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Alan Dean Foster

The Last Starfighter

John Fowles

The Magus

<div><h2><b><font class="Apple-style-span" color="#550000">John Fowles</font></b></h2><h2><b><font class="Apple-style-span" color="#550000"><i><u>The Magus, A Revised Version</u></i></font></b></h2><h3><b><font class="Apple-style-span" color="#550000">1977</font></b></h3></div><

William Faulkner

The Mansion

<h3>About the Author</h3><p>William Faulkner was born in New Albany, Mississippi, on September 25, 1897. His family was rooted in local history: his great-grandfather, a Confederate colonel and state politician, was assassinated by a former partner in 1889, and his grandfather was a wealth lawyer who owned a railroad. When Faulkner was five his parents moved to Oxford, Mississippi, where he received a desultory education in local schools, dropping out of high school in 1915. Rejected for pilot training in the U.S. Army, he passed himself off as British and joined the Canadian Royal Air Force in 1918, but the war ended before he saw any service. After the war, he took some classes at the University of Mississippi and worked for a time at the university post office. Mostly, however, he educated himself by reading promiscuously.<br /></p><p>Faulkner had begun writing poems when he was a schoolboy, and in 1924 he published a poetry collection, <strong>The Marble Faun</strong>, at his own expense. His literary aspirations were fueled by his close friendship with Sherwood Anderson, whom he met during a stay in New Orleans. Faulkner's first novel, <strong>Soldier’s Pay</strong>, was published in 1926, followed a year later by <strong>Mosquitoes</strong>, a literary satire. His next book, <strong>Flags in the Dust</strong>, was heavily cut and rearranged at the publisher’s insistence and appeared finally as <strong>Sartoris</strong> in 1929. In the meantime he had completed <strong>The Sound and the Fury</strong>, and when it appeared at the end of 1929 he had finished <strong>Sanctuary</strong> and was ready to begin writing <strong>As I Lay Dying</strong>. That same year he married Estelle Oldham, whom he had courted a decade earlier.<br /></p><p>Although Faulkner gained literary acclaim from these and subsequent novels—<strong>Light in August</strong> (1932), <strong>Pylon</strong> (1935), <strong>Absalom, Absalom!</strong> (1936), <strong>The Unvanquished</strong> (1938), <strong>The Wild Palms</strong> (1939), <strong>The Hamlet</strong> (1940), and <strong>Go Down, Moses</strong> (1942)—and continued to publish stories regularly in magazines, he was unable to support himself solely by writing fiction. he worked as a screenwriter for MGM, Twentieth Century-Fox, and Warner Brothers, forming a close relationship with director Howard Hawks, with whom he worked on <strong>To Have and Have Not</strong>, <strong>The Big Sleep</strong>, and <strong>Land of the Pharaohs</strong>, among other films. In 1944 all but one of Faulkner's novels were out of print, and his personal life was at low ebb due in part to his chronic heavy drinking. During the war he had been discovered by Sartre and Camus and others in the French literary world. In the postwar period his reputation rebounded, as Malcolm Cowley's anthology <strong>The Portable Faulkner</strong> brought him fresh attention in America, and the immense esteem in which he was held in Europe consolidated his worldwide stature.<br /></p><p>Faulkner wrote seventeen books set in the mythical Yoknapatawpha County, home of the Compson family in <strong>The Sound and the Fury</strong>. “No land in all fiction lives more vividly in its physical presence than this county of Faulkner’s imagination,” Robert Penn Warren wrote in an essay on Cowley’s anthology. “The descendants of the old families, the descendants of bushwhackers and carpetbaggers, the swamp rats, the Negro cooks and farm hands, the bootleggers and gangsters, tenant farmers, college boys, county-seat lawyers, country storekeepers, peddlers—all are here in their fullness of life and their complicated interrelations.” In 1950, Faulkner traveled to Sweden to accept the 1949 Nobel Prize for Literature. In later books—<strong>Intruder in the Dust</strong> (1948), <strong>Requiem for a Nun</strong> (1951), <strong>A Fable</strong> (1954), <strong>The Town</strong> (1957), <strong>The Mansion</strong> (1959), and <strong>The Reivers</strong> (1962)—he continued to explore what he had called “the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself,” but did so in the context of Yoknapatawpha’s increasing connection with the modern world. He died of a heart attack on July 6, 1962. </p><h3>Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.</h3><p>Mink<br /></p><p>1<br /></p><p>The jury said "Guilty" and the Judge said "Life" but he didn't hear them. He wasn't listening. In fact, he hadn't been able to listen since that first day when the Judge banged his little wooden hammer on the high desk until he, Mink, dragged his gaze back from the far door of the courtroom to see what in the world the man wanted, and he, the Judge, leaned down across the desk hollering: "You, Snopes! Did you or didn't you kill Zack Houston?" and he, Mink, said, "Dont bother me now. Cant you see I'm busy?" then turned his own head to look again toward the distant door at the back of the room, himself hollering into, against, across the wall of little wan faces hemming him in: "Snopes! Flem Snopes! Anybody here that'll go and bring Flem Snopes! I'll pay you-Flem'll pay you!"<br /></p><p>Because he hadn't had time to listen. In fact, that whole first trip, handcuffed to the deputy, from his jail cell to the courtroom, had been a senseless, a really outrageously foolish interference with and interruption, and each subsequent daily manacled trip and transference, of the solution to both their problems-his and the damned law's both-if they had only waited and let him alone: the watching, his dirty hands gripping among the grimed interstices of the barred window above the street, which had been his one, his imperious need during the entire two months between his incarceration and the opening of the Court.<br /></p><p>At first, during the first few days behind the barred window, he had simply been impatient with his own impatience and-yes, he admitted it- his own stupidity. Long before the moment came when he had had to aim the gun and fire the shot, he knew that his cousin Flem, the only member of his clan with the power to and the reason to, or at least to be expected to, extricate him from its consequences, would not be there to do it. He even knew why Flem would not be there for at least a year; Frenchman's Bend was too small: everybody in it knew everything about everybody else; they would all have seen through that Texas trip even without the hurrah and hullabaloo that Varner girl had been causing ever since she (or whoever else it was) found the first hair on her bump, not to mention just this last past spring and summer while that durn McCarron boy was snuffing and fighting everybody else off exactly like a gang of rutting dogs.