Caddeye d?ndü?ünde Reng?renk kafeler, restoranlar, giyim ma?azalar? s?ralan?p gidiyordu... Meydana do?ru bakt?: ?nsanlar rastgele bir oraya bir buraya savrulup duruyorlard?; ba?ka türlüsünü izah edemezdi ki, yoksa bu denli insan belli dü?ünce ve gayelerle bir yerlere gidiyor olamazlard?? Sanm?yordu; bunca dünya nas?l bir araya gelebilirdi; bir yan?ltma olmal?yd?; ?nünden ge?en bir bayan?n pe?ine tak?ld?; ger?e?i ??renmeliydi. Az sonra durdu; vazge?ti: ne yap?yordu? ??kmayal? uzun zaman oldu?unu hat?rlad?, yolunu de?i?tirdi. Yoruldu ve i?inde dayan?lmaz bir sigara i?me iste?ini hissetti, sonunda kafelerden birine oturmaya karar verdi. *** Garsona kahve s?ylerken o her zamanki kibirli, so?uk tavr?n? tak?nm?? ve tane tane konu?mu?tu. E?er garson “Efendim?, Anlayamad?m?” deseydi ya da s?ylenenleri teyit etmek i?in tekrar etmi? olsayd?; kahvesini i?meden kalkacakt?. Etraf?na bak?nd?; kimse onun varl???n? hissetmiyor gibi duruyordu. Rahat bir ?ekilde insanlar? izlemeye koyuldu; e?er onun gibi bir di?eri varsa g?z g?ze gelmeleri an meselesiydi. Genellikle pek ??kmazd? b?ylesi; buradakiler de sadece ya??yor gibi duruyordu; pek dikkat etmiyorlard?, her biri durmaks?z?n bir ?eyler anlatmaya devam ediyordu; ?o?unun sadece konu?mak i?in konu?tu?una bahse girerim; adeta dü?ünmemek i?in konu?uyorlar; zaman ge?irmek i?in. Sadece ya?amak istiyorlar art?k, ?ocuklu?unda kald? hayalleri hepsinin. Cevaplayamad?klar? ya da i?ine gelmeyen cevaplar bulduklar? kancalar i?in kurtulu?u olmayan bu ka???… ?yi bilirim o ?uursuz halleri; güzel bir kot, güzel bir t-shirt veya ba??n?n üstünde güne? g?zlükleri, kolunda ??k bir saat, renkli ayakkab?lar… Ve istisnas?z her insan?n akl?n?n bir k??esinde sürekli izlenme hissi... Hi? biri kendinde de?il; oysa yaln?z kald?klar?nda ?ylesine farkl?lar ki. Onlar da biliyorlar ki; yüzle?meyi erteledikleri tüm dü?ünceler bekliyor bir yerlerde kendilerini, bazen tedirginli?ini de ya??yorlar bu yüzle?menin; yine de umursam?yorlar. ?nsan denilen varl?k b?yleydi i?te; b?yle ya?ayabiliyordu bir tek… E?er herhangi bir sa?l?k sorunuyla veya k?tü bir olayla kar??la?sa bile, g?rdü?ü fark?ndal??a dayanam?yor ve ko?arak eski hayatlar?na d?nüyorlard?; hakl?yd?lar da ?ylece ya?ama dayanmak nerdeyse imk?ns?zd?. Eve do?ru y?neldi. Yorgun ve moralsizdi. Gece anlams?zca bir hayli ge? yatm??t?, sabah s?nav i?in erkenden kalkm??t?. S?nav? ne k?tü ge?mi?ti ne de iyi. Bu belirsizlik de can?n? s?k?yordu. ?yisi mi eve gidip biraz uyumal?yd?. Uyumak yar? ?lümdür derler ya; e?er bu denli rahatlat?yorsa yar? ?lüme, yani bunun tam olan?na bile raz?yd?…

