Robert Graves recounts the life of William Palmer: surgeon, racehorse owner...a confessed forger who got girls into trouble, doped horses, robbed a few people...but was he a prisoner? Based on an actual trial that took place in 1856, this novel, like Graves' Wife to Mr. Milton and I, Claudius, has all the immediacy and spiciness of contemporary Victorian life. It is told through interviews with Palmer's friends and enemies. This book has humor, social significance and passion, and makes absorbing and scintillating reading. Views: 532
Years ago, Chris Bohjalian and his wife traded their Brooklyn co-op for a century-old Victorian house in Lincoln, Vermont (population 975). Bohjalian, a bestselling novelist, began chronicling life in that gloriously quirky little village with a wide variety of magazine essays and his newspaper column, “Idyll Banter.” These pieces, written over the course of twelve years, are honest, funny, and deeply affecting reflections on the unique idiosyncrasies of small-town life (annual outhouse races) and the universal experiences (our hunger for neighborliness) that unite us all. Views: 529
A daring, moving fictional account of the last moments of a father and his two sons atop the World Trade Centre on September 11.--?The only way to know what took place in the restaurant on the 107th Floor of the North Tower, World Trade Center on September 11th 2001 is to invent it.'Weaving fact and fiction, empathy and dark humour, autobiography and intellect, Windows on the World dares to confront the terrifying image that has come to define our world, the image onto which we project our fears, our compassion, our anger, our incomprehension.Beigbeder is a fierce, furious, infuriating chronicler of human iniquity and human suffering, and this book is a controversial, yet surprisingly humane attempt to depict the most awful event of recent memory. Views: 528
In the 24th century there are 75 billion people on earth, and they live in monstrous high-rise buildings that are worlds unto themselves. Over 800 stories tall, the "Urban Monad" allows everyone to live in a Utopia. Or is it a Utopia? This story was later expanded into an urban SF novel called "The World Inside." Hugo Award Nominee Views: 528
A.E.W. Mason was a 20th century British politician, but today he\'s best known for the classic The Four Feathers, a story about the virtues and vices of wartime. Views: 527
Product DescriptionIf you ask, she will answer. If she asks, you must reply. A steerswoman will speak only the truth to you, as long as she knows it—and you must do the same for her. And so, across the centuries, the Steerswomen— questioning, searching, investigating—have slowly learned more and more about the world through which they wander. All knowledge the Steerswomen possess is given freely to those who ask. But there is one kind of knowledge that has always been denied them: Magic. When the steerswoman Rowan discovers a small, lovely blue jewel of obviously magical origin, her innocent questions lead to secret after startling secret, each more dangerous than the last—and suddenly Rowan must flee or fight for her life. Or worse, she must lie. With every wizard in the world searching for her, Rowan finds unexpected assistance. A chance-met traveler turned friend, Bel is a warrior-poet, an Outskirter, and a member of a barbaric and violent people. Or, so it would seem. For Bel, unknowing, possesses secrets of her own: secrets embedded in her culture, in her people, in the very soil of her homeland. From the Inland Sea to the deadly Outskirts, surrounded by danger and deceit, Rowan and Bel uncover more and more of the wizards’ hidden knowledge. As the new truths accumulate, they edge closer to the single truth that lies at the center, the most unexpected secret of them all. . . . Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.1The steerswoman centered her chart on the table and anchored the corners around. A candlestick, a worn leatherbound book, an empty mug, and her own left hand held the curling parchment flat. The lines on the paper seemed to be of varying ages, the ones toward the center drawn with cracked, browning ink, those nearer the edges sharp and black. Extent of detail also showed progression. A large body of water, labeled "Inland Sea," dominated the central portion. The northern shore was depicted with painstaking precision. Farther north and farther east lines became more general, and there was a broad blank space on the right-hand side of the map. The innkeeper regarded the woman a moment, then turned his attention to the chart. "Ah, look at that, now, all laid out just like we were birds and all." He tilted his head for a better vantage. "Here we are, then." He placed a