"Herbert does more than carry events forward: he deals with the consequences of events, the implications of decisions."-_St. Louis Post-Dispatch_
In an overpopulated world seeking living room in the jungles, the International Ecological Organization was systematically exterminating the voracious insects which made these areas uninhabitable. Using deadly foamal bombs and newly developed vibration weapons, men like Joao Martinho and his co-workers fought to clear the green hell of the Mato Grosso.
But somehow those areas which had been completely cleared were becoming reinfested, despite the impenetrable vibration barriers. And tales came out of the jungles . . . of insects mutated to incredible sizes . . . of creatures who seemed to be men, but whose eyes gleamed with the chitinous sheen of insects. . . .
A fascinating examination of the fragile balance between consciousness, man and insect from one of the best-loved science fiction creators of all time.
Strange aliens had invaded Earth thousands of years ago. They were eternal beings who made full sensory movies of wars, of natural disasters - and of the most macabre human horrors - to relieve their endless boredom. And then, when they finally became jaded by ordinary, run-of-the-mill tragedies, they found new ways of creating their own disasters.. just for kicks. But interfering with Earth's natives was strictly against regulations, and the authorities occasionally did check into these matters. However, by the time Investigator Kelexel arrived on the scene, the trouble had been going on for a long, long time - and things were getting worse!
Asolado por erupciones volcánicas, devastadoras tormentas y el impacto de un asteroide, Hellhole es un vertedero al que van a parar indeseables, inadaptados y charlatanes. Sin embargo, su ubicación en la frontera inexplorada de la Constelación lo convierte en el refugio definitivo para todos aquellos que huyen del yugo de la Diadema Michella Duchenet, una tirana de rostro adorable y corazón sombrío.El general Adolfo, el cabecilla militar exiliado en el planeta, está decidido a convertir Hellhole en una tierra de oportunidades, por ello forja alianzas secretas con los líderes de otros planetas de la Zona Profunda.Sin embargo, lo que nadie sabe es que Hellhole esconde un secreto de una envergadura histórica. Bajo la superficie del planeta se conservan los restos de una civilización alienígena extinguida, que ofrecen una información pormenorizada de un pasado del que no queda constancia y que, en el caso de que saliera a la luz, podría aniquilar a la frágil civilización humana.
First published in 1973, Frank Herbert's vivid imagination and brilliant view of nature and ecology have never been more evident than in this classic of science fiction.America is a police state, and it is about to be threatened by the most hellish enemy in the world: insects.When the Agency discovered that Dr Hellstrom's Project 40 was a cover for a secret laboratory, a special team of agents was immediately dispatched to discover its true purpose and its weaknesses - it could not be allowed to continue. What they discovered was a nightmare more horrific and hideous than even their paranoid government minds could devise.
The mutant white rat had grown and mated, creating offspring in its own image. They dominated the others, the dark-furred ones, who foraged for food and brought it back to the lair. Now the dark rats were restless, and the white slug-like thing that ruled them remembered the taste of human flesh.
From the Publisher
These audiobooks from Macmillan UK offer abridged readings of some of the world¹s most popular authors. Handsomely packaged, they feature readings by eminent actors of the stage and screen, including James Fox, Martin Shaw, Tim Pigott-Smith, and David Rintoul.
"We thought we'd found our haven, a cottage deep in the heart of the forest. Quaint, charming, maybe a little run-down, but so peaceful. The woodland animals and birds couldn't have been more neighbourly. That was the first part of the Magic. Midge's painting and my music soared to new heights of creativity. That was another part of the Magic. Our sensing, our feelings, our love for each other - well, that became the supreme Magic. But the cottage had an alternative side. The Bad Magic. What happened to us there was horrendous beyond belief. The miracles, the healings, the crazy sect who wanted our home for themselves, the hideous creatures that crawled from the nether regions, and the bats - oh God, the bats! Even now those horrible things seem impossible to me. Yet they happened..." (Synopsis & illustration taken from cover)
On the distant planet Dreenor lives the most powerful species in the Galaxy. All of the Universe is the creation of the Dreens, who possess the power of "idmaging", turning their throughts into reality. They can create whole worlds, of which the wild, ungovernable planet Earth is one. But suddenly Earth is a threat, its people on the verge of discovering interstellar travel, and with it, of gaining access to Dreenor itself - a paradox within a paradox, not to be permitted. While the elder Dreens plan Earth's destruction, a youngster, Ryll, embarks on an unauthorised jaunt across space. Forced for survival to merge bodies with an Earther whose mind is as strong as his own, he has to battle for control. And the future of all earthly life lies in the hand of a composite being, half wily, aggressive human, half naive adolescent alien, confused and far from home..