17. yüzy?l ?spanya's?nda edebiyat dü?künü bir maceraperest; günümüzdeyse klasikle?mi? bir yazar: Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. ?spanyol donanmas?na kat?l?p K?br?s'ta, ?nebaht?'da, Tunus'ta, Navar?n'de sava?t?. Be? y?l Cezayir'de esir hayat? ya?ad?. ?lkesinde resmi g?revler üstlendi ve yolsuzluk, cinayet gibi gerek?elerle defalarca hapse girdi ??kt?. Her ?ey edebiyat i?indi; onca serüvenden sonra tüm zamanlar?n en ünlü hayalperesti La Manchali Don Ki?ot'u yazd?. Nesli tükenmi? ??valyelere ?zenip hayallerinde kurdu?u dünyada ya?ayan Don Ki?ot, umutsuz bir kahramanl?kla, yel de?irmenlerini devle?tiren aptall?k aras?nda bir simge günümüz dünyas?nda. T?pk? u?a?? Sanco Panza'n?n pratik ve ger?ek?i halk?n simgesi oldu?u gibi… Birinci b?lümü 1605 y?l?nda yay?mlanan ?spanyol edebiyat?n?n bu ba?yap?t?, yay?mland??? günden beri pek ?ok dile ?evrildi, defalarca bas?ld?.?mrünün son y?llar?nda da olsa, D?n Ki?ot sayesinde istedi?i un, sayg?nl?k ve paraya kavu?an Cervantes ?ldü?ünde modern roman?n ilk kilometre ta?lar?ndan birini dikti?ini bilmiyordur. ?ok farkl? ulusal edebiyatlar?n ?ok farkl? yazar, ele?tirmen ve okurlar? Don Ki?ot'u modern edebiyat?n ba?lang?? noktas? ve kutsal kitab? olarak de?erlendirirler. Don Ki?ot'un ü? tek tanr?l? dinin kutsal kitaplar?ndan sonra gelmi? ge?mi? en ?ok okunan kitab? olmas? da bu de?erlendirmenin hakl?l???n? kan?tlar. Günümüzde onun yaln?zca ilk modern roman de?il, ayn? zamanda ilk post-modern roman oldu?unu iddia edenler de var. Bu ku?kusuz tart??maya a??k bir konudur; ancak bu iddian?n kesin olarak g?sterdi?i, modern zamanlar? yararak gelen muhte?em Don Ki?ot'un tam 400 y?l ?nce ?u s?ralarda yay?nland???ndan beri güncelli?inden hi?bir ?ey kaybetmemi? oldu?udur. Belki de bu yitmezli?in, bitmezli?in s?rr? bir ba?ka edebiyat olumsuzunun, Dostoyevski'nin ?u s?zlerinin alt?nda bir yerlerdedir: "Don Ki?ot, insan dü?üncesinin en son ve en büyük s?zü, insan?n ifade edebilece?i en ac? ironidir" ?enyor Kesada'n?n tatl? delilikleri: K?yün ?atosu bir tepe üstünde yükseliyordu. Berber ile papaz o sabah bu tepenin ete?inde kar??la?t?lar; hem birbirlerini g?rmekten, hem de bu taze ve parlak sabahtan do?an sevin?le uzun uzun birbirlerinin elini s?kt?lar, ?spanya k?rlar?, g?z alabildi?ine güne?in alt?na serilip gidiyordu. G?kyüzünde en güzel yaz günlerinin derin ve temiz mavili?i vard?. Her ?ey g?ze ho? g?rünüyor, her ?ey derin bir ya?ama sevinci ve tatl?l??? ile dolup ta??yordu. Bununla beraber papaz dü?ünceli g?rünmekte idi. Berber: — Dostumuz ?enyor Kesada ne halde? diye sordu. Papaz cenazeden d?ner gibi bir ?ehre ile i?ini ?ekerek cevap verdi: — Nas?l istemezseniz ?yle. Ben ?imdi ?atodan geliyorum. Dostumuza o u?ursuz kitaplar? bir par?a b?rak?p k?rlara ??kmas? i?in yalvard?m. Ha ona nasihat vermi?sin, ha bir d??? kat?ra ! Berber ba??n? iki yana sallayarak: — Do?ru, dedi, onunki si bal gibi delilik! O ??valye romanlar? yazmakla vakitlerini ge?iren a?a??l?k yaz?c?lar?n etti?ini bulacak.

