今時珍しいミュータントもの。
不気味な新人類は迫害される、というのが定番。
スランを思い出す。
ただ、この本の新人類は超能力は使えない。
地味なので、あまり売れてないのでは?
でも、わしゃ好き。
この本はおそらく「ウィルス進化説」を取り入れているので、
そういう意味ではトンデモ理論を肯定していることになる(?)
たしか、続編も読んだ。
ん〜、Darwin's Childrenはいらなかったかな。
Stella Novaの運命は未知のままで終わらせておいたほうがよかったな。
"Did we make it again, Mitch?"
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Darwin's Radio: A Novel マスマーケット – 2000/7/5
英語版
Greg Bear
(著)
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購入オプションとあわせ買い
A 2000 HUGO AWARD NOMINEE
Ancient diseases encoded in the DNA of humans wait like sleeping dragons to wake and infect again--or so molecular biologist Kaye Lang believes. And now it looks as if her controversial theory is in fact chilling reality. For Christopher Dicken, a "virus hunter" at the Epidemic Intelligence Service, has pursued an elusive flu-like disease that strikes down expectant mothers and their offspring. Then a major discovery high in the Alps --the preserved bodies of a prehistoric family--reveals a shocking link: something that has slept in our genes for millions of years is waking up.
Now, as the outbreak of this terrifying disease threatens to become a deadly epidemic, Dicken and Lang must race against time to assemble the pieces of a puzzle only they are equipped to solve--an evolutionary puzzle that will determine the future of the human race . . . if a future exists at all.
Ancient diseases encoded in the DNA of humans wait like sleeping dragons to wake and infect again--or so molecular biologist Kaye Lang believes. And now it looks as if her controversial theory is in fact chilling reality. For Christopher Dicken, a "virus hunter" at the Epidemic Intelligence Service, has pursued an elusive flu-like disease that strikes down expectant mothers and their offspring. Then a major discovery high in the Alps --the preserved bodies of a prehistoric family--reveals a shocking link: something that has slept in our genes for millions of years is waking up.
Now, as the outbreak of this terrifying disease threatens to become a deadly epidemic, Dicken and Lang must race against time to assemble the pieces of a puzzle only they are equipped to solve--an evolutionary puzzle that will determine the future of the human race . . . if a future exists at all.
- 本の長さ544ページ
- 言語英語
- 出版社Ballantine Books
- 発売日2000/7/5
- 寸法10.74 x 3.05 x 17.2 cm
- ISBN-109780345435248
- ISBN-13978-0345435248
商品の説明
レビュー
“A masterpiece . . . Fascinating.”—USA Today
“Vintage Bear . . . [His] characters are as complex as his ideas.”—The Seattle Times
“Bear is one of our very best, and most imaginative, speculative writers.”—New York Daily News
“I’m not sure my heart's ever beaten as hard from reading fiction as it did while I read Darwin’s Radio. This is science fiction set pretty much in the world of today, but . . . it’s a world undergoing a profound change, one that's maybe even necessary.”—Stephen Graham Jones, New York Times bestselling author of The Only Good Indian
“A writer for anyone concerned with the human condition.”—Seattle Post-Intelligencer
“[A] riveting, near-future thriller.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Absorbing and ingenious.”—Kirkus Reviews
“If anyone is the complete master of the grand-scale SF novel, it’s Bear.”—Booklist
“Vintage Bear . . . [His] characters are as complex as his ideas.”—The Seattle Times
“Bear is one of our very best, and most imaginative, speculative writers.”—New York Daily News
“I’m not sure my heart's ever beaten as hard from reading fiction as it did while I read Darwin’s Radio. This is science fiction set pretty much in the world of today, but . . . it’s a world undergoing a profound change, one that's maybe even necessary.”—Stephen Graham Jones, New York Times bestselling author of The Only Good Indian
“A writer for anyone concerned with the human condition.”—Seattle Post-Intelligencer
“[A] riveting, near-future thriller.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Absorbing and ingenious.”—Kirkus Reviews
“If anyone is the complete master of the grand-scale SF novel, it’s Bear.”—Booklist
抜粋
The Alps, near the Austrian Border with Italy
AUGUST
The flat afternoon sky spread over the black and gray mountains like a stage backdrop, the color of a dog's pale crazy eye.
