Elle Andra-Warner:David Thompson: A Life of Adventure and Discovery (Amazing Storie s)
- Pasta blanda 2010, ISBN: 9781926613321
Holt Paperbacks. Very Good. 19 x 13cm. Paperback. 2000. 181 pages. <br>One dark and stormy night in 1956, a stranger name d Fludd mysteriously turns up in the dismal village of Feth… Más…
Holt Paperbacks. Very Good. 19 x 13cm. Paperback. 2000. 181 pages. <br>One dark and stormy night in 1956, a stranger name d Fludd mysteriously turns up in the dismal village of Fetherhoug hton. He is the curate sent by the bishop to assist Father Angwin -or is he? In the most unlikely of places, a superstitious town t hat understands little of romance or sentimentality, where bad bl ood between neighbors is ancient and impenetrable, miracles begin to bloom. No matter how copiously Father Angwin drinks while he confesses his broken faith, the level of the bottle does not drop . Although Fludd does not appear to be eating, the food on his pl ate disappears. Fludd becomes lover, gravedigger, and savior, tra nsforming his dull office into a golden regency of decision, unas hamed sensation, and unprecedented action. Knitting together the miraculous and the mundane, the dreadful and the ludicrous, Fludd is a tale of alchemy and transformation told with astonishing ar t, insight, humor, and wit. Editorial Reviews Review Fetherhoughton, the shabby and provincial village of Hilary Mant el's fifth novel, Fludd, possesses a charm that is, at best, late nt. The surrounding moorland is foreboding, the populace is queru lous and ill-educated, and the presiding priest is an atheist. It 's 1956, and drabness is general to this English backwater. Until , that is, the appearance of a disarming young priest who, appare ntly, has been dispatched to wrest Fetherhoughton out of its supe rstitious stupor. One of the novel's several wonders is that Flud d surpasses all expectations. Father Angwin, Fetherhoughton's di sbelieving priest, has--much to the displeasure of his superiors- -grown comfortable with the entrenched, misapprehending devoutnes s of his flock. Fludd, who may or may not be the curate sent to d eliver the wayward, exerts an immediate, if unexpected, influence . He intrigues the townspeople, flusters the church's gaggle of n uns, kindles a welcome self-examination in Father Angwin, and aro uses the passion of the young and yearning Sister Philomena. A ch arge of possibility suddenly animates the village, accompanied by several incidents that seem midway between coincidence and mirac le. Fludd, however, remains beset by an insistent disillusionment --his clarity, it seems, arcs outward only. Mantel's cramped and pliant village is a marvel. Fetherhoughton wrestles not against flesh and blood but against principalities, against powers, again st the rulers of the darkness of this world, insists the dour hea dmistress, Mother Perpetua. A local tobacconist, not so trivially , just might be the devil in human garb. Fludd's gift lies in une arthing all the lovely and fearsome truths buried just beneath th e surface. The frightening thing is that life is fair, he observe s, but what we need... is not justice but mercy. The fruits of th is conviction, in Fetherhoughton, are rebellion, self-assertion, and even scandal; but Mantel's lovely tale suggests that difficul t possibility is fair compensation for a sloughed predictability. --Ben Guterson From Publishers Weekly Originally published in 1989 in the U.K., Mantel's slim, intense novel displays the autho r's formidable gift for illuminating the darker side of the human heart, offering metaphoric and literal incarnations of the power ful central images of Catholicism. Her circa-1956 setting of Feth erhoughton, a provincial English village surrounded on three side s by gloomy moors, is stark and dreary, a dead end where unwanted people are unceremoniously dumped. Such is the case of Sister Ph ilomena, a sturdy farm girl-turned-nun banished from an Irish con vent because her sister Kathleen breaks convent rules. It becomes apparent that Philomena will not fit in anywhere, as she is a st range mix of innocence and knowledge, a sage romantic. Philomena finds an unlikely confidant in Father Angwin, the parish