Bu kitap hayali kahraman?m?z?n ders notlar?n? i?eriyor diyebiliriz ama notlar bize ?ok ?eyi g?steriyor. Bu eser tamamen hayal ürünü oldu?u kadar biraz da ger?ekleri yans?tmaktad?r ve eser tamamen hayal ürünüdür. Ger?ek ki?i kurumlarla ilgisi yoktur ama eser konusunda bir puanlama yoluna gidebiliriz ki, bu eseri bitirdi?iniz zaman ?zel harekat?? olman?z garantisini vermiyoruz ama ?zel hayali bir ?zel harekat??l?k fakültesini yapt?k da diyebiliyoruz. Bunlar sizin ders notlar?n?z, tamam?n? okuman?z halinde hi?bir ?ey anlamayacaks?n?z diyebilirim, b?yle ?eyler gayet normal fakat bu durum lehinize olacakt?r. Anlamama oran?n?z ge?me notunuzu verecektir, ne kadar anlamazsan?z o kadar yüksek al?rs?n?z. Tekrar okursan?z yüksek lisans yapars?n?z ama size sa? kalma garantisi veriyoruz evet kendi ordunuz olsun ve komutan? olmak istemez misiniz? E?er cevab?n?z evetse ?lümsüzlük iksirinizi size ikram edece?iz biz bir orduyuz ama isteyen istedi?i davan?n adam? olacak, yani ba??n?zda komutan olmayacak ama en fazla yirmi milyon askerinizin olmas?na izin verilecek. Asl?nda hayal dünyas?n?n ucu buca?? yok, ?ünkü ya?ad???n yerin vergisini ?demek bazen kanla oluyor ve say?n?z artt?k?a kan?n?z damarlar?n?zdan ?ekiliyor ve tabi bu da insanlar? su?a bula?t?r?yor. Oysa ?zel harekat??l?k su?luyu veya su?u ortadan kald?rmak i?indir, meslek sahibi olamad?ysan?z bir i?e yaramad???n?z? dü?ünüyorsan?z, ?lmek i?in bile bir sebebiniz yoksa, bu kitab? okuyun derim. Art?k ?lmemek i?in bir sebebiniz olmayacak, peki nedir bu ?zel hayali ?zel harekat? Bu i? bitti?inde hayalet harekat olacaks?n?z kimseye bir eyvallah?n?z olmayacak. * * * Uyand?lar, yepyeni bir gündü s?cac?k nefes al?p verecek kadar birbirlerine sar?ld?lar frei ve aden. Yine beraber uyanm??lard?, neler yapt?klar?ndan heberleri yoktu ve yine alkol alm?lard?, dev kazay? beraber atlatt?lar. Bu kadar samimilerdi ama sonradan samimiyet hatay? tetikledi ve ikisi de o an bomba gibilerdi ama sanki yolunda gitmeyen bir ?eyler vard?, mutlu de?ildiler. Her ?eyleri oldu?undan art?k ne yapmal?y?z diye dü?ündüler, sanki ?lümü de tatm??lard?, ruhlar alemine gidip gelmi?lerdi. Malum aksiyon macera can s?k?nt?s?na iyi gelirdi, gelmi? ge?mi? zamanlar?n kendilerince en iyi olmalar?na kar??n, freinin yetenekleri s?n?rl?yd?. Keza onu da tanr? yaratm??t? ama tüm bran?larda en iyisi olma gücünü ona bah?etmi?ti. Nereden bilecekti ki bunun bir foto?raf makinesinin tu?unda oldu?u, tabi ilgilendikleri bran?larda bu ba?ka boyutlarda da oluyordu. Bu adamlardan ?ldürünce her?ey sanki tekrar yoluna giriyordu, en k?tülere yap??t?lar ama ikisi de me?guldü. ?u an saniyeler saniyeleri a?t? tan??t?klar süre boyunca bir gün bile ayr? uyumad?lar ve japon kimli?iyle o?luna verdi?i ismiyle, frei yani takashi gidip hayat?n tad?n? ??karmak istemedi. Bu ilk kez oluyordu, belki tanr? onlara birbilerini bah?etmi?ti, a?klar? onlar? hayata ba?l?yordu. Hayatlar?n? da nerde nas?l olursa olsun. Birbirlerine hayatlar?n? atfetmi?lerdi sakin sakin durdular birbirlerine tekrar bakt?lar. Sokaktan bir iki sarho? ?evirdiler tuhaf tuhaf sorular sordular, tuhaf cevaplar ald?lar ama ?te yandan gidip girdikleri ikinci bir kaosu daha kald?ramayacak durumdayd?lar. Neyse dediler a?ktan kim s?k?l?r dediklerine ra?men, beraber ba?ka ülkelere gidip neler yapabilecekleri konusunda hi?bir fikirleri yoktu ama di?er yandan hatalar?n? gideren ?eyler belki de ikisi aras?nda gizli bir ba?d?, belki de a?kt?, belki de ortakl?k, belki de tüm bu olanlar duruma g?re de?i?iyordu.?

Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail. Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail. Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don’t know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnised it with an undoubted bargain. The mention of Marley’s funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet’s Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middleaged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot—say Saint Paul’s Churchyard for instance—literally to astonish his son’s weak mind..

The San Martin, a single-screw cargo steamer of 3050 tons, was on her way from Realejo to Tahiti. Built on the Clyde twenty years back, this Peruvian-owned tramp was no longer in her prime. Since passing out of the hands of her British owners, neglect had lessened her speed, while the addition of various deck-houses, to suit the requirements of the South American firm under whose house-flag she sailed, had not increased her steadiness.??Captain Antonio Perez, who was in command, was a short, thick-set man of almost pure Spanish descent, swarthy, greasy, and vain—combining all the characteristics, good, bad, and indifferent, of the South American skipper. As part owner of the San Martin he was glad of the opportunity of adding to the vessel's earnings, so he had willingly agreed to take five passengers as far as Tahiti.? The five passengers were Mr. McKay, his son Andrew, Terence Donaghue, Fanshaw Ellerton, and Quexo; but before relating the circumstances in which they found themselves on board the San Martin, it will be necessary to introduce them to our readers.

The Jatakas, or Birth-stories, form one of the sac-red books of the Buddhists and relate to the adventures of the Buddha in his former existences, the best character in any story being identified with the Master.??These legends were continually introduced into the religious discourses of the Buddhist teachers to illustrate the doctrines of their faith or to magnify the glory and sanctity of the Buddha, somewhat as medieval preachers in Europe used to enliven their sermons by introducing fables and popular tales to rouse the flagging interest of their hearers.? Sculptured scenes from the Jatakas, found upon the carved railings around the relic shrines of Sanchi and Amaravati and of Bharhut, indicate that the "Birth-stories" were widely known in the third century B.C., and were then considered as part of the sacred history of the religion. ??At first the tales were probably handed down orally, and it is uncertain when they were put together in systematic form.??While some of the stories are Buddhistic and depend for their point on some custom or idea peculiar to Buddhism, many are age-old fables, the flotsam and jetsam of folklore, which have appeared under various guises throughout the centuries, as when they were used by Boccaccio or Poggio, merely as merry tales, or by Chaucer, who unwittingly puts a Jataka story into the mouth of his pardoners when he tells the tale of "the Ryotoures three."??Quaint humor and gentle earnestness distinguish these legends and they teach many wholesome lessons, among them the duty of kindness to animals.??Dr. Felix Adler in his "Moral Instruction of Children," says:?The Jataka Tales contain deep truths, and are calcu-lated to impress lessons of great moral beauty. The tale of the Merchant of Seri, who gave up all that he had in exchange for a golden dish, embodies much the same idea as the parable of the priceless Pearl, in the New Testament. The tale of the Measures of Rice illustrates the importance of a true estimate of values. The tale of the Banyan Deer, which offered its life to save a roe and her young, illustrates self-sacrifice of the noblest sort. The tale of the Sandy Road is one of the finest in the collection..

IN the year 1719 an Englishman whose name was Daniel Defoe wrote a very long story, which he called "The Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe." His story was not designed for children, and therefore it contained a great deal of hard reading. There was much in it, however, that was interesting to young people, and from that day to this, the marvelous tale of Robinson Crusoe has been a favorite with boys as well as men. I have rewritten the story in words easy for every child, and have shortened it by leaving out all the dull parts.??I WISH TO BE A SAILOR?MY name is Robinson Crusoe. I was born in the old city of York, where there is a broad river, with ships coming and going.?When I was a little boy, I spent much of my time looking at the river.?How pleasant was the quiet stream, flowing, always flowing, toward the far-away sea!