His ankles aching and back burning from a misplaced loop of nylon rope, Mitch Rafelson followed Tilde's quick female form along the margin between the white firn and a dust of new snow on the field. Mingled with the ice boulders of the fall, crenels and spikes of old ice had been sculpted by summer heat into milky, flint-edged knives.
To Mitch's left, the mountains rose over the jumble of black boulders flanking the broken slope of the ice fall. On the right, in the full glare of the sun, the ice rose in blinding brilliance to the perfect catenary of the cirque.
Franco was about twenty yards to the south, hidden by the rim of Mitch's goggles. Mitch could hear him but not see him. Some kilometers behind, also out of sight now, was the brilliant orange, round fiberglass-and-aluminum bivouac where they had made their last rest stop. He did not know how many kilometers they were from the last hut, whose name he had forgotten; but the memory of bright sun and warm tea in the sitting room, the Gaststube, gave him some strength. When this ordeal was over, he would get another cup of strong tea and sit in the Gaststube and thank God he was warm and alive.
They were approaching the wall of rock and a bridge of snow lying over a chasm dug by meltwater. These now-frozen streams formed during the spring and summer and eroded the edge of the glacier. Beyond the bridge, depending from a U-shaped depression in the wall, rose what looked like a gnome's upside-down castle, or a pipe organ carved from ice: a frozen waterfall spread out in many thick columns. Chunks of dislodged ice and drifts of snow gathered around the dirty white of the base; sun burnished the cream and white at the top.
Franco came into view as if out of a fog and joined up with Tilde. So far they had been on relatively level glacier. Now it seemed that Tilde and Franco were going to scale the pipe organ.
Mitch stopped for a moment and reached behind to pull out his ice ax. He pushed up his goggles, crouched, then fell back on his butt with a grunt to check his crampons. Ice balls between the spikes yielded to his knife.
Tilde walked back a few yards to speak to him. He looked up at her, his thick dark eyebrows forming a bridge over a pushed-up nose, round green eyes blinking at the cold.
"This saves us an hour," Tilde said, pointing at the pipe organ. "It's late. You've slowed us down." Her English came precise from thin lips, with a seductive Austrian accent. She had a slight but well-proportioned figure, white blond hair tucked under a dark blue Polartec cap, an elfin face with clear gray eyes. Attractive, but not Mitch's type; still, they had been lovers of the moment before Franco arrived.
"I told you I haven't climbed in eight years," Mitch said. Franco was showing him up handily. The Italian leaned on his ax near the pipe organ.
Tilde weighed and measured everything, took only the best, discarded the second best, yet never cut ties in case her past connections should prove useful. Franco had a square jaw and white teeth and a square head with thick black hair shaved at the sides, an eagle nose, Mediterranean olive skin, broad shoulders and arms knotted with muscles, fine hands, very strong. He was not too smart for Tilde, but no dummy, either. Mitch could imagine Tilde pulled from her thick Austrian forest by the prospect of bedding Franco, light against dark, like layers in a torte. He felt curiously detached from this image. Tilde made love with a mechanical rigor that had deceived Mitch for a time, until he realized she was merely going through the moves, one after the other, as a kind of intellectual exercise. She ate the same way. Nothing moved her deeply, yet she had real wit at times, and a lovely smile that drew lines on the corners of those thin, precise lips.
"We must go down before sunset," Tilde said. "I don't know what the weather will do. It's two hours to the cave. Not very far, but a hard climb. If we're lucky, you'll have an hour to look at what we've found."
"I'll do my best," Mitch said. "How far are we from the tourist trails? I haven't seen any red paint in hours."
Tilde pulled away her goggles to wipe them, gave him a flash smile with no warmth. "No tourists up here. Most good climbers stay away, too. But I know my way."
"Snow goddess," Mitch said.
"What do you expect?" she said, taking it as a compliment. "I've climbed here since I was a girl."
"You're still a girl," Mitch said. "Twenty-five, twenty-six?"
She had never revealed her age to Mitch. Now she appraised him as if he were a gemstone she might reconsider purchasing. "I am thirty-two. Franco is forty but he's faster than you."
"To hell with Franco," Mitch said without anger.
Tilde curled her lip in amusement. "We are all weird today," she said, turning away. "Even Franco feels it. But another Iceman . . . what would that be worth?"
The very thought shortened Mitch's breath, and he did not need that now. His excitement curled back on itself, mixing with his exhaustion. "I don't know," he said.
