Articles liés à Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt
L'édition de cet ISBN n'est malheureusement plus disponible.
Afficher les exemplaires de cette édition ISBN
New York. 25 cm. 321 p. Encuadernación en tapa dura de editorial con sobrecubierta ilustrada. Idioma inglés .. Este libro es de segunda mano y tiene o puede tener marcas y señales de su anterior propietario.
Les informations fournies dans la section « Synopsis » peuvent faire référence à une autre édition de ce titre.
Extrait :
I was seven years old. What do you know when you’re seven years old? All my life, or so I thought, we’d been in the city of Alexandria, in the Street of the Carpenters, with the other Galileans, and sooner or later we were going home.
Late afternoon. We were playing, my gang against his, and when he ran at me again, bully that he was, bigger than me, and catching me off balance, I felt the power go out of me as I shouted: “You’ll never get where you’re going.”
He fell down white in the sandy earth, and they all crowded around him. The sun was hot and my chest was heaving as I looked at him. He was so limp.
In the snap of two fingers everyone drew back. It seemed the whole street went quiet except for the carpenters’ hammers. I’d never heard such a quiet.
“He’s dead!” Little Joseph said. And then they all took it up. “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.”
I knew it was true. He was a bundle of arms and legs in the beaten dust.
And I was empty. The power had taken everything with it, all gone.
His mother came out of the house, and her scream went up the walls into a howl. From everywhere the women came running.
My mother lifted me off my feet. She carried me down the street and through the courtyard and into the dark of our house. All my cousins crowded in with us, and James, my big brother, pulled the curtain shut. He turned his back on the light. He said:
“Jesus did it. He killed him.” He was afraid.
“Don’t you say such a thing!” said my mother. She clutched me so close to her, I could scarcely breathe.
Big Joseph woke up.
Now Big Joseph was my father, because he was married to my mother, but I’d never called him Father. I’d been taught to call him Joseph. I didn’t know why.
He’d been asleep on the mat. We’d worked all day on a job in Philo’s house, and he and the rest of the men had lain down in the heat of the afternoon to sleep. He climbed to his feet.
“What’s that shouting outside?” he asked. “What’s happened?”
He looked to James. James was his eldest son. James was the son of a wife who had died before Joseph married my mother.
James said it again.
“Jesus killed Eleazer. Jesus cursed him and he fell down dead.”
Joseph stared at me, his face still blank from sleep. There was more and more shouting in the street. He rose to his feet, and ran his hands back through his thick curly hair.
My little cousins were slipping through the door one by one and crowding around us.
My mother was trembling. “He couldn’t have done it,” she said. “He wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“I saw it,” said James. “I saw it when he made the sparrows out of clay on the Sabbath. The teacher told him he shouldn’t do such things on the Sabbath. Jesus looked at the birds and they turned into real birds. They flew away. You saw it too. He killed Eleazer, Mother, I saw it.”
My cousins made a ring of white faces in the shadows: Little Joses, Judas, and Little Symeon and Salome, watching anxiously, afraid of being sent out. Salome was my age, and my dearest and closest. Salome was like my sister.
Then in came my mother’s brother Cleopas, always the talker, who was the father of these cousins, except for Big Silas who came in now, a boy older than James. He went into the corner, and then came his brother, Justus, and both wanted to see what was going on.
“Joseph, they’re all out there,” said Cleopas, “Jonathan bar Zakkai, and his brothers, they’re saying Jesus killed their boy. They’re envious that we got that job at Philo’s house, they’re envious that we got the other job before that, they’re envious that we’re getting more and more jobs, they’re so sure they do things better than we do—.”
“Is the boy dead?” Joseph said. “Or is the boy alive?”
Salome shot forward and whispered in my ear. “Just make him come alive, Jesus, the way you made the birds come alive!”
Little Symeon was giggling. He was too little to know what was going on. Little Judas knew, but he was quiet.
“Stop,” said James, the little boss of the children. “Salome, be quiet.”
I could hear them shouting in the street. I heard other noises. Stones were hitting the walls of the house. My mother started to cry.
“You dare do that!” shouted my uncle Cleopas and he rushed back out through the door. Joseph went after him.