THE romance entitled "The Achievements of the Ingenious Gentleman, Don Quixote de la Mancha," was originally written in Spanish by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. It was published in two parts, the first in 1605 and the second in 1615—now just about three hundred years ago. Among the great books of the world it holds a permanent place. It has been translated into every language of Europe, even Turkish and Slavonic. It has been published in numberless editions. It has been read and enjoyed by men of the most diverse tastes and conditions.??The story is so simple that every one can understand it, and yet it has in it so much wisdom that the wisest may derive pleasure from it. It touches the sen-se of humor in every heart. It moves to pity rather than ridicule, and to tears as well as laughter. And herein lies its chief claim to greatness, that it seems to have been written not for one country nor for one age alone, but to give delight to all mankind. "It is our joyfullest modern book."??In its original form, however, it is a bulky work, dismaying the present-day reader by its vastness. For it fills more than a thousand closely printed pages, and the story itself is interrupted and encumbered by episodes and tedious passages which are no longer interesting and which we have no time to read. The person who would get at the kernel of this famous book and know something of its plan and its literary worth, must either struggle through many pages of tiresome details and unnecessary digressions, or he must resort to much ingenious skipping. In these days of many books and hasty reading, it is scarcely possible that any person should read the whole of Don Quixote in its original form. And yet no scholar can afford to be ignorant of a work so famous and so enjoyable.??These considerations have led to the preparation of the present small volume. It is not so much an ab-ridgment of the great book by Cervantes as it is a rewriting of some of its most interesting parts. While very much of the work has necessarily been omitted, the various adventures are so related as to form a continuous narrative; and in every way an effort is made to give a clear idea of the manner and content of the original. Although Cervantes certainly had no thought of writing a story for children, there are many passages in Don Quixote which appeal particularly to young readers; and it is hoped that this adaptation of such passages will serve a useful purpose in awakening a desire to become further acquainted with that great world's classic..

The Call of the Wild is a novel by American writer Jack London. The plot concerns a previously domesticated and even somewhat pampered dog named Buck, whose primordial instincts return after a series of events finds him serving as a sled dog in the treacherous, frigid Yukon during the days of the 19th century Klondike Gold Rushes.Published in 1903, The Call of the Wild is one of London's most-read books, and it is generally considered one of his best. Because the protagonist is a dog, it is sometimes classified as a juvenile novel, suitable for children, but it is dark in tone and contains numerous scenes of cruelty and violence. London followed the book in 1906 with White Fang, a companion novel with many similar plot elements and themes as The Call of the Wild, although following a mirror image plot in which a wild wolf becomes civilized by a mining expert from San Francisco named Weedon Scott. * * * BUCK did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong musc-les by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost. Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached by gravelled driveways which wound about through widespreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vineclad servants' cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where Judge Miller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot afternoon.

THE YEAR 1400 opened with more than usual pea-cefulness in England. Only a few months before, Richard II—weak, wicked, and treacherous—had been dethroned, and Henry IV declared King in his stead. But it was only a seeming peacefulness, lasting but for a little while; for though King Henry proved himself a just and a merciful man—as justice and mercy went with the men of iron of those days—and though he did not care to shed blood needlessly, there were many noble families who had been benefited by King Richard during his reign, and who had lost somewhat of their power and prestige from the co-ming in of the new King. Among these were a number of great lords—the Dukes of Albemarle, Surrey, and Exeter, the Marquis of Dorset, the Earl of Gloucester, and others—who had been degra-ded to their former titles and estates, from which King Richard had lifted them. These and others brewed a secret plot to take King Henry's life, which plot might have succeeded had not one of their own number betrayed them. Their plan had been to fall upon the King and his adherents, and to massacre them during a great tournament, to be held at Oxford. But Henry did not appear at the lists; whereupon, knowing that he had been lodging at Windsor with only a few attendants, the conspirators marched thither against him. In the mean time the King had been warned of the plot, so that, instead of finding him in the royal castle, they discovered through their scouts that he had hurried to London, whence he was even then marching against them at the head of a considerable army. So nothing was left them but flight. Some betook themselves one way, some another; some sought sanctuary here, some there; but one and another, they were all of them caught and killed.

