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Hannibal Rising by Thomas Harris
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Hannibal Rising (2006)

by Thomas Harris

Other authors: See the other authors section.

Series: Hannibal Lecter (Prequel)

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English (63)  German (1)  All languages (64)
Showing 1-5 of 63 (next | show all)
the last and the first, i guess. this one goes deep into the making of H. though i still wonder if he came that way. his uncle says to him at one point that the Lecter men are made different. his impulse to revenge is completely understandable, and he's as efficient as a beginner as he is later. not a good child to be rude to, not a good man.

the lady of the piece, Lady Murasaki, is quite interesting, though only seen here through H's eyes. like him, she is decisive, but her methods (and her limits) differ. she saves him (twice)(economically), gets a declaration even of love, sees in his face that love - much less stopping - is by that point in fact beyond him, and decamps back to Japan (also economical). women for him are either invisible or aspects of Mischa. his mother dies too, horribly, but it's his sister he chose at one specific moment to save - and then couldn't. which makes it plausible that in the (later)(earlier) books the Lady is never referred to. he made his promise to Mischa, precluding all other promises, and let that define him. she sees that, and she goes very far away.

i liked it. the setting in 1940s wartime and post-wartime europe was well-done, all the characters including the victims well drawn. the prose was straightforward, workmanlike, not terribly suspenseful, and very flat - you'd think it was Harris's first book, not his last. distance, scrambling for distance. oh, i could do a profile of the author off his progress through this series.

but ultimately we don't find out a whole lot more about our beloved monster than the previous book (Hannibal) offers up. it's like a sketch, fleshing out the scene in Lithuania. it almost feels like material that might have been excised from that book as extraneous. now we know all the places where Hannibal's skillset came from, where his tastes were formed. and something of the no-man's-land along the Eastern Front during the War, and what that carnage left behind in post-war Europe. good things, but a bit leaden. the author seems to have run out of things he wants to say. ( )
  macha | May 4, 2014 |
Not overly memorable. I didn't even remember that I had read it until I watched the movie and knew everything that was going to happen. :> ( )
  steadfastreader | Mar 18, 2014 |
I think this is Harris' best work. Worth a second reading. ( )
  GarryRogers | Mar 20, 2013 |
I barely got through this book. The writing was horrible. I loved the movie "Silence Of the Lambs" which is what prompted me to read this series. This book is a prequel to the other books so I started with it. It tells of what events happened in Hannibal's life that lead him to become who he is. I couldn't make sense of this book though. The writing was so fragmented jumping all over the place and explaining nothing. I'm going to try the next book and hope it's better. ( )
  justablondemoment | Dec 28, 2012 |
I have mixed feelings about this novel. As a stand-alone, it would certainly be very interesting, but it is a disappointment when placed in the Hannibal-tradition. It misses the suspense, the attention for detail, the quirky angle we know so well from Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal. The author's lack of passion shows: little to no details or explorations, all rather shallow, a routine job. On top of the obvious lack of joy in writing, it just doesn't serve its purpose. I don't believe for a second that Hannibal is the person he is because of what happened in this novel. He didn't do those things only because of this. There has to be a more extensive explanation. ( )
  AlexanderDS | Sep 2, 2012 |
Showing 1-5 of 63 (next | show all)
When last seen in the novels of Thomas Harris, Dr. Hannibal Lecter -- clinical psychiatrist, criminal mastermind and grisly gourmand -- was dancing with former FBI agent Clarice Starling on a terrace in Buenos Aires. The discomforting finale of "Hannibal" (1999), which suggested that Clarice had succumbed to Lecter's chemicals, if not his charm, was rejected in the movie version in favor of a more (dare we say?) palatable confection. Now Harris eludes the dissonance of those alternative endings by writing a suspense-driven prequel, "Hannibal Rising": a portrait of the cannibal as a young man.
 
Thomas Harris owes Anthony Hopkins a debt that he may never adequately repay. Before Hopkins starred as serial killer Hannibal "The Cannibal" Lecter in the film adaptation of Harris' thriller The Silence Of The Lambs, Harris was already a popular author, with two books under his belt, both adapted to film. But it took Hopkins' sublimely creepy portrayal to catch audiences' imaginations and assure that they'd lay out cash for any book about Lecter, no matter how hacky, tacky, and ill-conceived. The latest, the Silence prequel Hannibal Rising, is at least a step up from the wallowing, pointless grotesqueries of 1999's Hannibal; this installment has its irritating quirks and its notable lacks, but at least it points its Grand Guignol tropes to some purpose.
 
