tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814725006084219222024-03-12T20:21:44.238-07:00Greatest Ever BooksSanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-55288522798405383622012-11-04T01:57:00.000-07:002012-11-04T01:57:16.101-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A bold English adventurer. An invincible Japanese warlord. A beautiful woman torn between two ways of life, two ways of love. All brought together in an extraordinary saga of a time and a place aflame with conflict, passion, ambition, lust, and the struggle for power...<br />
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Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-62462498699099672192011-11-28T01:59:00.001-08:002012-11-04T01:26:52.801-07:00Fortunes Stroke<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Link, the supercomputer from a future that should not exist, has used terror and gunpowder weapons to forge the Malwa Empire: harnessing the vast manpower of the Indian subcontinent and using the barbarian races of the periphery to bind the whole together. No power on Earth in the 6th century could stand against Link's evil.</div>
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Aide, a human soul embodied in a jewel, has come back to halt evil's progress. Aide has no power but that of truth, but truth is the only power that could move the greatest general of the age, Belisarius.</div>
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With his sword, his paladins, and his genius, Belisarius has turned the armies of Byzantium into a weapon capable of blunting the first assault of the Malwa hordes. Now, supported by allies from all the world yet free, Belisarius, with his wife and co-commander Antonia, faces overwhelming Malwa numbers in a ring that tightens about them.</div>
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There is no room for maneuver and no safety in defeat. The armies of Good and Evil gathered on the fertile plains of Mesopotamia will decide the fate of the world.</div>
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And the fate of all the future!</div>
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Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-61232623990687308692011-11-28T01:49:00.001-08:002012-11-04T01:27:56.988-07:00Fire in the Mist<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The attack was not wolf madness, but wolf boldness. They had come, had taken what they wanted without challenge, and they had grown confident. Now they wanted her sheep.</div>
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Now they wanted her.</div>
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The pack leader, silver-tipped-black and immense, faced Faia and strode stiff-legged forward; head down, ears flat back, pale, cold eyes gleaming. His lips drew back from yellowed teeth. He rumbled a warning growl as he advanced.</div>
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She clutched her staff, and her belly tightened with fear. There was no time to reach for the slingshot and the studded wolfshot. She made a quick thrust at the beast with her walking stick that caught him in the teeth. He danced back, and crouched for a leap, his eyes fixed on her throat.</div>
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<i>Lady, help me!</i></div>
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Faia drew the earth's energy, thinking it into her staff, thinking, <i>Give the staff strength!</i></div>
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And somehow, she was outside of herself, and staring down at the massive black wolf and the tall, rangy girl who faced him off with nothing but a brass-tipped walking stick.</div>
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At the same instant, she was inside herself, and the strength was there—earth-strength, Lady-strength, confidence. Faia, stilled inside, deadly calm, swung the staff up as the wolf lunged and caught him across the chest; the impact of his great weight flung her backward a staggered step. But light flowed from the staff around the wolf, blazing green fire. The wolf screamed, its voice for a moment disconcertingly human. Then he crumpled to the ground and was still—unmarked, stone dead.</div>
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At the scream, the other wolves vanished into the forest, disappearing like the memories of shadows.</div>
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Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-86380394972145753952011-11-14T07:26:00.001-08:002012-11-04T01:28:37.736-07:00Field of Dishonor<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<h2 align="center" style="font-family: Arial;">
HONOR BETRAYED</h2>
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The People's Republic of Haven's sneak attack on the Kingdom of Manticore has failed. The Peeps are in disarray, their leaders fighting for power in bloody revolution, and the Royal Manticoran Navy stands victorious.</div>
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But Manticore has domestic problems of its own, and success can be more treacherous than defeat for Honor Harrington. Now, trapped at the core of a political crisis she never sought, betrayed by an old and vicious enemy she'd thought vanquished forever, she stands alone.</div>
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She must fight for justice on a battlefield she never trained for in a private war that offers just two choices: death . . . or a "victory" that can end only in dishonor and the loss of all she loves.</div>
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***</div>
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David Weber is the new Big Name in science fiction, and his dauntless Honor Harrington has conquered not only the enemy but the hearts of thousands of readers everywhere, who have been relentlessly demanding Honor's exploits in a more permanent form. And we're happy to oblige.</div>
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Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-14274839545801292952011-10-30T03:30:00.000-07:002011-10-30T03:34:18.520-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrdO4ic-hPsNJWnWgMt3eCx2nJ9BiJbLgnNowfnbQRWvQB_xNo_svK74CCBWpxSthCL-8WamDOpmMUCQn6mp46WSGPPGF0-rX1vlNmN5O5u4khyTxNprQOPwRWiSbAxswNXQNG8HVK4AU/s1600/Robin+Hobb+-+The+Inheritance.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrdO4ic-hPsNJWnWgMt3eCx2nJ9BiJbLgnNowfnbQRWvQB_xNo_svK74CCBWpxSthCL-8WamDOpmMUCQn6mp46WSGPPGF0-rX1vlNmN5O5u4khyTxNprQOPwRWiSbAxswNXQNG8HVK4AU/s400/Robin+Hobb+-+The+Inheritance.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669230968092962402" /></a><br /><br /><br />A collection of novellas and stories from one of the most critically acclaimed authors in the fantasy genre, Robin Hobb. Including work written under her pseudonym, Megan Lindholm.Bingtown heiresses rub shoulders in this wonderful collection with vampires and alien musicians, tramps and feral cats.In The Homecoming, Lady Carillion Carrock and a number of other Jamaillian nobles are sailing to the Cursed Shores. Their journey is not by choice: for plotting against the Satrap, their wealth has been confiscated and they have been exiled. Until now, Carillion has done nothing but lead a life of privilege. She believes they are bound for wondrous cities, cities where ancient kings and queens dusted their skin with gold and wore jewels above their eyes. But when she is marooned by the ship’s unscrupulous captain, she will soon discover the grim reality of what survival in the Rain Wilds entails.The Silver Lady is a would-be writer, ekeing out a dull existence by working in a Sears store. The one day a man comes in: fortyish, pleasant-looking. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except he says his name is Merlin, and he’s about to change her life.Rosemary got involved with the wrong man. Pell is lazy, good for nothing, a bully. Her best friend Hilia knew it and so did her tom cat, Marmalade. But love is blind: Rosemary had Pell’s baby, renovated the cottage his grandfather left in his will, turned its land to good use; and then he left her for another woman. Now he’s back, and something must be done…<br /><br /><a href="http://www.filesonic.com/file/2340756281">Download Complete Book</a><br /><br />Buy Print<br /><br /><br /><iframe src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=qualityarti00-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=0007273770&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="width:120px;height:240px;" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"></iframe> <iframe src="http://www.flipkart.com/affiliateWidget/simpleBanner?bc=FFFFFF&tc=333333&lc=A52A2A&buy=&affid=sanjeevsys&id=NMW3F978Q7&type=3&price=yes&border=yes&height=260&width=120" style="width:120px;height:260px;" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"></iframe>Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-69287962461685705012011-10-30T02:51:00.000-07:002011-10-30T02:59:21.811-07:00Lolita<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19g5EveDX390PLii-d9zr5x3y_x7Xl0RPSnqOzsEW_MP9C4neHaEjC_B93Uhzjz22vmZHMlxavkfKuV5Rkk9jSEYq5tbDZYHY9POr90G6eS4QsTWSZOwsawI0DWT7jzVPfzGOw2YRb80/s1600/lolita-book-cover.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19g5EveDX390PLii-d9zr5x3y_x7Xl0RPSnqOzsEW_MP9C4neHaEjC_B93Uhzjz22vmZHMlxavkfKuV5Rkk9jSEYq5tbDZYHY9POr90G6eS4QsTWSZOwsawI0DWT7jzVPfzGOw2YRb80/s400/lolita-book-cover.png" width="255" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; ">Despite its lascivious reputation, the pleasures of </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">Lolita</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; "> are as much intellectual as erogenous. It is a love story with the power to raise both chuckles and eyebrows. Humbert Humbert is a European intellectual adrift in America, haunted by memories of a lost adolescent love. When he meets his ideal nymphet in the shape of 12-year-old Dolores Haze, he constructs an elaborate plot to seduce her, but first he must get rid of her mother. In spite of his diabolical wit, reality proves to be more slippery than Humbert's feverish fantasies, and Lolita refuses to conform to his image of the perfect lover.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Playfully perverse in form as well as content, riddled with puns and literary allusions, Nabokov's 1955 novel is a hymn to the Russian-born author's delight in his adopted language. Indeed, readers who want to probe all of its allusive nooks and crannies will need to consult the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/014118504X/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=qualityarti00-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399369&creativeASIN=014118504X">annotated edition</a>. <i>Lolita</i> is undoubtedly, brazenly erotic, but the eroticism springs less from the "frail honey-hued shoulders ... the silky supple bare back" of little Lo than it does from the wantonly gorgeous prose that Humbert uses to recount his forbidden passion:</span></div><blockquote style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span">She was musical and apple-sweet ... Lola the bobby-soxer, devouring her immemorial fruit, singing through its juice ... and every movement she made, every shuffle and ripple, helped me to conceal and to improve the secret system of tactile correspondence between beast and beauty--between my gagged, bursting beast and the beauty of her dimpled body in its innocent cotton frock.</span></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">Much has been made of </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">Lolita</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; "> as metaphor, perhaps because the love affair at its heart is so troubling. Humbert represents the formal, educated Old World of Europe, while Lolita is America: ripening, beautiful, but not too bright and a little vulgar. Nabokov delights in exploring the intercourse between these cultures, and the passages where Humbert describes the suburbs and strip malls and motels of postwar America are filled with both attraction and repulsion, "those restaurants where the holy spirit of Huncan Dines had descended upon the cute paper napkins and cottage-cheese-crested salads." Yet however tempting the novel's symbolism may be, its chief delight--and power--lies in the character of Humbert Humbert. He, at least as he tells it, is no seedy skulker, no twisted destroyer of innocence. Instead, Nabokov's celebrated mouthpiece is erudite and witty, even at his most depraved. Humbert can't help it--linguistic </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">jouissance</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; "> is as important to him as the satisfaction of his arrested libido.</span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.filesonic.com/file/2310379091">Download Complete Book</a></b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Buy Print</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" trbidi="on"><iframe src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=qualityarti00-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=0679723161&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="width:120px;height:240px;" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"></iframe> <iframe src="http://www.flipkart.com/affiliateWidget/simpleBanner?bc=FFFFFF&tc=333333&lc=A52A2A&buy=&affid=sanjeevsys&id=VOW3F9JQMZ&type=3&price=yes&border=yes&height=260&width=120" style="width:120px;height:260px;" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"></iframe></div></div>Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-57836578831376868812011-10-30T02:15:00.000-07:002011-11-14T09:14:33.744-08:00The Naked Face<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; word-spacing: 2px;">Sidney Sheldon’s thrilling first novel, repackaged to accompany his fascinating memoirs, ‘The Other Side of Me.’ </b> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; word-spacing: 2px;">The psychiatrist's couch holds many secrets. Can it also hold the key to a series of brutal murders? </span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; word-spacing: 2px;">John Hanson, murdered in the street in a gruesome but apparently arbitrary attack. </span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; word-spacing: 2px;">Carol Roberts, brutally tortured and left to die in agony. </span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; word-spacing: 2px;">Now it's the turn of psychoanalyst Dr Judd Stevens…</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; word-spacing: 2px;">In a chilling game of cat and mouse, Judd must become the hunter rather than the hunted if he wants to stay alive. Working with the mindset of a detective, he must analyse his patients, searching for a motive, clues, reasons. Could it be Teri Washburn, Hollywood starlet, thrown out of tinsel town in scandal and now addicted to sex? Could it be Harrison Burke, top business man and disturbed paranoiac? Or could it be Alexander Fallon, a crazed evangelist, convinced that God has chosen him to avenge all sin in the world? </span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; word-spacing: 2px;">In this deadly game, there can only be one winner…If Judd is to survive he must play the game to win. </span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; word-spacing: 2px;">This is Sidney Sheldon's first novel – a gripping, intense thriller that brought him fame as a bestselling novelist.</span><br />
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</div>Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-16079786075830567352011-10-27T09:12:00.000-07:002012-11-04T01:31:32.965-07:00Far Edge of Darkness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<h2 style="font-family: Arial; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">ALL ROADS LEAD TO ROME</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sibyl Johnson—a graduate student In classical archeology, just this side of her Ph.D., when an anachronism at her dig in Italy causes her career to take a sudden lurch—and suddenly she's a slave in the very society she was studying!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Charlie Flynn—a Miami cop, deep undercover on a Mafia sting operation stumbled onto something he shouldn't have seen, end now he's scheduled for a hit—in the Roman forum. Lagan McKee—once a commando, now a bum, he got caught in a Florida thunderstorm and suddenly he was in Alaska—five years after the storm struck. Now he's slated for a fatal visit to the dark side of Classical Rome.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Three people, all castaways in time, all victims of the same evil hand—all out for vengeance, on the <i>Far Edge of Darkness</i>.</span></div>