AUGUST
The flat afternoon sky spread over the black and gray mountains like a stage backdrop, the color of a dog's pale crazy eye.
His ankles aching and back burning from a misplaced loop of nylon rope, Mitch Rafelson followed Tilde's quick female form along the margin between the white firn and a dust of new snow on the field. Mingled with the ice boulders of the fall, crenels and spikes of old ice had been sculpted by summer heat into milky, flint-edged knives.
To Mitch's left, the mountains rose over the jumble of black boulders flanking the broken slope of the ice fall. On the right, in the full glare of the sun, the ice rose in blinding brilliance to the perfect catenary of the cirque.
Franco was about twenty yards to the south, hidden by the rim of Mitch's goggles. Mitch could hear him but not see him. Some kilometers behind, also out of sight now, was the brilliant orange, round fiberglass-and-aluminum bivouac where they had made their last rest stop. He did not know how many kilometers they were from the last hut, whose name he had forgotten; but the memory of bright sun and warm tea in the sitting room, the Gaststube, gave him some strength. When this ordeal was over, he would get another cup of strong tea and sit in the Gaststube and thank God he was warm and alive.
They were approaching the wall of rock and a bridge of snow lying over a chasm dug by meltwater. These now-frozen streams formed during the spring and summer and eroded the edge of the glacier. Beyond the bridge, depending from a U-shaped depression in the wall, rose what looked like a gnome's upside-down castle, or a pipe organ carved from ice: a frozen waterfall spread out in many thick columns. Chunks of dislodged ice and drifts of snow gathered around the dirty white of the base; sun burnished the cream and white at the top.
Franco came into view as if out of a fog and joined up with Tilde. So far they had been on relatively level glacier. Now it seemed that Tilde and Franco were going to scale the pipe organ.
Mitch stopped for a moment and reached behind to pull out his ice ax. He pushed up his goggles, crouched, then fell back on his butt with a grunt to check his crampons. Ice balls between the spikes yielded to his knife.
Tilde walked back a few yards to speak to him. He looked up at her, his thick dark eyebrows forming a bridge over a pushed-up nose, round green eyes blinking at the cold.
"This saves us an hour," Tilde said, pointing at the pipe organ. "It's late. You've slowed us down." Her English came precise from thin lips, with a seductive Austrian accent. She had a slight but well-proportioned figure, white blond hair tucked under a dark blue Polartec cap, an elfin face with clear gray eyes. Attractive, but not Mitch's type; still, they had been lovers of the moment before Franco arrived.
"I told you I haven't climbed in eight years," Mitch said. Franco was showing him up handily. The Italian leaned on his ax near the pipe organ.
Tilde weighed and measured everything, took only the best, discarded the second best, yet never cut ties in case her past connections should prove useful. Franco had a square jaw and white teeth and a square head with thick black hair shaved at the sides, an eagle nose, Mediterranean olive skin, broad shoulders and arms knotted with muscles, fine hands, very strong. He was not too smart for Tilde, but no dummy, either. Mitch could imagine Tilde pulled from her thick Austrian forest by the prospect of bedding Franco, light against dark, like layers in a torte. He felt curiously detached from this image. Tilde made love with a mechanical rigor that had deceived Mitch for a time, until he realized she was merely going through the moves, one after the other, as a kind of intellectual exercise. She ate the same way. Nothing moved her deeply, yet she had real wit at times, and a lovely smile that drew lines on the corners of those thin, precise lips.
"We must go down before sunset," Tilde said. "I don't know what the weather will do. It's two hours to the cave. Not very far, but a hard climb. If we're lucky, you'll have an hour to look at what we've found."
"I'll do my best," Mitch said. "How far are we from the tourist trails? I haven't seen any red paint in hours."
Tilde pulled away her goggles to wipe them, gave him a flash smile with no warmth. "No tourists up here. Most good climbers stay away, too. But I know my way."
"Snow goddess," Mitch said.
"What do you expect?" she said, taking it as a compliment. "I've climbed here since I was a girl."
"You're still a girl," Mitch said. "Twenty-five, twenty-six?"
She had never revealed her age to Mitch. Now she appraised him as if he were a gemstone she might reconsider purchasing. "I am thirty-two. Franco is forty but he's faster than you."
"To hell with Franco," Mitch said without anger.
Tilde curled her lip in amusement. "We are all weird today," she said, turning away. "Even Franco feels it. But another Iceman . . . what would that be worth?"
