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دانلود رایگان کتاب و رمان چشمان تاریکی The Eyes of Darkness

دانلود رایگان کتاب و رمان چشمان تاریکی The Eyes of Darkness

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تاریخ اولین انتشار: ۱۰ مهٔ ۱۹۸۱
نویسنده: دین کونتز
تعداد صفحه: ۳۱۲
ناشر: Pocket Books
کشور: ایالات متحده آمریکا
ژانر: دلهره‌آور، داستان معمایی، تعلیق، داستان ترسناک

The Eyes of Darkness یک رمان هیجان انگیز توسط نویسنده آمریکایی Dean Kontz است که در سال ۱۹۸۱ منتشر شده است. این کتاب بر روی مادری است که در تلاش است تا دریابد که پسرش یک سال پیش در حقیقت فوت کرده است یا هنوز او هنوز زنده است. این کتاب شخصیت اصلی بحث و گفتگوی دامن کوتاه Asimov است.

 

بررسی اجمالی

یک مادر پسرش را با یک رهبر که ۱۶ بار قبل از این سفر بدون کوهنوردی به کوهستان رفته است ، در یک سفر اردوئی می فرستد. که تا این زمان است تک تک کارمندان و رهبران و رانندگان بدون هیچ توضیحی می میرند. وقتی مادر غمگین که شخصیت اصلی شخصیت است ، شروع به پذیرش این واقعیت کرد که پسرش ، دنی ، مرده است ، از آنجا که می گوید او مرده نیست ، شروع به حملات شرورانه مانند قلدر می کند و نمی گوید که مرده است ، مانند نوشتن روی تخته های گچ ، کلمات از چاپگرها و دیگر موارد مختلف “علائم” به همراه دوست جدیدش ، الیوت استریکر ، کریستینا ایوانز تصمیم دارد آنچه را که احتمالاً در روزی که پسرش “درگذشت” اتفاق بیفتد ، کشف کند.

 

شخصیت ها

 

اقتباس تلویزیون

به گفته کونتز در ادامه متن مجدداً در سال ۲۰۰۸ ، تهیه‌کننده تلویزیون لی ریچ حق این کتاب را به همراه The Face of Fear ، Darkfall و چهارمین رمان بی نام برای یک سریال تلویزیونی مبتنی بر اثر کنتس خریداری کرد.  چشم های تاریکی به آن پاول و رز شوچ ، نویسندگان نویسندگان جنگ داروها: The Camarena Story اختصاص یافت ، اما آنها هرگز نتوانستند فیلمنامه قابل قبولی را تحویل دهند. سرانجام ، چهره ترس تنها کتابی از این چهار ساخته شده در یک فیلم تلویزیونی بود.

 

۲۰۱۹-۲۰۲۰ حدس و گمان coronavirus

خاطرنشان شده است که این رمان شباهت های زیادی با شیوع تاج ویروس ۲۰۱۹-۲۰ دارد . در انتشار اولیه ۱۹۸۱ ، نام عامل عفونی گورکی-۴۰۰ بود . با آغاز چاپ ۱۹۸۹ در سال ۱۹۸۹ ، این نام به ووهان ۴۰۰ تغییر یافت . coronavirus 2019 برای اولین بار در ووهان چین شناسایی شد . گرچه این ادعاها به صراحت توسط دکتر فیض حسن از دانشگاه Debunking Mythiness رد شده است.

 

 