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Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-3956599784032959182011-10-26T11:17:00.000-07:002012-11-04T01:32:07.231-07:00Fallen Angels<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<h2 style="font-family: Arial; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I</span>T ALL HAPPENED SO FAST</h2>
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One minute the two space Hab astronauts were scoop-diving the atmosphere, the next they'd been shot down over the North Dakota Glacier and were the object of a massive manhunt by the United States government.</div>
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That government, dedicated to saving the environment from the evils of technology, had been voted into power because everybody knew that the Green House Effect had to be controlled, whatever the cost. But who would have thought that the cost of ending pollution would include not only total government control of day-to-day life, but the onset of a new Ice Age?</div>
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Stranded in the anti-technological heartland of America, paralyzed by Earth's gravity, the "Angels" had no way back to the Space Habs, the last bastions of high technology and intellectual freedom on or over the Earth. But help was on its way, help from the most unlikely sources ....</div>
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Join # 1 national bestsellers Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle and Michael Flynn in a world where civilization is on the ropes, and the environmentalists have created their own worst nightmare: A world of</div>
<h1 style="font-family: Arial; page-break-before: left; text-align: left;">
Fallen Angels</h1>
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Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-60663508186892343302011-10-25T09:20:00.000-07:002011-11-14T09:12:32.323-08:00Fiddler Fair<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<h2 align="center" style="font-family: Arial;">
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A COMMAND PERFORMANCE BY</div>
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FANTASY'S GRAND DIVA</div>
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Mercedes Lackey has, in a few short years, soared to the peak of the fantasy field, and her thousands of enthusiastic readers clamor for more and more. Now comes a volume demonstrating the wide range of her talent, running the gamut from her beloved Bardic fantasies to urban fantasy set in the modern world; from science fiction adventure to chilling horror. And throughout <i>Fiddler Fair</i>, Lackeys sheer storytelling skill will hold the reader spellbound. Learn what happens when animal rights fanatics try to "liberate" genetically reconstructed dinosaurs. Follow Lawrence of Arabia into the desert to meet a power beyond human comprehension; and be with King Arthur, reborn into the present day, when he again gains possession of the enchanted sword Excalibur. And, in a very weird encounter of the most bizarre kind, learn why an alien from a UFO took an unusual interest in a battered Chevy pickup truck.</div>
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<i>Fiddler Fair</i> is a feast for the multitudes of Lackey fans everywhere—and for new readers, a powerful introduction to the most significant new fantasy writer of the decade.</div>
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<i>Bouquets from Colleagues and Critics for </i>Mercedes Lackey:</h3>
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"She'll keep you up long past your bedtime."—<b>Stephen King</b></div>
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A writer whose work I've loved all along."—<b>Marion Zimmer Bradley</b></div>
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. . . with [Lackey], the principal joy is story: she sweeps you along and never lets you go."—<i>Locus</i></div>
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. . . remarkable . . . high-octane adventure and sharp social commentary."—<i>Dragon</i></div>
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"An undoubted mistress of the well-told tale." —<i>Booklist</i></div>
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. . . above all else, Lackey can tell a good story . . . highly, highly recommended . . . ."—<i>Kliatt</i></div>
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</div>Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-52798490247854644682011-10-23T07:37:00.000-07:002011-11-14T08:36:04.344-08:00The Philosophical Strangler<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<h2 style="font-family: Arial; text-align: left;">
PHILOSOPHY: THE HANDS ON APPROACH</h2>
<div style="font-family: Arial;">
<b> </b>Mighty Greyboar, the world’s greatest professional strangler, is dissatisfied with his lot in life. The work is steady and the pay is good, but what, he wonders, is the <i>point</i> of it all?</div>
<div style="font-family: Arial;">
But when he learns that there is a Supreme Philosophy of Life*, Greyboar the Strangler is Born Again! Still, just how can a professional man in good standing pay the bills with all this philosophical exploration getting in the way?</div>
<div style="font-family: Arial;">
That’s what his hard-headed agent and manager Ignace wants to know! And Ignace’s skepticism turns quickly into outright horror when Greyboar’s philosophical preoccupation leads to one disaster after another . . .</div>
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—simple choke jobs turn into ethical quandaries . . .</div>
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—a bizarre artist and a deadly arms-master turn up to complicate their life . . .</div>
<div style="font-family: Arial;">
—as if their new girlfriends haven’t complicated it enough!</div>
<div style="font-family: Arial;">
Before you know it, Greyboar the strangler and his disgruntled manager find themselves embroiled with an abbess at odds with her deity, heretics on the run, dwarves needing to be rescued, and then—worst of all!</div>
<div style="font-family: Arial;">
Greyboar’s long-estranged sister Gwendolyn, political activist and revolutionary, comes back to town asking Greyboar’s help in an insane mission to the underworld. It’s purely a noble cause, one which no self-respecting assassin would touch for a moment. But in the pursuit of Enlightenment, anything can happen. . . .</div>
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*What? You want the details? Hint: <i>Entropy</i>. For more on the secret, buy this book!</div>
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</div>Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-934124324591869812011-10-16T10:49:00.000-07:002011-11-14T08:37:05.106-08:00Echoes of Honor<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">BACK FROM HELL</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">For eight bloody years, the Star Kingdom of Manticore and its allies have taken the war to the vastly more powerful People's Republic of Haven, and Commodore Honor Harrington has been in the forefront of that war.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But now Honor has fallen, captured by the Peep Navy, turned over to the forces of State Security ... and executed on the interstellar network's nightly news.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Manticoran Alliance is stunned and infuriated by Honor's death and grimly resolved to avenge it. Yet their military is over-extended and the People's Republic is poised to take (he offensive once more, this time with a new strategy, new weapons, a new command team, and a whole new determination to win. The war is about to enter a phase of unprecedented ferocity . . . and the Alliance is on the short end of the stick.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But even as powerful Peep fleets hurtle towards their objectives, neither they nor the Alliance are aware of events occurring on a distant, isolated, inescapable prison planet called Hell. For what no one knows, not even State Security, is that Honor Harrington is not dead. She and a handful of her people are trapped on Hell, and determined to disprove the Peep boast that no one can ever escape it. Honor Harrington is going home, and taking her people with her... even if she has to conquer Hell to do it.</span><br />