I wriggled out of my mother’s grasp and darted out before she could catch me, and past my uncle and Joseph and right into the crowd as they were all waving and hollering and shaking their fists. I went so fast, they didn’t even see me. I was like a fish in the river. I moved in and out through people who were shouting over my head until I got to Eleazer’s house.
The women all had their backs to the door, and they didn’t see me as I went around the edge of the room.
I went right into the dark room, where they’d laid him on the mat. His mother was there leaning on her sister and sobbing.
There was only one lamp, very weak.
Eleazer was pale with his arms at his sides, same soiled tunic, and the soles of his feet very black. He was dead. His mouth was open and his white teeth showed over his lip.
The Greek physician came in—he was really a Jew—and he knelt down, and he looked at Eleazer and he shook his head.
Then he saw me and said:
“Out.”
His mother turned and she saw it was me and she screamed.
I bent over him:
“Wake up, Eleazer,” I said. “Wake up now.”
I reached out and laid my hand on his forehead.
The power went out. My eyes closed. I was dizzy. But I heard him draw in his breath.
His mother screamed over and over and it hurt my ears. Her sister screamed. All the women were screaming.
I fell back on the floor. I was weak. The Greek physician was staring down at me. I was sick. The room was dim. Other people had rushed in.
Eleazer came up, and he was up all knees and fists before anyone could get to him, and he set on me and punched me and hit me, and knocked my head back against the ground, and kicked me again and again:
“Son of David, Son of David!” he shouted, mocking me, “Son of David, Son of David!” kicking me in the face, and in the ribs, until his father grabbed him around the waist and picked him up in the air.
I ached all over, couldn’t breathe.
“Son of David!” Eleazer kept shouting.
Someone lifted me and carried me out of the house and into the crowd in the street. I was still gasping. I hurt all over. It seemed the whole street was screaming, worse than before, and someone said the Teacher was coming, and my uncle Cleopas was yelling in Greek at Jonathan, Eleazer’s father, and Jonathan was yelling back, and Eleazer was shouting, “Son of David, Son of David!”
I was in Joseph’s arms. He was trying to move, but the crowd wouldn’t let him. Cleopas was pushing at Eleazer’s father. Eleazer’s father was trying to get at Cleopas, but other men took hold of his arms. I heard Eleazer shouting far away.
There was the Teacher declaring: “That child’s not dead, you hush up, Eleazer, who said he was dead? Eleazer, stop shouting! Whoever could think this child is dead?”
“Brought him back to life, that’s what he did,” said one of theirs.
We were in our courtyard, the entire crowd had pushed in with us, my uncle and Eleazer’s people still screaming at each other, and the Teacher demanding order.
Now my uncles, Alphaeus and Simon, had come. These were Joseph’s brothers. And they’d just woken up. They put up their hands against the crowd. Their mouths were hard and their eyes were big.
My aunts, Salome and Esther and Mary, were there, with all the cousins running and jumping as if this were a festival, except for Silas and Justus and James who stood with the men.
Then I couldn’t see anymore.
I was in my mother’s arms, and she had taken me into the front room. It was dark. Aunt Esther and Aunt Salome came in with her. I could hear stones hitting the house again. The Teacher raised his voice in Greek.
“There’s blood on your face!” my mother whispered. “Your eye, there’s blood. Your face is cut!” She was crying. “Oh, look what’s happened to you,” she said. She spoke in Aramaic, our tongue which we didn’t speak very much.
“I’m not hurt,” I said. I meant to say it didn’t matter. Again my cousins pressed close, Salome smiling as if to say she knew I could bring him back to life, and I took her hand and squeezed it.
But there was James with his hard look.
The Teacher came into the room backwards with his hands up. Someone ripped the curtain away and the light was very bright. Joseph and his brothers came in. And so did Cleopas. All of us had to move to make room.
“You’re talking about Joseph and Cleopas and Alphaeus, what do you mean drive them out!” said the Teacher to the whole crowd. “They’ve been with us for seven years!”
The angry family of Eleazer came almost into the room. The fat...
Revue de presse :
Late afternoon. We were playing, my gang against his, and when he ran at me again, bully that he was, bigger than me, and catching me off balance, I felt the power go out of me as I shouted: “You’ll never get where you’re going.”
He fell down white in the sandy earth, and they all crowded around him. The sun was hot and my chest was heaving as I looked at him. He was so limp.
