"Eric Flint - [Grantville 04] - 1634 The Ram Rebellion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

peasants.”

He emitted the familiar response he remembered from high school. “Uh. Well. Yeah.”

That firm, detestable headshake.

“Not in the least. That’s true in eastern Europe, if I remember correctly, but it’s not true here. Mind you,
my memory of the details of German social history in the early modern period is a little vague, now. I
haven’t studied the subject since college, because it’s not something we teach in this high school. Or any
high school in America, so far as I know. But I remember enough to tell you that land relations in
Germany in this day and age are a tangled mare’s nest. If we approach it the wrong way, we’re just as
likely to infuriate the farmers as the nobility, which is the last thing we want to do.”

She rose, moved over to one of the bookcases in the living room, and deftly plucked out two of the
volumes there. “I’ve still got some of the relevant books, fortunately, and I’ve been refreshing my
memory these past few days.”

Then, as Mike feared she would, she came over and handed one of them to him.

Blessedly, the more slender volume.

“Start with this one. It’s Barraclough’sThe Origins of Modern Germany and it’s still—for my money,
anyway—the best general history on the subject, even though it was written half a century ago.”

Quickly, and as surreptitiously as possible, he flipped to the end of the book.

Not surreptitiously enough, of course.

“Oh, grow up,” she said. “It’s not even five hundred pages long. You can read it in a few days. What’s
so funny?”

Despite himself, Mike had started chuckling.

“Dante’sInferno was shorter than this, and you gave us a month to read that one.”

“You were a callow youth, then. Besides, it was interza rima and this is simple prose. So stop whining.
Now . . .”

A moment later, the other book—the great, fat, monstrous tome—was deposited firmly in his lap. It was
all he could do not to groan.

“Then read this one.”

The size of the thing would have been bad enough. The title—Economic History of Europe, for the
love of God—made it even worse.
“For Pete’s sake, Mike, it’s just a book. Stop hefting it as if I were asking you to lift weights.”

“Be easier,” he muttered. “What’d they print it on? Depleted uranium?”

She returned to her seat. “Make fancy speeches, get elected the big shot, pay the price. No pain, no