{"product_id":"king-kong-isbn-9780345484963","title":"King Kong","description":"\u003cb\u003eIntroduction by Greg Bear\u003cbr\u003e Preface by Mark Cotta Vaz\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The giant prehistoric gorilla   King Kong is one of the most recognized images in our culture. So great is the mighty   Kong’s hold on the popular imagination that his story–a gripping yarn of man versus   nature, coupled with a fantastical update of the Beauty and the Beast legend–has   been thrice made into a motion picture (most recently in 2005) and referenced endlessly   in every medium, from books to prime-time sitcoms. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Beneath King Kong’s cultural   significance, however, is a tense and surprisingly tender story. One cannot help   but be frightened by Kong’s uncontrollable fury, be saddened over the giant’s capture,   mistreatment, and exploitation by venal showmen, or sympathize with the beast’s ill-fated   affection for the down-on-her-luck starlet Ann Darrow. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This Modern Library edition   of a true colossus among adventure stories is reprinted from the original 1932 novelization   of the movie script, and includes a Preface by Mark Cotta Vaz, the preeminent biographer   of Merian C. Cooper, producer of the original 1933 classic film.“The unique story elements and awe-inspiring scenes of heroism and adventure found in \u003ci\u003eKing Kong \u003c\/i\u003eguarantee it a permanent place in the pantheon of fondly remembered and greatly admired tales.”\u003cb\u003e—Ray Harryhausen\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eGreg Bear \u003c\/b\u003eis the author of more than twenty-five books, including \u003ci\u003eDarwin’s Radio\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eDead Lines\u003c\/i\u003e. He has been awarded two Hugos and five Nebulas for his fiction.\u003cu\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/u\u003eChapter One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e      Even in the obscuring twilight, and behind the lightly floating veil of  snow, the Wanderer was clearly no more than a humble old tramp freighter.  The most imaginative, the most romantic eye could have detected nowhere  about her that lean grace, those sharply cleaving contours which the  landsman looks for in a craft all set to embark upon a desperate adventure.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    For the likes of her, the down-at-heels support of the Hoboken pier was  plenty good enough. There, with others of her kind, she blended into the  nondescript background of the unpretentious old town: she was camouflaged  into a comfortable nonentity. There she was secure from any embarrassing  comparison with the great lady-liners which lifted regal and immaculate  prows into the shadows of skyscrapers on the distant, Manhattan side of  the river.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Her crew knew that deep in her heart beat engines fit and able to push her  blunt old nose ahead at a sweet fourteen knots, come Hell or high water.  They knew too that surrounding her engines, and surrounding also that deep  steel chamber which puzzled all of them and frightened not a few, was a  staunch and solid hull. Landsmen, however, drawn to the waterfront by that  nostalgia which ever so often stirs those whose lives are bound by little  desks and brief commuter train rides, looked over her rusted, scaling  flanks and sputtered ignorantly:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Lord! They don’t call that a sea-going craft, I hope!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Weston, though he had taxied to the waterfront bent upon a business in  which nostalgia had no part, said exactly that and drew back the hand  which had been about to pass over the fare from Forty-second Street and  Broadway. After all, if he had mistaken the pier, it would be a foolish  extravagance to let this pirate on wheels knock down his flag and so gain  the right to add an extra fifteen cents to the return charge.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Hanging tightly to his money, he lumbered out of the taxi with that  short-winded dignity which marks the fat man of fifty-odd. In the same  moment, an old watchman poked a cold red nose around the corner of a  warehouse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Weston hailed him:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Hi, Cap! Is that the moving picture ship?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Only after the cold red nose had bobbed assent did Weston pass over the  cab fare, and even then there was a glint of suspicious doubt in his eye.  Still hardly more than half satisfied that he had not mistaken the  rendezvous, he scuffed through the light fall of snow to the Wanderer’s  gangway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “ ’re you another one agoin’ on this crazy voyage?” the old watchman  demanded suddenly from the gloomy shadow of the warehouse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Crazy?” Weston swung around the more quickly because the adjective  bolstered a conviction that had been growing in his own mind. “What’s  crazy about it?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Well, for one thing, the feller that’s bossin’ it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Denham?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “That’s him! A feller that if he wants a picture of a lion’ll walk right  up and tell it to look pleasant. If that ain’t crazy, I want to know?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Weston chuckled. That wasn’t so far from his own estimate of the doughty  director of the Wanderer’s destinies.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “He’s a tough egg, all right,” he agreed. “But why the talk about this  voyage being crazy?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Because it is, that’s why.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The watchman emerged from his snug, protected niche the better to pursue  the conversation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Everybody around the dock—and lemme tell you there’re some smart men  around here even if they ain’t got such high and mighty jobs—everybody  around the dock says it’s crazy. Take the cargo this Denham’s stowed away!  There’s stuff down there I can’t believe yet, and I seen it go aboard with  my own two eyes. And take the crew! It’s three times too big for the ship.  Why it’ll take shoe horns to fit ’em all in!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He paused but only for breath. Plainly he was prepared to bark out an  interminable succession of charges against the Wanderer. Before he could  re-open his critical barrage, however, a young authoritative voice put a  permanent stop to it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Hey, on the gangway there! What do you want?