"Frightening . . . Packed with tension, thrills, and unexpected twists."--_Rocky Mountain News_
"A work of genius."--_Worldbooks_ __ "_Nobody True_ is the kind of horror story when you think things can't get anymore grim--they do. It's a ghoulishly compelling page-turner."--_Daily Mirror_
"A triumph of suspense and horror. . . . Truly horrifying . . . [and] very entertaining."--_Portsmouth Herlad_
"_Nobody True_ has one of the most unusual plotlines of the year . . . suspense, drama, and romance all wrapped up in a blanket of black humor."--_Evening Press_
"This is one of those books you can't read quick enough because you desperately want to know the ending. Its brilliant, fast-moving storyline is as good as you would expect from a Herbert novel, full of twists and turns. Exceptional stuff from the master."--_Burton Mail _
James True was not there when he died.
He returned from an out-of-body experience to find that he'd been murdered and mutilated. He had no body to go back to.
But who murdered him? The serial killer terrorizing the city--or someone closer? True had no enemies, at least none that he knew of.
To discover the truth, James True must track down his killer. The initial horror of True's experience is followed by an even greater terror . . . . his family are the murderer's next targets.
Without a body, True has no substance and no real power. No one can see him, no one can hear him, and no one except his murderer even knows his spirit still exists.
Horror master James Herbert serves up a blend of faerie, supernatural chills, eroticism, and identity quest in Once...--a fairy tale with a darker side.
Thom Kindred suffers a stroke and returns to his childhood home to heal. Castle Bracken seems like a pastoral paradise, but almost immediately, Thom begins to experience strange things, both beautiful and frightening. Soon, he finds himself the inexplicable target of hostile magic, even as he begins to recover his childhood ability to perceive the creatures of faerie that inhabit the land. As he struggles to heal, Thom finds himself at the center of a cataclysmic struggle between good and evil that demands all his physical and spiritual strength to survive.
Herbert's fans may find this story, with its bare-bones plot and extended descriptions of the faerie world, slower-moving and more predictable than his more energetic works Others and The Fog). Explicit sex and scenes of Herbert's trademark disturbing horror (including every arachnophobe's nightmare) make this a fairy tale strictly for adults. --Roz Genessee
From Publishers Weekly
Pastoral fantasy and graphic grue congeal immiscibly in this peculiar fairy tale from British horror laureate Herbert (Others). Set on the grounds of Castle Bracken, a verdant woodland estate with a shady history, it follows the trials of Thom Kindred, who returns there to recover from a stroke. Thom's mother worked for Sir Russell Bleeth, the estate's owner, and the grounds hold fond memories of years spent with his mum before she inexplicably abandoned him. No sooner is Thom comfy in the natural surroundings than he is subjected to seemingly unnatural experiences: displays of multicolored lights in the foliage, an encounter with an ethereal young maiden in the woods and increasingly persistent advances by a Wiccan nursemaid. In time, Thom discovers that the estate is a refuge for the faerie folk, whose blood he shares, and that he'll play a pivotal role in saving them from an occult menace that's already infiltrated Castle Bracken. Herbert does nothing original with this familiar fantasy theme of the individual who discovers his faerie heritage. Rather, he dwells at tedious length on the society of the faeriefolkis, indulging in twee descriptions of their world and endowing some with proper names that are titles of his previous books spelled backwards. Prolonged erotic interludes, spliced in to alert readers that this is a fairy tale for adults, do little to relieve the monotony. Only in the final moments, when Thom battles a series of viscerally horrific assaults, does the book show a glimmer of the vitality and drive characteristic of Herbert's best fiction. Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
Nicholas Dismas is a Private Investigator like no other. He carries a secret about himself to which not even he has the answer. He is hired to find a baby taken at birth and his investigation leads him to a mysterious place called "Perfect Rest." It is supposed to be a home for the elderly, but there is a lot more to this place than meets the eye. Here Dismas will discover the dark secret of the Others. And in an astonishing and spectacular finale he will resolve the enigma of his own existence. As chilling, as memorable and as timely as only James Herbert can be, *Others *will join the classics for which he is remembered with fear.