In the snap of two fingers everyone drew back. It seemed the whole street went quiet except for the carpenters’ hammers. I’d never heard such a quiet.
“He’s dead!” Little Joseph said. And then they all took it up. “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.”
I knew it was true. He was a bundle of arms and legs in the beaten dust.
And I was empty. The power had taken everything with it, all gone.
His mother came out of the house, and her scream went up the walls into a howl. From everywhere the women came running.
My mother lifted me off my feet. She carried me down the street and through the courtyard and into the dark of our house. All my cousins crowded in with us, and James, my big brother, pulled the curtain shut. He turned his back on the light. He said:
“Jesus did it. He killed him.” He was afraid.
“Don’t you say such a thing!” said my mother. She clutched me so close to her, I could scarcely breathe.
Big Joseph woke up.
Now Big Joseph was my father, because he was married to my mother, but I’d never called him Father. I’d been taught to call him Joseph. I didn’t know why.
He’d been asleep on the mat. We’d worked all day on a job in Philo’s house, and he and the rest of the men had lain down in the heat of the afternoon to sleep. He climbed to his feet.
“What’s that shouting outside?” he asked. “What’s happened?”
He looked to James. James was his eldest son. James was the son of a wife who had died before Joseph married my mother.
James said it again.
“Jesus killed Eleazer. Jesus cursed him and he fell down dead.”
Joseph stared at me, his face still blank from sleep. There was more and more shouting in the street. He rose to his feet, and ran his hands back through his thick curly hair.
My little cousins were slipping through the door one by one and crowding around us.
My mother was trembling. “He couldn’t have done it,” she said. “He wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“I saw it,” said James. “I saw it when he made the sparrows out of clay on the Sabbath. The teacher told him he shouldn’t do such things on the Sabbath. Jesus looked at the birds and they turned into real birds. They flew away. You saw it too. He killed Eleazer, Mother, I saw it.”
My cousins made a ring of white faces in the shadows: Little Joses, Judas, and Little Symeon and Salome, watching anxiously, afraid of being sent out. Salome was my age, and my dearest and closest. Salome was like my sister.
Then in came my mother’s brother Cleopas, always the talker, who was the father of these cousins, except for Big Silas who came in now, a boy older than James. He went into the corner, and then came his brother, Justus, and both wanted to see what was going on.
“Joseph, they’re all out there,” said Cleopas, “Jonathan bar Zakkai, and his brothers, they’re saying Jesus killed their boy. They’re envious that we got that job at Philo’s house, they’re envious that we got the other job before that, they’re envious that we’re getting more and more jobs, they’re so sure they do things better than we do—.”
“Is the boy dead?” Joseph said. “Or is the boy alive?”
Salome shot forward and whispered in my ear. “Just make him come alive, Jesus, the way you made the birds come alive!”
Little Symeon was giggling. He was too little to know what was going on. Little Judas knew, but he was quiet.
“Stop,” said James, the little boss of the children. “Salome, be quiet.”
I could hear them shouting in the street. I heard other noises. Stones were hitting the walls of the house. My mother started to cry.
“You dare do that!” shouted my uncle Cleopas and he rushed back out through the door. Joseph went after him.
I wriggled out of my mother’s grasp and darted out before she could catch me, and past my uncle and Joseph and right into the crowd as they were all waving and hollering and shaking their fists. I went so fast, they didn’t even see me. I was like a fish in the river. I moved in and out through people who were shouting over my head until I got to Eleazer’s house.
The women all had their backs to the door, and they didn’t see me as I went around the edge of the room.
I went right into the dark room, where they’d laid him on the mat. His mother was there leaning on her sister and sobbing.
There was only one lamp, very weak.
Eleazer was pale with his arms at his sides, same soiled tunic, and the soles of his feet very black. He was dead. His mouth was open and his white teeth showed over his lip.
The Greek physician came in—he was really a Jew—and he knelt down, and he looked at Eleazer and he shook his head.
Then he saw me and said:
“Out.”
His mother turned and she saw it was me and she screamed.
I bent over him:
“Wake up, Eleazer,” I said. “Wake up now.”
I reached out and laid my hand on his forehead.