A short story sequel to MELT INTO YOU - find out what Evan, Jace and Andre get up to next… Two dominant men, one beautiful woman. Jace Austin knows he doesn't have what you'd call a conventional relationship with Evan and Andre, but it works. Boy, does it work. Until one day, Evan starts acting strangely and Andre's ex-fiancée pops back into his life, unbalancing a perfectly happy threesome. Jace is forced to face the unthinkable: that the two people he cares most about in this world are in danger of slipping away from him. So Jace plans a surprise getaway to a secluded mountain cabin for the three of them. And he knows exactly what he needs to do: give both his lovers a fantasy week they'll never forget. And the possibilities for pleasure are endless. But when they get snowed in and the heat between them reaches a fever pitch, secrets come out. And Evan has one that could change all their lives forever…

Points of View

Points of View

This fourth novel of Boothby's Dr. Nikola series reveals that Nikola has discovered all of the facts necessary to extend a human being's life. He has studied science and magic secrets of Tibetan monks. He explains: ?"It has been a long and tedious search, but such labour only makes success the sweeter. The machinery is now prepared; all that remains is to fit the various parts together. In six months' time, if all goes well, I will have a man walking upon this earth who, under certain conditions, shall live a thousand years."??To assist him, he hires a destitute young physician, who explains his predicament: ?"As ill luck would have it, however, I had got into the wrong set, and before I had been two years in the hospital was over head and ears in such a quagmire of debt and difficulties that it looked as if nothing but an absolute miracle co-uld serve to extricate me." ?That miracle seems to have come to him in the person of Dr. Nikola.??The nefarious and wealthy Nikola has purchased a remote castle in the north of England, where the seclusion will allow him and his new assistant and Nikola's deaf-mute malformed Chinese servant to conduct his grand experiment on a human subject. ? AUTHOR: Guy Newell Boothby was an Australian novelist and writer, born in Adelaide, son of Thomas Wilde Boothby, who for a time was a member of the South Australian Legislative Assembly. Guy Boothby's grandfather was Benjamin Boothby (1803-1868), judge of the supreme court of South Australia from 1853 to 1867. When Boothby was six, he traveled to England with his mother. Around 1890, he took the position of private secretary to the mayor of Adelaide, Australia, but was not content with the work due to little opportunity for advancement. He turned to his writing talents, writing librettos for 2 comic operas and stories about Australian life. Boothby moved back to the United Kingdom in 1894. He wrote over 50 books in the course of a decade, before dying of pneumonia in Bournemouth. Some of Boothby's earlier works were non-fiction, but later he turned to writing novels. He was once well known for his series of five novels about Doctor Nikola, an occultist anti-hero seeking immortality and world domination.

LET us now go to Switzerland, and see its wonderful mountains, whose steep, rocky sides are covered with trees. We will climb up to the fields of snow, and then make our way down to the grassy valleys, with their countless streams and rivulets, impetuously rushing to lose themselves in the sea. The sunshine is hot in the narrow valley; the snow becomes firm and solid, and in the course of time it either descends as an avalanche, or creeps along as a glacier. ??THERE are two of these glaciers in the valleys below the Schreckhorn and the Wetterhorn, near the long village of Grindelwald. They are a remarka-ble sight, and therefore many travelers from all countries come in the summer to visit them: they come over the high mountains covered with snow, they traverse the deep valleys; and to do this they must climb, hour after hour, leaving the valley far beneath them, till they see it as if they were in an air-balloon. ??The clouds hang above them like thick mists over the mountains, and the sun's rays make their way through the openings between the clouds to where the brown houses lie spread, lighting up some chance spot with a vivid green. Below, the stream foams and blusters; but above it murmurs and ripples, and looks like a band of silver hanging down the side of the rock.??On either side of the path up the mountain lie wooden houses. Each house has its little plot of potatoes; and this they all require, for there are many children, and they all have good appetites. The children come out to meet every stranger, whether walking or riding, and ask him to buy their carved wooden ch?lets, made like the houses they live in. Be it fine or be it wet, the children try to sell their carvings.??About twenty years since you might have seen one little boy standing apart from the others, but evidently very desirous to dispose of his wares. He looked grave and sad, and held his little tray tightly with both hands as if he was afraid of losing it. This serious look and his small size caused him to be much noticed by travelers, who often called him and purchased many of his toys, though he did not know why he was so favored. His grandfather lived two miles off among the mountains, where he did his carving. He had a cabinet full of the things he had made. ??There were nut-crackers, knives and forks, boxes carved with leaves and chamois, and many toys for children; but little Rudy cared for nothing so much as for an old gun, hanging from a rafter in the ceiling, for his grandfather had told him it should be his own when he was big enough to know how to use it.

