2011, ISBN: 9780099499824

Gebundene Ausgabe

Picador. Good. 5.12 x 1.54 x 7.76 inches. Paperback. 1990. 880 pages. Text tanned. Spine cracked.<br>25th ANNIVERSARY EDITIO N. One of the most acclaimed books of our time--the defi… Mehr…

Picador. Good. 5.12 x 1.54 x 7.76 inches. Paperback. 1990. 880 pages. Text tanned. Spine cracked.<br>25th ANNIVERSARY EDITIO N. One of the most acclaimed books of our time--the definitive Vi etnam War exposé. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award. When he came to Vietnam in 1962, Lieutenant Colonel John Paul Vann was the one clear-sighted participant in an enterp rise riddled with arrogance and self-deception, a charismatic sol dier who put his life and career on the line in an attempt to con vince his superiors that the war should be fought another way. By the time he died in 1972, Vann had embraced the follies he once decried. He died believing that the war had been won. In this ma gisterial book, a monument of history and biography that was awar ded the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize for Nonfiction , a renowned journalist tells the story of John Vann--the one irr eplaceable American in Vietnam--and of the tragedy that destroyed a country and squandered so much of America's young manhood and resources. Editorial Reviews Review This passionate, epic account of the Vietnam War centers on Lt. Col. John Paul Va nn, whose story illuminates America's failures and disillusionmen t in Southeast Asia. Vann was a field adviser to the army when Am erican involvement was just beginning. He quickly became appalled at the corruption of the South Vietnamese regime, their incompet ence in fighting the Communists, and their brutal alienation of t heir own people. Finding his superiors too blinded by political l ies to understand that the war was being thrown away, he secretly briefed reporters on what was really happening. One of those rep orters was Neil Sheehan. This definitive expose on why America lo st the war won the Pulitzer Prize for nonfiction in 1989. --This text refers to the hardcover edition. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by pe rmission. All rights reserved. from The Funeral It was a funeral to which they all came. They gathered in the red brick chapel be side the cemetery gate. Six gray horses were hitched to a caisson that would carry the coffin to the grave. A marching band was re ady. An honor guard from the Army's oldest regiment, the regiment whose rolls reached back to the Revolution, was also formed in r anks before the white Georgian portico of the chapel. The soldier s were in full dress, dark blue trimmed with gold, the colors of the Union Army, which had safeguarded the integrity of the nation . The uniform was unsuited to the warmth and humidity of this Fri day morning in the early summer of Washington, but this state fun eral was worthy of the discomfort. John Paul Vann, the soldier of the war in Vietnam, was being buried at Arlington on June 16, 19 72. The war had already lasted longer than any other in the nati on's history and had divided America more than any conflict since the Civil War. In this war without heroes, this man had been the one compelling figure. The intensity and distinctiveness of his character and the courage and drama of his life had seemed to sum up so many of the qualities Americans admired in themselves as a people. By an obsession, by an unyielding dedication to the war, he had come to personify the American endeavor in Vietnam. He ha d exemplified it in his illusions, in his good intentions gone aw ry, in his pride, in his will to win. Where others had been defea ted or discouraged over the years, or had become disenchanted and had turned against the war, he had been undeterred in his crusad e to find a way to redeem the unredeemable, to lay hold of victor y in this doomed enterprise. At the end of a decade of struggle t o prevail, he had been killed one night a week earlier when his h elicopter had Kontum, an offensive by the North Vietnamese Army w hich had threatened to bring the Vietnam venture down in defeat. Those who had assembled to see John Vann to his grave reflected the divisions and the wounds that the war had inflicted on Americ an society. At the same time they had, almost every one, been tou ched by this man. Some had come because they had admired him and shared his cause even now; some because they had parted with him along the way, but still thought of him as a friend; some because they had been harmed by him, but cherished him for what he might have been. Although the war was to continue for nearly another t hree years with no dearth of dying in Vietnam, many at Arlington on that June morning in 1972 sensed that they were burying with J ohn Vann the war and the