SUMMARY: It was only when the bones of the first devoured victims were discovered that the true nature and power of these swarming black creatures with their razor sharp teeth and the taste for human blood began to be realised by a panic-stricken city. For millions of years man and rats had been natural enemies. But now for the first time ' suddenly, shockingly, horribly ' the balance of power had shifted'Ś 'The effectiveness of the gruesome set pieces and brilliant finale are all its own. ' Sunday Times.
"Herbert may be one of our major prophets."-_The Berkeley Barb_
"Herbert is one of the most thought-provoking writers of our time; by focusing on an 'alien' culture, he makes us examine what the true definition of 'human' is."-_The Pacific Sun_
"Herbert does more than carry events forward: he deals with the consequences of events, the implications of decisions."-_St. Louis Post-Dispatch _
Santaroga seemed to be nothing more than a prosperous farm community. But there was something . . . different . . . about Santaroga.
Santaroga had no juvenile delinquency, or any crime at all. Outsiders found no house for sale or rent in this valley, and no one ever moved out. No one bought cigarettes in Santaroga. No cheese, wine, beer or produce from outside the valley could be sold there. The list went on and on and grew stranger and stranger.
Maybe Santaroga was the last outpost of American individualism. Maybe they were just a bunch of religious kooks. . . .
Or maybe there was something extraordinary at work in Santaroga. Something far more disturbing than anyone could imagine.
Horror writer JAMES HERBERT was born in London, England. Before becoming a full-time writer, he worked as a singer and an art director for an advertising agency. His novels have sold more than forty-two million copies worldwide and have been translated into thirty-three languages, including Russian and Chinese. Besides writing his novels, he also designs the book covers and handles the publicity. He currently lives in London with his wife and children.
They scattered into a darkness scarcely tempered by oil lamps, the soft glow easily repressed by the deep shadows of the house.
The shrieks and cries of the fleeing children rose above the noise of the storm outside. The sound of their stockinged feet was soft on the hard stone floor of the cavernous hall.
Some of them took to the stairs, scurrying past the tall, almost ceiling-high window at the turn, rain beating at its glass, the fierce wind rattling the frames, lightning flickering outside and casting darker shadows across the stone floor.
The children found refuge wherever they could - behind furniture, beneath tables, inside cupboards, anywhere they might sink into the umbra and be hidden while they prayed they would not be found. There in their hopeless sanctuaries they held their whimpers but were unable to control the chattering of their teeth and the nervous fidget of their limbs, for they knew that eventually he would find them, that he would seek them out one by one.
Silent tears drenched their cheeks and glacial fingers seemed to squeeze their small hearts.
He would snatch them from their hideaways and punish them. And this time, a cruel knowing voice whispered in their minds, this time it would be the worst punishment of all ...
They heard his approach even though he wore no shoes, for he swished something through the cold damp air, each swishending in a sudden violent thwack, the beating of cane against bare flesh. Swish, then thwack, cane on flesh, swish, then thwack, two individual sounds that could be clearly heard over the raging storm outside. Swish-thwack! Louder, swish-thwack! Louder, coming closer. Swish-thwack! Almost becoming one sound.
They tried to be very, very quiet ...
Although the rain had ceased for the moment, single thick globules, as if too heavy to be held by the blanket cloud overhead, splattered against the windscreen like miniature water bombs, and were quickly reduced to smears by the intermittent sweep of the wipers. Eve's spirits had felt as low as the weather during the earlier part of the five-hour journey (including the break for lunch) from London, and now they dropped to an even lower level.
The big grey-stone house on the other side of the narrow rushing river looked grim, more like an ancient sanatorium or resthome for the indigent elderly than a family home.
Gabe had parked the Range Rover in a small clear area beside the lane that led a mile or so downhill to the harbour village of Hollow Bay. Despite the miserable weather, Eve had felt her heart lift a little (as much as it was capable of lifting these days) once they'd left the motorway - interstate, Gabe, her American husband, kept calling it - and reached the West Country; she had almost enjoyed travelling through sheltered lanes with close beech hedges that frequently gave way to wide sweeping moorlands of fine heather and bracken, distant woodland-clad hills their pastel backcloth, not even the dark louring skies spoiling the splendour. Rather than announce nature's retreat towards winter, the autumn colours- the reds, greens, browns, golds and yellows - of woodlands and fauna boasted their glory as the Range Rover sped through deep valleys and crossed rough-stone bridges over tumbling streams.