<br /></p><p>So that long before Flem married her, he, Mink, and everybody else in ten miles of the Bend knew that old Will Varner was going to have to marry her off to somebody, and that quick, if he didn't want a woods- colt in his back yard next grass. And when it was Flem that finally married her, he, Mink, anyway was not surprised. It was Flem, with his usual luck. All right, more than just luck then: the only man in Frenchman's Bend that ever stood up to and held his own with old Will Varner; that had done already more or less eliminated Jody, old Will's only son, out of the store, and now was fixing to get hold of half of all the rest of it by being old Will's only son-in-law. That just by marrying her in time to save her from dropping a bastard, Flem would not only be the rightful husband of that damn girl that had kept every man under eighty years old in Frenchman's Bend in an uproar ever since she was fifteen years old by just watching her walk past, but he had got paid for it to boot: not only the right to fumble his hand every time the notion struck him under that dress that rutted a man just thinking even about somebody else's hand doing it, but was getting a free deed to that whole Old Frenchman place for doing it.<br /></p><p>So he knew Flem would not be there when he would need him, since he knew that Flem and his new wife would have to stay away from Frenchman's Bend at least long enough for what they would bring back with them to be able to call itself only twelve months old without everybody that looked at it dying of laughing. Only, when the moment finally came, when the instant finally happened when he could no longer defer having to aim the gun and pull the trigger, he had forgot that. No, that was a lie. He hadn't forgot it. He simply could wait no longer: Houston himself would not let him wait longer-and that too was one more injury which Zack Houston in the very act of dying, had done him: compelled him, Mink, to kill him at a time when the only person who had the power to save him and would have had to save him whether he wanted to or not because of the ancient immutable laws of simple blood kinship, was a thousand miles away; and this time it was an irreparable injury because in the very act of committing it, Houston had escaped forever all retribution for it.<br /></p><p>He had not forgotten that his cousin would not be there. He simply couldn't wait any longer. He had simply had to trust them-the Them of whom it was promised that not even a sparrow should fall unmarked. By them he didn't mean that whatever-it-was that folks referred to as Old Moster. He didn't believe in any Old Moster. He had seen too much in his time that, if any Old Moster existed, with eyes as sharp and power as strong as was claimed He had, He would have done something about. Besides, he, Mink, wasn't religious. He hadn't been to a church since he was fifteen years old and never aimed to go again-places which a man with a hole in his gut and a rut in his britches that he couldn't satisfy at home, used, by calling himself a preacher of God, to get conveniently together the biggest possible number of women that he could tempt with the reward of the one in return for the job of the other-the job of filling his hole in payment for getting theirs plugged the first time the husband went to the field and she could slip off to the bushes where the preacher was waiting; the wives coming because here was the best market they knowed of to swap a mess of fried chicken or a sweet potato pie; the husbands coming not to interrupt the trading because he knowed he couldn't interrupt it or even keep up with it, but at least to try and find out if his wife's name would come to the head of the waiting list today or if maybe he could still finish scratching that last forty before he would have to tie her to the bedpost and hide behind the door watching; and the young folks not even bothering to enter the church a-tall for already running to be the first couple behind the nearest handy thicket-bush.<br /></p><p>He meant, simply, that them-they-it, whichever and whatever you wanted to call it, who represented a simple fundamental justice and equity in human affairs, or else a man might just as well quit; the they, them, it, call them what you like, which simply would not, could not harass and harry a man forever without someday, at some moment, letting him get his own just and equal licks back in return. They could harass and worry him, or They could even just sit back and watch everything go against him right along without missing a lick, almost like there was a pattern to it; just sit back and watch and-all right, why not? he-a man-didn't mind, as long as he was a man and there was a justice to it- enjoy it too; maybe in fact They were even testing him, to see if he was a man or not, man enough to take a little harassment and worry and so deserve his own licks back when his turn came. But at least that moment would come when it was his turn, when he had earned the right to have his own just and equal licks back, just as They had earned the right to test him and even to enjoy the testing; the moment when They would have to prove to him that They were as much a man as he had proved to Them that he was; when he not only would have to depend on Them but had won the right to depend on Them and find Them faithful; and They dared not, They would not dare, to let him down, else it would be as hard for Them to live with themselves afterward as it had finally become for him to live with himself and still keep on taking what he had taken from Zack Houston.<br /></p><p>So he knew that morning that Flem was not going to be there. It was simply that he could wait no longer; the moment had simply come when he and Zack Houston could, must, no longer breathe the same air. And so, lacking his cousin's presence, he must fall back on that right to depend on them which he had earned by never before in his life demanding anything of them.<br /></p><p>It began in the spring. No, it began in the fall before. No, it began a long time before that even. It began at the very instant Houston was born already shaped for arrogance and intolerance and pride. Not at the moment when the two of them, he, Mink Snopes also, began to breathe the same north Mississippi air, because he, Mink, was not a contentious man. He had never been. It was simply that his own bad luck had all his life continually harassed and harried him into the constant and unflagging necessity of defending his own simple rights.<br /></p><p>Though it was not until the summer before that first fall that Houston's destiny had actually and finally impinged on his, Mink's, own fate-which was another facet of the outrage: that nothing, not even they, least of all they, had vouchsafed him any warning of what that first encounter would end in. This was the year after Houston's young wife had gone into the stallion's stall hunting a hen-nest and the horse had killed her and any decent man would have thought that any decent husband would have destroyed the horse as fast as he could have run to the house and got his pistol. But not Houston. Houston was not only rich enough to own a blooded stallion capable of killing his wife, but arrogant and intolerant enough to defy all decency afterward and keep the horse: supposed to be so grieving over his wife that even the neighbors didn't dare knock on his front door anymore, yet two or three times a week ripping up and down the road on that next murderer of a horse, with that big Bluetick hound running like a greyhound or another horse along beside it, right up to Varner's store and not even getting down: the three of them just waiting there in the road-the arrogant intolerant man and the bad-eyed horse and the dog that bared its teeth and raised its hackles any time anybody went near it-while H... </p><