decade of Vietnam. With Vann dead, the r est could be no more than a postscript. He had gone to Vietnam a t the beginning of the decade, in March 1962, at the age of thirt y-seven, as an Army lieutenant colonel, volunteering to serve as senior advisor to a South Vietnamese infantry division in the Mek ong Delta south of Saigon. The war was still an adventure then. T he previous December, President John F. Kennedy had committed the arms of the United States to the task of suppressing a Communist -led rebellion and preserving South Vietnam as a separate state g overned by an American-sponsored regime in Saigon. --This text re fers to the hardcover edition. From Library Journal Vann was a f igure of legends, first as a military advisor and later as a civi lian official, renowned for his bravery and special insight into and openness about the developing failure in Vietnam. He appeared to sacrifice his military career in 1963, demonstrating uncommon integrity, and died in 1972 after leading the successful defense of Kontum. Sheehan, the New York Times reporter who obtained the Pentagon Papers from Daniel Ellsberg, reveals a flawed herocapab le of deceit in furthering his reputation and his cause and of in satiable sexual exploits that had already ended hopes of promotio nbut still a remarkable man. More importantly, Vann serves as the anchor of a detailed, well-researched, very respectable, and rea dable attempt to explain the Vietnam experience. Excerpted in The New Yorker. Highly recommended. BMOC main selection.Kenneth W. B erger, Duke Univ. Lib., Durham, N.C. Copyright 1988 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the hardcover edition. From the Publisher If there is one book that captures the Vietnam war in the sheer Homeric scale of its passion and folly, this is it.--The New York Times Book Review --This text refers to the ha rdcover edition. Review Masterly. . . . One of the few brillian t histories of the American entanglement in Vietnam. --The New Yo rk Times A brilliant work of enormous substance and ambition. In telling one man's story [A Bright Shining Lie] sets out to defin e the fatal contradictions that lost America the war in Vietnam. It belongs to the same order of merit as Dispatches, The Best and the Brightest, and Fire in the Lake. --Robert Stone, Washington Post Book World A compelling, graphic, and deeply sensitive biog raphy [and] one of the few brilliant histories of the American en thanglement in Vietnam. . . . Sheehan's skillful weaving of anecd ote and history, of personal memoir and psychological profile, gi ve the book the sense of having been written by a novelist, journ alist, and scholar all rolled up into one. --David Shipler, The N ew York Times If there is one book that catpures the Vietnam War in the sheer Homeric scale of its passion and folly, this book i s it. Neil Sheehan orchestrates a great fugue evoking all the ele ments of the war. --Ronald Steel, The New York Times Book Review An unforgettable narrative, a chronicle grand enough to suit the crash and clangors of whole armies. A Bright Shining Lie is a ve ry great piece of work; its rewards are aesthetic and . . . almos t spiritual. --The New York Review of Books Enormous power . . . full of great accomplishments . . . Neil Sheehan has written not only the best book ever about Vietnam, but the timeliest. --News week It is difficult to believe that anyone will write a more gr ipping or important book on America's war in Vietnam than A Brigh t Shining Lie, a towering book that has been 16 years in the maki ng. . . . Sheehan shows, perhaps more convincingly than anyone el se who has written on the subject, that our intervention in Vietn am was in fact a terrible blunder, damaging to America and devast ating to the Vietnamese and the other people of Indochina--a mist ake as tragic as it was unnecessary. --Detroit News [A Bright Sh ining Lie] is more than a biography. It is also a compelling and clear hstiroy of U.S. involvement in Vietnam. Mr. Sheehan's book . . . is the best answer to any American who asks: 'How could thi s have happened?' --Wall Street Journal Using the life of one ma n as his framework, Neil Sheehan has written the best book on Ame rica's involvement in Vietnam since Frances FitzGerald's Fire in the Lake. --Kirkus Reviews One of the milestones in the literatu re about the war. . . . In these times, a readable book about the Vietnam war, like any other clear warning, is worth its weight i n life. --Christian Science Monitor --This text refers to the har dcover edition. About the Author Neil Sheehan is the author of A Fiery Peace in a Cold War. He spent three years in Vietnam as a war correspondent for United Press International and The New York Times and won numerous awards for his reporting. In 