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<h2 style="text-align: left;">
DOWN, BUT NOT OUT</h2>
Harris came up off his jumping foot and brought the same leg up before him in extension—a flying side kick straight out of tournament demonstrations. The huge man felt like Jell-O, but he still fell over backwards. Harris hit the ground hard, too, but scrambled up instantly."Gaby?"<br />
The bag the man had dropped said, "Harris?" and her arm stretched out of it.<br />
The old man said, "Mine." He stepped out of the way. "Phipps, I need this young man removed. Adonis, get up."<br />
"Gaby, get the hell out of here!"<br />
The third man pulled something from under his armpit. Harris felt fear clutching at him, but he charged and side-kicked just as Phipps got his revolver out into the open. The kick connected, knocking the man clean off his feet.<br />
Harris almost grinned. From the opening bell to the knockout, one point five seconds. Not bad for a drunk loser. He bent over, grabbed Phipps' revolver, and swung it around to aim at the others.<br />
The huge man's gloved hand clamped down on the barrel and yanked. The gun fired into nothingness and the huge man flung it off into the darkness. With his free hand, he pulled his hat away from his head and looked down at Harris. Moonlight illuminated his face.<br />
His skin, cinnamon brown, hung in packed layers of wrinkles like earthworms laid lengthwise. No mouth or ears were discernible, but there were eyes, animal's eyes, set deep in. Harris took an involuntary step back, looking for the seam that proved this was a mask.<br />
But the mouth opened. It was too large and too wide to belong to any human. No man or woman possessed a forest of sharklike teeth like those. It twisted into a smile.<br />
The Smile mocked him.<br />
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<br />
<h3>
EVIL FROM BEYOND TIME</h3>
The Malwa Empire squats like a toad across 6th century India, commanded by ruthless men with depraved appetites. The thing from the distant future that commands them is far worse.<br />
<h3>
AN ADVISOR WITHOUT A BODY</h3>
Those who oppose the purulent Hell the Malwa will make of Earth have sent a crystal, Aide, to halt their advance. Aide holds all human knowledge-but he cannot act by himself.<br />
<h3>
A CHAMPION FOR ALL TIMES</h3>
Count Belisarius, the greatest general of the age and perhaps of all ages, must outwit the evil empire -- and then, when there is no longer room to maneuver, to meet it sword-edge to sword-edge, because,<br />
no matter what it costs<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>WELCOME AGAIN TO THE </b></span></div>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
MANY WORLDS OF HONOR</h2>
Lady Dame Honor Harrington—starship captain, admiral, Steadholder, and Duchess—has spent decades defending the Star Kingdom of Manticore against all comers. Along the way, she has become the legend known as “the Salamander” from her habit of always being where the fire is hottest . . . and also a national bestseller (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">Ashes of Victory</span></i>: #7, <i><span style="font-style: italic;">The Wall Street Journal</span></i>).<br />
But it’s a big universe, and Honor’s actions affect a lot of lives, not all of them human. And <i><span style="font-style: italic;">their</span></i> actions affect <i><span style="font-style: italic;">her</span></i>—a lesson “Ms. Midshipwoman Harrington” learns years before rising to command rank when a desperate battle against “pirates” who aren’t quite what they seem begins her brilliant career.<br />
Closer to home, in “Changer of Worlds,” a secret that the alien treecats have kept from their human friends for hundreds of years is about to come out . . . and completely change the relationship between the two species forever.<br />
Meanwhile, Eric Flint weighs in with “From the Highlands.” Honor can’t be everywhere, so when the People’s Republic of Haven tries to stage a political assassination on Earth, Anton Zilwicki—husband of one of the Star Kingdom’s most revered military martyrs, and father of a young woman who is clearly a chip off the old block—steps into the breach . . . and takes the opportunity to settle some old scores along the way.<br />
And finally, Esther McQueen and Oscar Saint-Just square off for their final confrontation in Noveau Paris in “Nightfall.”<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND HOST</h3>
Granted, the decade has just begun, but David Weber shows all signs of being the science fiction phenomenon of the decade. Weber is often compared to C.S. Forester (the celebrated creator of Captain Horatio Hornblower), is the recipient of critical praise worthy of Heinlein or Asimov, and has hordes of voracious fans clamoring for more and more Weber. Fortunately for them, Weber keeps steadily producing book after book with first printings that sell out almost immediately, then go back into printing after printing after printing. His novels range from epic fantasy (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">Oath of Swords</span></i>, <i><span style="font-style: italic;">The War God’s Own</span></i>) to breathtaking space opera (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">Path of the Fury</span></i>, <i><span style="font-style: italic;">The Armageddon Inheritance</span></i>) to military science fiction with in-depth characterization (the celebrated and awesomely popular Honor Harrington novels, the <i><span style="font-style: italic;">New York Times</span></i> bestselling <i><span style="font-style: italic;">Ashes of Victory</span></i> being the latest). Reviewers call Weber “irresistible . . masterful” (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">Publishers Weekly</span></i>), “highly entertaining” (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">Booklist</span></i>), “outstanding . . . superb . . . excellent” (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">Wilson Library Bulletin</span></i>), “remarkable” (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">Kliatt</span></i>), “the best” (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">Dragon</span></i>), “worth shouting about” (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">Philadelphia Weekly Press</span></i>), “great” (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">Locus</span></i>), and “the best writer around today” (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">FosFax</span></i>). Readers call Weber similar things, but mostly they call the Baen offices several times a week demanding more from their main man. Weber lives in South Carolina and, in spite of having gotten married a year ago, shows no sign of slowing down. . . .<br />
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"Excuse me?" said a low, sexy, female voice.<br />
Tannim jumped in startlement, and turned to face the barn door—and froze as he saw who was standing there. His mind lodged on a single thought, unable to get past it: <i>It's her—it's her—it's her—</i><br />
And it was: the woman who had haunted and hunted him through his dreams for years. The woman he'd dreamed of this morning. <i>Her</i>. And she stood there, calmly taking in his look of utter shock.<br />
There was absolutely no doubt of it; she matched his dreams in every detail. Gently curved raven-wing hair framed a face that he knew as well as he knew his own. Amused emerald-green eyes gazed at him from beneath strong brows that arched as delicately as a bit of Japanese brushwork.<br />
"Excuse me," she said again in that throaty contralto. ". . . but I understood that I could find someone here who works on Mustangs."<br />
He looked past her and spotted her black Mustang standing in the midst of the tall grass outside the barn door. "Not—for a long time," he said dazedly.<br />
"Ah," she replied. Then her eyes widened as she looked past his shoulder, and she stepped back in alarm.<br />
Fear lanced him. He whirled to look. There was nothing there.<br />
He turned back, and she was already gone. And so was her car.<br />
