اولین، طولانی ترین و بهترین اثر در میان رمان های کارآگاهی انگلیسی.  
  "T. S. Eliot"
به سختی باورم می‌شه که قرن نوزدهم نوشته شده! سیر معمایی داستان کشش لازم رو داشت و وجود راوی‌های متفاوت باعث شدند داستان برام جذاب باشه

3,5

Primeiro achei que a desaparecida não estaria morta e iria surgir no instante decisivo para divulgar os enigmas do sumiço do diamante. Enganei-me.
Depois achei que a principal personagem feminina não passava de uma mimada birrenta. Enganei-me outra vez, afinal a miúda só estava a proteger o homem que amava.
Topei à légua o disfarce de um certo cavalheiro indiano que só podia estar atrás do diamante. Pois... novo engano.
Desconfiei a ponto de afiançar, a perfídia da personagem que se revelou ser a mais abnegada da narrativa. Novamente, engano vergonhoso...
Admirei a sagacidade do Sargento Cuff, e salvo pequenos deslizes que se perdoam aos melhores, desta vez acertei. Achei o mordomo Gabriel, a personagem mais divertida, mais curiosa e melhor caracterizada do livro, e não admito discórdia quanto a isso. (Quase me convenceu a ler Robinson Crusoé!)
O final dado ao diamante foi perfeito.

Em jeito de conclusão: suspeitei dos inocentes e não prestei atenção nenhuma aos potenciais criminosos. O bom deste meu talento para deslindar enredos policias, é que não há a menor possibilidade de passar por aquela situação chata de chegar ao final da história e já nada me surpreender.

The Moonstone is often thought of as the first detective novel written in English. It was a Victorian sensation when it was first published and was an early example of the technique of multiple narrators. It's also a really entertaining story that still holds up today. I needed something to become completely absorbed in this week and this was an excellent choice. I really loved the characters. Sergeant Cuff and his whistling when he finds clues and his arguments about roses with the gardener are highly amusing. When the narrator shifted the first time to Miss Clack I wasn't thrilled but she actually ended up being one of my favorite characters. If you haven't read this classic it is well worth the time.

Quando per l’ennesima volta, ma con maggiore determinazione delle precedenti, ho preso in mano questo poderoso romanzo di William Wilkie Collins, memore della precedente, appagante lettura di “La Donna in Bianco” dello stesso autore, non sapevo come sarebbe andata a finire ma oggi, a lettura conclusa, sono felice di affermare che “La Pietra di Luna” è davvero un grande e soddisfacente romanzo giallo nel quale la verità finale e lo scioglimento di quell’enigma che viene a prodursi fin dalle prime pagine, possono convincere anche il lettore più critico e intransigente, oltre che rappresentare un ottimo esempio di romanzo inglese ottocentesco nel quale amore e sentimenti e quell’atmosfera così caratteristica della società vittoriana, riescono a ritagliarsi un loro spazio grazie al quale l’opera acquista maggior pregio e spessore. Superfluo e inutile addentrarsi nella trama: basti sapere che un grosso e preziosissimo diamante, trafugato molti anni prima da un tempio Indiano e giunto in Inghilterra nelle mani della giovane Rachel Verinder nel giorno del suo diciottesimo compleanno, sparisce improvvisamente durante la notte successiva, generando sgomento collettivo, sospetti e dubbi, nonché un mistero apparentemente senza risposta: menti raffinate di poliziotti e investigatori, proveranno a districare la matassa senza risultato anche per la risoluta, intransigente decisione di Rachel di non collaborare alle indagini e solo la cocciuta volontà di un giovane innamorato incapace di arrendersi anche di fronte all’evidenza, riuscirà nell’intento di svelare l’arcano, regalando un finale al quale il lettore non può che esclamare: “Chapeau”!

Literary 2012 is closing on an auspicious high, no doubt about it. These are the facts.

First, there was waterworks over Turgenev’s Fathers and Children a couple of weeks ago.