Lynn Flewelling

The Nightrunner #02 - Stalking Darkness

With the Leran threat laid to rest, Alec and Seregil are now able to turn their attention to the ancient evil which threatens their land. The Plenimarans, at war with Skalans, have decided to defeat their ancient enemy by raising up the Dead God, Seriamaius. The early attempts at this reincarnation--masterminded by the sinister Duke Mardus and his sorcerous minion Vargul Ashnazai--once left Seregil in a sorcerous coma. Now, an ancient prophecy points to his continuing role in the quest to stop Mardus in his dread purpose.Seregil's friend and Mentor, the wizard Nysander, has long been the guardian of a deadly secret. In a secret, silver-lined room hidden well beneath the Oreska, he has served for most of his 300 years as the keeper of a nondescript clay cup. But this cup, combined with a crystal crown and some wooden disks, forms the Helm of Seriamaius, and any mortal donning the reconstructed Helm will become the incarnation of the god on earth.Nysander holds the cup and Mardus the wooden disks--one of which was responsible for Seregil's coma--but the crown must still be located. Threatened under pain of death by Nysander to keep his quest a secret even from his loyal companion, Alec, Seregil is dispatched to find the last missing piece of the Helm so that he and Nysander can destroy it. But this is only the beginning of one of his deadliest journeys ever, for the prophecy also holds that four will come together in a time of darkness, and gradually all that Seregil values is placed at risk as he, Alec, Nysander and Micum are drawn into a deadly web of terror and intrigue.<

Lynn Flewelling

The Nightrunner #04 - Shadows Return

<h3>Product Description</h3><p>With their most treacherous mission yet behind them, heroes Seregil and Alec resume their double life as dissolute nobles and master spies. But in a world of rivals and charmers, fate has a different plan.… </p><p>After their victory in Aurënen, Alec and Seregil have returned home to Rhíminee. But with most of their allies dead or exiled, it is difficult for them to settle in. Hoping for diversion, they accept an assignment that will take them back to Seregil’s homeland. En route, however, they are ambushed and separated, and both are sold into slavery. Clinging to life, Seregil is sustained only by the hope that Alec is alive. </p><p>But it is not Alec’s life his strange master wants—it is his blood. For his unique lineage is capable of producing a rare treasure, but only through a harrowing process that will test him body and soul and unwittingly entangle him and Seregil in the realm of alchemists and madmen—and an enigmatic creature that may hold their very destiny in its inhuman hands…. But will it prove to be savior or monster? </p><p><em>From the Paperback edition.</em></p><h3>About the Author</h3><p>Lynn Fleweling was born in Presque Isle, Maine, which—contrary to common assumption—is not an island. She received her undergraduate from the University of Maine at Presque Isle, where she majored in English, minored in History, and received a teaching certificate she had no intention of ever using. Since then, she has studied literature, veterinary medicine, ancient Greek among other things, and worked as a necropsy technician, a house painter, an office worker, a freelance editor, a freelance journalist (www.sff.net/people/Lynn.Flewelling/OtherWritings.html), and yes, even as a teacher now and then, an instructor of workshops—on creativity and fiction writing. </p><