Only <i>then</i> did his mind click back into gear, as he sprinted to stood where the car had been. There was the imprint of four tires in the grass—but no track-marks leading up to them. There was no sign that the car had actually been driven through the grass to reach that spot, and there had been no sound of a motor.<br />
She was haunting him still, it would seem. . . .<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Rescued from slavers, raised among humans, the alien Heyoka must return to his birthworld and regain his place in Hrinnti society. Nebula nominee K. D. Wentworth does a masterful job in giving readers a multi-faceted view of an alien society, its strengths and beauties, warts and foibles. Indeed, Wentworth's particular genius is a wholeness of vision: even the darkest character is shown to have a glimmering of light, whether it is the tenderness in the vicious priest Rakshal's instruction of the cublings or the beauty in the songs of the nihilistic Flek invaders. Such touches, however, never stand in the way of Wentworth's killer plot, full of devious twists and stunning action scenes. Like the young hero of STAR WARS, Heyoka learns that the fate of countless worlds rests on his search for self.</span></div>
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<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<i><b>BACK FROM HELL</b></i></h2>
<i><b> </b></i><span style="font-size: 100%;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;">For eight bloody years, the Star Kingdom of Manticore and its allies have taken the war to the vastly more powerful People's Republic of Haven, and Commodore Honor Harrington has been in the forefront of that war.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"> But now Honor has fallen, captured by the Peep Navy, turned over to the forces of State Security ... and executed on the interstellar network's nightly news.<br />
The Manticoran Alliance is stunned and infuriated by Honor's death and grimly resolved to avenge it. Yet their military is over-extended and the People's Republic is poised to take the offensive once more, this time with a new strategy, new weapons, a new command team, and a whole new determination to win. The war is about to enter a phase of unprecedented ferocity . . . and the Alliance is on the short end of the stick.<br />
But even as powerful Peep fleets hurtle towards their objectives, neither they nor the Alliance are aware of events occurring on a distant, isolated, inescapable prison planet called Hell. For what no one knows, not even State Security, is that Honor Harrington is not dead. She and a handful of her people are trapped on Hell, and determined to disprove the Peep boast that no one can ever escape it. Honor Harrington is going home, and taking her people with her... even if she has to conquer Hell to do it.<br />
<b> <h3>
ABOUT THE AUTHOR</h3>
</b> A lifetime military history huff, David Weber has carried his interest in history into his fiction. In the Honor Harrington series, the spirit of both C.S. Forester's Horatio Hornblower and history's Admiral Lord Nelson are evident. Weber's other work includes the science fiction adventure novel, <i>Path of the Fury, </i>his new epic fantasy series, so far consisting of <i>Oath of Swords </i>and <i>The War God's Own, </i>and the three novels of the "Dahak" space adventure series: <i>Mutineers' Moon, The Armageddon Inheritance, </i>and <i>Heirs of Empire. </i>Weber has worked as a war game designer, most extensively on the Task Force game <i>Starfire™. </i>With Steve White, he has written three novels set in that universe, <i>Insurrection, Crusade, </i>and <i>In Death Ground.</i><br />
<i> </i> Weber lives in Greenville, South Carolina. He shows all signs of being the next Big Name in science fiction.<br />
</span><br />
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<h2 align="center">
<b>AMERICAN FREEDOM AND JUSTICE<br /> VS. THE TYRANNIES OF<br /> THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY</b></h2>
<b> </b><span style="font-size: 100%;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;">The new government in central Europe, called the Confederated Principalities of Europe, was formed by an alliance between Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, and the West Virginians led by Mike Stearns who were transplanted into 17<sup>th</sup>-century Germany by a mysterious cosmic accident. The new regime is shaky. Outside its borders, the Thirty Years War continues to rage. Within, it is beset by financial crisis as well as the political and social tensions between the democratic ideals of the 20<sup>th</sup>-century Americans and the aristocracy which continues to rule the roost in the CPE as everywhere in Europe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"> Worst of all, the CPE has aroused the implacable hostility of Cardinal Richelieu, the effective ruler of France. Richelieu has created the League of Ostend in order to strike at the weakest link in the CPE's armor—its dependence on the Baltic as the lifeline between Gustav Adolf's Sweden and the rest of his realm.<br />
The greatest naval war in European history is about to erupt. Like it or not, Gustavus Adolphus will have to rely on Mike Stearns and the technical wizardry of his obstreperous Americans to save the King of Sweden from ruin.<br />
Caught in the conflagration are two American diplomatic missions abroad: Rebecca Stearns' mission to France and Holland, and the embassy which Mike Stearns sent to King Charles of England headed by his sister Rita and Melissa Mailey. Rebecca finds herself trapped in war-torn Amsterdam; Rita and Melissa, imprisoned in the Tower of London.<br />
And much as Mike wants to transport 20<sup>th</sup>-century values into war-torn 17th-century Europe by Sweet Reason, still he finds comfort in the fact that Julie, who once trained to be an Olympic marksman, still has her rifle . . .<br />
<b> ABOUT THE AUTHORS<br />
</b> <b>David Weber </b>is best known for his <i>New York Times </i>bestselling Honor Harrington series, arguably the most popular series in science fiction, which has led to reviewers comparing him to C.S. Forester , celebrated creator of Captain Horatio Hornblower. Weber's work ranges from epic fantasy <i>(Oath of Swords, The War God's Own] </i>to breathtaking space opera <i>(Path of the Fury, The Armageddon Inheritance] </i>to military science fiction with in-depth characterization (the Honor Harrington novels). With John Ringo, he inaugurated the Prince Roger series of space adventures with <i>March Upcountrij </i>and has continued it with <i>March to the Sea. </i>Weber and his wife Sharon live in South Carolina.<br />
<b> </b><b>Eric Flint </b>is a new master of alternate-history science fiction. His <i>1632, </i>prequel to <i>1633, </i>received lavish critical praise from all directions and enjoyed high sales. His first novel, <i>Mother of Demons, </i>was picked by <i>Science Fiction Chronicle </i>as a best novel of the year. He has also shown a powerful gift for humorous fantasy adventure with <i>Forward the Mage </i>and <i>The Philosophical Strangler, </i>which <i>Booklist </i>described as "Monty Python let loose in Tolkien's Middle Earth." With David Drake he has collaborated on five novels in the popular Belisarius series, the next of which will be <i>The Dance of Time. </i>A longtime labor union activist with a Master's Degree in history, he currently resides in Indiana with his wife Lucille.<br />
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<i>The mystery would never be solved. It would simply join others, like the Tunguska event or the Square Crater on Callisto, in the catalogue of unexplained occurrences. The initial worldwide excitement waned within a few months, as it became clear that no quick answers would be found. For a few years grieving relatives would, with some success, press officialdom to maintain the studies and inquiries. But there were no lawyers to keep the fires stoked. The courts ruled soon enough that the Grantville Disaster was an Act of God, for which insurance companies were not liable. Within ten years, the Disaster had devolved into another domain of fanatics and enthusiasts, like the Kennedy Assassination. Thereafter, of course, it enjoyed a near-eternal half-life. But few if any reputable scientists in the world held out any hope for a final explanation. </i> <br />