رمان «چشمان تاریکی» (The Eyes of Darkness) که در سال ۱۹۸۱ توسط «دین کونتز» – نویسنده امریکایی- نوشته شده، درباره یک ویروس مرگبار به نام «ووهان-۴۰۰» است که به عنوان یک سلاح بیولوژیک مورد استفاده قرار می‌گیرد. البته شباهت ویروس جدید کرونا با آنچه در این رمان قدیمی درباره آن نوشته شده، تنها به خاستگاه آن که شهر «ووهان» چین است، محدود نمی‌شود. دین کونتز یکی از نویسندگان پرکار معاصر است که ۱۰۵ رمان را به رشته تحریر درآورده و درمجموع، ۴۵۰ میلیون نسخه از کتاب‌های او در سراسر جهان به فروش رفته است. از میان این تعداد رمان، رمانِ تقریباً فراموش‌شده «چشمان تاریکی» اکنون پس از گذشت حدود ۴۰ سال از زمان انتشار، دوباره به واسطه شیوع ویروس جدید کرونا بر سر زبان‌ها افتاده است. دلیل آن هم روشن است: این رمان با دقتی باورنکردنی شیوع ویروس کرونا از شهر ووهان چین را چهار دهه قبل پیش‌بینی کرده است. موضوع این رمان درباره مادری است که فرزندش به طرز مرموزی ناپدید شده و پس از مدتی از شهر ووهان چین (منشأ ویروس جدید کرونا) سر در می‌آورد. مادر پسر برای یافتن او به ووهان می‌رود و در آنجا در جریان یک سلاح بیولوژیک (ویروس مصنوعی) جدید و خطرناک به نام «ووهان-۴۰۰» قرار می‌گیرد که در آزمایشگاه ساخته شده و افراد زیادی را مبتلا کرده است. در رمان چشمان تاریکی، هر فردی که ویروس ووهان-۴۰۰ وارد بدن او شود، بیشتر از ۲۴ ساعت زنده نمی‌ماند؛ چراکه بخشی از مغز را که وظیفه کنترل اعمال ارادی بدن از جمله نفس کشیدن را برعهده دارد، نابود می‌کند. نکته جالب‌تر آنکه بر اساس تصویرِ تأییدنشده‌ای که از یکی از بخش‌های این کتاب در رسانه‌ها و شبکه‌های اجتماعی منتشر شده، دین کونتز در رمان علمی- تخیلی «چشمان تاریکی» از نوع تکامل‌یافته‌تری از ویروس ووهان-۴۰۰ سخن گفته که چندین دهه بعد (حدود سال ۲۰۲۰ میلادی) باعث بیماری وحشتناکی با علائم آنفلوآنزا خواهد شد! طبق این تصویر ادعایی، کونتز در این رمان می‌گوید که این بیماری تنفسی جدید به‌سرعت در سراسر جهان همه‌گیر شده و در برابر تمام درمان‌های شناخته‌شده مقاومت خواهد کرد. البته با وجود این شباهت‌های خیره‌کننده، میان ووهان-۴۰۰ و ویروس جدید کرونا تفاوت‌هایی نیز وجود دارد؛ از جمله اینکه ووهان-۴۰۰ یک ویروس انسان‌ساز بوده که در آزمایشگاه‌های بیولوژیک ساخته شده، اما ویروس کرونا اینگونه نیست. تفاوت دوم مربوط به میزان مرگبار بودن این دو ویروس است؛ درحالی‌که میزان مرگ و میر بین افراد مبتلا به ووهان-۴۰۰ در رمان «چشمان تاریکی» صد درصد است، تاکنون تنها ۲ درصد از مبتلایان به ویروس کرونا جان خود را از دست داده‌اند.

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قسمتی از رمان :