Lynn Flewelling

The Nightrunner #05 - The White Road

<h3>About the Author</h3><p>Lynn Flewelling is best known for her Nightrunner series, as well as the Tamir Triad, and her work appears in a dozen languages. She also maintains a lively online presence with her website and her Live Journal, “Talk in the Shadows.” Born in northern Maine, Flewelling is happily transplanted in Redlands, California, with her husband and too many animals. </p><h3>Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.</h3><p>*Chapter One </p><p>Safe Harbor* </p><p>DYING—even for just a little while—took a lot out of a person. Alec and his companions had arrived in Gedre last night and Alec had managed to stay on his horse as they rode up from the harbor to the clan house, but he’d spoiled it by fainting in the courtyard. Mydri had taken one sharp look at him and packed him off to bed in a room overlooking the harbor. And when their host saw Sebrahn, Riagil í Molan had ordered that the <em>rhekaro </em>stay hidden, too. Given Sebrahn’s strange appearance, Alec could hardly blame him.  </p><p>Winter rain lashed against the window across the room and the wind moaned in the chimney. Gedre harbor was barely visible, the ships anchored there just dark smudges in the mist. After their stormy crossing from Plenimar, it was rather nice to be in a soft bed that didn’t roll under him. He had no idea what time it was. When he’d awakened, Seregil was already gone, no doubt to speak with his sisters or their host, the <em>khirnari. </em> </p><p>Sebrahn was curled up on the cushions of the window seat, gazing out—though at what it was impossible to say. The rhekaro might haveAlec’s childhood features, but it was impossible to pass him off as an ordinary child. His pale, silver-white hair hung nearly to the floor behind him. His white skin looked ghostly in the grey light, and his silver eyes were the color of steel. Riagil’s wife, Yhali, had replaced the rags Sebrahn had arrived in with soft Aurënfaie tunics, knitted stockings, and shoes that fit him, though Sebrahn seemed confused by the latter and kept taking them off. Just as any little child might do— * </p><p>But he’s not a child, is he? * </p><p>Pushing that thought away, Alec reached for the mug Mydri had left on the bedside table and sipped the medicinal broth. His hand shook a bit, spilling a few drops down the front of his nightshirt.  </p><p>He and Seregil had been in desperate condition when Micum and Thero had found them in Plenimar, but Sebrahn had been even worse. He was made of magic and had used a staggering amount to kill their pursuers in the Plenimaran wilderness, bring Alec back from Bilairy’s gate, and heal both Seregil and Alec. For the first few days of the voyage they feared that the wizened, depleted little rhekaro might have used himself up. Too weak to get out of his bunk, Alec had fed Sebrahn several times a day, squeezing blood from his fingertip onto the rhekaro’s little grey tongue.After a few days of this Sebrahn grew more alert and continued to improve. And today he seemed nearly himself again.  </p><p>Alec wondered how long Riagil and Mydri were going to keep him shut away up here. His long linen nightshirt was fresh, but he hadn’t had a proper bath since they’d escaped from the alchemist’s villa almost two weeks ago. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, which hung halfway down his back—lank and dirty. His fingers caught in snarls and tangles. Stretching out one long blond strand, he wondered—not for the first time—whether he should just cut it off, as Seregil had sacrificed his during their escape. Sebrahn was squirming around now. One by one, the borrowed shoes fell to the floor. The alchemist, Charis Yhakobin, had created the rhekaro to be nothing more than a sexless, voiceless tool—one whose unnatural flesh and strange white blood could, according to Yhakobin, be distilled for some kind of potent elixir. But Sebrahn and his illfated predecessor had been much more than that. Sebrahn might be sexless, but he was not voiceless, or mindless, either.  </p><p>“What do you see?” asked Alec.  </p><p>Sebrahn turned to look at him. “Ahek.”  </p><p>Alec chuckled. His name had been Sebrahn’s first halting word. Since then, he’d managed a few more for people, things, and a few actions. Understanding was another matter. Strangely, it didn’t seem to matter whether you spoke Skalan, ’faie, or Plenimaran to him. Tell him cup, *tyxa, <em>or </em>kupa, <em>and if there was one in the room, he would fetch it. Sebrahn left the window seat and joined Alec on the bed, leaning against his side. Alec touched the rhekaro’s soft, cool little hand, noting the thin scars that ringed the base of several fingers where they’d grown back after Yhakobin cut them off for some experiment. </em> </p><p>Why didn’t you sing to save yourself? * </p><p>Alec gathered him close again, his heart beating a little faster. “No one is going to hurt you again, or take you away. If they try, we’ll leave.”  </p><p>Sebrahn looked around the room, then pointed out the window and said in his raspy little voice, “Leeeve.”  </p><p>“That’s right. On a ship. Can you say ‘ship’?”  </p><p>Sebrahn was not interested.  </p><p>“Chamber pot.”  </p><p>The rhekaro slipped off the bed and pulled the required vessel from under the bed. Alec made use of it and had Sebrahn put it back for the skutter to deal with. Now what? There didn’t appear to be anything he could do but watch the rain. It was a relief when he heard someone coming up the stairs to his door.  </p><p>Micum looked in and grinned. “That’s a long face!”  </p><p>“Where is everybody?”  </p><p>Micum came in and pulled a chair up beside the bed. “At breakfast. I came up to see if you’re awake. Hungry?”  </p><p>“Not really.”  </p><p>Micum held out his hands, and Sebrahn abandoned Alec for the big man’s lap.  </p><p>“Traitor,” Alec grumbled. Sebrahn had warmed to their tall, red-haired friend during the voyage. Sebrahn reached up to touch Micum’s thick, grey-streaked moustache, apparently puzzled that the big man had something on his face that his two beardless protectors didn’t. </p><p>“Uncle Micum,” Alec said with a smile.  </p><p>Micum laughed and kissed Sebrahn’s hand, just as if he were one of his own brood. “I like the sound of that. What do you say, little sprout?”  </p><p>Sebrahn didn’t say anything, just leaned against Micum’s broad chest and fixed his gaze on Alec. It was too easy to imagine anything he wanted in those eyes. What Sebrahn was really feeling—or if he could—remained a mystery. Alec and Micum were in the midst of a game of cards when Seregil came in with the wizards. Magyana looked most of her two centuries today; under a fringe of grey bangs, her lined face was pale and tired, but her eyes were kind as always. Thero, still in the youth of his first century, was tall and dark, with a thin beard and dark curling hair pulled back from a long, somewhat austere face. But his pale green eyes were warm, too, as he took in the sight of Alec and Sebrahn.  </p><p>“We need to talk,” Seregil said, sitting down on the bed beside Alec.  </p><p>“I’ll leave you to it,” Micum said, putting Sebrahn on the bed and rising to go.  </p><p>“Please, stay,” said Thero. “We have no secrets from you in this matter.”  </p><p>This sounded serious, and all the more so when Magyana threw the latch and cast a warding on the room to keep out prying ears.  </p><p>“Now then, this creature—” she began, her lined face somber.  </p><p>“Please don’t call him that,” said Alec. “He’s a person and he has a name.”  </p><p>“He is not a person, my dear,” Magyana told him gently.  </p><p>“You may be right about the rest of it, but he’s not human, or ’faie, either.”  </p><p>“There’s something we need to tell you,” said Thero.  </p><p>“What is it?”  </p><p>“Thero sensed it, but not clearly, when he first saw Sebrahn in Plenimar,” Magyana explained. “It’s true that the rhekaro has been given the semblance of a child, but another form radiates beyond the physical. I don’t understand it, but what I see around him is the form of a young dragon.”  </p><p>Alec stared hard at Sebrahn, squinting his eyes, but saw nothing unusual. “A dragon? That’s impossible! Sebrahn was made from bits of—me!” Seregil was frowning at the younger wizard. “Why didn’t you tell us, Thero?”  </p><p>“I wasn’t sure what I was sensing. It’s Magyana who sees it clearly.”  </p><p>Magyana took Alec’s hand in hers. “Seregil has told me something of how Sebrahn was made. I believe you can tell me more. Do you know what materials he used?” Alec shifted uneasily; it was a time he didn’t really want to remember. “Sulfur and salt, tinctures—”  </p><p>“Nothing of dragons?”  </p><p>“I saw dried fingerling dragons hanging in his workshop, but I didn’t see him put any in.”  </p><p>“Very well. What else do you remember?”  </p><p>“There was something he called the ‘water of life’—some kind of silver, I think.”  </p><p>“Quicksilver?” asked Magyana.  </p><p>“Yes, that was it. He put that all in with my tears, blood, shit and piss, hair, and ... </p><