chubby finger down on the parchment, on a spot north and east of the sea, midway between precision and vagueness. "Here's this very crossroads, see, and the town, and the tavern itself." The last was not depicted. The steerswoman made no comment. The finger moved northeast, leaving a faint, damp mark. "There, that's where me and my brothers used to live. Right there; I know that river, see." "And that's where you found the jewel," Rowan the steerswoman said. "Yes, lady, that's right. Felling trees, these great big ones here." With a sweep of his arm he indicated a vast supporting beam visible in the ceiling of the narrow sitting room. "There we were, cutting these great things down--they did the worst of it, I'm not so strong as my brothers." The innkeeper was an immense square block of a man, of the sort whose padding generally concealed considerable muscle. "So I spot this smaller one, more in my range, like. And I heave back my axe, give it one great bash--and there it was." Rowan reached across the table and picked up the object that lay there, an irregular lump of wood about the size of her two fists. As she turned it over in her hands, something glinted inside the hollows and depressions carved into its surface: rich colors that fractured and shifted as the light shifted, opalescent--now blue-black, now sky-blue, now a flash of purple, recalling amethyst. The surface was laced with tiny veins of silver. Rowan touched one of the visible faces and found it perfectly smooth, far smoother than a jeweler could have cut it, and with a faintly oily feel. Putting the object down on the chart, she reached into the neck of her blouse and drew out a small pouch, hung by a leather cord. She slipped the cord over her head, opened the pouch, and slid its contents out onto the table. The innkeeper smiled. "Ah, you've got one, too, though not so large and fine as mine." He picked up the blue shard, about half the size of the thumb he rubbed across it. "Oh, it's the same, yes." But it seemed less a jewel than a slice of a jewel. It was flat and thin as a knife blade. Only one surface showed, the other sheathed in some rough-textured, silver-colored metal, as if it had been pulled from or broken from a setting. The steerswoman made a vague gesture. "We can't tell how large yours is, imbedded in wood. All the others I've seen are like my own, small and one-sided. I suspect that what you have is actually several jewels, nestled together." She turned back to the map. "Can you recall which side of the tree it was found in?" He was surprised. "Side? No side, lady. It was inside like I said." "Yes, but wasn't it closer to one side than the other?" She tapped the object. "It wasn't directly in the center, or the pattern of the grain would run around it in a circle. It was off-center. I need to know in what direction." "Ten years back? Who can tell one side of a tree from another, ten years back?" Rowan leaned back in her chair, contemplating a moment. She was an unprepossessing figure, of average height, and of average build for her height. Her traveling clothes, a rough linen blouse and trousers, were dusty and perhaps a bit tattered. Her hair, cut short for convenience, was the color of dark wet sand, save where the sun had bleached pale streaks. She possessed no outstanding beauty, and yet her face fascinated, not by any great perfection of feature but by its intelligent, constantly shifting expression. It seemed as if the actions of her mind were immediately reflected on her face, giving her a strange air, part vulnerability, part arrogance. One could not tell if she was helplessly incapable of guile, or if she simply considered it beneath her. "The jewel showed at the first strike of your axe?" she asked the innkeeper. "Yes, lady." "Which way were you facing? Were there landmarks about? What did you see?" "See?" He was blank a moment, searching his memory; then his face lit up. "I saw the Eastern Guidestar. The sun was just setting, see, the stars just showing, and as I get ready to swing, I look up and see the Eastern Guidestar shining through the branches like an omen. I remember thinking that." Rowan laughed, slapped her hand down on the table, and rose. "Does that tell you something, lady?" "Indeed it does." She had gone to where her pack lay against an armchair, and was opening her tubular map case. She pulled out another chart, smaller than the first, and brought it back to the table. "Here." She pushed the lump to one side and spread the new chart on top of the first. "Do you see that this is a more detailed map of this small area?" She indicated the land around his finger-smudge. "Yes . . ." She nodded. "Here's the river, as you said, and it must have been around here that