AT SIX MINUTES PAST MIDNIGHT, TUESDAY MORNing, on the way home from a
late rehearsal of her new stage show, Tina Evans saw her son, Danny, in a stranger’s car.
But Danny had been dead more than a year.
Two blocks from her house, intending to buy a quart of milk and a loaf of whole-wheat
bread, Tina stopped at a twenty-four-hour market and parked in the dry yellow drizzle of
a sodium-vapor light, beside a gleaming, cream-colored Chevrolet station wagon. The
boy was in the front passenger seat of the wagon, waiting for someone in the store. Tina
could see only the side of his face, but she gasped in painful recognition.
Danny.
The boy was about twelve, Danny’s age. He had thick dark hair like Danny’s, a nose that
resembled Danny’s, and a rather delicate jawline like Danny’s too.
She whispered her son’s name, as if she would frighten off this beloved apparition if she
spoke any louder.
Unaware that she was staring at him, the boy put one hand to his mouth and bit gently on
his bent thumb knuckle, which Danny had begun to do a year or so before he died.
Without success, Tina had tried to break him of that bad habit.
Now, as she watched this boy, his resemblance to Danny seemed to be more than mere
coincidence. Suddenly Tina’s mouth went dry and sour, and her heart thudded. She still
had not adjusted to the loss of her only child, because she’d never wanted—or tried—to
adjust to it. Seizing on this boy’s resemblance to her Danny, she was too easily able to
fantasize that there had been no loss in the first place.
Maybe . . . maybe this boy actually
was
Danny. Why not? The more that she considered
it, the less crazy it seemed. After all, she’d never seen Danny’s corpse. The police and the
morticians had advised her that Danny was so badly torn up, so horribly mangled, that
she was better off not looking at him. Sickened, grief-stricken, she had taken their advice,
and Danny’s funeral had been a closed-coffin service. But perhaps they’d been mistaken
when they identified the body. Maybe Danny hadn’t been killed in the accident, after all.
Maybe he’d only suffered a mild head injury, just severe enough to give him . . .
amnesia.
Yes. Amnesia. Perhaps he had wandered away from the wrecked bus and had been found
miles from the scene of the accident, without identification, unable to tell anyone who he
was or where he came from. That was possible, wasn’t it? She had seen similar stories in
the movies. Sure. Amnesia. And if that were the case, then he might have ended up in a
foster home, in a new life. And now here he was sitting in the cream-colored Chevrolet
wagon, brought to her by fate and by—
The boy became conscious of her gaze and turned toward her. She held her breath as his
face came slowly around. As they stared at each other through two windows and through
the strange sulphurous light, she had the feeling that they were making contact across an
immense gulf of space and time and destiny. But then, inevitably, her fantasy burst, for
he wasn’t Danny.
Pulling her gaze away from his, she studied her hands, which were gripping the steering
wheel so fiercely that they ached.
“Damn.”
She was angry with herself. She thought of herself as a tough, competent, levelheaded
woman who was able to deal with anything life threw at her, and she was disturbed by
her continuing inability to accept Danny’s death.
After the initial shock, after the funeral, she
had
begun to cope with the trauma.
Gradually, day by day, week by week, she had put Danny behind her, with sorrow, with
guilt, with tears and much bitterness, but also with firmness and determination. She had
taken several steps up in her career during the past year, and she had relied on hard work
as a sort of morphine, using it to dull her pain until the wound fully healed.
But then, a few weeks ago, she had begun to slip back into the dreadful condition in
which she’d wallowed immediately after she’d received news of the accident. Her denial
was as resolute as it was irrational. Again, she was possessed by the haunting feeling that
her child was alive. Time should have put even more distance between her and the
anguish, but instead the passing days were bringing her around full circle in her grief.
This boy in the station wagon was not the first that she had imagined was Danny; in
recent weeks, she had seen her lost son in other cars, in school-yards past which she had
been driving, on public streets, in a movie theater.
Also, she’d recently been plagued by a repeating dream in which Danny was alive. Each
time, for a few hours after she woke, she could not face reality. She half convinced
herself that the dream was a premonition of Danny’s eventual return to her, that somehow
he had survived and would be coming back into her arms one day soon.
This was a warm and wonderful fantasy, but she could not sustain it for long. Though she
always resisted the grim truth, it gradually exerted itself every time, and she was
repeatedly brought down hard, forced to accept that the dream was not a premonition.
Nevertheless, she knew that when she had the dream again, she would find new hope in it
as she had so many times before.
And that was not good.
Sick,
she berated herself.
She glanced at the station wagon and saw that the boy was still staring at her. She glared
at her tightly clenched hands again and found the strength to break her grip on the
steering wheel.
Grief could drive a person crazy. She’d heard that said, and she believed it. But she wasn’t
going to allow such a thing to happen to her. She would be sufficiently tough on herself
to stay in touch with reality—as unpleasant as reality might be. She couldn’t allow herself
to hope.
She had loved Danny with all her heart, but he was gone. Torn and crushed in a bus
accident with fourteen other little boys, just one victim of a larger tragedy. Battered
beyond recognition.
Dead.
Cold.
Decaying.
In a coffin.
Under the ground.
Forever.
Her lower lip trembled. She wanted to cry, needed to cry, but she didn’t.
The boy in the Chevy had lost interest in her. He was staring at the front of the grocery
store again, waiting
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