By C.L. Moore
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Best short stories & anthologies books
That vacation Feeling: Silver BellsThe ideal HolidayUnder the Christmas Tree
Lisa Ivany and Robert Hunt have produced one other memorable selection of brief tales. The tales contained herein specialize in the Christmas season because it is understood to the citizens of Newfoundland and Labrador. overlaying many genres and issues, this publication bargains whatever for all readers' tastes. It offers with a wide selection of matters, from a teenage woman injured by means of a highschool bully, to a nursing domestic resident stricken with Alzheimer's affliction, to a mysterious church singer with the voice of an angel.
With this choice of tales, readers are drawn right into a international with a mysterious twist, a feeling of otherness that eludes description. This thought-provoking writing--part technological know-how fiction, half secret, half fantasy--includes all the writer's earliest brief and medium-length fiction.
Short encounters with the agony and triumphs of characters dwelling in northern Michigan by way of Phillip Sterling.
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Extra resources for Northwest of Earth
Now, as we move inexorably into the twenty-first century, we are delighted to be widening our remit even more. The realities of commercial publishing are such that vast troves of classic SF & Fantasy are almost certainly destined never again to see print. Until very recently, this meant that anyone interested in reading any of these books would have been confined to scouring second-hand bookshops. The advent of digital publishing has changed that paradigm for ever. The technology now exists to enable us to make available, for the first time, the entire backlists of an incredibly wide range of classic and modern SF and fantasy authors.
In that first moment, as the door opened, he sensed something very wrong … The room was darkened, and for a while he could see nothing, but at the first breath he scented a strange, unnamable odor, half sickening, half sweet. And deep stirrings of ancestral memory awoke within him—ancient swamp-born memories from Venusian ancestors far away and long ago … Yarol laid his hand on his gun, lightly, and opened the door wider. In the dimness all he could see at first was a curious mound in the far corner … Then his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, and he saw it more clearly, a mound that somehow heaved and stirred within itself … A mound of—he caught his breath sharply—a mound like a mass of entrails, living, moving, writhing with an unspeakable aliveness.
Smith flipped the switch by the door and then leaned back against the panels, steadying himself. The cool night air had sobered him a little and his head was clear enough—liquor went to Smith’s feet, not his head, or he would never have come this far along the lawless way he had chosen. He lounged against the door now and regarded the girl in the sudden glare of the bulbs, blinding a little as much at the scarlet of her clothing as at the light. “So you stayed,” he said. “I—waited,” she answered softly, leaning farther back against the sill and clasping the rough wood with slim, three-fingered hands, pale brown against the darkness.