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Weston looked up toward the low deck rail amidship. Light streaming from a  cabin astern and higher up outlined a figure; and in the illumination  Weston felt sure, from Denham’s descriptions, that he was seeing the  Wanderer’s personable first mate. There, unmistakably, was the long, young  body Denham had praised. There were the reckless eyes, the full strong  mouth. Weston, whose experiences had taught him to guard against  spontaneous regard for any stranger, however personable, yielded for once  to a swift liking. There, he admitted, was as pleasant a young fellow as a  man could hope to meet—as any woman could hope to meet, he added, on  second glance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “What do you want?” the brisk demand came down a second time as Weston  made his inspection.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Want to come aboard, Mister Driscoll,” Weston replied; and grown a little  more cheerful because of his liking for the mate he began a cautious  ascent of the wet and slippery gangway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Oh, you must be Weston.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Broadway’s one and only,” Weston admitted. “Weston, the ace of theatrical  agents, even if,” he added as he began to puff a little from the ascent,  “my wind is not what it used to be.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Come aboard! Come aboard!” cried Driscoll. “Den-ham’s wild to hear from  you. Have you found the girl?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    In the darkness Weston’s cheer evaporated. He made a wry face and said  nothing, but followed Driscoll’s springing stride aft and up a ladder to  the lighted cabin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    This low inclosure was invitingly spick and span, but it was furnished  with the spartan simplicity which characterizes womanless quarters. The  sole decorations were a mirror on one wall and a well filled pipe rack on  another, unless one counted an overcoat or two with attendant hats. For  the rest there were only four chairs, an oblong table of the broad squat  sort favored by men who like to spread out maps for studying, an open box  containing black corrugated iron spheres larger than oranges but smaller  than grapefruit, and a brightly polished brass cuspidor which stood close  by a foot of one of the two men waiting in the cabin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    This man was lean, and of no more than middle height. Behind a heavy  moustache, his hard jaw worked slowly upon a generous mouthful of plug  cut. He was in vest and shirt-sleeves. Above these a captain’s uniform cap  lent an air of command, but this did not keep him from stepping definitely  aside in order to leave the center of the stage to his companion.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    His companion was just such a well tailored, well groomed man of  thirty-five as you might run into at any stock broker’s desk; although  there you would rarely encounter such an air of solid power, of  indomitable will. Bright brown eyes, shining with an unquenchable zest for  the adventure of living, flashed toward Weston as he entered, and an  impatient voice said without preliminary:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Weston! I was just going ashore to ring you up.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “If I’d known that I’d have waited,” Weston answered, eyeing his wet shoes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Shake hands with the Skipper, Captain Englehorn,” Denham pushed on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The man in the captain’s cap, turning from a center shot into the bright  cuspidor, held out a rough, thick hand and after it had been shaken moved  the box of corrugated iron spheres to make more room at the table for  Weston’s chair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I take it you’re already acquainted with Jack,” Den-ham added, and as  Weston nodded smilingly at Driscoll who smiled back, he went on, “Well!  Then you’ve met a pair you’d never come across on Broadway, Old Man. Both  of them were with me on my last two trips and I’ll tell you if they  weren’t going on this one I’d think a long time before I started.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There fell that little restless silence which always burdens men upon whom  extreme praise has been bestowed. Then Denham dropped into his chair and  eyed the theatrical agent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Where’s the girl, Weston?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Haven’t got one.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “What!” Denham struck the table. “Look here, Weston! The Actors’ Equity  and the Hays outfit have warned every girl I’ve tried to hire. And every  agent but you has backed away. You’re all I’ve got left. You know I’m  square. . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Everybody knows you’re square,” Weston grunted, breathing audibly. “But  everybody knows, also, how reckless you are. And on top of that how can  you hope to inspire confidence about this particular voyage when you’re so  secretive?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “There’s truth!” drawled Englehorn, and leaned down to his cuspidor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Absolutely!” cried Driscoll, rubbing his handsome young jaw. “Why not  even the Skipper and the mate know where this old ship’s going. . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “There you are!” Weston spread his palms up. “Think of my reputation,  Denham. I can’t send a young, pretty girl, or for that matter even a  homely one if you’d have her, on a job like this without telling her what  to expect.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “And what is she to expect?” Denham demanded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “To go off for no one knows how long, to some spot you won’t even hint at  . . . the only woman on a ship that carries the toughest mugs my wise old  Broadway eyes ever looked up and down.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    As the other three grinned the agent added hastily, “Of course I mean the  crew.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Weston!” Denham’s fist crashed onto the table again. “I’m going out to do  the biggest thing in my life and I’ve got to have that girl.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You never had a woman in any of your other pictures. Why do you want one  for this?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Hell’s Bells! You don’t think I’m consulting my own preference, I hope.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Then, why . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Why? The Public’s why! My blessed Public must have a pretty girl’s face.  Romance isn’t romance, adventure is as dull as dishwater . . . to my  Public . . . unless, every so often, a face to sink a thousand ships, or  is it saps? shows up. Imagine! I slave, I sweat blood to make a fine  picture. And then the Public says: ‘We’d have liked it twice as much if  there’d been a girl in it.’ And the exhibitors say: ‘If he’d given us a  real love interest, the picture would have grossed twice as much.’Introduction by Greg Bear","brand":"Modern Library","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301202874597,"sku":"NP9780345484963","price":5.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345484963.jpg?v=1767730750","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/king-kong-isbn-9780345484963","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}