Second, upon finding out that my favourite film Marienbad was based on The Invention of Morel, which now ordered will see me through to the New Year, there was flushed excitement.

Third, I have not stopped laughing since I took up The Moonstone.

A veritable boon of emotions. Some have pointed out it might be less the influence of books and more the signs of the menopause, but to them I come armed with Miss Clack’s irrefutable tracts of the early edition-only the twenty fifth-of the famous anonymous work by the precious miss Bellows entitled ‘The Serpent at Home’, where right past the chapter ‘Satan in the Hairbrush’ and ‘Satan under the Teatable’ there is Satan on the Tongue. (amongst the many others. I’m sure).

Now there will be those who say this is a poor sort of protracted mystery indeed with oodles of trivia and asides not pertinent to the matter at hand. To them, I would say something. But first, like Betteredge, in plain English I’m going stare hard and say nothing. Then I will instantly exert my wits but being of a slovenly English sort, they are consequently muddled until someone takes them in hand points out what they ought to do. In this case, things stand just like the relationship with Betteredge and his deceased wife, who seemed, with the best of motives, to be getting in one anothers way: if he wanted to go upstairs, she would be coming down, or when he wanted to go down, there she was coming up. And so it is here: its not about the mystery, but the parade of misbegotten, ridiculous characters bumbling about in their cloaks of self importance and delusions of grandeur, as Collins tears into them with unabashed irony.

No need to have read Robinson Crusoe to get the gist.

I have heard the start of this novel numerous times, having tried to listen to it on audiobook many times but never remaining awake long enough to get beyond the opening. Now having read my way to the end I feel ambivalent towards it; I would not have missed anything great if I’d just kept falling at the first chapter yet I don’t feel it was a complete waste of time.

It is a Victorian melodrama cum shaggy dog story with wicked uncles, malevolent gangs, a cursed diamond, theft, unrequited love, death and suicide. There is so much to cram in that, even though getting on for 600 pages, the theft takes place almost immediately and it is stolen from a young girl on the same night she is given it so there is no sense of build-up or shock or even desire to see it retrieved – either on the reader’s side or it appears most of the characters (they seem to know where it is for a year without doing anything about it). The finale is truly one of the most outlandish things I’ve read and the aha moment of the doctor’s confession rings about as true as Kier Starmer not being able to afford a trip to Specsavers. The conclusion of the book is disjointed from everything that has gone before and doesn’t make a huge amount of sense, however if you think of it in terms of weekly serialisation I can see how these faults would not loom as large.

Having read The Woman in White only a few months ago the multiple narrator structure was no surprise. As in TWIW some narrators are more engaging than others. The aged, loyal servant Betteredge is one of the better ones, and it is charming to see his horizons being broadened by his interactions with Sergeant Cuff to a point where he can see himself existing in his own right, with his own thoughts and interests beyond just those of his employer. It is lovely to see him at seventy years of age after a lifetime in service throwing himself into the role of detective. Although he can be prissy, somewhat curmudgeonly and very disparaging when he talks of his wife and daughter he does have a dry wit and brings the humour to the otherwise sluggish proceedings. Take this example of his aside to the reader after being cared for by his daughter,

n   “Here I should have protested again. But my daughter had got the hair-brush by this time, and the whole strength of her feelings had passed into that. If you are bald, you will understand how she sacrificed me. If you are not, skip this bit, and thank God you have got something in the way of a defence between your hair-brush and your head.”n

His daughter is a good counterfoil to her father as she represents the new breed of servant who believe they are more than just vessels for the whims of their employers and are starting to question whether they are not equal to their betters.