you felled the tree." He squinted along her finger. "Could be, yes . . ." "Were there any other landmarks? What did you pass on the way there?" "We crossed a brook. . . ." "Could it be this one?" With a series of questions she narrowed the possibilities until both she and the innkeeper were satisfied. She marked the position with a small star. Next she questioned him closely about the terrain and the other types of vegetation nearby, adding symbols and notes. At last she said, "And you were facing the Eastern Guidestar, which is southeast from there," and drew a small arrow by the star, pointing southeast. The innkeeper saw that there were perhaps a dozen such stars on the map, three of them accompanied by arrows. All the arrows pointed southeast. The steerswoman picked up the wooden shape again, giving her attention not to the jewels but to the wood itself. She ran her fingernail lightly along the grain. "Did you use the tree that held this in constructing any part of this building?" "Why, yes. The great mantelpiece over the fireplace in the common room." She tossed the lump to him. "Show me." The terse command was tempered by her evident delight. The innkeeper could not imagine why the prospect of examining a mantelpiece would please her so. He led her down the short paneled corridor, passing a wide-eyed chambermaid who hastened to get out of their way, either out of respect for her master, or for the woman who followed him. The common room was a wide low chamber that ran the entire length of the inn. In the far corner, a door led to the kitchen and service area, with kegs of various brews and wines nearby. Rowan and the innkeeper entered from another door in the same wall. A massive fieldstone fireplace filled the area between the two doors. The opposite wall held the entrance and a rank of windows, all flung open to admit the weak spring sunlight. As an attempt to dispel the native gloom of the chamber, this was a failure, and only served to offset the dark comradely warmth that prevailed. The confluence of several bands of travelers had provided the inn with a crowd of surprising size. In one corner, a caravan guide was regaling a merchant who had three lovely young companions--daughters, by the merchant's evident disapproval of their bright-eyed attentiveness. Nearby, some of the other caravan members were conversing with five soldiers in red surcoats, apparently in the service of some or another wizard currently aligned with the Red. Close by the fire, a group of pilgrims were receiving an impromptu lecture from their leader; a local wag stood close behind his chair, parodying the man's pontifical gestures and expressions, while the pilgrims watched in a dumbfounded fascination that the unknowing leader seemed to attribute to his own rhetorical brilliance. Far to the left of that group, Rowan identified a band of no less than a full dozen Outskirters. War-band size, she realized with some concern. But they seemed, at the moment, cheerful and unthreatening, oblivious to the ring of silent watchfulness around them, a ring that was slowly being frayed by the friendly, the brave, and the simply curious. Seeing that nothing undue was about to transpire, she turned her attention to the fireplace and the mantelpiece, which was high up, safely out of casual arm-reach. It held a display of oddments and fancy mugs. Rowan found a tall stool by the fire. She tested it with a fingertip, and it wobbled perceptibly. Seeing her intent, a local farmer leaped up. "Here, lass, I'll give a hand." He moved it to where she indicated and patted the seat, saying, "Up you go, lass, be glad to hold you," with a grin and an overly familiar wink. "A little respect, man. That's a steerswoman," the innkeeper protested. The farmer backed off in surprise. "It doesn't mean I couldn't use a hand," Rowan said, half annoyed, half amused. She climbed to the top of the stool while the farmer carefully s...
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Fiendishly devious and addictively readable, Peter Carey’s My Life as a Fake is a moral labyrinth constructed around the uneasy relationship between literature and lying. In steamy, fetid Kuala Lumpur in 1972, Sarah Wode-Douglass, the editor of a London poetry journal, meets a mysterious Australian named Christopher Chubb. Chubb is a despised literary hoaxer, carting around a manuscript likely filled with deceit. But in this dubious manuscript Sarah recognizes a work of real genius. But whose genius? As Sarah tries to secure the manuscript, Chubb draws her into a fantastic story of imposture, murder, kidnapping, and exile–a story that couldn’t be true unless its teller were mad. My Life as a Fake is Carey at his most audacious and entertaining.