“Star Maker”, regarded as one of the true classics of science fiction, Star Maker is a poetic and deeply philosophical work. The story details the mental journey of an unnamed narrator who is transported not only to other worlds but also other galaxies and parallel universes, until he eventually becomes part of the "cosmic mind." First published in 1937, Olaf Stapledon's descriptions of alien life are a political commentary on human life in the turbulent inter-war years. The book challenges preconceived notions of intelligence and awareness, and ultimately argues for a broadened perspective that would free us from culturally ingrained thought and our inevitable anthropomorphism. This is the first scholarly edition of a book that influenced such writers as C.S. Lewis and Arthur C. Clarke and which Jorge Luis Borges called "a prodigious novel."? Some Books of Stapledon: Last and First Men (1930) Sirius: A Fantasy of Love and Discord (1944) Odd John: A Story Between Jest and Earnest (1935) Last Men in London (1932) A Modern Magician (1979) Death into Life (1946) Darkness and the Light (1942) A World of Sound (1936) A Man Divided (1950) The Seed and the Flower (1916)

Half way up the side of a tall tree there was a round hole in the trunk. The hole was lined with soft, dried leaves, and bits of white, fluffy cotton, from the milkweed plant. And, if you looked very carefully at the hole, you might see, peering from it, a little head, like that of a very small kitten, and a pair of very bright eyes.??But it was not a kitten that looked from the little hole in the trunk of the tree. Kitties can climb trees, but they do not like to live in them. They would rather have a warm place behind the stove, with a nice saucer of milk.??Now if I tell you that the little creatures who lived in this hole-nest had big, fluffy tails, and that they could sit up on their hind legs, and eat nuts, I am sure you can guess what they were.??Squirrels! That’s it! In the nest, half way up the big tree in the woods, lived a family of gray squirrels, and I am going to tell you about them, or, rather, more particularly, about one of the little girl squirrels whose name was Slicko.

“That’s awfully strange!” exclaimed Coppertop.??“If a Book of Travels can’t move about a bit, who can?”?“Not a bit,” replied the Book without turning round. “I must improve my circulation somehow! And if a book of travels can’t move about a bit, who can, I should like to know?”??“Come along,” cried Tibbs.?While Coppertop was wondering what reply to make, the Book reached out its hand and pulled the blind, which went up with such force that it twirled round and round the roller at the top.?“What a day for the first of December!” exclaimed the Book. “I’m going to look for something better,” and so saying, it sat on the floor and rapidly turned over its own pages, saying as it did so:??“North, South, East, West,?Weather’s never at its best.?India, Egypt, or Japan,?Give us better, if you can.”?Coppertop blinked at the book of travels, and then at the window, unable to believe her eyes.??It was daybreak, and RAINING HARD.?“Oh dear, oh dear, how dreadfully botherating!” she exclaimed, almost in tears.??“I simply must get a fine December day somehow. It will never do for ‘them’ to arrive on a soaking wet day like this. It’s all the fault of that stupid old clerk of the weather, he does get things so mixed up! Why, this is more like a horrid July day!”?“That’s what it is,” muttered the Book of Travels.