priest, who has lost his faith, thinks the town tobacconist is the devil and fears the threat of a youthful replacement for his post. When a rain-soaked man named Fludd arrives on a stormy night, Angwin assumes it is the newly appointed curate, but even so, the two be come close friends and, in time, Angwin sheds his bitterness and paranoia to become a more compassionate, wiser person. Fludd swee ps the nosy housekeeper, Agnes, off her feet with his gentlemanly manners and cool confidence, but Philomena is also strangely att racted to the devilish Fludd, who magically transforms everyone h e meets. The monstrous Mother Perpetua, headmistress of the St. T homas Aquinas School, is the lone exception, and she ends up bein g a key player in the rural face-off between good and evil. Hawth ornden Prize-winner Mantel (The Giant, O'Brien) uses her knack fo r dry wit and lovely, scene-setting detail to liven up crisp, uti litarian prose, revealing, as her characters do, the ever-surpris ing divine in the mundane. (June) Copyright 2000 Reed Business I nformation, Inc. From Publishers Weekly Originally published in 1989 in the U.K., Mantel's slim, intense novel displays the autho r's formidable gift for illuminating the darker side of the human heart, offering metaphoric and literal incarnations of the power ful central images of Catholicism. Her circa-1956 setting of Feth erhoughton, a provincial English village surrounded on three side s by gloomy moors, is stark and dreary, a dead end where unwanted people are unceremoniously dumped. Such is the case of Sister Ph ilomena, a sturdy farm girl-turned-nun banished from an Irish con vent because her sister Kathleen breaks convent rules. It becomes apparent that Philomena will not fit in anywhere, as she is a st range mix of innocence and knowledge, a sage romantic. Philomena finds an unlikely confidant in Father Angwin, the parish priest, who has lost his faith, thinks the town tobacconist is the devil and fears the threat of a youthful replacement for his post. When a rain-soaked man named Fludd arrives on a stormy night, Angwin assumes it is the newly appointed curate, but even so, the two be come close friends and, in time, Angwin sheds his bitterness and paranoia to become a more compassionate, wiser person. Fludd swee ps the nosy housekeeper, Agnes, off her feet with his gentlemanly manners and cool confidence, but Philomena is also strangely att racted to the devilish Fludd, who magically transforms everyone h e meets. The monstrous Mother Perpetua, headmistress of the St. T homas Aquinas School, is the lone exception, and she ends up bein g a key player in the rural face-off between good and evil. Hawth ornden Prize-winner Mantel (The Giant, O'Brien) uses her knack fo r dry wit and lovely, scene-setting detail to liven up crisp, uti litarian prose, revealing, as her characters do, the ever-surpris ing divine in the mundane. (June) Copyright 2000 Reed Business I nformation, Inc. Review Hilary Mantel's wildly inventive novel about a reincarnated alchemist and an imaginary village in Englan d in the fifties is 'in every sense a magical book'. ?Listener, E ngland Fludd...establishes [Mantel] in the front rank of novelis ts writing in English today. ?The Guardian (London)) About the Author Hilary Mantel twice won the Booker Prize, for her best-sel ling novel Wolf Hall and its sequel, Bring Up the Bodies. The fin al novel of the Wolf Hall trilogy, The Mirror & the Light, debute d at #1 on the New York Times bestseller list and won critical ac claim around the globe. Mantel authored over a dozen books, inclu ding A Place of Greater Safety, Beyond Black, and the memoir Givi ng Up the Ghost. About the Author Hilary Mantel twice won the Bo oker Prize, for her best-selling novel Wolf Hall and its sequel, Bring Up the Bodies. The final novel of the Wolf Hall trilogy, Th e Mirror & the Light, debuted at #1 on the New York Times bestsel ler list and won critical acclaim around the globe. Mantel author ed over a dozen books, including A Place of Greater Safety, Beyon d Black, and the memoir Giving Up the Ghost. Excerpt. ® Reprinte d by permission. All rights reserved. Fludd A NovelBy Hilary Ma ntel Holt Paperbacks