From the Trade Paperback edition. Views: 524
He's back. Sir Apropos of Nothing, the best reviewed anti-hero in modern fantasy makes his triumphant return and gets a severe "Tong Lashing" for his troubles.
Yes, the hero who reviewers have described as "Swiftian" -- Locus, "Schopenhauerian" -- Kirkus and "Cyclopian" -- Kirkus again -- and many other big words, has survived the events in his previous outing, The Woad to Wuin, events that would have killed a lesser man. Which is impressive considering it's hard to find a lesser man than Apropos: A con man, a knave, a scalawag...and those are his finer points.
This time out, Apropos finds himself out to sea...literally. Yes, our rogue knight winds up adrift in hostile waters after a "friendly" game of chance with a wizard turns ludicrously deadly. But once again Death is thwarted (or perhaps it simply wants nothing to do with him) as Apropos winds up a stranger in a strange land. A land called "Chinpan," populated by people who speak a different language and live by a code of honor, neither of which Apropos can comprehend.
And yet in Chinpan, Apropos slowly begins to examine his life and question whether he can aspire to true greatness. To become more than the hard-bitten cynic he's always been. He may yet be able to find a happy ending among a gentle people who are willing to accept him, faults and all. And he acquires a teacher who may even be able to set him on a road to true enlightenment.
But events conspire to pull Apropos in unexpected and dangerous directions. For his presence in Chinpan does not go unnoticed. What does the mysterious criminal organization known as the Forked Tong want with him? How do their plans tie in or conflict with the criminal Skang Kei family, and their enigmatic leader, Skang Kei Ho? What of the Mingol hordes? And what will be the fate of the Chin clan, including Double Chin, Cleft Chin, Kit Chin, and little Kit Chinette?
By turns hilarious and tragic, Tong Lashing leaves no signature moment of adventure unpummeled. Mysterious shadow warriors, demented rulers, martial arts lessons, ritual suicide...all that fun stuff and much more in this, the latest (and last?) adventure of Sir Apropos of Nothing. Views: 523
Walter Hunt's debut novel, The Dark Wing was favorably compared to Ender's Game, Babylon 5, Honor Harrington, and C. S. Forester . . . and the story isn't over yet! Man and zor, once sworn enemies engaged in a mutual campaign of xenocide, now live side by side. The war is over, and Admiral Marais, the legendary "Dark Wing"--both Angel of Death and Species Savior--is long dead, though some of his companions and participants in that great war still survive and have even chosen to live among the zor.Now a mystery from the past has become a threat to the present when an unholy menace jeopardizes both humans and zor alike.Whole space fleets have disappeared, with survivors stricken mad.And now man and zor alike must join forces to meet this adversary head on. . . .From Publishers WeeklyIn this gripping sequel to The Dark Wing (2001), Hunt does a better job of depicting character and handling zor mythology and interspecies relations than in his debut novel. Humanity and the winged zor are now staunch allies, but the lurking alien menace hinted at in The Dark Wing, the shape-changing, mind-controlling vulh, now roars on stage red in tooth and claw. In the best tradition of Honor Harrington, Commodore Jacqueline Laperriere, commander of an outpost on the planet Cicero, breaks the rules to save some of her troops and warn others. Later Jackie must re-enact the quest of Qu'u, the legendary zor hero, on the Plain of Despite, seeking an ancient weapon that holds the key to defeating the vulh. While the ending may be a trifle rushed, it offers plenty of surprises.Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc. From BooklistThis fine sequel to Hunt's Dark Wing (2001) reads somewhat like a collaboration of David Weber and Orson Scott Card. It sports a valiant space navy, represented by Commodore Jacqueline Lapierre, an officer well suited to sit at the same table as Weber's Honor Harrington. And it includes the implacable vuhl, a shape-changing, mind-controlling, insectoid enemy race that recalls the original foes of Card's Ender Wiggin. The alien zor, formerly implacable enemies of humanity, are now staunch allies against the vuhl. Lapierre and her zor exec, Ch'ke'te, elude an early vuhl attack, after which they must play roles out of zor legend to retrieve a legendary talisman that holds the key to their common survival. Imaginative twists include the facts that the human and zor quest team employs the telepathic assistance of Ch'ke'te's dead mate, Th'an'ya, and that some human POWs are finding out how to penetrate vuhl disguises. Gripping stuff that, fortunately, presages a further book. Roland GreenCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved Views: 522
From the best-selling author of Snow Falling on Cedars--an emotionally charged, provocative new novel about a teenage girl who claims to see the Virgin Mary.