1971 he obta ined the Pentagon Papers, which brought the Times the Pulitzer Pr ize Gold Medal for meritorious public service. Sheehan lives in W ashington, D.C. He is married to the writer Susan Sheehan. From the Hardcover edition. --This text refers to the hardcover editio n. From Publishers Weekly Killed in a helicopter crash in Vietna m in 1972, controversial Lt. Col. John Paul Vann was perhaps the most outspoken army field adviser to criticize the way the war wa s being waged. Appalled by the South Vietnamese troops' unwilling ness to fight and their random slaughter of civilians, he flouted his supervisors and leaked his sharply pessimistic (and, as it t urned out, accurate) assessments to the U.S. press corps in Saigo n. Among them was Sheehan, a reporter for UPI and later the New Y ork Times (for whom he obtained the Pentagon Papers). Sixteen yea rs in the making, writing and re search, this compelling 768-page biography is an extraordinary feat of reportage: an eloquent, di sturbing portrait of a man who in many ways personified the U.S. war effort. Blunt, idealistic, patronizing to the Vietnamese, Van n firmly believed the U.S. could win; as Sheehan limns him, he wa s ultimately caught up in his own illusions. The author weaves in to one unified chronicle an account of the Korean War (in which V ann also fought), the story of U.S. support for French colonialis m, descriptions of military battles, a critique of our foreign po licy and a history of this all-American boy's secret personal lie he was illegitimate, his mother a white trash prostitutethat led him to recklessly gamble away his career. 100,000 first printing; first serial to the New Yorker; BOMC main selection ; a uthor to ur. Copyright 1988 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text r efers to the hardcover edition. From the Inside Flap Sheehan's t ragic biography of John Paul Vann is also a sweeping history of A merica's seduction, entrapment and disillusionment in Vietnam. -- This text refers to the hardcover edition. ., Picador, 1990, 2.5, Del Rey. Very Good. 4.26 x 1.2 x 6.81 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2011. 672 pages. <br>Exposed as the Second Dreamer, Araminta has become the target of a galaxywide search by others equally determined t o prevent--or facilitate--the pilgrimage into the Void. An indest ructible microuniverse, the Void may contain paradise, but it is also a deadly threat. For the reality that exists inside its boun daries demands energy drawn from planets, stars, galaxies--from e verything that lives. Meanwhile, the story of Edeard, the Waterw alker, continues to unfold. With time running out, Inigo, the Fir st Dreamer, must decide whether to release Edeard's dangerous fin al dream. And Araminta must choose whether to run from her respon sibilities or face them down, with no guarantee of success or sur vival. But all these choices may be for naught if the leader of a rival faction enters the Void. For it is not paradise she seeks there, but dominion. Editorial Reviews Review Spiced with plent y of action and intrigue.--San Jose Mercury News Satisfying and powerful . . . space opera doesn't get much more epic than Peter F. Hamilton, something proven in spades in The Evolutionary Void. --SFFWorld Dazzling with complex story lines, compelling charact ers, and universe-spanning drama.--Publishers Weekly About the A uthor Peter F. Hamilton is the author of numerous novels, includ ing The Temporal Void, The Dreaming Void, Judas Unchained, Pandor a's Star, Fallen Dragon, and the acclaimed epic Night's Dawn tril ogy (The Reality Dysfunction, The Neutronium Alchemist, and The N aked God). He lives with his family in England. Excerpt. ® Repr inted by permission. All rights reserved. ONE The starship had n o name; it didn't have a serial number or even a marque. Only one of its kind had ever been built. As no more would ever be requir ed, no designation was needed; it was simply the ship. It streak ed through the substructure of spacetime at fifty-nine light-year s an hour, the fastest anything built by humans had ever traveled . Navigation at that awesome velocity was by quantum interstice s imilarity interpretation, which determined the relative location of mass in the real universe beyond. This alleviated the use of c rude hysradar or any other sensor that might possibly be detected . The extremely sophisticated ultradrive that powered it might ha ve reached even greater speeds if a considerable fraction of its phenomenal energy hadn't been used for fluctuation suppression. T hat meant there was no telltale distortion amid the quantum field s to betray its position to other starships that might wish to hu nt it. As well as its formidable stealth ability, the ship was b ig, a fat ovoid over six