Son auteur, Kaoru Kurimoto, une femme, vise les 100 tomes, et n'en est plus si loin désormais, avec le chiffre de 90 dépassé au Japon !

darkfriend,samedi 12 novembre 2005, 00:07 a écrit :Cela dit ça a l'air assez sympa, sauf que là, l'anglais n'est pas la VO mais une traduction ce qui me retient un peut tout de même....

A ce que j'ai pu comprendre la saga est vraiment acrocheuse au début mais se gate un peu à la suite (faut dire sur plus de 90 tomes ce serait logique.)

Nero,mardi 15 novembre 2005, 15:47 a écrit :Ces couvertures sont vraiment superbes ! (surtout la première et la troisième) Connait-on le nom de l'illustrateur ?

Plus de 90 tomes, c'est délirant !

Chapter One: The Spirit Wood— Prologue —Freakish, it was.To call it “peculiar” was to deny the sheer bizarreness of the thing. But there, “bizarre” too fell short.“Freakish” was all one could say, though the word hardly described the shock, the terror of seeing it. For a while now—which is to say for most of half a day—the thing had lain there on its side. It did not move, but lay crumpled, like a corpse stricken and discarded. Yet it lived.For, now and then, its four limbs that lay stretched out on the ground would shudder, well-developed muscles twitching as if in seizure.But that was the only sign.The place where it lay was covered in silence that seemed eternal; the stillness was near complete. Evening was close, and the sun had waxed to a gigantic disk that shone with a dull hard light as it dipped low toward the mountains.Had any man come wandering here this evening and seen the thing lying there, with its head half in the waters of the spring, he would have known fear—fear that gripped him and would not let go, that made his legs go weak. Doubts would have raced through his mind. Perhaps he had broken some sacred taboo; perhaps by seeing this thing, he was overstepping the boundaries that protected the safe, sane world that he had taken for granted. But in truth, none of sound mind would come here in the deepening twilight, for these were the lands of Stafolos Keep. These were the borderlands between the domain of men and the darker regions where darker things ran wild.As freakish as the fallen creature was, it had the shape of a man. Still, few would venture calling it such.Except for a crude leather loincloth, it was naked, its powerful body exposed, sculpted by training, hardened by battle. That body shook again—unconsciously gripped by equal amounts of thirst and pain. Slowly, it reached out its hands, caked with residues of blood and scored with countless battle scars. Slowly, they stretched toward the spring water that gurgled from the ground and spread into a beckoning pool.The creature’s hands broke the surface of the spring, palms cupped to scoop out water and lift it, trembling, to the mouth. The thing—or perhaps it was a “he”—was terribly thirsty. So thirsty that, if he did not drink, he would surely die. Yet drink he could not. His hands brought the water to his mouth, and there it stopped. Two times he tried; the water reached his lips, but went no further. A third time he strained, and the water ran from his shuddering fingers, and slid down his chin, while thirst raged in his throat.A noise escaped his lips then, like the howl of a wounded, dying animal. The chilling cry shook the pool and stirred the bushes at the edges of the spring where small creatures—probably the winged taulos, half bird, half beast—took to the air in fright.He reached out his hands toward the water a final time, and his strength left him. The hands dropped to the ground. Convulsions shook his frame, and he collapsed. Soon he became as still as he had been before.Wind blew, rustling the grass, sending ripples across the surface of the spring. A grass viper’s shining crimson eyes peered inquisitively from the underbrush for a moment and then vanished. Above, vampire vines came snaking down from the tops of strangely hued, misshapen trees. Yet he—or maybe it was an “it” after all—lay still on the ground, unaware of these things.There it lay, on the ground by the spring, sprawled out in all its freakishness, unmoving, and defenseless.

Deedlit,vendredi 10 mars 2006, 19:32 a écrit :La grande classe si Fleuve Noir pouvait en plus reprendre les couv d'Amano !! (mais bon on peut toujours rêver, et tant qu'ils reprennent pas les couv horribles de la version anglaise... )

Au sujet de Guin Saga, en principe Fleuve Noir reprendra les couvertures japonaises réalisées par Yoshitaka Amano