The very thought shortened Mitch's breath, and he did not need that now. His excitement curled back on itself, mixing with his exhaustion. "I don't know," he said.
著者について
Greg Bear is the author of twenty-four books, which have been translated into a dozen languages. He has been awarded two Hugos and four Nebulas for his fiction. He was called the "best working writer of hard science fiction" by The Ultimate Encyclopedia of Science Fiction. He is married to Astrid Anderson Bear. They are the parents of two children, Erik and Alexandra. Darwin's Radio is a 2000 Hugo Award nominee.
登録情報
- ASIN : 0345435249
- 出版社 : Ballantine Books; Reissue版 (2000/7/5)
- 発売日 : 2000/7/5
- 言語 : 英語
- マスマーケット : 544ページ
- ISBN-10 : 9780345435248
- ISBN-13 : 978-0345435248
- 寸法 : 10.74 x 3.05 x 17.2 cm
- カスタマーレビュー:
著者について
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トップレビュー
上位レビュー、対象国: 日本
レビューのフィルタリング中に問題が発生しました。後でもう一度試してください。
2016年9月16日に日本でレビュー済み
Amazonで購入
期待しないで上巻を購入したのですが、結構面白くて引き込まれました。装丁がイマイチか。
2003年6月29日に日本でレビュー済み
Amazonで購入
妊娠、出産、あるいは堕胎という人々が神経質になりやすい事柄を大胆に取り入れた物語でした。科学的な根拠がどの程度のものなのか分かりませんでしたが、ある意味、タブーに挑戦した物語だと思うので、躁鬱気質や重度の偏頭痛で劇的な効果を高めようとしたり、ネアンデルタール人とのチャネリングで神秘性を高めようとしたり、そんな小細工をしない方が良かったという気がします。しかし、謎あり、政治的なかけひきあり、男女の恋愛ありと盛りだくさんな内容で割合に楽しめました。多くの話題を取り込んでも散漫になっていない点は良いと思います。
他の国からのトップレビュー
Kevin Fifield
5つ星のうち5.0
The best kind of fiction, engrossing read that makes you think
2018年11月7日にカナダでレビュー済みAmazonで購入
Bear's ability to draw you into the story and make you care about the characters is never overshadowed by the science aspects of the story. His characters feel like real people. There are no paragons of virtue, not any blatantly evil. Just people trying to figure out their new world.
Client d'Amazon
5つ星のうち5.0
Greg Bear's best book
2017年11月29日にフランスでレビュー済みAmazonで購入
In my humble opinion, this is Bear's best novel. Much of the science he describes, e.g. the role of HERVs in our genome, or the interbreeding of Neanderthals with Homo Sapiens, was either state-of-the-art at the time he wrote it, or has been proven true (or at least plausible) subsequently.
The intrigue is sufficiently complex to keep you wondering to the last page, and the characters have genuine substance. Contrary to some other Sci-Fi novels, Bear's included, the plot and settings have the kind of adequate balance between actuality and anticipation of a plausible future that makes you think that something like it could really happen tomorrow, or next year, or in a not so distant future. The story continues in a second novel, Darwin's Children, that is quite good too, though not as good as this one. But you will want to read it because it's a damned good story.
The intrigue is sufficiently complex to keep you wondering to the last page, and the characters have genuine substance. Contrary to some other Sci-Fi novels, Bear's included, the plot and settings have the kind of adequate balance between actuality and anticipation of a plausible future that makes you think that something like it could really happen tomorrow, or next year, or in a not so distant future. The story continues in a second novel, Darwin's Children, that is quite good too, though not as good as this one. But you will want to read it because it's a damned good story.
sf_hound
5つ星のうち5.0
Disease or Evolutionary Sea Change
2013年4月10日に英国でレビュー済みAmazonで購入
If, as some believe, evolution occurs in rapid bursts, how would humans know when it's happening to them and what would it look like. Bear does a superb job of telling this tale from the top down (i.e. from the point of view of those responsible for the decisions such changes would invoke). The story is tight, compelling, thought-provoking and told with his customary care for the biological science involved. It also strikes me as a far more mature re-examination of many of the themes raised in Blood Dance. If you're a Greg Bear fan, this is a must.
sf_hound
sf_hound
B. McEwan
5つ星のうち5.0
Great concept made plausible by good science
2006年10月13日にアメリカ合衆国でレビュー済みAmazonで購入
I enjoyed this clever novel very much and unlike some reviewers think that the hard science is not at all tiresome. On the contrary, the careful explanations of genetics, bacteriophages, evolution and viruses are extremely helpful, even essential, for fully appreciating the story line. For readers who are not scientists, but who are smart and curious, this is a highly satisfying book.