<a href="" id="p2" name="p2"></a><br />
<i>Theories, of course, abounded. But the vague traces on instruments were impossible to decipher clearly. A small black hole, passing through the Earth. That was one theory. Another—popular for a time until the underlying mathematics were rejected in the light of later discoveries—was that a fragmented superstring had struck the planet a glancing blow. </i> <br />
<a href="" id="p3" name="p3"></a><br />
<i>The only man who ever came close to understanding that a new universe had been created was a biologist. A junior biologist by the name of Hank Tapper, attached almost as an afterthought to one of the geological teams sent to study the disaster. The team devoted several months to a study of the terrain which had replaced what had once been part of West Virginia. They came to no conclusions other than the obvious fact that the terrain was not indigenous to the area, but that—this eliminated the once-avid interest of the SETI crowd—it was clearly terrestrial. </i> <br />
<a href="" id="p4" name="p4"></a><br />
<i>The size of the foreign terrain was mapped, quite precisely. It formed a perfectly circular hemisphere about six miles in diameter, approximately half that deep at its center. Once the team left, Tapper remained behind for a few more months. Eventually, he identified the fauna and flora as being almost identical to those of parts of Central Europe. He became excited. That matched the archaeological report, which—very, very diffidently—suggested that the ruined farmhouses on the new terrain had a vaguely late-medieval/early modern Germanic feel to them. So did the seven human corpses found in one of the farmhouses. Two men, two women, and three children. The remains were badly charred by the fire, but marks on the bones indicated that at least two of the people had been murdered by some kind of large cutting implements. </i> <br />
<a href="" id="p5" name="p5"></a><br />
<i>The dental evidence suggested that the dead people were not modern. Or, at least, had somehow never been given any kind of dental treatment. But medical examination determined that the murders were very recent. And the farmhouses were still smoldering when they were found. </i> <br />
<a href="" id="p6" name="p6"></a><br />
<i>Tapper teetered on the edge of the truth. Then, after several more months of work failed to turn up any matching piece of disturbed terrain anywhere in central Europe, he abandoned the study altogether. He had suspicions, but— </i> <br />
<a href="" id="p7" name="p7"></a><br />
<i>The only possible explanation was a transposition in time as well as space. Tapper was a junior biologist. His budding career would be ruined if he advanced his suspicions without evidence. And there could be no evidence, if he was right. Whatever remained of the area of West Virginia which had vanished was lost somewhere back in time. </i> <br />
<a href="" id="p8" name="p8"></a><br />
<i>So, Tapper accepted the loss of a year's work, and went in search of greener pastures. He published his findings, to be sure; but only as dry factual accounts in obscure publications. He made no attempt to draw conclusions, or posit theories, or draw any kind of public attention. </i> <br />
<a href="" id="p9" name="p9"></a><br />
<i>It was just as well. His career would have been ruined—and for no good purpose. No one would have believed him. Even if someone had, the most extensive archaeological search of central Europe would never have discovered the matching hemisphere. It was there, of course, in that region of Germany called Thuringia. But it was there almost four centuries earlier, and only for an instant. The moment those hemispheres had been transposed, a new universe split off from the old. </i> <br />
<a href="" id="p10" name="p10"></a><br />
<i>And, besides, the truth was far stranger than even Tapper ever imagined. Even he assumed that the cause was some kind of natural cosmic disaster. </i> <br />
<div align="center">
* * *</div>
<a href="" id="p11" name="p11"></a><br />
<i>In reality, the Grantville Disaster was the result of what humans of the day would have called criminal negligence. Caused by a shard of cosmic garbage, a discarded fragment of what, for lack of a better term, could be called a work of art. A shaving, you might say, from a sculpture. The Assiti fancied their solipsist amusements with the fabric of spacetime. They were quite oblivious to the impact of their "art" on the rest of the universe. </i> <br />
<a href="" id="p12" name="p12"></a><br />
<i>The Assiti would be exterminated, eighty-five million years later, by the Fta Tei. Ironically, the Fta Tei were a collateral branch of one of the human race's multitude of descendant species. Their motive, however, was not revenge. The Fta Tei knew nothing of their origins on a distant planet once called Earth, much less a minor disaster which had occurred there. The Fta Tei exterminated the Assiti simply because, after many stern warnings, they persisted in practicing their dangerous and irresponsible art. </i><br />
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<div>
PAULO COELHO</div>
<div>
The Zahir</div>
<div>
A NOVEL OF OBSESSION</div>
<div>
Translated from the Portuguese</div>
<div>
by Margaret Jull Costa</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
Her name is Esther; she is a war correspondent who has just returned from Iraq</div>
<div>
because of the imminent invasion of that country; she is thirty years old, married, without</div>
<div>
children. He is an unidentified male, between twenty-three and twenty-five years old,</div>
<div>
with dark, Mongolian features. The two were last seen in a café on the Rue du Faubourg</div>
<div>
St-Honoré.</div>
<div>
The police were told that they had met before, although no one knew how often: Esther</div>
<div>
had always said that the man—who concealed his true identity behind the name</div>
<div>
Mikhail—was someone very important, although she had never explained whether he</div>
<div>
was important for her career as a journalist or for her as a woman.</div>
<div>
The police began a formal investigation. Various theories were put forward—kidnapping,</div>
<div>
blackmail, a kidnapping that had ended in murder—none of which were beyond the</div>
<div>
bounds of possibility given that, in her search for information, her work brought her into</div>
<div>
frequent contact with people who had links with terrorist cells. They discovered that, in</div>
<div>
the weeks prior to her disappearance, regular sums of money had been withdrawn from</div>
<div>
her bank account: those in charge of the investigation felt that these could have been</div>
<div>
payments made for information. She had taken no change of clothes with her, but, oddly</div>
<div>
enough, her passport was nowhere to be found.</div>
<div>
He is a stranger, very young, with no police record, with no clue as to his identity.</div>
<div>
She is Esther, thirty years old, the winner of two international prizes for journalism, and</div>
<div>
married.</div>
<div>
My wife.</div>
<div>
I immediately come under suspicion and am detained because I refuse to say where I</div>
<div>
was on the day she disappeared. However, a prison officer has just opened the door of my</div>
<div>
cell, saying that I’m a free man.</div>
<div>
And why am I a free man? Because nowadays, everyone knows everything about</div>
<div>
everyone; you just have to ask and the information is there: where you’ve used your</div>
<div>
credit card, where you spend your time, whom you’ve slept with. In my case, it was even</div>
<div>
easier: a woman, another journalist, a friend of my wife, and divorced—which is why she</div>
<div>
doesn’t mind revealing that she slept with me—came forward as a witness in my favor</div>
<div>
when she heard that I had been detained. She provided concrete proof that I was with her</div>
<div>
on the day and the night of Esther’s disappearance.</div>
<div>
I talk to the chief inspector, who returns my belongings and offers his apologies, adding</div>
<div>
that my rapid detention was entirely within the law, and that I have no grounds on which</div>
<div>
to accuse or sue the state. I say that I haven’t the slightest intention of doing either of</div>
<div>