hundred meters long and two hundred mete rs across at the center. But its real advantage came from its arm aments; there were weapons on board that could knock out a half a dozen Commonwealth Navy Capital-class ships while barely stirrin g out of standby mode. The weapons had been verified only once: t he ship had flown over ten thousand light-years from the Greater Commonwealth to test them so as to avoid detection. For millennia to come, primitive alien civilizations in that section of the ga laxy would worship as gods the colorful nebulae expanding across the interstellar wastes. Even now, sitting in the ship's clean h emispherical cabin with the flight path imagery playing quietly i n her exovision, Neskia remembered with a little shiver of excite ment and apprehension the stars splitting asunder. It had been on e thing to run the clandestine fabrication station for the Accele rator Faction, dispatching ships and equipment to various agents and representatives. That was easy, cold machinery functioning wi th a precision she could take pride in. But seeing the weapons ac tive was slightly different. She'd felt a level of perturbation s he hadn't known in over two centuries, ever since she became High er and began her inward migration. Not that she questioned her be lief in the Accelerators; it was just the sheer potency of the we apons that struck her at some primitive level that could never be fully exorcised from the human psyche. She was awed by the power of what she alone commanded. Other elements of her animal past had been erased quietly and effectively: first with biononics and acceptance of Higher cultural philosophy, culminating in her emb race of Accelerator Faction tenets, then by committing to a subtl e rejection of her existing body form, as if to emphasize her new beliefs. Her skin now was a shimmering metallic gray, the epider mal cells imbued with a contemporary semiorganic fiber that estab lished itself in perfect symbiosis. The face that had caused many a man to turn in admiration when she was younger now wore a more efficient, flatter profile, with big saucer eyes biononically mo dified to look across a multitude of spectra. Her neck also had b een stretched, its increased flexibility allowing her head much g reater maneuverability. Underneath the gently shimmering skin her muscles had been strengthened to a level that would allow her to keep up with a terrestrial panther on its kill run, and that was before biononic augmentation kicked in. However, it was her min d that had undergone the greatest evolution. She'd stopped short of bioneural profiling simply because she didn't need any genetic reinforcement to her beliefs. Worship was a crude term for thoug ht processes, but she was certainly devoted to her cause. She had dedicated herself completely to the Accelerators at a fully emot ional level. The old human concerns and biological imperatives si mply didn't affect her anymore; her intellect was involved solely with the faction and its goal. For the past fifty years their pr ojects and plans had been all that triggered her satisfaction and suffering. Her integration was total; she was the epitome of Acc elerator values. That was why she'd been chosen to fly the ship b y the faction leader, Ilanthe, on this mission. That, and that al one, made her content. The ship began to slow as it approached t he coordinate Neskia had supplied to the smartcore. Speed ebbed a way until it hung inertly in transdimensional suspension while he r navigation display showed the Sol system twenty-three light-yea rs away. The distance was comfortable. They were outside the comp rehensive sensor mesh surrounding humanity's birthworld, yet she could be there in less than thirty minutes. Neskia ordered the s martcore to run a passive scan. Other than interstellar dust and the odd frozen comet, there was no detectable mass within three l ight-years. Certainly there were no ships. However, the scan pick ed up a tiny specific anomaly, which caused her to smile in tight satisfaction. All around the ship ultradrives were holding thems elves in transdimensional suspension, undetectable except for tha t one deliberate signal. You had to know what to search for to fi nd it, and nobody would be looking for anything out here, let alo ne ultradrives. The ship confirmed there were eight thousand of t he machines holding position as they awaited instructions. Neskia established a communication link to them and ran a swift functio n check. The Swarm was ready. She settled down to wait for Ilant he's next call. The ExoProtectorate Council meeting ended, and K azimir canceled the link to the perceptual conference room. He wa s alone in his office atop Pentagon II, with nowhere to go. The d eterrence fleet had to be launched; there was