The other great narrator is the nosey, busy-bodying spinster Miss Clack who just happens to find herself in cupboards or behind curtains while important conversations are going on and for a myriad of reasons cannot disclose her presence until the conversation has ended and the participants exited the room. Her personal pointlessness – other than gossip about others – is emphasised by the charity work she does. She is a committee member for a charity whose purpose is,

n  " …to rescue unredeemed fathers’ trousers from the pawnbroker, and to prevent their resumption, on the part of the irreclaimable parent, by abridging them immediately to suit the proportions of the innocent son."n

The dullest narrators are the hero and the solicitor which is a shame as they are the ones in charge of revealing the denouement , which because of its ridiculous and frankly overlong and convoluted nature really deserved a more engaging storyteller.

In conclusion I am glad I read such a well-known contribution to the canon of English novels, I didn’t hate it and some parts were enjoyable to read but it is not by any stretch a great book.

⭐️ امتیاز ۳.۵

That was a long journey, but it was worth it. I always feel discouraged when I start reading a long novel, thinking it might be too long for its own good, and I couldn't have been more wrong. It was a masterpiece, truly a masterpiece. It's filled with adventure and twists. Also, what I liked most about it is that the story is told from the perspective of several characters (multi-narration), which made it more interesting and more thrilling.

This novel (as the title suggests) is a rare gem, and I recommend it to any mystery fan.

This is the kind of book that is a volume filled with words where almost every sentence is twice as long as it needs to be and very redundant because first it says what it has to say and then it repeats exactly the same thing except with different words. This would be bad enough with interesting characters and a gripping plot. I gave up in the quicksand: DNF.

Hacía mucho tiempo que tenía pendiente la lectura de este libro... la espera ha valido la pena, realmente ha sido una delicia leerlo, tal como lo ha sido todos los libros que he leído de Wilkie Collins.

Este es el primer éxito de este autor y es además considerado el primer libro de detectives escrito, hace tiempo leí el libro de Asesinato de Road Hill, que habla sobre un asesinato verídico acontecido en 1860, la autora de este libro comenta además que varios escritores de la época se habían inspirado en este caso para escribir algunos de sus libros, entre ellos se menciona a Wilkie Collins y su piedra lunar, pues bueno, puedo decir que en efecto se ve a la legua la enorme inspiración, si bien, este libro no habla de un asesinato, sí que algo de la trama y el inspector de la policía es básicamente idéntico al personaje real que llevo la investigación del caso de Road Hill, ha sido un ejercicio interesante leer ambos libros.

Dicho lo anterior, sin duda alguna Collins fue un gran escritor, uno además que tenía una enorme capacidad para atrapar al lector, para generar una historia realmente interesante e intrigante, unos personajes de lo más variopinto y además, este libro está escrito por varios de sus actores a través de cartas en estilo de declaraciones que nos van narrando los hechos acontecidos en relación a la piedra lunar de acuerdo a lo que ellos recuerdan, escucharon o vieron, básicamente esta historia nos la relatan cinco de sus actores algunos protagonistas, algunos no, pero lo que es realmente fascinante es ver cómo cambia el ritmo, el estilo de contar las cosas de acuerdo a cada persona que nos va contando las cosas, me ha encantado, sobre todo, porque quienes nos relatan los hechos son personajes bastante peculiares y eso ha dotado a este libro, además de todo, de un sentido del humor ligero y delicioso.

La trama es realmente maravillosa y entretenida, es todo un enigma, pero la forma en que se aclaran los hechos es algo fantasioso y digo que eso, porque no tengo manera de saber si lo que se relata en relación a lo sucedido la noche del robo sea algo que realmente pudiera suceder, tampoco me ha resultado una sorpresa saber el nombre del culpable, era demasiado obvio, por supuesto, sin embargo, sí que a la hora de que se sabe quién ha sido el culpable del robo, me ha dejado completamente atónita, ha sido de verdad un libro divertido de leer, con todo y que me cayera muy mal la manera en que el autor habla de sexo femenino, culpa por supuesto de la época en que fue escrito, pero que no deja de ser algo molesto.

Por lo demás leer a Collins siempre es algo realmente gratificante, me encanta este escritor y de verdad este libro es una joya dentro de los clásicos que ya son unos consentidos para mí.