Cornelia Funke

The Thief Lord

<div><p>The enchanting international bestseller with bonus back matter and a beautiful new cover! Two orphaned brothers, Prosper and Bo, have run away to Venice, where crumbling canals and misty alleyways shelter a secret community of street urchins. Leader of this motley crew of lost children is a clever, charming boy with a dark history of his own: He calls himself the Thief Lord. Propser and Bo relish their new "family" and life of petty crime. But their cruel aunt and a bumbling detective are on their trail. And posing an even greater threat to the boys' freedom is something from a forgotten past: a beautiful magical treasure with the power to spin time itself.</p><p>**</p><h3>Amazon.com Review</h3><p>Imagine a Dickens story with a Venetian setting, and you'll have a good sense of Cornelia Funke's prizewinning novel <em>The Thief Lord</em>, first published in Germany in 2000. This suspenseful tale begins in a detective's office in Venice, as the entirely unpleasant Hartliebs request Victor Getz's services to search for two boys, Prosper and Bo, the sons of Esther Hartlieb's recently deceased sister. Twelve-year-old Prosper and 5-year-old Bo ran away when their aunt decided she wanted to adopt Bo, but not his brother. Refusing to split up, they escaped to Venice, a city their mother had always described reverently, in great detail. Right away they hook up with a long-haired runaway named Hornet and various other ruffians who hole up in an abandoned movie theater and worship the elusive Thief Lord, a young boy named Scipio who steals jewels from fancy Venetian homes so his new friends can get the warm clothes they need. Of course, the plot thickens when the owner of the pawn shop asks if the Thief Lord will carry out a special mission for a wealthy client: to steal a broken wooden wing that is the key to completing an age-old, magical merry-go-round. This winning cast of characters--especially the softhearted detective with his two pet turtles--will win the hearts of readers young and old, and the adventures are as labyrinthine and magical as the streets of Venice itself. (Ages 9 and older) <em>--Karin Snelson</em></p><h3>From Publishers Weekly</h3><p> </p><p>Wacky characters bring energy to this translation of an entertaining German novel about thieving children, a disguise-obsessed detective and a magical merry-go-round. After their mother dies, 12-year-old Prosper and his brother, Bo, five, flee from Hamburg to Venice (an awful aunt plans to adopt only Bo). They live in an abandoned movie theater with several other street children under the care of the Thief Lord, a cocky youth who claims to rob "the city's most elegant houses." A mysterious man hires the Thief Lord to steal a wooden wing, which the kids later learn has broken off a long-lost merry-go-round said to make "adults out of children and children out of adults," but the plan alters when Victor, the detective Aunt Esther hired to track the brothers, discovers their camp and reveals that the Thief Lord is actually from a wealthy family. There are a lot of story lines to follow, and the pacing is sometimes off (readers may feel that Funke spends too little time on what happens when the children find the carousel, and too much on the ruse they pull on Prosper's aunt). But between kindhearted Victor and his collection of fake beards, the Thief Lord in his mask and high-heeled boots, and a rascally street kid who loves to steal, Prosper's new world abounds with colorful characters. The Venetian setting is ripe for mystery and the city's alleys and canals ratchet up the suspense in the chase scenes. Ages 9-12. <br> Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information, Inc. </p></div><

Eric Flint

The World Turned Upside Down

<h3>From Booklist</h3><p>Emulating <em>You've Got to Read This</em> (1994), this sizable collection consists of stories that influenced famous writers during their upbringings. The difference is that this is a genre anthology and the influenced authors in question are the editors; these are their personal favorites. Given those limitations, the chosen tales are varied and entertaining, and the work of relative unknowns as well as late, great genre veterans. The enduring classics include Arthur C. Clarke's "Rescue Party," featuring aliens who scour Earth for survivors before the sun goes nova; John W. Campbell's "Who Goes There?" which inspired the Hollywood monster flick <em>The Thing</em>; and Isaac Asimov's "The Last Question," which speculatively traces the evolution of computer intelligence into the far future. One surprising entry is an early sf tale on interstellar exploration by Pulitzer Prize-winning historical novelist Michael Shaara. With the emphasis on pulp sf from the 1940s and '50s, fans get to discover some lost gems among the forgotten (and remembered) classics. <em>Carl Hays</em><br /><em>Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved</em></p><h3>About the Author</h3><p>David Drake was attending Duke University Law School when he was drafted. He served the next two years in the Army, spending 1970 as an enlisted interrogator with the 11th armored Cavalry in Viet Nam and Cambodia. Upon return he completed his law degree at Duke and was for eight years Assistant Town Attorney for Chapel Hill, North Carolina. He has been a full-time freelance writer since 1981. Besides the bestselling Hammer's Slammers series, his books for Baen include With the Lightnings and its sequel Lt. Leary, Commanding, Ranks of Bronze, Starliner, All the Way to the Gallows, Redliners, and many more. His most recent novels are Paying the Piper, a new Hammer's Slammers novel, and The Far Side of the Stars, the latest in the popular Lt. Leary series.</p><p>Jim Baen has been the editor of Galaxy magazine, of Ace Books, of Tor Books, and has for two decades helmed Baen Books, a powerhouse in science fiction publishing and the world's leading publisher of military science fiction. </p><p>Eric Flint's impressive first novel, Mother of Demons (Baen), was selected by SF Chronicle as one of the best novels of 1997. His next solo novel, 1632, sold out its first hardcover printing and went back to press almost immediately, and received enthusiastic critical praise. With David Drake he has written five popular novels in the Belisarius series. Flint has also begun a highly-praised fantasy adventure series, so far comprising The Philosophical Strangler and Forward the Mage. Flint received his masters degree in history from UCLA and was for many years a labor union activist. He lives in East Chicago, IN, with his wife. </p><

Joshua Ferris

Then We Came to the End

Cyndi Friberg

Therian Prey

Anthea Fraser

Thicker Than Water

<p>An intriguing mystery from this popular author - James Markham jilts his fiance for a woman about whom he appears to know very little. Callum Firbank has always been evasive about his childhood, and his wife realises she knows little about her husbands upbringing or family. Jill Irving has everything she could wish for, but she, too, has secrets in her past. What links these three very different people, and who is the mysterious stranger whose appearance in their lives seems to cause such terror?</p><

Ken Follett

The Third Twin

<p>** Jeannie Ferrami, is a young professor at Jones Falls University who is investigating the balance of nature versus nurture in criminality. Driven by a secret from her past, Dr. Ferrami is overjoyed to find that a straight-arrow law student at JFU has an identical twin (raised separately) who is a convicted rapist. She is not overjoyed, however, when that man is arrested for raping her best friend. Surely Mr. Perfect couldn't be guilty--enter the evil masterminds, three Nixon-era compadres who have been toiling for decades to make America safe for racial purity. It's bad enough that one of the conspirators is Dr. Ferrami's boss, but another is eyeing the Oval Office. The young professor has stumbled onto a secret that could ruin them all, and it's only a matter of pages before bad things start to happen to the pair. </p><