no question of that now. Nothing else could deal with the approaching Ocisen Empire armada without an unacceptable loss of life on both sides. And if news that the Ocisens were backed up by Prime warships leaked ou t . . . Which it would. Ilanthe would see to that. No choice. H e straightened the recalcitrant silver braid collar on his dress uniform one last time as he walked over to the sweeping window an d looked down on the lush parkland of Babuyan Atoll. A gentle rad iance was shining down on it, emitted from the crystal dome curvi ng overhead. Even so, he could still see Icalanise's misty cresce nt through the ersatz dawn. The sight was one he'd seen countless times during his tenure. He'd always taken it for granted; now h e wondered if he'd ever see it again. For a true military man the thought wasn't unusual; in fact, it was quite a proud pedigree. His u-shadow opened a link to Paula. We're deploying the deterre nce fleet against the Ocisens, he told her. Oh, dear. I take it the last capture mission didn't work, then. No. The Prime ship e xploded when we took it out of hyperspace. Damn. Suicide isn't p art of the Prime's psychological makeup. You know that and I kno w that. ANA:Governance knows that, too, of course, but as always it needs proof, not circumstantial evidence. Are you going with the fleet? Kazimir couldn't help but smile at the question. If o nly you knew. Yes. I'm going with the fleet. Good luck. I want y ou to try and turn this against her. They'll be out there watchin g. Any chance you can detect them first? We'll certainly try. He squinted at the industrial stations circling around High Angel, a slim sparkling silver bracelet against the starfield. I heard a bout Ellezelin. Yeah. Digby didn't have any options. ANA is send ing a forensic team. If they can work out what Chatfield was carr ying, we might be able to haul the Accelerators into court before you reach the Ocisens. I don't think so. But I have some news f or you. Yes? The Lindau has left the Hanko system. Where is it heading? That's the interesting thing. As far as I can make out , they're flying to the Spike. The Spike? Are you sure? That's a projection of their current course. It's held steady for seven hours now. But that . . . No. Why not? Kazimir asked, obscurely amused by the investigator's reaction. I simply don't believe t hat Ozzie would intervene in the Commonwealth again, not like thi s. And he'd certainly never employ someone like Aaron. Okay, I'l l grant you that one. But there are other humans in the Spike. Y es, there are. Care to name one? Kazimir gave up. So what's Ozzi e's connection? I can't think. The Lindau isn't flying as fast as it's capable of. It probably got damaged on Hanko. You could e asily get to the Spike ahead of them or even intercept. Tempting , but I'm not going to risk it. I've wasted far too much time on my personal obsession already. I can't risk another wild-goose ch ase at this point. All right. Well, I'm going to be occupied for the next few days. If it's a real emergency, you can contact me. Thank you. My priority now has got to be securing the Second Dr eamer. Good luck with that. And you, Kazimir. Godspeed. Thank you. He remained by the window for several seconds after he'd clo sed the link to Paula, then activated his biononic field interfac e function, which meshed with the navy's T-sphere. He teleported to the wormhole terminus orbiting outside the gigantic alien arks hip and through that emerged into the Kerensk terminus. One more teleport jump, and he was inside Hevelius Island, one of Earth's T-sphere stations, floating seventy kilometers above the South Pa cific. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. ONE The starship had no name; it didn't have a serial number or even a marque. Only one of its kind had ever been built. As no mo re would ever be required, no designation was needed; it was simp ly the ship. It streaked through the substructure of spacetime a t fifty-nine light-years an hour, the fastest anything built by h umans had ever traveled. Navigation at that awesome velocity was by quantum interstice similarity interpretation, which determined the relative location of mass in the real universe beyond. This alleviated the use of crude hysradar or any other sensor that mig ht possibly be detected. The extremely sophisticated ultradrive t hat powered it might have reached even greater speeds if a consid erable fraction of its phenomenal energy hadn't been used for flu ctuation suppression. That meant there was no telltale distortion amid the quantum fields to betray its position to other starship s that might wish to hunt it. As well as its formidable stealth ability, the ship was big, a fat ovoid over six hundred meters lo ng and two hundred meters across at