La piedra lunar me supone un regreso a un terreno conocido y antiguo. Mi pasión por la lectura tiene su origen en las docenas de novelas que leí de niño sobre personajes tales como Hércules Poirot, el padre Brown o Sherlock Holmes. En esos libros siempre buscabas el misterio, la historia, el final en la última página con un asesino inédito. Todo lo demás casi daba igual. Te daban unas pistas y en un tiempo casi siempre breve y a veces con algún atajo, el autor te llevaba a un final con fuegos artificiales y traca final. Lo que nunca me preocupé de conocer es que W. Collins había tenido una influencia tan grande sobre esos dos monstruos como fueron Agatha Christie y Conan Doyle.

Creo que las historias breves de Poe le sirvieron de referencia a Collins, pero este pasó a enriquecer absolutamente la narración de misterio: dota a los protagonistas de carácter, alma y personalidad propia, se demora con ellos en algún punto, en alguna descripción. No son ya meros instrumentos para construir una trama, debo reconocer que eso es lo que les faltaba a las narraciones de las que hablaba y que finalmente me acabaron fatigando. Collins ya arma novelas con entramados cruzados y bien tejidas.

“Las últimas luces del crepúsculo se diluían, y a todo lo largo del paisaje se extendía una
calma terriblemente silenciosa. El jadeo del mar, junto al banco de arena, fuera de la bahía,
era un rumor ahogado. El mar interior se perdió en la sombra, sin que el más leve soplo de
viento agitase su superficie. Asquerosos montones de limo de una tonalidad blancuzcoamarillenta sobrenadaban en las aguas muertas. Fango y espuma brillaban débilmente en ciertos lugares (…).”
 
Algo así es lo que les faltaba a esas narraciones. Esa es para mí la gran contribución al género.
 
Otra novedad de peso es la forma de ir construyendo el relato a base de aportaciones del testimonio de cada protagonista de forma sucesiva, en parte matizando y corrigiendo la versión de los anteriores protagonistas, permitiendo que sea el lector el que elija la versión que más credibilidad le dé de todas y vaya construyendo la historia.

Usa un arma importante como es el humor y la ironía como parte del relato, se mete en contexto de la historia sin prisas, con un poco de gracia a veces, demorándose en circunstancias que no tienen que ver con el misterio en pro de una buena narración. Otras veces como digo usa el humor de forma abierta y franca. A mitad de la novela hay una correspondencia entre la beata Sra. Clark y F. Blake desternillante, o las denominaciones de las asociaciones de mujeres cristianas piadosas a las que pertenece esta Sra. Clark en sí mismas son grandiosas: “Liga de Madres para la Confección de Pantalones Cortos” o bien “Sociedad Supervisora de los Amantes Dominicales de las Criadas de las Damas Británicas”
 
Otra novedad que aporta Collins:  las aficiones y peculiaridades de los protagonistas, dándoles un toque pintoresco. Aquí el investigador sargento Cuff cultiva rosas, prueba e injerta distintos tipos de rosas y es su pasión. El mismo Lorenzo Silva actualmente le da a su protagonista Belvilaqua la afición por el pintado de soldaditos de plomo, Chesterton en El hombre que sabía demasiado, le da al prota el hobby de la pesca, Sherlock Holmes (aparte de morfinómano) toca el violín… Todos tienen un toque peculiar y una afición calmada y alejada del trajín que supone la resolución de crímenes y misterios. Ese choque siempre va bien, es interesante el contraste.
 
Las historias policiales, ya se sabe que la mayoría de las veces son muy alambicadas y las más de las veces poco creíbles, pero es parte del género. El mismo Raymond Chadler fabricaba unas historias y unos comportamientos de sus protagonistas ciertamente curiosos, pero el estilo era tan bueno… tan envolvente, que les perdonabas todo y había que entrar en la propuesta. Aquí ocurre lo mismo, prevalece la buena narrativa.