Claire Farrell

Thirst

Part vampire, the only thing greater than Ava Delaney's thirst for human blood is her capacity for guilt. When she accidentally turns a human into her minion, she does her best to set him free - but her attempts land her in the middle of a potential vampire civil war. With the help of some new friends with ambiguous loyalties, Ava tries to save her human . . . and herself.<

Drew Gilpin Faust

This Republic of Suffering

F Scott Fitzgerald

This Side of Paradise

Jasper Fforde

A Thursday Next Digital Collection: Novels 1-5

Jennifer Fallon

The Tide Lords #01 - The Immortal Prince

<div><h3>From Publishers Weekly</h3><p>First in the Tide Lords series, this complex saga, like Fallon's earlier Hythrun Chronicles, intertwines several vividly realized plots. One follows Arkady Desean, the Ice Duchess of Lebec and a scholar of ancient Amyranthan lore, as she interrogates Cayal, a hanged man who inexplicably did not die. She soon encounters legends of the immortal Tide Lords who created the human-animal hybrid slaves called the Crasii—canines to serve, felines to fight, amphibians to pull watercraft—and a thousand years earlier caused the Cataclysm that nearly destroyed the world. Arkady's husband, Duke Stellan, guards his own deadly secret as he maneuvers through palace intrigues and inter-kingdom clashes. Royal spymaster Declan Hawkes secretly aids renegade Crasii and preserves the Cabal, humanity's only protection from the Tide Lords. With snappy dialogue and deft characterizations, especially of her sympathetically drawn canine Crasii, Fallon neatly pulls the story threads together into a multihued tapestry of myth, deceit and ambition. <em>(May)</em> <br>Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. </p><h3>Review</h3><p>"Fallon begins her latest epic asking the question of how an immortal, tired of immortality, might find his way to death? With her vivid style and snappy dialogue, Fallon embarks on a rollercoaster ride of mortal and immortal machinations, as the ruthless and immoral Tide Lords emerge from a thousand years of hiding into a world where everyone has attributed the stories of their existence to myth. Everyone, that is, but the mysterious and secretive Cabal, who watch and wait in the shadows, searching for a way to protect humanity from the Tide Lords’ return."-- <em>Nexus </em>on <em>The Immortal Prince</em></p><p><em> </em></p><em><p>"Well crafted entertainment."--<em>Kirkus</em> on <em>Harshini</em></p><p>"Readers with a taste for detail and complicated plots will enjoy this story."--<em>VOYA </em>on <em>Wolfblade</em></p><p><em> </em></p><em><p>"Fallon sets the stage for another lively fantasy saga full of intriguing characters, smart dialogue and twisty plotting."--<em>Publishers Weekly</em> on <em>Wolfblade</em><br></p><p>“A warm and intriguing book with all-too-human characters who draw you in more deeply with each page.”--L.E. Modesitt, Jr. on <em>Medalon</em><br></p><p>"A well-executed fantasy with complex characters and entertaining style."--<em>Kirkus Reviews</em> on <em>Treason Keep</em><br></p><p>"The battles are fierce, the losses heartrending in Fallon's beautifully created world, whose disparate inhabitants are once again completely convincing, making <em>Harshini</em> a chilling, thrilling conclusion to the trilogy."--<em>Booklist </em>on <em>Harshini</em></p></em></em></div><

Jennifer Fallon

The Tide Lords #02 - The Gods of Amyrantha

<h3>Review</h3><p>"Fallon begins her latest epic asking the question of how an immortal, tired of immortality, might find his way to death? With her vivid style and snappy dialogue, Fallon embarks on a rollercoaster ride of mortal and immortal machinations, as the ruthless and immoral Tide Lords emerge from a thousand years of hiding into a world where everyone has attributed the stories of their existence to myth. Everyone, that is, but the mysterious and secretive Cabal, who watch and wait in the shadows, searching for a way to protect humanity from the Tide Lords’ return."-- <em>Nexus </em>on <em>The Immortal Prince</em></p><p><em></em> </p><p>"Well crafted entertainment."--<em>Kirkus</em> on <em>Harshini</em></p><p>"Readers with a taste for detail and complicated plots will enjoy this story."--<em>VOYA </em>on <em>Wolfblade</em></p><p><em></em> </p><p>"Fallon sets the stage for another lively fantasy saga full of intriguing characters, smart dialogue and twisty plotting."--<em>Publishers Weekly</em> on <em>Wolfblade</em> </p><p>“A warm and intriguing book with all-too-human characters who draw you in more deeply with each page.”--L.E. Modesitt, Jr. on <em>Medalon</em> </p><p>"A well-executed fantasy with complex characters and entertaining style."--<em>Kirkus Reviews</em> on <em>Treason Keep</em> </p><p>"The battles are fierce, the losses heartrending in Fallon's beautifully created world, whose disparate inhabitants are once again completely convincing, making <em>Harshini</em> a chilling, thrilling conclusion to the trilogy."--<em>Booklist </em>on <em>Harshini</em></p><h3>About the Author</h3><p><strong>Jennifer Fallon</strong> is the award-winning author of The Hythrun Chronicles, and one of Australia's bestselling fantasy authors. She lives in Australia.</p><

Jennifer Fallon

The Tide Lords #03 - The Palace of Impossible Dreams

<h3>From Booklist</h3><p>The third installment of this outstanding quartet continues on with engrossing situations and well-developed, evolving characters. As the book starts, all the major players are in far-flung locations although their paths eventually converge. Arkady has been sold into slavery and en route to Senestra becomes the personal slave of a diabolical physician; Declan Hawkes, the former Glaeban Spymaster, has discovered a secret in his ancestry that will change his life forever; Stellan is plotting a comeback; Warlock and Boots go undercover as crasii slaves to some Tide Lords; and chameleon crasii Tiji has found a hidden homeland. Despite the vast array of characters and the intricate politics and mythology in this hefty page-turner, it is so captivating one doesn't want it to end. --Diana Tixier Herald </p><h3>Review</h3><p>“Will keep you turning pages to the end, leaving you wanting more when you reach the final page.”--<em>RT Book Reviews</em> (4 stars) on <em>The Gods of Amyrnatha</em></p><p>“With snappy dialogue and deft characterizations, Fallon neatly pulls the story threads together into a multihued tapestry of myth, deceit and ambition."--*Publishers Weekly<em> on </em>The Immortal Prince<br />*<br />“A gratifying yarn.”--<em>Kirkus Reviews </em>on <em>The Immortal Prince</em></p><hr /><