Copyright © 2000 Hilary Mantel All right re served. ISBN: 9780805062731 ONEOn Wednesday the bishop came in pe rson. He was a modern prelate, brisk and plump in his rimless gla sses, and he liked nothing better than to tear around the diocese in his big black car.He had taken the precaution-advisable in th e circumstances-of announcing himself two hours before his arriva l. The telephone bell, ringing in the hall of the parish priest's house, had in itself a muted ecclesiastical tone. Miss Dempsey h eard it as she was coming from the kitchen. She stood looking at the telephone for a moment, and then approached it gingerly, walk ing on the balls of her feet. She lifted the receiver as if it we re hot. Her head on one side, holding the earpiece well away from her cheek, she listened to the message given by the bishop's sec retary. Yes My Lord, she murmured, though in retrospect she knew that the secretary did not merit this. The bishop and his sycopha nts, Father Angwin always said; Miss Dempsey supposed they were a kind of deacon. Holding the receiver in her fingertips, she repl aced it with great care. She stood in the dim passageway, for a m oment, thinking, and bowed her head momentarily, as if she had he ard the Holy Name of Jesus. Then she went to the foot of the stai rs and bellowed up them: Father Angwin, Father Angwin, get yourse lf up and dressed, the bishop will be upon us before eleven o'clo ck. Miss Dempsey went back into the kitchen, and switched on the electric light. It was not a morning when the light made a great deal of difference; the summer, a thick grey blanket, had pinned itself to the windows. Miss Dempsey heard the incessant drip, dr ip, drip from the branches and leaves outside, and a more urgent metallic drip, pit-pat, pit-pat; it was the guttering. Her figure moved, the electric light behind it, over the dull green wall; i mmense hands floated towards the kettle; as in a thick sea, her l imbs swam for the range. Upstairs, the priest beat his shoe along the floor and pretended to be coming.Ten minutes later he had go t himself up; she heard the creak of the floorboards above, the g urgle of water from the washbasin, his feet on the stairs. He sig hed as he came down the hallway, his solitary morning sigh. Sudde nly he was behind her, hovering: Agnes, have you something for my stomach?I daresay, she said. He knew where the salts were kept; but she must get it for him, as if she were his mother. Were ther e many at seven o'clock Mass?It's funny you should ask, Father sa id, just as if she did not ask it every morning. There were a few old Children of Mary, along with the usual derelicts. It wouldn' t be some special feast of theirs, would it? Walpurgisnacht?I don 't know what you mean, Father. I'm a Children of Mary myself, as you perfectly well know, and I've not heard of anything. She look ed aggrieved. Were they wearing their cloaks and all?No, they wer e in mufti, just their usual horseblankets.Miss Dempsey brought t he teapot to the table. You ought not to make mock of the Sodalit ies, Father.I wonder if something has got out about the bishop co ming? Some intelligence of a subterranean variety? Am I to have b acon, Agnes?Not with your stomach in its present state.Miss Demps ey poured from the pot, a thick brown gurgling stream, adding to the noise: the dripping trees, the wind in the chimneys.And anoth er thing, he said. McEvoy was there. Father Angwin hunched himsel f over the table. He warmed his hands around his cup. When he sai d the name of McEvoy, a shadow crossed his face, and hovered abou t his jaw, so that Miss Dempsey, who was given to imagination, th ought for a moment she had seen what he would look like when he w as eighty years old.Oh yes, she said, and did he want something?N o.I wonder why you mention him then?Dear Agnes, give me some peac e. Go and let me compose myself for His Corpulence. What does he want, do you think? What's he after this time?Agnes went out, a d uster in her hand, her face full of complaints. Whatever he had m eant about subterranean intelligence, surely he was not accusing her? Nobody but the bishop himself, forming the intention in his deep heart, had known he meant to visit-except