Gabe had promised them healthy long walks (much to the exaggerated groans of their daughters, Loren and Cally), especially along the beautiful deep-sided and tree-lined gorge - he called it a ravine and the map called it Devil's Cleave - in which their new temporary home was situated; they would either follow the river down to the sea or climb towards its source on the high moors. It would be fun. On weekends they could explore the craggy coastline, the rugged clifftops and the small sheltered bays and sandy coves. Weather permitting, they could even take out a sailing boat and ride the waves. Or maybe do some horse riding (because his homeland was the States, Gabe had convinced their youngest daughter, Cally, that he had once been a cowboy, a fib for which he would have to answer when she discovered he'd never been on a horse in his life, Eve had thought wryly). If the weather was bad, they could just explore the countryside by car.
There'd be plenty to keep them occupied on weekends, he had assured them. And it might help the healing, he told Eve when they were alone.
Now they were here and this was her first sight of Crickley Hall, which was not quite large enough to be called a manor, but was much too big for a normal home. Gabe had visited twice before, the first time in summer when he'd scouted the locale for a property close to the job to which his engineering company had been sub-contracted, and a second time a week ago when he'd hired a van and, with Vern Brennan, a fellow-American buddy of his, had delivered most of the bulky items the family would need for their stay (thehouse itself was already furnished with old-fashioned stuff, according to Gabe, which was good enough to get by with).
Through the Range Rover's windscreen, Eve saw that a sturdy wooden bridge traversed the swift-moving, boulder-strewn Bay River, which Gabe had described as no more than a wide, gentle stream when he had returned from viewing the property a couple of months ago. But then, it had been late August; now the boisterous waters threatened to overspill the raised banks. The bridge itself was made of rough timber, the sides crosshatched with thin lengths of rustic logs beneath thick rails; while it appeared strong, the structure was not wide enough to accept the Range Rover - nor any other largish vehicle - hence the parking bay on this side of the river.
On the opposite bank, the house - or Hall, as it was called - occupied a level expanse of cut grass and shrubbery with the odd tree here and there (one tree near the front had a child's swing dangling from a stout branch). The far thickly foliaged side of the gorge loomed impressively steep, high over the stark building.
'It looks a bit grim,' she found herself saying, immediately regretting the criticism; Gabe had tried so hard.
Her husband looked across at her from the driver's seat, his wide tight-lipped smile concealing any disappointment.
'Guess it looked a little different in summer,' he said.
'No, the weather doesn't help.' She touched his hand on the steering wheel and made herself return the smile. His wonderfully blue eyes, darkened by the gloom of the car's interior, examined her own for reassurance.
'It's just a change, hon,' he almost apologized. 'We all need it.'
'Can we get out now, Daddy?' came Cally's impatient voice from the back seat. 'I'm tired of sitting.'
Switching off the engine and thumbing open his seatbelt, Gabe turned and gave his younger daughter a grin. 'Sure. It's been a long haul and you've been pretty good all the way.'
'Chester's bin a good boy too.' The five-year-old squirmed in her seat, searching for the seatbelt button.
The black, lean, coarse-haired dog, who slumped on the back seat between the two sisters, sparked to attention at the sound of his name. When Gabe and Eve had picked him out at the south London dogs' home six years before, they had been told that the year-old puppy was a crossbreed, something of a Patterdale in there somewhere, but Gabe reckoned the scruffy orphan was all mongrel, without an ounce of breeding in his runty little body.
Chester (Gabe had chosen the name) had grown to almost fifteen inches high: he was cow-hocked with turned-out feet, back and front, and there was too little angulation to his hind legs for dog show events; there were now grey and brown hairs among his short black fur, especially under his muzzle, chest and the untidy tufts around his neck. Seven years old, those dark-brown eyes still held their puppy appeal and, even though he was generally a happy-natured dog, his turned-down mouth gave him a perpetual cast of sadness. When they lost Cam almost a year ago, Chester had howled for three nights running as if he knew more than they did, as if he were aware their son was gone for ever.
Gabe acknowledged the now-alert dog with a slight upward tilt of his chin, the opposite to a nod. 'Yep. Chester's been pretty tight. Not even a small leak all this way.'
