K. Chesterton, was an English writer, lay theologian, poet, philosopher, dramatist, journalist, orator, literary and art critic, biographer, and Christian apologist. Chesterton is well known for his fictional priest-detective Father Brown. Chesterton based the character on Father John O'Connor (1870–1952), a parish priest in Bradford who was involved in Chesterton's conversion to Catholicism in 1922.

Leseprobe

Gilbert Keith Chesterton

The Sky is the limit

ISBN: 9788899617240

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Table of contents

THE ABSENCE OF MR GLASS

THE PARADISE OF THIEVES

THE DUEL OF DR. HIRSCH

THE MAN IN THE PASSAGE

THE MISTAKE OF THE MACHINE

THE HEAD OF CAESAR

THE PURPLE WIG

THE PERISHING OF THE PENDRAGONS

THE GOD OF THE GONGS

THE SALAD OF COLONEL CRAY

THE STRANGE CRIME OF JOHN BOULNOIS

THE FAIRY TALE OF FATHER BROWN

Credits

THE WISDOM OF FATHER BROWN

(1914)

by

Gilbert Keith Chesterton

THE ABSENCE OF MR GLASS

THE consulting-rooms of Dr Orion Hood, the eminent criminologist and specialist in certain moral disorders, lay along the sea-front at Scarborough, in a series of very large and well-lighted french windows, which showed the North Sea like one endless outer wall of blue-green marble. In such a place the sea had something of the monotony of a blue-green dado: for the chambers themselves were ruled throughout by a terrible tidiness not unlike the terrible tidiness of the sea. It must not be supposed that Dr Hood’s apartments excluded luxury, or even poetry. These things were there, in their place; but one felt that they were never allowed out of their place. Luxury was there: there stood upon a special table eight or ten boxes of the best cigars; but they were built upon a plan so that the strongest were always nearest the wall and the mildest nearest the window. A tantalus containing three kinds of spirit, all of a liqueur excellence, stood always on this table of luxury; but the fanciful have asserted that the whisky, brandy, and rum seemed always to stand at the same level. Poetry was there: the left-hand corner of the room was lined with as complete a set of English classics as the right hand could show of English and foreign physiologists. But if one took a volume of Chaucer or Shelley from that rank, its absence irritated the mind like a gap in a man’s front teeth. One could not say the books were never read; probably they were, but there was a sense of their being chained to their places, like the Bibles in the old churches. Dr Hood treated his private book-shelf as if it were a public library. And if this strict scientific intangibility steeped even the shelves laden with lyrics and ballads and the tables laden with drink and tobacco, it goes without saying that yet more of such heathen holiness protected the other shelves that held the specialist’s library, and the other tables that sustained the frail and even fairylike instruments of chemistry or mechanics.

Dr Hood paced the length of his string of apartments, bounded— as the boys’ geographies say—on the east by the North Sea and on the west by the serried ranks of his sociological and criminologist library. He was clad in an artist’s velvet, but with none of an artist’s negligence; his hair was heavily shot with grey, but growing thick and healthy; his face was lean, but sanguine and expectant. Everything about him and his room indicated something at once rigid and restless, like that great northern sea by which (on pure principles of hygiene) he had built his home.