Ann Holmes seems an unlikely candidate for revelation. A sixteen-year-old runaway, she is an itinerant mushroom picker who lives in a tent. But on a November afternoon, in the foggy woods of North Fork, Washington, the Virgin comes to her, clear as day.
Father Collins--a young priest new to North Fork--finds Ann disturbingly alluring. But it is up to him to evaluate--impartially--the veracity of Ann's sightings: Are they delusions, or a true calling to God? As word spreads and thousands, including the press, converge upon the town, Carolyn Greer, a smart-talking fellow mushroomer, becomes Ann's disciple of sorts, as well as her impromptu publicity manager. And Tom Cross, an embittered logger who's been out of work since his son was paralyzed in a terrible accident, finds in Ann's visions a last chance for redemption for both himself and his son.
As Father Collins searches his own soul and Ann's, as Carolyn struggles with her less than admirable intentions, as Tom alternates between despair and hope, Our Lady of the Forest tells a suspenseful, often wryly humorous, and deeply involving story of faith at a contemporary crossroads. From the Hardcover edition. Views: 522
Artifact by F. Paul Wilson, Janet Berliner, Matthew Costello Six adrenalin junkies who call themselves the Daredevils Club hold the fate of the world in their hands. In an ancient undersea cavern, one of them, oil man Frik van Alman, discovers a set of stones that are unlike anything else on Earth. Fitted together, the stones form an object that promises limitless free energy for the world. After a terrified scientist scatters the pieces, the club members race to retrieve them. Each knows that whoever reassembles the unique device will have unlimited power at his or her fingertips. Can anyone be trusted? In a thrilling adventure that stretches from deep beneath the Caribbean to the penthouses of Las Vegas, friend battles friend for control of the Artifact. Views: 521
Nine brave, wise, and spellbinding stories make up this award-winning debut. In "When She is Old and I Am Famous" a young woman confronts the inscrutable power of her cousin's beauty. In "Note to Sixth-Grade Self" a band of popular girls exert their social power over an awkward outcast. In "Isabel Fish" fourteen-year-old Maddy learns to scuba dive in order to mend her family after a terrible accident. Alive with the victories, humiliations, and tragedies of youth, How to Breathe Underwater illuminates this powerful territory with striking grace and intelligence.
From the Trade Paperback edition. Views: 520
Ever since Soren was kidnapped and taken to the St. Aegolius School for Orphaned Owls, he has longed to see his sister, Eglantine, again. Now Eglantine is back in Soren's life, but she's been through an ordeal too terrible for words. And Ezylryb, Soren's mentor, has disappeared. Deep within Soren's gizzard, something more powerful than knowledge tells him there's a connection between these mysterious events.
In order to rescue Ezylryb, Soren must embark upon a perilous quest. It will bring him face-to-face with a force more dangerous than anything the rulers of St. Aggie's could have devised-and a truth that threatens to destroy the owl kingdom. Views: 519