'Only because I told you every time he looked uncomfortable,' reminded Loren, who had that pretty but gangly appearance of many twelve-year-old girls, pre-teenage and just beginning to take a greater interest in what was worthy of 'cool', be it in music, clothes, or Mother's make-up. Sometimesshe assumed a maturity that should not yet have been learned, while at other times she was still his 'princess' who loved her dolls and frequent hugs (the latter more occasional than frequent these days).
Loren had been adamant that no way was she leaving her friends and school in London to live in a place thousands of miles from anywhere, a place where she didn't know anybody, a place she'd never even heard of. It took some persuasion, plus a promise of having her very own cell phone so that she could keep in constant touch with all her girlfriends, to convince her things would be okay down in Devon. That and the quiet one-to-one chat Gabe had with her where he'd explained that the deal was to get Mummy away from their regular home and its constant reminders of Cameron for a while, just long enough maybe to allow Eve some closure to a year that had been horrendous for them all. Loren had understood immediately and had put aside her reluctance to leave - until the last few days, that is, when imminent departure had drawn out long goodbyes and floods of tears between her and her closest friends.
'Good thing you decided to come along then,' Gabe responded with only mild te...
A multinational corporation hires a protection firm specializing in kidnap and ransom cases to safeguard Felix Kline, a psychic with the ability to root out deposits of precious natural resources. During a weekend at Kline's isolated country estate, the source of the psychic's power is gradually revealed, and the agent assigned to Kline soon begins to wonder which of them needs protection most. Herbert skillfully weaves industrial espionage, terrorism, mythology, and supernatural horror into a fast-moving and well-written narrative. Attention to character, riveting suspense, and a satisfyingly chilling conclusion show Herbert ( Moon , LJ 9/15/86) once again to be a master of the genre.
No longer Charles Hobuhet, imitation white man. He was Katsuk, the center, the core from which all perception radiates. And his victim was David Marshall, 13 year-old son of an Undersecretary of State.
What if women were an endangered species?It begins in Ireland, but soon spreads throughout the entire world: a virulent new disease expressly designed to target only women. As fully half of the human race dies off at a frightening pace and life on Earth faces extinction, panicked people and governments struggle to cope with the global crisis. Infected areas are quarantined or burned to the ground. The few surviving women are locked away in hidden reserves, while frantic doctors and scientists race to find a cure. Anarchy and violence consume the planet.The plague is the work of a solitary individual who calls himself the Madman. As government security forces feverishly hunt for the renegade scientist, he wanders incognito through a world that will never be the same. Society, religion, and morality are all irrevocably transformed by the White Plague. Frank Herbert is the author of the 1965 science fiction classic, Dune. He passed away in 1986. What if women were an endangered species?It begins in Ireland, but soon spreads throughout the entire world: a virulent new disease expressly designed to target only women. As fully half of the human race dies off at a frightening pace and life on Earth faces extinction, panicked people and governments struggle to cope with the global crisis. Infected areas are quarantined or burned to the ground. The few surviving women are locked away in hidden reserves, while frantic doctors and scientists race to find a cure. Anarchy and violence consume the planet.The plague is the work of a solitary individual who calls himself the Madman. As government security forces feverishly hunt for the renegade scientist, he wanders incognito through a world that will never be the same. Society, religion, and morality are all irrevocably transformed by the White Plague. “Mr. Herbert . . . serves up an intellectual disaster novel—a brilliant, brooding meditation on the war between man's tendencies toward self-destruction and his instinct for self-preservation.”—Gerald Jonas, The New York Times Book Review"A tale of awesome revenge."—The Cincinnati Enquirer
The starship Earthling, filled with thousands of hybernating colonists en route to a new world at Tau Ceti, is stranded beyond the solar system when the ship’s three Organic Mental Cores—disembodied human brains that control the vessel’s functions—go insane. An emergency skeleton crew sees only one chance for survival: to create an artificial consciousness in the Earthling’s primary computer, which could guide them to their destination . . . or could destroy the human race.
Frank Herbert’s classic novel that begins the epic Pandora Sequence (written with Bill Ransom), which also includes The Jesus Incident, The Lazarus Effect, and The Ascension Factor.
