2005, ISBN: 9780871136916
Hardcover
New York: Delacorte Press, 1998. Hardcover. Very Good/Very Good. 5.5"x8.5"x1". 259 pages. Black boards with gilt letters on spine. Jacket design by Jorge Martinez.. Front and back jacke… More...
New York: Delacorte Press, 1998. Hardcover. Very Good/Very Good. 5.5"x8.5"x1". 259 pages. Black boards with gilt letters on spine. Jacket design by Jorge Martinez.. Front and back jacket photos c Eliot Holtaman. Spine slanted. PON blacked out inside front cover. Binding tight, pages clean and bright. DJ rough around edges. Not x-library, not clipped. "This is the story of an extraordinary boy with a brilliant mind, a heart of gold, and a tortured soul. It is the story of an illness, a fight to live, and a race against death." From the day he was born, Nick Traina was his mother's joy. By nineteen, he was dead. This is Danielle Steel's powerful personal story of the son she lost and the lessons she learned during his courageous battle against darkness. Sharing tender, painful memories and Nick's remarkable journals, Steel brings us a haunting duet between a singular young man and the mother who loved him--and a harrowing portrait of a masked killer called manic depression, which afflicts between two and three million Americans. Nick rocketed through life like a shooting star. Signs of his illness were subtle, often paradoxical. He spoke in full sentences at age one. He was a brilliant, charming child who never slept. And at first, even his mother explained away his quicksilver moods. Nick always marched to a different drummer. His gift for writing was extraordinary, his musical talent promised a golden future. But by the time he entered junior high, Danielle Steel saw her beloved son hurtling toward disaster and tried desperately to get Nick the help he needed--the opening salvos of what would become a ferocious pitched battle for his life. Even as he struggled, Nick's charisma and accomplishments remained undimmed. He bared his soul in his journal with uncanny insight, in searing prose, poetry, and song. When he was finally diagnosed and treated, it bought time, but too little. In the end, perhaps nothing could have saved him from the insidious disease that had shadowed him from his earliest years. At once a loving legacy and an unsparing depiction of a devastating illness, Danielle Steel's tribute to her lost son is a gift of life, hope, healing, and understanding to us all." Goodreads****4.14., Delacorte Press, 1998, 3, Ivy Books. Very Good. 4.19 x 1.12 x 6.79 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2005. 512 pages. Cover worn<br>Bestselling author Nicole Jordan weaves a breathtakingly sensuous story of love and passion between the v aliant Ariane of Claredon and the fierce knight who loses his hea rt to her. . . . For five turbulent years Ariane has dutifully p repared herself for marriage to King Henry's most trusted vassal, the legendary Norman knight Ranulf de Vernay. But cruel circumst ance has branded Ariane's father a traitor to the crown. And now Ranulf is returning to Claredon, not as a bridegroom . . . but as a conqueror. Survivor of a hellish youth, Ranulf knows well the treacheries of noblewomen-and mistrusts the regal, defiant beaut y to whom he was once betrothed. But while he shields his wounded heart with impenetrable armor, she sears his soul with sensuous fire. Ranulf may have vowed to claim her lands and her body as hi s prize, but ultimately it is the mighty warrior who must surrend er to Ariane's proud, determined passion-and her remarkable heali ng love. Editorial Reviews Review Ms. Jordan proves herself a m arvelous storyteller. -Rendezvous From the Back Cover Bestsellin g author Nicole Jordan weaves a breathtakingly sensuous story of love and passion between the valiant Ariane of Claredon and the f ierce knight who loses his heart to her. . . . For five turbulen t years Ariane has dutifully prepared herself for marriage to Kin g Henry's most trusted vassal, the legendary Norman knight Ranulf de Vernay. But cruel circumstance has branded Ariane's father a traitor to the crown. And now Ranulf is returning to Claredon, no t as a bridegroom . . . but as a conqueror. Survivor of a hellis h youth, Ranulf knows well the treacheries of noblewomen-and mist rusts the regal, defiant beauty to whom he was once betrothed. Bu t while he shields his wounded heart with impenetrable armor, she sears his soul with sensuous fire. Ranulf may have vowed to clai m her lands and her body as his prize, but ultimately it is the m ighty warrior who must surrender to Ariane's proud, determined pa ssion-and her remarkable healing love. About the Author Nicole J ordan is the nationally bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She recently moved with her real-life hero to the Rock y Mountains of Utah, where she is at work on her next sizzling ta le of dangerous rakes and bold adventurers during the Regency era . You can e-mail her via her website at www.NicoleJordanAuthor.co m. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Vern ay Keep, Normandy: November 1154 The warm lips nuzzling his bare skin no longer had the power to arouse him, nor did the cool, si lken hair trailing provocatively over his naked back. Ranulf lay sprawled on his stomach upon the musky linen sheets, sated and sp ent, his body glistening with sweat after his exertions. Pleasing two lusty wenches at once taxed even a man of his strength and s tamina. Yet Layla continued her merciless assault with mouth and tongue, her lush, opulent curves pressing erotically against him , her nails sending delicate shivers racing along his spine, her teeth intermittently nipping his buttocks with a sharpness that w as just short of pain. Enough, he muttered huskily-a command he lacked the energy to enforce. When she bent to offer a luscious breast to him, teas- ing her dusky nipple against his mouth, Ranu lf patiently averted his head. When she