Jennifer Fallon

The Tide Lords #04 - The Chaos Crystal

"The Tide Lords have gathered in Jelidia and learn that in order for Cayal to die, they must open a rift to another world. Before they can do this, however, they must find the Chaos Crystal that brought them to this world. As they set off in search of it, they head to Glaeba, where Arkady has been captured by one of the Tide Lords, Jaxyn. Managing to escape, she flees to the city of Caelum to find her husband, Stellan. Instead, she runs into the Scard Crasii, Warlock, and learns that Elyssa, Warlock's cruel immortal mistress, knows the location of the invaluable Chaos Crystal. With every immortal on Amyrantha searching for the crystal, the stakes are very high. But if they do manage to open a rift where will it take the survivors?"--Provided by publisher.<

Margaux Fragoso

Tiger, Tiger

<p><b>A devastating memoir of stolen childhood, <i>Tiger, Tiger </i>has sold in 19 countries and is poised to be an international sensation.</b><p>One summer day, <b>Margaux Fragoso</b> swam up to Peter Curran at a public swimming pool and asked him to play. She was seven; he was fifty-one. When Curran invited her and her mom to see his house, the little girl found a child's dream world, full of odd pets and books and music and magical toys. <b>Margaux</b>'s mother was devoted, but, beset by mental illness and frightened of her abusive husband, she was only too ready to take advantage of an escape for the daughter she felt incapable of taking care of on her own. Soon <b>Margaux</b> was spending all her time with Peter, and any suspected signs of child abuse were overlooked.<p>In time, Peter insidiously took on the role of <b>Margaux</b>'s playmate, father, lover and captor. Charming and repulsive, warm and violent, loving and manipulative, Peter burrowed into every aspect of...<

Jack Finney

Time and Again

<div><h3><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; font-size: 11px; "><h3><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; font-size: 11px; "><b><u>Fantasy Masterworks Volume 20</u></b></span></h3></span></h3><h3>Review</h3><p><em>New York Times</em> Go back to a wonderful world and have a wonderful time doing it. </p><h3>Product Description</h3><p>"Sleep. And when you awake everything you know of the twentieth century will be gone from your mind. Tonight is January 21, 1882. There are no such things as automobiles, no planes, computers, television. 'Nuclear' appears in no dictionary. You have never heard the name Richard Nixon." </p><p>Did illustrator Si Morley really step out of his twentieth-century apartment one night -- right into the winter of 1882? The U.S. Government believed it, especially when Si returned with a portfolio of brand-new sketches and tintype photos of a world that no longer existed -- or did it? </p></div><

Patrick Leigh Fermor

A Time of Gifts

Philip José Farmer

Time's Last Gift

Dick Francis

To the Hilt

<p>From the acclaimed master of mystery and suspense comes the story of a self-imposed outcast who must refresh his detection skills in order to save himself and his family.<

Brian Falkner

The Tomorrow Code

SUMMARY: THE END OF THE WORLD started quietly enough for Tane Williams and Rebecca Richards. . . .Tane and Rebecca aren’t sure what to make of it—a sequence of 1s and 0s, the message looks like nothing more than a random collection of alternating digits. Working to decode it, however, Tane and Rebecca discover that the message contains lottery numbers . . . lottery numbers that win the next random draw! Suddenly Tane and Rebecca are rich, but who sent the numbers? And why? More messages follow, and slowly it becomes clear—the messages are being sent back in time from Tane and Rebecca’s future. Something there has gone horribly wrong, and it’s up to them to prevent it from happening. As they follow the messages’ cryptic instructions, Tane and Rebecca begin to suspect the worst—that the very survival of the human race may be at stake.<

Philip José Farmer

Tongues of the Moon

Phil Ford

Torchwood: Skypoint

SUMMARY: The eighth novel in the bestselling Torchwood range from BBC Books. SkyPoint is the latest high-rise addition to the ever-developing Cardiff skyline. It's the most high-tech, avant-garde apartment block in the city. And it's where Rhys Williams is hoping to find a new home for himself and Gwen. When Torchwood discover that residents have been going missing from the tower block, one of the team gets her dream assignment. Soon, SkyPoint's latest newly married tenants are moving in. And Toshiko Sato finally gets to make a home with Owen Harper. Then something comes out of the wall...<

Tina Folsom

A Touch of Greek

Eric Flint

Trail of Glory #01 - 1812: The Rivers of War

Eric Flint

Trail of Glory #02 - 1824: The Arkansas War

Duncan Falconer

Traitor

C C Finlay

Traitor to the Crown: The Patriot Witch

SUMMARY: The year is 1775. On the surface, Proctor Brown appears to be an ordinary young man working the family farm in New England. He is a minuteman, a member of the local militia, determined to defend the rights of the colonies. Yet Proctor is so much more. Magic is in his blood, a dark secret passed down from generation to generation. But Proctor's mother has taught him to hide his talents, lest he be labeled a witch and find himself dangling at the end of a rope. A chance encounter with an arrogant British officer bearing magic of his own catapults Proctor out of his comfortable existence and into the adventure of a lifetime, as resistance sparks rebellion and rebellion becomes revolution. Now, even as he fights alongside his fellow patriots from Lexington to Bunker Hill, Proctor finds himself enmeshed in a war of a different sort-a secret war of magic against magic, witch against witch, with the stakes not only the independence of a young nation but the future of humanity itself.<