Das Buch »Feuersteins Reisen« enthielt die Hintergrundberichte zu seinen Reisen nach Alaska, Vanuatu, Arabien und Mexiko.
»Feuersteins Ersatzbuch« enthält die Hintergrundberichte zu seinen Reisen nach Hawaii, Ostafrika, Schottland und Grönland, einen Briefwechsel über Indien, verschiedene Reisetipps sowie eine Ausrede, die erklärt, warum »Feuersteins Ersatzbuch« nicht »Feuersteins Reisen, Teil 2« heißt.
»Das Buch ist köstlich. Feuerstein kann schreiben.
Feuerstein guckt genau hin. Feuerstein findet das, was er sieht, erbarmungswürdig und dichtet tüchtig dazu. Feuerstein ist Feuerstein, niemand reist wie er, und also ist das Buch über seine Reisen ein einzigartiger Schatz.«
»Feuersteins Reisen sind Extremsport. Man legt die Beine hoch. Und schwitzt. Vor Lachen.«
Diana Best.-Nr. 62/289
ISBN 3-453-21256-8 €10,00 [D
»Ich WILL mein Versprechen halten, ich WILL dieses Buch schreiben, aber gleichzeitig sträubt sich alles dagegen. Zwar versuche ich immer wieder, mich in die Stimmung von damals zu versetzen, am Ende von >Feuersteins Reisen, Teil 1<, als ich von der Idee der Fortsetzung so überzeugt und begeistert war: Ich staple Reiseführer auf dem Schreibtisch, krame das arabische Dish-dasha-Hemd heraus und setze den Tropenhelm auf... nicht nur vergebens, sondern auch lächerlich.
Ich habe mir daher einen Trick ausgedacht, um diesen Teufelskreis zu verlassen, eine Art Selbstbetrug, zugegeben, aber vielleicht geeignet, um doch noch einen Einstieg in die Arbeit zu finden: Ich verzichte einfach auf den zweiten Teil und mache stattdessen ganz was anderes. Nämlich ein ErsatzReisebuch, genau so, wie man eine Ersatz-Reise macht, wenn es mit dem ursprünglichen Ziel nicht hinhaut. Nach Sibirien zum Beispiel, falls Mallorca zu voll ist. Oder nach Ingolstadt, wenn New York auf Dauer zu langweilig wird.«
Herbert Feuerstein, geboren 1937 im Bahnhofsgebäude von Zell am See (Österreich), in der Dienstwohnung seines Vaters, Fahrdienstleiter der eingleisigen Schmalspurbahn zu den Krimmler Wasserfällen. Genau so verlief auch sein weiteres Leben: eingleisig, schmalspurig und mit Getöse nach unten.
Er studierte Klavier, Cembalo und Komposition am Mozarteum, bis er 1959 wegen Beleidigung des Hoch-schulpräsidenten in einer Linzer Tageszeitung rausgeworfen wurde - Feuersteins erfolgreicher Einstieg in den Journalismus. Daneben reges Interesse an der Medizin und Ausbildung zum staatlich geprüften Hypochonder.
Von 1960 bis 1969 war er als Journalist in New York und hatte seine erste Begegnung mit der Satire: als Pressereferent im Österreichischen Generalkonsulat.
Seither lebt er in Deutschland als >MAD<-Chefredakteur, Fernseh-Enter-tainer (»Pssst...«, »Schmidteinander«, »Feuersteins Nacht«), Schauspieler, TV-Reporter und Ratefuchs in »Was bin ich?«, der ältesten Rateshow der Welt. Neuerdings auch als Buchautor (»Feuersteins Reisen«, »Feuersteins Ersatzbuch«).
Feuersteins Hund im Internet: www.billybillybillybilly.net
52 Verfuehrungen - Ein Paar Holt Sich Die Lust Zurueck -
Ein Paar, ein Jahr – 52 Ideen zur Wiederentdeckung der Lust
Betty und Herbert, deren Sexleben nach zehn Jahren Ehe eingeschlafen ist, starten ein originelles Selbstexperiment, um die Lust zurück in ihre Beziehung zu bringen. Ein Jahr lang verführen sie sich jede Woche gegenseitig auf eine neue Weise. Witzig, unterhaltsam und hemmungslos schildert Betty ihre Erfahrungen in dem Jahr der 52 Verführungen, das die Wiederentdeckung der Lust auf steigenden Kompetenzebenen zelebriert.