The power went out. My eyes closed. I was dizzy. But I heard him draw in his breath.
His mother screamed over and over and it hurt my ears. Her sister screamed. All the women were screaming.
I fell back on the floor. I was weak. The Greek physician was staring down at me. I was sick. The room was dim. Other people had rushed in.
Eleazer came up, and he was up all knees and fists before anyone could get to him, and he set on me and punched me and hit me, and knocked my head back against the ground, and kicked me again and again:
“Son of David, Son of David!” he shouted, mocking me, “Son of David, Son of David!” kicking me in the face, and in the ribs, until his father grabbed him around the waist and picked him up in the air.
I ached all over, couldn’t breathe.
“Son of David!” Eleazer kept shouting.
Someone lifted me and carried me out of the house and into the crowd in the street. I was still gasping. I hurt all over. It seemed the whole street was screaming, worse than before, and someone said the Teacher was coming, and my uncle Cleopas was yelling in Greek at Jonathan, Eleazer’s father, and Jonathan was yelling back, and Eleazer was shouting, “Son of David, Son of David!”
I was in Joseph’s arms. He was trying to move, but the crowd wouldn’t let him. Cleopas was pushing at Eleazer’s father. Eleazer’s father was trying to get at Cleopas, but other men took hold of his arms. I heard Eleazer shouting far away.
There was the Teacher declaring: “That child’s not dead, you hush up, Eleazer, who said he was dead? Eleazer, stop shouting! Whoever could think this child is dead?”
“Brought him back to life, that’s what he did,” said one of theirs.
We were in our courtyard, the entire crowd had pushed in with us, my uncle and Eleazer’s people still screaming at each other, and the Teacher demanding order.
Now my uncles, Alphaeus and Simon, had come. These were Joseph’s brothers. And they’d just woken up. They put up their hands against the crowd. Their mouths were hard and their eyes were big.
My aunts, Salome and Esther and Mary, were there, with all the cousins running and jumping as if this were a festival, except for Silas and Justus and James who stood with the men.
Then I couldn’t see anymore.
I was in my mother’s arms, and she had taken me into the front room. It was dark. Aunt Esther and Aunt Salome came in with her. I could hear stones hitting the house again. The Teacher raised his voice in Greek.
“There’s blood on your face!” my mother whispered. “Your eye, there’s blood. Your face is cut!” She was crying. “Oh, look what’s happened to you,” she said. She spoke in Aramaic, our tongue which we didn’t speak very much.
“I’m not hurt,” I said. I meant to say it didn’t matter. Again my cousins pressed close, Salome smiling as if to say she knew I could bring him back to life, and I took her hand and squeezed it.
But there was James with his hard look.
The Teacher came into the room backwards with his hands up. Someone ripped the curtain away and the light was very bright. Joseph and his brothers came in. And so did Cleopas. All of us had to move to make room.
“You’re talking about Joseph and Cleopas and Alphaeus, what do you mean drive them out!” said the Teacher to the whole crowd. “They’ve been with us for seven years!”
The angry family of Eleazer came almost into the room. The fat...
What the critics are saying about
Anne Rice’s
Christ the Lord
“A riveting, reverent imagining of the hidden years of the child Jesus . . . A triumph of tone—her prose lean, vivid—and character . . . Christ the Lord is a cross between a historical novel and an update of Tolstoy’s The Gospels in Brief, it presents Jesus as nature mystic, healer, prophet and very much a real young boy . . . Essentially it’s a mystery story, of the child grappling to understand his miraculous gifts and numinous birth . . . As he ponders his staggering responsibility, the boy is fully believable—and yet there’s something in his supernatural empathy and blazing intelligence that conveys the wondrousness of a boy like no other . . . With this novel, Anne Rice has indeed found a convincing version of him; this is fiction that transcends story and instead qualifies as an act of faith.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Rice retains our rapt attention with the use of small, visceral details. We can almost taste the food Jesus would have eaten, experience the sights and sounds, the chaos and bustle of a large clan, with which he would have been familiar.”
—Bernadette Murphy, The Los Angeles Times
“Rice is as serious as a Commandment, and has muscled up her story of the junior Jesus by obsessively researchig the most minute detail of family, communal and religious life in first-century Palestine. . . . Rice is just as ambitious, much more orthodox and just getting warming up . . . From Lestat the vampire to Jesus the Lord is a supernatural stretch but Rice makes it. Convincingly.”