Colin Forbes

Tramp in Armour

<div><h3>Amazon.com Review</h3><p>The story starts conventionally enough with friends sharing ghost stories 'round the fire on Christmas Eve. One of the guests tells about a governess at a country house plagued by supernatural visitors. But in the hands of Henry James, the master of nuance, this little tale of terror is an exquisite gem of sexual and psychological ambiguity. Only the young governess can see the ghosts; only she suspects that the previous governess and her lover are controlling the two orphaned children (a girl and a boy) for some evil purpose. The household staff don't know what she's talking about, the children are evasive when questioned, and the master of the house (the children's uncle) is absent. Why does the young girl claim not to see a perfectly visible woman standing on the far side of the lake? Are the children being deceptive, or is the governess being paranoid? By leaving the questions unanswered, <em>The Turn of Screw</em> generates spine-tingling anxiety in its mesmerized readers. </p><h3>Review</h3><p>Novella by Henry James, published serially in Collier's Weekly in 1898 and published in book form later that year. One of the world's most famous ghost stories, the tale is told mostly through the journal of a governess and depicts her struggle to save her two young charges from the demonic influence of the eerie apparitions of two former servants in the household. The story inspired critical debate over the question of the "reality" of the ghosts and of James's intentions. James himself, in his preface to volume XII of The Novels and Tales of Henry James, called the tale a "fable" and said that he did not specify details of the ghosts' evil deeds because he wanted readers to supply their own vision of terror. -- __</p></div><

John Farris

Transgressions Vol. 2

<div><h3>From Publishers Weekly</h3><p>Starred Review. As editor McBain admits in his introduction, it was a bit of a challenge to persuade 10 superstar authors (well, only nine, since he's also a contributor) to each write an original novella, with its awkward length between 10,000 and 40,000 words, for this excellent crime and suspense anthology, but he's come up with an impressive roster. One can't help wondering how a writer like Donald E. Westlake, who writes so much under several names, can fit in a jolly new story, "Walking Around Money," about his humorous burglar hero Dortmunder . And how does Anne Perry, who now writes three separate series and is probably planning another, move to a completely different period with "Hostages," a touching portrait of a woman caught up in the current Irish troubles who tries to keep her sanity by doing household chores? Walter Mosley, on the other hand, seems to be looking for new ways to get his points across: his "Archibald Lawless, Anarchist at Large: Walking the Line" might be the fuse to light a fire. McBain's own "Merely Hate" lends fresh insight into his 87th Precinct series. The remaining novellas, from the ubiquitous Joyce Carol Oates and the welcome return of Lawrence Block's hit man Keller to the diverse pleasures of Sharyn McCrumb and Stephen King, make this hefty volume pound-for-pound the best reading value of the season. <em>Agent, Jane Gelfman at Gelfman-Schneider Literary. $200,000 marketing budget. (May 10)</em> <br>Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. </p><h3>From Booklist</h3><p>Reading an anthology is a bit like listening to a musical sampler (what record collectors once lovingly called a mix tape); it's always tempting to have your favorite bands cued up one after another, but sometimes you're not in the mood to change moods every few minutes. These 10 brand-new novellas offer longer grooves than short stories, but it's still a valid concern: Can fans of Anne Perry also shake it to Ed McBain? Maybe it's the relief of not having to carry a book by themselves, or maybe it's the fun of trying a rarely used format, but these big-name authors write like the pressure is off. In "Walking around Money," Donald Westlake sidles his thief, Dortmunder, through a deadpan-hilarious tale that should also serve as a Zen how-to for budding writers; in "The Corn Maiden," Joyce Carol Oates offers an impressionistic tabloid thriller about a mean girl who abducts a slow classmate for ritual sacrifice; in "Archibald Lawless, Anarchist at Large," Walter Mosley profiles an irresistible, offbeat hero through a journalism student who answers a want ad for a "scribe"; in "Keller's Adjustment," Lawrence Block's reliable assassin finds himself having existential thoughts about golf communities after 9/11. So how's the mix? It's as if it were made by a good friend who knows just what you like--and even remembers that you like to be surprised once in a while. <em>Keir Graff</em><br><em>Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved</em></p></div><

Constance Ann Fitzgerald

Trashland a Go-Go

<div> <div style="Z-INDEX: 1; HEIGHT: auto; OVERFLOW: hidden" id="outer_postBodyPS"> <div id="postBodyPS"><b>Alice in Wonderland, with garbage and a dead stripper! </b><br><br>Coco takes off her clothes for a living, until some nasty little bitch kills her while she's dancing. Thrown in the dumpster by her sleazebag boss, Coco awakens in a land of trash. With her new friend, Rudy (a dying fly), and her knight in garbage armor, the undead dancer tries to find her way home. But first she must escape from the evil Queen of this trashscape: a jealous and insane Ruler of Refuse who has an intense fear of flies. With hints of <i>The Matrix</i> and <i>The Whiz</i>, this heady trip will satisfy your cravings for twisted fairy tales, rotting garbage, and charming weirdos.<br><br><b>Long live the Queen!  </b></div></div> <div style="DISPLAY: none" id="psGradient" class="psGradient"></div> <div style="DISPLAY: none; HEIGHT: 20px" id="psPlaceHolder"> <div style="Z-INDEX: 3; DISPLAY: none" id="expandPS"><span class="swSprite s_expandChevron"></span><a class="showMore" href="#">Show More</a> </div></div> <div style="DISPLAY: none; PADDING-TOP: 3px" id="collapsePS"><span class="swSprite s_collapseChevron"></span><a class="showLess" href="#">Show Less</a> </div><noscript></noscript></div><

Marie Force

Treading Water

After his wife is left in a coma after an accident, love is the last thing on Jack Harrington’s mind when he sets out to meet Andi Walsh’s flight. However, the moment he sets eyes on Andrea Walsh, the interior designer who has come to decorate the hotel his company is building in Newport, Rhode Island, Jack begins to wonder if Andi might be his second chance.<

Frances Fyfield

Trial by Fire

<p class="description">A woman's body is found decomposing in a shallow grave, stab wounds to the neck and blows to the head and shoulders. She is identified as Yvonne, missing wife of local property developer John Blundell. When Antony Sumner, English teacher and Yvonne's lover, confesses to striking her down with his walking stick, it looks like an open and shut case for Detective Superintendent Geoffrey Bailey. Too much so thinks Crown Prosecutor Helen West. Sumner denies murder - and where is the knife? And when Helen and Geoffrey dig deeper into the secrets of the sleepy commuter village what they discover is a hidden world of passion, envy and betrayal.</p><

Dick Francis

Twice Shy

Brian Freemantle

Two Women

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