An ancient English Cathedral Tower? How can the ancient English Cathedral tower be here! The well-known massive gray square tower of its old Cathedral? How can that be here! There is no spike of rusty iron in the air, between the eye and it, from any point of the real prospect. What is the spike that intervenes, and who has set it up? ?Maybe it is set up by the Sultan’s orders for the impaling of a horde of Turkish robbers, one by one. It is so, for cymbals clash, and the Sultan goes by to his palace in long procession. Ten thousand scimitars flash in the sunlight, and thrice ten thousand dancing-girls strew flowers. Then, follow white elephants caparisoned in countless gorgeous colours, and infinite in number and attendants. Still the Cathedral Tower rises in the background, where it cannot be, and still no writhing figure is on the grim spike. Stay! ??Is the spike so low a thing as the rusty spike on the top of a post of an old bedstead that has tumbled all awry? Some vague period of drowsy laughter must be devoted to the consideration of this possibility.??Shaking from head to foot, the man whose scattered consciousness has thus fantastically pieced itself together, at length rises, supports his trembling frame upon his arms, and looks around. He is in the meanest and closest of small rooms. Through the ragged window-curtain, the light of early day steals in from a miserable court. He lies, dressed, across a large unseemly bed, upon a bedstead that has indeed given way under the weight upon it. Lying, also dressed and also across the bed, not longwise, are a Chinaman, a Lascar, and a haggard woman. ??The two first are in a sleep or stupor; the last is blowing at a kind of pipe, to kindle it. And as she blows, and shading it with her lean hand, concentrates its red spark of light, it serves in the dim morning as a lamp to show him what he sees of her.??‘Another?’ says this woman, in a querulous, rattling whisper. ??‘Have another?’

Gabriel Quennec est avocat. Marié, trois enfants, sa vie s’écoule dans l’indifférence totale à tout ce qui l’entoure. Un matin, une voiture le percute violemment alors qu’il se rend à son travail et prend la fuite. Gabriel est tué sur le coup. Dès lors, il n’aura de cesse de retrouver son meurtrier afin de le pousser à se rendre à la justice. Comment se venger lorsque l’on est un fant?me?? Michel, son être de lumière, va l’aider dans cette quête et va lui faire découvrir les maux qui rongent notre société. Au fur et à mesure de son enquête, Gabriel sera confronté au pire comme au meilleur. Gabriel arrivera-t-il à sortir de son indifférence qui le caractérisait de son vivant?? Arrivera-t-il à trouver la paix intérieure?? De sa vie en tant qu'entité, Gabriel laissera à l'humanité un témoignage dans lequel il expliquera son choix. Car Gabriel a une grave décision à prendre. Un récit poignant qui nous pousse à ouvrir les yeux sur ce qu’il se passe autour de nous. Arriverons-nous à réagir avant qu’il ne soit trop tard??

Once upon a time there lived a King and a Queen who had one daughter called Rainbow. When she was christened, the people of the city were gathered together outside the cathedral, and amongst them was an old gipsy woman. The gipsy wanted to go inside the cathedral, but the Beadle would not let her, because he said there was no room. When the ceremony was over, and the King and Queen walked out, followed by the Head Nurse who carried the baby, the gipsy called out to them:?"Your daughter will be very beautiful, and as happy as the day is long, until she sees the Spring!" And then she disappeared in the crowd.?The King and the Queen took counsel together and the King said: "That gipsy was evidently a fairy, and what she said bodes no good."?"Yes," said the Queen, "there is only one thing to be done: Rainbow must never see the Spring, nor even hear that there is such a thing."??So an order was issued to the whole city, that if any one should say the word "Spring" in the presence of Princess Rainbow he would have his head cut off. Moreover, it was settled that the Princess should never be allowed to go outside the palace, and during the springtime she should be kept entirely indoors.??The King and the Queen lived in a city which was on the top of a hill, and had a wall round it, and the King's palace was in the middle of it. In the springtime Rainbow was taken to a high tow-er which looked on to the little round city, and from her window you could see the spires of the churches, the ramparts, and the broad green plain beyond. But a curtain made of canvas was fas-tened outside Rainbow's window, so that she could see nothing, and she was not allowed to go outside her tower until the spring-time was over.??Rainbow grew up into a most beautiful Princess, with grey eyes and fair hair, and until she was sixteen all went well, and nothing happened to interfere with her happiness.