It really is a shame about Thomas Harris. Red Dragon, published in 1981, and The Silence of the Lambs, which came out seven years later, are among the greatest thrillers of our time.
 
At a certain point, great pop-culture creations tend, like Frankenstein's monster, to slip their bonds and escape from the control of their progenitors. And Thomas Harris, who dreamed up the pre-eminent fictional boogeyman of our time, seems to recognize that Hannibal Lecter, the homicidal epicurean psychiatrist he brought into being as a plot device and a good sick joke in his 1981 thriller, ''Red Dragon,'' isn't quite his anymore.
 
The new Thomas Harris novel goes by the title of “Hannibal Rising” (Delacorte; $27.95). This has the effect of making Dr. Hannibal Lecter sound like a soufflé, a fever chart, or a storm—all comparisons that the good doctor, who prides himself as an epicure and a force of nature, would be bound to welcome.
added by stephmo | editNew Yorker, Anthony Lane (Dec 18, 2006)
 

» Add other authors (16 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Thomas Harrisprimary authorall editionsconfirmed
Callegari, AlessandraTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
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Epigraph
This is the first thing
I have understood:
Time is the echo of an axe
Within a wood.
—Philip Larkin
Dedication
First words
The door to Dr. Hannibal Lecter's memory palace is in the darkness at the center of his mind and it has a latch that can be found by touch alone.
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(Click to show. Warning: May contain spoilers.)
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Amazon.com Amazon.com Review (ISBN 0385339410, Hardcover)

Discover the origins of one of the most feared villains of all time in Thomas Harris's Hannibal Rising, a novel that promises to reveal the "evolution of Hannibal Lecter's evil." Thomas Harris first introduced readers to Hannibal Lecter in Red Dragon, a tale wrapped around FBI agent Will Graham (the man who hunted Lecter down) and his ability to "get inside the mind of the killer." Graham consults Dr. Lecter (the man who nearly killed him) on the case, and the legend of the nefarious Dr. Lecter was born. Harris's masterful and mesmerizing follow up, The Silence of the Lambs wowed fans, but it was Jonathan Demme's terrifying, Oscar-winning (Best Actor, Actress, Director, Picture and Adapted Screenplay) film, and Anthony Hopkins's extraordinary (and arguably over the top) performance that made "Hannibal the Cannibal" a household name. Hannibal, the third book in the Lecter saga made Lecter the prey and seemingly wrapped up the tale of the cannibalistic psychiatrist, but never revealed the source of the doctor's...gifts. Fans have been waiting decades to find out how the good doctor became "death's prodigy," making Hannibal Rising one of the most anticipated books of 2006 (and movies of 2007). --Daphne Durham

Hannibal Rising: An Excerpt

Prologue

The door to Dr. Hannibal Lecter's memory palace is in the darkness at the center of his mind and it has a latch that can be found by touch alone. This curious portal opens on immense and well-lit spaces, early baroque, and corridors and chambers rivaling in number those of the Topkapi Museum.

Everywhere there are exhibits, well-spaced and lighted, each keyed to memories that lead to other memories in geometric progression.

Spaces devoted to Hannibal Lecter's earliest years differ from the other archives in being incomplete. Some are static scenes, fragmentary, like painted Attic shards held together by blank plaster. Other rooms hold sound and motion, great snakes wrestling and heaving in the dark and lit in flashes. Pleas and screaming fill some places on the grounds where Hannibal himself cannot go. But the corridors do not echo screaming, and there is music if you like.

The palace is a construction begun early in Hannibal's student life. In his years of confinement he improved and enlarged his palace, and its riches sustained him for long periods while warders denied him his books.

Here in the hot darkness of his mind, let us feel together for the latch. Finding it, let us elect for music in the corridors and, looking neither left nor right, go to the Hall of the Beginning where the displays are most fragmentary.

We will add to them what we have learned elsewhere, in war records and police records, from interviews and forensics and the mute postures of the dead. Robert Lecter's letters, recently unearthed, may help us establish the vital statistics of Hannibal, who altered dates freely to confound the authorities and his chroniclers. By our efforts we may watch as the beast within turns from the teat and, working upwind, enters the world.


Chapter 6

Lothar heard it first as he drew water, the roar of an engine in low gear and cracking of branches. He left the bucket on the well and in his haste he came into the lodge without wiping his feet.

A Soviet tank, a T-34 in winter camouflage of snow and straw, crashed up the horse trail and into the clearing. Painted on the turret in Russian were AVENGE OUR SOVIET GIRLS and WIPE OUT THE FASCIST VERMIN. Two soldiers in white rode on the back over the radiators. The turret swiveled to point the tank's cannon at the house. A hatch opened and a gunner in hooded winter white stood behind a machine gun. The tank commander stood in the other hatch with a megaphone. He repeated his message in Russian and in German, barking over the diesel clatter of the tank engine.