those things, that I am perfectly aware that we are all under constant suspicion and under</div>
<div>
twenty-four-hour surveillance, even when we have committed no crime.</div>
<div>
“You’re free to go,” he says, echoing the words of the prison officer.</div>
<div>
I ask: Isn’t it possible that something really has happened to my wife? She had said to me</div>
<div>
once that—understandably given her vast network of contacts in the terrorist</div>
<div>
underworld—she occasionally got the feeling she was being followed.</div>
<div>
The inspector changes the subject. I insist, but he says nothing.</div>
</div>
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</div>Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-6269083334724060462011-09-28T10:35:00.000-07:002011-11-28T02:52:29.544-08:00By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A love story in which the two main characters, Pilar, who is a student in the town of Zaragoza, and her childhood sweetheart who she new as a girl in the small Spanish village Soria, `By The River Piedra, I Sat Down And Wept' weaves ideas about God, religion, and carnal love into a nice, if not a bit obscure work of fiction. Perhaps because this book was not read in its English translation and not in its original Spanish, something was lost in the process.<br />
<br />
Pilar receives a message from her childhood friend that he will make a speech in Madrid. When Pilar reaches Madrid, she realizes her friend has become a very influential and powerful leader of a religious movement that embraces the femininity of God. Shortly after the event, her friend professes his love for Pilar, a love that had been a part of his being since the two were children back in Soria, and he bades her to join him on a journey. On this journey, Pilar learns that her friend has not only become a leader of a religious movement, but that he also has the power to work miracles. At the same time, Pilar deals with "the Other," the part of each of our psyches that manifests itself as fear, regret, and other counterproductive emotional responses that prevents us from achieving our full potential as human beings. During this journey through the French Pyrenees, which includes stays at hostels and visits to churches and chapels, the two find themselves at the monastery at Piedra where the two had played as children. It is at Piedra where Pilar's friend must ultimately choose the path of his own life.<br />
<br />
Often described as poetic, Coelho's prose in `By The River Piedra, I Sat Down And Wept' is artistic and almost dreamlike. Throughout the book, Pilar actually seems to be in some sort of dream in which she willingly floats from place to place with her friend as she searches for her true self. At the same time, Pilar wonders and worries, as a result of the existence of the Other that lives inside her, what will become of the love that she has for her friend and the love her friend has for her. So, what has the potential to be a powerful and moving story of love is actually blunted by the almost ennui of the writing.<br />
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While the reader knows he or she is not reading a Tom Clancy novel, there is not a great deal of action in the story। The majority of the action actually occurs inside of each of the characters. Even the conflict between the two protagonists (assuming either religion or the Other are the antagonist) is muted. As such, `By The River Piedra, I Sat Down And Wept' is really a nice read on a quiet afternoon in a bathtub drinking chamomile tea and surrounded by lit candles, (ladies), but the story and the message leave a little to be desired, I think, for many other readers. It's well done, but just a little cryptic and ambiguous for a lot of folks.<br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=qualityarti00-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=0061122092&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe> <iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://www.flipkart.com/affiliateWidget/simpleBanner?bc=FFFFFF&tc=333333&lc=A52A2A&buy=&affid=sanjeevsys&id=YV23F516LB&type=3&price=yes&border=yes&height=260&width=120" style="height: 260px; width: 120px;"></iframe></div>Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-84676944977847769272011-09-25T05:19:00.000-07:002011-11-28T03:10:31.582-08:00The Confession<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong>An innocent man is about to be executed.</strong></div>
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<strong>Only a guilty man can save him.</strong></div>
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For every innocent man sent to prison, there is a guilty one left on the outside. He doesn’t understand how the police and prosecutors got the wrong man, and he certainly doesn’t care. He just can’t believe his good luck. Time passes and he realizes that the mistake will not be corrected: the authorities believe in their case and are determined to get a conviction. He may even watch the trial of the person wrongly accused of his crime. He is relieved when the verdict is guilty. He laughs when the police and prosecutors congratulate themselves. He is content to allow an innocent person to go to prison, to serve hard time, even to be executed.</div>
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Travis Boyette is such a man. In 1998, in the small East Texas city of Sloan, he abducted, raped, and strangled a popular high school cheerleader. He buried her body so that it would never be found, then watched in amazement as police and prosecutors arrested and convicted Donté Drumm, a local football star, and marched him off to death row.</div>
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Now nine years have passed. Travis has just been paroled in Kansas for a different crime; Donté is four days away from his execution. Travis suffers from an inoperable brain tumor. For the first time in his miserable life, he decides to do what’s right and confess.</div>
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But how can a guilty man convince lawyers, judges, and politicians that they’re about to execute an innocent man?</div>
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</div>Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-67637179280771717472011-09-24T21:40:00.000-07:002011-11-28T03:10:44.830-08:00Ford County<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In his first collection of short stories John Grisham takes us back to Ford County, Mississippi, the setting of his first novel,<em>A Time to Kill</em>.</div>
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Wheelchair-bound Inez Graney and her two older sons, Leon and Butch, take a bizarre road trip through the Mississippi Delta to visit the youngest Graney brother, Raymond, who’s been locked away on death row for eleven years. It could well be their last visit.</div>
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Mack Stafford, a hard-drinking and low-grossing run-of-the-mill divorce lawyer, gets a miracle phone call with a completely unexpected offer to settle some old, forgotten cases for more money than he has ever seen. Mack is suddenly bored with the law, fed up with his wife and his life, and makes drastic plans to finally escape.</div>
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Quiet, dull Sidney, a data collector for an insurance company, perfects his blackjack skills in hopes of bringing down the casino empire of Clanton’s most ambitious hustler, Bobby Carl Leach, who, among other crimes, has stolen Sidney’s wife.</div>
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Three good ol’ boys from rural Ford County begin a journey to the big city of Memphis to give blood to a grievously injured friend. However, they are unable to drive past a beer store as the trip takes longer and longer. The journey comes to an abrupt end when they make a fateful stop at a Memphis strip club.</div>
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The Quiet Haven Retirement Home is the final stop for the elderly of Clanton. It’s a sad, languid place with little controversy, until Gilbert arrives. Posing as a low-paid bedpan boy, he is in reality a brilliant stalker with an uncanny ability to sniff out the assets of those “seniors” he professes to love.</div>