the center. But its real adva ntage came from its armaments; there were weapons on board that c ould knock out a half a dozen Commonwealth Navy Capital-class shi ps while barely stirring out of standby mode. The weapons had bee n verified only once: the ship had flown over ten thousand light- years from the Greater Commonwealth to test them so as to avoid d etection. For millennia to come, primitive alien civilizations in that section of the galaxy would worship as gods the colorful ne bulae expanding across the interstellar wastes. Even now, sittin g in the ship's clean hemispherical cabin with the flight path im agery playing quietly in her exovision, Neskia remembered with a little shiver of excitement and apprehension the stars splitting asunder. It had been one thing to run the clandestine fabrication station for the Accelerator Faction, dispatching ships and equip ment to various agents and representatives. That was easy, cold m achinery functioning with a precision she could take pride in. Bu t seeing the weapons active was slightly different. She'd felt a level of perturbation she hadn't known in over two centuries, eve r since she became Higher and began her inward migration. Not tha t she questioned her belief in the Accelerators; it was just the sheer potency of the weapons that struck her at some primitive le vel that could never be fully exorcised from the human psyche. Sh e was awed by the power of what she alone commanded. Other eleme nts of her animal past had been erased quietly and effectively: f irst with biononics and acceptance of Higher cultural philosophy, culminating in her embrace of Accelerator Faction tenets, then b y committing to a subtle rejection of her existing body form, as if to emphasize her new beliefs. Her skin now was a shimmering me tallic gray, the epidermal cells imbued with a contemporary semio rganic fiber that established itself in perfect symbiosis. The fa ce that had caused many a man to turn in admiration when she was younger now wore a more efficient, flatter profile, with big sauc er eyes biononically modified to look across a multitude of spect ra. Her neck also had been stretched, its increased flexibility a llowing her head much greater maneuverability. Underneath the ge, Del Rey, 2011, 3, Arrow Books. Very Good. 4.33 x 1.26 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2008. "528 pages. <br>When the first body is found, mutilated and stran gled on the riverbanks, Philadelphia homicide detectives Kevin By rne and Jessica Balzano suspect yet another case of random urban violence. Then it happens again. And again. Carefully dressed and posed, each victim seems to tell a story so gruesome that Byrne and Balzano struggle at first to make sense of the killer's dark and twisted imagination. But when they stumble upon a collection of old fairy tales, the fragile link between the murders suddenly becomes clear - and with it the terrifying conclusion of the kil ler's plan. Desperately, they try to anticipate the madman's next move, but as the body count rises, the killing spree spirals out of control ..." ., Arrow Books, 2008, 3<

2008, ISBN: 9780099499824

Arrow Books. Very Good. 4.33 x 1.26 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2008. "528 pages. <br>When the first body is found, mutilated and stran gled on the riverbanks, Philadelphia homic… Mehr…

Arrow Books. Very Good. 4.33 x 1.26 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 2008. "528 pages. <br>When the first body is found, mutilated and stran gled on the riverbanks, Philadelphia homicide detectives Kevin By rne and Jessica Balzano suspect yet another case of random urban violence. Then it happens again. And again. Carefully dressed and posed, each victim seems to tell a story so gruesome that Byrne and Balzano struggle at first to make sense of the killer's dark and twisted imagination. But when they stumble upon a collection of old fairy tales, the fragile link between the murders suddenly becomes clear - and with it the terrifying conclusion of the kil ler's plan. Desperately, they try to anticipate the madman's next move, but as the body count rises, the killing spree spirals out of control ..." ., Arrow Books, 2008, 3<

2008, ISBN: 9780099499824

[PU: Arrow], 528 Seiten Taschenbuch, Größe: 17 x 11.4 x 4.6 cm Das Buch befindet sich in einem guten, gelesenen Zustand. Die Seiten und der Einband sind intakt. Buchrücken/Ecken/Kanten kö… Mehr…

[PU: Arrow], 528 Seiten Taschenbuch, Größe: 17 x 11.4 x 4.6 cm Das Buch befindet sich in einem guten, gelesenen Zustand. Die Seiten und der Einband sind intakt. Buchrücken/Ecken/Kanten können leichte Gebrauchsspuren aufweisen. Altersfreigabe FSK ab 0 Jahre, DE, [SC: 1.95], gebraucht; gut, gewerbliches Angebot, [GW: 322g], Banküberweisung, PayPal<