"We want water, we will not harm you or take your food unless a shot comes from the house. If we are fired on, every one of you will die. Now come outside. Gunner, lock and load. If you do not see faces by the count of ten, fire." A loud clack as the machine gun's bolt went back.

Count Lecter stepped outside, standing straight in the sunshine, his hands visible. "Take the water. We are no harm to you."

The tank commander put his megaphone aside. "Everyone outside where I can see you."

The count and the tank commander looked at each other for a long moment. The tank commander showed his palms.

The count showed his palms. The count turned to the house. "Come."

When the commander saw the family he said, "The children can stay inside where it's warm."

And to his gunner and crew, "Cover them. Watch the upstairs windows. Start the pump. You can smoke."

The machine gunner pushed up his goggles and lit a cigarette. He was no more than a boy, the skin of his face paler around his eyes. He saw Mischa peeping around the door facing and smiled at her.

Among the fuel and water drums lashed to the tank was a small petrol-powered pump with a rope starter.

The tank driver snaked a hose with a screen filter down the well and after many pulls on the rope the pump clattered, squealed, and primed itself.

The noise covered the scream of the Stuka dive bomber until it was almost on them, the tank's gunner swiveling his muzzle around, cranking hard to elevate his gun, firing as the airplane's winking cannon stitched the ground. Rounds screamed off the tank, the gunner hit, still firing with his remaining arm.

The Stuka's windscreen starred with fractures, the pilot's goggles filled with blood and the dive bomber, still carrying one of its eggs, hit treetops, plowed into the garden and its fuel exploded, cannon under the wings still firing after the impact. Hannibal, on the floor of the lodge, Mischa partly under him, saw his mother lying in the yard, bloody and her dress on fire.

"Stay here!" to Mischa and he ran to his mother, ammunition in the airplane cooking off now, slow and then faster, casings flying backward striking the snow, flames licking around the remaining bomb beneath the wing. The pilot sat in the cockpit, dead, his face burned to a death's head in flaming scarf and helmet, his gunner dead behind him.

Lothar alone survived in the yard and he raised a bloody arm to the boy. Then Mischa ran to her mother, out into the yard and Lothar tried to reach her and pull her down as she passed, but a cannon round from the flaming plane slammed through him, blood spattering the baby and Mischa raised her arms and screamed into the sky. Hannibal heaped snow onto the fire in his mother's clothes, stood up and ran to Mischa amid the random shots and carried her into the lodge, into the cellar. The shots outside slowed and stopped as bullets melted in the breeches of the cannon. The sky darkened and snow came again, hissing on the hot metal.

Darkness, and snow again. Hannibal among the corpses, how much later he did not know, snow drifting down to dust his mother's eyelashes and her hair. She was the only corpse not blackened and crisped. Hannibal tugged at her, but her body was frozen to the ground. He pressed his face against her. Her bosom was frozen hard, her heart silent. He put a napkin over her face and piled snow on her. Dark shapes moved at the edge of the woods. His torch reflected on wolves' eyes. He shouted at them and waved a shovel. Mischa was determined to come out to her mother—he had to choose. He took Mischa back inside and left the dead to the dark.

Mr. Jakov's book was undamaged beside his blackened hand until a wolf ate the leather cover and amid the scattered pages of Huyghens' Treatise on Light licked Mr. Jakov's brains off the snow. Hannibal and Mischa heard snuffling and growling outside. Hannibal built up the fire. To cover the noise he tried to get Mischa to sing; he sang to her. She clutched his coat in her fists.

"Ein Mannlein . . ."

Snowflakes on the windows. In the corner of a pane, a dark circle appeared, made by the tip of a glove. In the dark circle a pale blue eye.

Excerpted from HANNIBAL RISING by Thomas Harris Copyright © 2006 byThomas Harris.
The Hannibal Lecter Books
Red Dragon
The Silence of the Lambs
Hannibal

The Hannibal Lecter DVDs
Manhunter
Red Dragon
The Silence of the Lambs
Hannibal

(retrieved from Amazon Mon, 30 Sep 2013 13:32:32 -0400)

(see all 4 descriptions)

Chronicles serial killer Hannibal Lecter's childhood and early adulthood after being taken from a Soviet orphanage to live with his uncle and aunt in France. He becomes the youngest person ever to attend medical school in France.

» see all 7 descriptions

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