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One of the hazards of litigating against people in a small town is that one day, long after the trial, you will probably come face-to-face with someone you’ve beaten in a lawsuit. Lawyer Stanley Wade bumps into an old adversary, a man with a long memory, and the encounter becomes a violent ordeal.</div>
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Clanton is rocked with the rumor that the gay son of a prominent family has finally come home, to die. Of AIDS. Fear permeates the town as gossip runs unabated. But in Lowtown, the colored section of Clanton, the young man finds a soul mate in his final days.</div>
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Featuring a cast of characters you’ll never forget, these stories bring Ford County to vivid and colorful life. Often hilarious, frequently moving, and always entertaining, this collection makes it abundantly clear why John Grisham is our most popular storyteller.</div>
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</div>Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81472500608421922.post-53934768997017484662011-09-24T09:07:00.000-07:002011-11-28T03:11:00.902-08:00The Street Lawyer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The man with the rubber boots stepped into the elevator behind me, but I didn't see him at</div>
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first. I smelled him though--the pungent odor of smoke and cheap wine and life on the</div>
<div>
street without soap. We were alone as we moved upward, and when I finally glanced over</div>
<div>
I saw the boots, black and dirty and much too large. A frayed and tattered trench coat fell</div>
<div>
to his knees. Under it, layers of foul clothing bunched around his midsection, so that he</div>
<div>
appeared stocky, almost fat. But it wasn't from being well fed; in the wintertime in D.C.,</div>
<div>
the street people wear everything they own, or so it seems.</div>
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He was black and aging--his beard and hair were half-gray and hadn't been washed or cut</div>
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in years. He looked straight ahead through thick sunglasses, thoroughly ignoring me, and</div>
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making me wonder for a second why, exacdy, I was inspecting him.</div>
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He didn't belong. It was not his building, not his elevator, not a place he could afford. The</div>
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lawyers on all eight floors worked for my firm at hourly rates that still seemed obscene to</div>
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me, even after seven years.</div>
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Just another street bum in from the cold. Happened all the time in downtown Washington.</div>
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But we had security guards to deal with the riffraff.</div>
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We stopped at six, and I noticed for the first time that he had not pushed a button, had not</div>
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selected a floor. He was following me. I made a quick exit, and as I stepped into the</div>
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splendid marble foyer of Drake & Sweeney. I glanced over my shoulder just long enough</div>
<div>
to see him standing in the elevator, looking at nothing, still ignoring me.</div>
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Madam Devier, one of our very resilient receptionists, greeted me with her typical look of</div>
<div>
disdain. "Watch the elevator," I said.</div>
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"Why?"</div>
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"Street bum. You may want to call security."</div>
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"Those people," she said in her affected French accent.</div>
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"Get some disinfectant too."</div>
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I walked away, wrestling my overcoat off my shoulders, forgetting the man with the</div>
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rubber boots. I had nonstop meetings throughout the afternoon, important conferences</div>
<div>
with important people. I turned the corner and was about to say something to Polly, my</div>
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secretary, when I heard the first shot.</div>
<div>
Madam Devier was standing behind her desk, petrifled, staring into the barrel of an</div>
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awfully long handgun held by our pal the street bum. Since I was the first one to come to</div>
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her aid, he politely aimed it at me, and I too became rigid.</div>
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"Don't shoot," I said, hands in the air. I'd seen enough movies to know precisely what to</div>
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do.</div>
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"Shut up," he mumbled, with a great deal of composure.</div>
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There were voices in the hallway behind me. Someone yelled, "He's got a gun!" And then</div>
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the voices disappeared into the background, growing fainter and fainter as my colleagues</div>
<div>
hit the back door. I could almost see them jumping out the windows.</div>
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To my immediate left was a heavy wooden door that led to a large conference room,</div>
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which at that moment happened to be filled with eight lawyers from our litigation section.</div>
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Eight hard-nosed and fearless litigators who spent their hours chewing up people. The</div>
<div>
toughest was a scrappy little torpedo named Rafter, and as he yanked open the door</div>
<div>
saying "What the hell?" the barrel swung from me to him, and the man with the rubber</div>
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boots had exactly what he wanted.</div>
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"Put that gun down," Rafter ordered from the doorway, and a split second later another</div>
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shot rang through the reception area, a shot that went into the ceiling somewhere well</div>
<div>
above Rafter's head and reduced him to a mere mortal. Turning the gun back to me, he</div>
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nodded, and I complied, entering the conference room behind Rafter. The last thing I saw</div>
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on the outside was Madam Devier shaking at her desk, terror-stricken, headset around her</div>
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neck, high heels parked neatly next to her wastebasket.</div>
<div>
The man with the rubber boots slammed the door behind me, and slowly waved the gun</div>
<div>
through the air so that all eight litigators could admire it. It seemed to be working fine;</div>
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the smell of its discharge was more noticeable than the odor of its owner.</div>
<div>
The room was dominated by a long table, covered with documents and papers that only</div>
<div>
seconds ago seenled terribly important. A row of windows overlooked a parking lot. Two</div>
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doors led to the hallway.</div>
<div>
"Up against the wall," he said, using the gun as a very effective prop. Then he placed it</div>
<div>
very near my head, and said, "Lock the doors." Which I did.</div>
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Not a word from the eight litigators as they scrambled backward. Not a word from me as</div>
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I quickly locked the doors, then looked at him for approval.</div>
</div>
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</div>Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07063945457270056764noreply@blogger.com0