perhaps the sycoph ants might have known. Therefore she, Miss Dempsey, could not kno w, therefore she could not hint, divulge, reveal, to the Children of Mary or anyone else in the parish. Had she known, she might h ave mentioned it. Might-if she had thought that anyone needed to know. She herself was the judge of what anyone needed to know. Fo r Miss Dempsey occupied a special mediatory position, between chu rch, convent, and everyone else. To acquire information was her p ositive duty, and then what she did with it was a matter for her judgement and experience. Miss Dempsey would have eavesdropped on the confessional, if she could; she had often wondered how she m ight manage it.Left at the breakfast table, Father Angwin stared into his teacup and shifted it about. Miss Dempsey had not master ed the use of a strainer. Nothing in particular could be seen in the leaves, but for a moment Father Angwin thought that someone h ad come into the room behind him. He lifted his face, as he did i n conversation, but there was no one there. Come in, whoever you are, he said. Have some stewed tea. Father Angwin was a foxy man, with his deadleaf-colour eyes and hair; head tilted, he sniffed the wind, and shied away from what he detected. Somewhere else in the house, a door slammed. Consider Agnes Dempsey: duster in ha nd, whisking it over the dustless bureau. In recent years her fac e had fallen softly, like a piece of light cotton folding into a box. Her neck too fell in floury, scalloped folds, to where her c lothing cut off the view. Her eyes were round, child-like, bright blue, their air of surprise compounded by her invisible eyebrows and her hair, a faded gold streaked with grey, which sprang up f rom her hairline as if crackling with static. She had pleated ski rts, and short bottle-shaped legs, and pastel twin-sets to cover the gentle twin hummocks of her bosom. Her mouth was small and pa le and indiscernible, made to ingest the food she liked: Eccles c akes, vanilla slices, miniature chocolate Swiss rolls that came w rapped in red-and-silver foil. It was her habit to peel off the f oil carefully, fold it as thin as a pencil, twist it into a ring, and pop it on her wedding finger. Then she would hold out both h ands-fingers bloodless and slightly bent by incipient arthritis-a nd appraise them, a frown of concentration appearing as a single ve, Holt Paperbacks, 2000, 3, Heritage House Publishing. Very Good. 5.5 x 0.5 x 8.5 inches. Paperback. 2010. 144 pages. <br>For over 28 years, David Thompson explored and map ped the uncharted wilds of North America. By 1812, he had surveye d over three million kilometers-one-fifth of the continent-and be come the first European to navigate the entire length of the Colu mbia River. Yet Thompson died in poverty and relative obscurity, after receiving little credit for his achievements, and his trave l narrative would remain unpublished until 1916.Elle Andra-Warner follows Thompson from his early years with the Hudson's Bay Comp any through his amazing accomplishments with the North West Compa ny to his later struggle to claim his legacy. Surveyor, map-maker , fur trader and entrepreneur, Thompson left a wealth of detail a bout the country in his journals and spent two years creating a m ap so accurate and detailed that it was the basis of many Canadia n government maps for the next century. This is the exciting life story of one of the greatest geographers of all time. Editorial Reviews Review [H]er best work yet . . . an excellent read for both adults and young readers. Elle Andra-Warner's gift as a writ er is to write like a classic newspaper reporter. She researches thoroughly and quotes shrewdly. --Hubert O'Hearn, By the Book Rev iews About the Author Elle Andra-Warner is a bestselling author, journalist and photographer. Her award-winning articles appear r egularly in major publications, and her newspaper columns have be en in print since 1994. She has given journalism workshops throug hout Canada, is an online guest journalism lecturer for the Unive rsity of California, Los Angeles, and is the co-editor of the Thu nder Bay Historical Museum Society's annual journal. ., Heritage House Publishing, 2010, 3<