—Bill Bell, Daily News
“Well-researched and nicely written and Rice uses restraint in telling her tale. She believably represents Jesus’ gradual understanding of his origins and fate. . . . Reverent and often moving.”
—Natalie Danford, People
“[Rice] writes this book in a simpler, leaner style, giving it the slow but inexorable rhythm of an incantation. The restraint and prayerful beauty of Christ the Lord is apt to surprise her usual readers and attract new ones.”
—Janet Maslin, The New York Times
“Rice brings the same passion to her colorful account of the young Jesus and his quest to understand his strange powers (turning clay pigeons into live birds, bringing a dead child back to life). . . . In her attempt to breathe life into a historical religious figure, Rice’s superb storytelling skills enable her to succeed where many other writers have failed. . . . Highly recommended.”
—Library Journal
“This is, in fact, an intensely literal, historical, reverent treatment of a year in the life of Jesus, son of God, written in simple, sedate language that steers clear of both clanging anachronisms and those King Jamesian ye’s and unto’s and begats.”
—Lev Grossman, Time
“In Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt, Anne Rice scores a direct hit: By embracing the miraculous, she manages to give us a Jesus who is divinely human.”
—Frank Wilson, The Philadelphia Inquirer
Anne Rice’s
Christ the Lord
“A riveting, reverent imagining of the hidden years of the child Jesus . . . A triumph of tone—her prose lean, vivid—and character . . . Christ the Lord is a cross between a historical novel and an update of Tolstoy’s The Gospels in Brief, it presents Jesus as nature mystic, healer, prophet and very much a real young boy . . . Essentially it’s a mystery story, of the child grappling to understand his miraculous gifts and numinous birth . . . As he ponders his staggering responsibility, the boy is fully believable—and yet there’s something in his supernatural empathy and blazing intelligence that conveys the wondrousness of a boy like no other . . . With this novel, Anne Rice has indeed found a convincing version of him; this is fiction that transcends story and instead qualifies as an act of faith.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Rice retains our rapt attention with the use of small, visceral details. We can almost taste the food Jesus would have eaten, experience the sights and sounds, the chaos and bustle of a large clan, with which he would have been familiar.”
—Bernadette Murphy, The Los Angeles Times
“Rice is as serious as a Commandment, and has muscled up her story of the junior Jesus by obsessively researchig the most minute detail of family, communal and religious life in first-century Palestine. . . . Rice is just as ambitious, much more orthodox and just getting warming up . . . From Lestat the vampire to Jesus the Lord is a supernatural stretch but Rice makes it. Convincingly.”
—Bill Bell, Daily News
“Well-researched and nicely written and Rice uses restraint in telling her tale. She believably represents Jesus’ gradual understanding of his origins and fate. . . . Reverent and often moving.”
—Natalie Danford, People
“[Rice] writes this book in a simpler, leaner style, giving it the slow but inexorable rhythm of an incantation. The restraint and prayerful beauty of Christ the Lord is apt to surprise her usual readers and attract new ones.”
—Janet Maslin, The New York Times
“Rice brings the same passion to her colorful account of the young Jesus and his quest to understand his strange powers (turning clay pigeons into live birds, bringing a dead child back to life). . . . In her attempt to breathe life into a historical religious figure, Rice’s superb storytelling skills enable her to succeed where many other writers have failed. . . . Highly recommended.”
—Library Journal
“This is, in fact, an intensely literal, historical, reverent treatment of a year in the life of Jesus, son of God, written in simple, sedate language that steers clear of both clanging anachronisms and those King Jamesian ye’s and unto’s and begats.”
—Lev Grossman, Time
“In Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt, Anne Rice scores a direct hit: By embracing the miraculous, she manages to give us a Jesus who is divinely human.”
—Frank Wilson, The Philadelphia Inquirer
Les informations fournies dans la section « A propos du livre » peuvent faire référence à une autre édition de ce titre.