One of the main reasons that I seek out great science fiction like Darwin's Radio is that I believe writers like Gregg Bear are creating a plausible cosmology for the 21st Century. The old religions certainly aren't believable any longer, so for a person who is educated and also spiritual there is not much out there in the way of a reasonant belief system. Religion and science seem to me to be two facets of the same thing. Just different aspects to examine the cosmos and imbue it with meaning. Writers like Bear, Baxter and, as ever, Arthur C. Clarke help us make sense of our high-tech environment and envision a future that is hopeful.
If you are one of those people who wonders "what if?" and believes that there are powers unseen and benign, you should read this novel. It is highly imaginative and highly recommended.
One of the main reasons that I seek out great science fiction like Darwin's Radio is that I believe writers like Gregg Bear are creating a plausible cosmology for the 21st Century. The old religions certainly aren't believable any longer, so for a person who is educated and also spiritual there is not much out there in the way of a reasonant belief system. Religion and science seem to me to be two facets of the same thing. Just different aspects to examine the cosmos and imbue it with meaning. Writers like Bear, Baxter and, as ever, Arthur C. Clarke help us make sense of our high-tech environment and envision a future that is hopeful.
If you are one of those people who wonders "what if?" and believes that there are powers unseen and benign, you should read this novel. It is highly imaginative and highly recommended.
scifiharlekin
5つ星のうち5.0
ein sozialkritischer Wissenschaftskrimi
2002年4月12日にドイツでレビュー済みAmazonで購入
Lassen wir mal beiseite, dass der Schreibstil in Ordnung ist und der Author auch in angenehmer Weise fachliche Kompetenz zeigt.
In der ersten Haelfte entwickelt sich das Buch wie ein Krimi mit mehreren parallelen Handlungsstraengen. Allerdings recht konventionell im Muster aehnlicher Romane: sensationelle Funde werden gemacht und Wissenschaftler wittern Ruhm und Ehre. Selbst der 'boese Reiche' der den Ruhm an sich reissen will scheint nicht zu fehlen.
In der zweiten Haelfte tritt das Thriller-Element jedoch leicht in den Hintergrund. Der Roman beginnt ganz nebenbei die Auswirkungen der Entdeckung fuer die Menschheit zu diskutieren indem er die Gesellschaft in zwei Lager spaltet: konservative Ablehnung und nahezu blinde Begeisterung - ohne jedoch in Schwarzweiss-Malerei zu verfallen...
Der Leser kommt auf jeden Fall auf seine Kosten - ohne in den Zwang zu geraten persoenlich Stellung zu beziehen. Das Buch ist spannend bis zum Schluss - der Ausgang ist keineswegs vorherzusehen und die zugrundeliegende Idee faszinierend und gut ausgearbeitet. Fazit: empfehlenswerte kurzweilige Unterhaltung mit Tiefgang als Bonus.
In der ersten Haelfte entwickelt sich das Buch wie ein Krimi mit mehreren parallelen Handlungsstraengen. Allerdings recht konventionell im Muster aehnlicher Romane: sensationelle Funde werden gemacht und Wissenschaftler wittern Ruhm und Ehre. Selbst der 'boese Reiche' der den Ruhm an sich reissen will scheint nicht zu fehlen.
In der zweiten Haelfte tritt das Thriller-Element jedoch leicht in den Hintergrund. Der Roman beginnt ganz nebenbei die Auswirkungen der Entdeckung fuer die Menschheit zu diskutieren indem er die Gesellschaft in zwei Lager spaltet: konservative Ablehnung und nahezu blinde Begeisterung - ohne jedoch in Schwarzweiss-Malerei zu verfallen...
Der Leser kommt auf jeden Fall auf seine Kosten - ohne in den Zwang zu geraten persoenlich Stellung zu beziehen. Das Buch ist spannend bis zum Schluss - der Ausgang ist keineswegs vorherzusehen und die zugrundeliegende Idee faszinierend und gut ausgearbeitet. Fazit: empfehlenswerte kurzweilige Unterhaltung mit Tiefgang als Bonus.