- ÉditeurAlfred a Knopf Inc
- Date d'édition2005
- ISBN 10 0375412018
- ISBN 13 9780375412011
- ReliureRelié
- Nombre de pages321
- Evaluation vendeur
Acheter neuf
En savoir plus sur cette édition
EUR 7,06
Frais de port :
EUR 3,73
Vers Etats-Unis
Autres éditions populaires du même titre
Meilleurs résultats de recherche sur AbeBooks
Image d'archives
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt
Edité par
Knopf
(2005)
ISBN 10 : 0375412018
ISBN 13 : 9780375412011
Neuf
Couverture rigide
Quantité disponible : 1
Vendeur :
Evaluation vendeur
Description du livre hardcover. Etat : New. N° de réf. du vendeur O142-L-062823-213
Acheter neuf
EUR 7,06
Autre devise
Image d'archives
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt
Edité par
Knopf
(2005)
ISBN 10 : 0375412018
ISBN 13 : 9780375412011
Neuf
Couverture rigide
Quantité disponible : 1
Vendeur :
Evaluation vendeur
Description du livre hardcover. Etat : New. N° de réf. du vendeur MIKE-Tub-149-034
Acheter neuf
EUR 12,97
Autre devise
Image d'archives
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt
Edité par
Knopf
(2005)
ISBN 10 : 0375412018
ISBN 13 : 9780375412011
Neuf
Couverture rigide
Quantité disponible : 1
Vendeur :
Evaluation vendeur
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : new. New. Fast Shipping and good customer service. N° de réf. du vendeur Holz_New_0375412018
Acheter neuf
EUR 20,36
Autre devise
Image d'archives
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt
Edité par
Knopf
(2005)
ISBN 10 : 0375412018
ISBN 13 : 9780375412011
Neuf
Couverture rigide
Quantité disponible : 1
Vendeur :
Evaluation vendeur
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : new. New. N° de réf. du vendeur Wizard0375412018
Acheter neuf
EUR 25,54
Autre devise
Image d'archives
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt
Edité par
Knopf
(2005)
ISBN 10 : 0375412018
ISBN 13 : 9780375412011
Neuf
Couverture rigide
Quantité disponible : 1
Vendeur :
Evaluation vendeur
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : new. New Copy. Customer Service Guaranteed. N° de réf. du vendeur think0375412018
Acheter neuf
EUR 26,54
Autre devise
Image d'archives
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt
Edité par
Knopf
(2005)
ISBN 10 : 0375412018
ISBN 13 : 9780375412011
Neuf
Couverture rigide
Quantité disponible : 1
Vendeur :
Evaluation vendeur
Description du livre Etat : new. N° de réf. du vendeur FrontCover0375412018
Acheter neuf
EUR 27,96
Autre devise
Image d'archives
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt
Edité par
Alfred a Knopf Inc
(2005)
ISBN 10 : 0375412018
ISBN 13 : 9780375412011
Neuf
Couverture rigide
Quantité disponible : 1
Vendeur :
Evaluation vendeur
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : Brand New. 336 pages. 9.75x6.25x1.25 inches. In Stock. N° de réf. du vendeur 0375412018
Acheter neuf
EUR 32,92
Autre devise
Image d'archives
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt
Edité par
Knopf
(2005)
ISBN 10 : 0375412018
ISBN 13 : 9780375412011
Neuf
Couverture rigide
Quantité disponible : 1
Vendeur :
Evaluation vendeur
Description du livre Etat : new. N° de réf. du vendeur Hafa_fresh_0375412018
Acheter neuf
EUR 46,77
Autre devise
Image d'archives
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt
Edité par
Knopf
(2005)
ISBN 10 : 0375412018
ISBN 13 : 9780375412011
Neuf
Couverture rigide
Quantité disponible : 1
Vendeur :
Evaluation vendeur
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : new. Buy for Great customer experience. N° de réf. du vendeur GoldenDragon0375412018
Acheter neuf
EUR 53,90
Autre devise
Image d'archives
CHRIST THE LORD: OUT OF EGYPT
Edité par
Knopf
(2005)
ISBN 10 : 0375412018
ISBN 13 : 9780375412011
Neuf
Couverture rigide
Quantité disponible : 1
Vendeur :
Evaluation vendeur
Description du livre Etat : New. New. In shrink wrap. Looks like an interesting title! 1.05. N° de réf. du vendeur Q-0375412018
Acheter neuf
EUR 55,79
Autre devise