threaded her fingers thro ugh his raven hair and tugged insistently, he merely caught her w rist and pried loose her grip. It was only when Layla scraped her nails in a deliberate path over his scarred back that he finally reacted; she knew quite well such probing of his scars was forbi dden, even though he had been unable to break her of the habit. Cease, wench. At his sharp tone, the ripe young body at his othe r side flinched, and Ranulf had to murmur gently to Flore and str oke her soothingly till she curled against him once more. For te mperament, he much preferred the petite, fair-haired Flore to the voluptuous Layla, whose ebony tresses were as dark as his own. F lore was a sweetly submissive Norman wench, always eager to do hi s bidding, whereas the foreign Layla had a grasping, querulous na ture. Only because of her exquisite skills did he humor the beaut iful Saracen. I seek simply to pleasure you, lord, she said petu lantly in her thick, honeyed accents. You know well Layla pleases you far better than any other. Ranulf could not dispute her cla im. Stolen from her family and enslaved in an infidel brothel, La yla had been trained in the sexual arts of the East, and knew wel l how to satisfy a man and bring his desire to a fever pitch. If he also gained a bitter measure of satisfaction in possessing th e exotic concubine his detested father had brought back from the Holy Land . . . well then, he would not deny himself the pleasure , even if he was perforce required to bear with Layla's sharp ton gue and acid jealousy. He could have chosen from a dozen peasant wenches just as eager to warm his bed, and yet tonight he had nee ded the fierce release the Saracen could bring him. He needed to forget. Summoning Flore at the same time only increased the odds that he would find respite from the demons that shadowed him. Yo u are cruel to Layla, lord, she complained, running her tongue ov er her pouting lower lip. Methinks thrice is enough, Ranulf reto rted, his tone dry, even for a woman of your passion. In answer, she captured his hand and held it to the satiny flesh of her gen erous breast. You dislike my passion? You desire Layla no longer? Ranulf grinned unwillingly as he gave her taut nipple a playful squeeze. You would have to geld me to quench my desire for you, wench. But it is time for you to seek your own pallet. When Layla made to protest, Ranulf raised his powerful body up on one elbow . You know my wishes. I sleep alone. In truth, he was not singli ng her out for punishment by sending her away. His solitary slumb er was a self-imposed rule. Though he took great pleasure in the female body, he rarely lingered with a woman. Too much sensual in dulgence bred softness in a warrior; a knight who cavorted too of ten grew lazy and careless. When Layla refused to budge, Ranulf gave her bare flank a mild cuff, which made her squeal in mock pr otest. Defiantly, she lay back upon the dishevelled pillows, gaz ing up at him with languorous, seductive eyes. Provocatively her long fingers played over her sumptuous breasts, caressing the dus ky crimson nipples in erotic invitation, while her lush thighs sp read for his masculine appreciation. Once more, lord, I beg you. . . . Despite her disobedience, Ranulf gave a rough chuckle. He was sated enough at the moment to be amused at her tactics, and w ise enough to relent. Sometimes it behooved a man to let a wench win small victories so that she yielded more readily in important matters. Once more, then. His fingers splayed over the smooth m ound between her thighs, shaved bare in the Saracen style . . . p arting the damp, passion-flushed lips, seeking the tender nubbin that was a woman's delight. Layla drew a sharp breath and closed her eyes, while her legs opened wide, giving his stroking finger s full access to her heated, dewy center. With controlled experti se, he caressed the slick flesh, sliding slowly inside the hot, s leek moistness. Layla quivered with arousal. In merely moments a throaty moan of rapture escaped her; her head fell back in ecstas y as she arched her supple back, her voluptuous, golden body undu lating in the flickering candlelight. Ranulf viewed her breathle ss, writhing response with gratification. Layla deserved to be re warded for her earlier exquisite ministrations. She had provided him comfort tonight; it was only fair he reciprocate. Indeed, for the past fortnight-ever since he'd returned home to Vernay to co ol his heels and await a summons from Duke Henry-Layla had succor ed him frequently. He should feel more remorse, perhaps, at relax ing his own strict custom of self-denial. Yet if he indulged his lust more often than usual when occupying Vernay Keep, it was bec ause the diversion helped keep the memories at bay. Restlessly, Ranulf lifted his gaze from the panting woman in his bed to glanc e beyond the open bed curtains. The solar at Vernay, where the lo rd slept and spent his leisure, remained a cold, stark, spartan c hamber, devoid of comforts other than a roaring fire in the heart h and an occasional tapestry draping the stone walls to thwart th e chill. He had refused to change a single appointment since his father's tenancy, perversely determined to preserve the bitter ev idence of his past. Yet he was lord here now, Ranulf reminded hi mself. The honor of Vernay belonged to him, given to him in fief by Duke Henry, along with a charter of nobility that had reinstat ed him to his rightful rank. He was a disinherited, landless cast off no longer. For all his present power and wealth, though, he could not quell the unease that always assaulted him in this cham ber-the place where his father had flayed the flesh from his back . Even now, his skin turned clammy with dread each time he entere d these apartments, for he could not help recalling the terror an d pain of his youth. He had no need even to shut his eyes to reme mber crouching there against the far wall as a child, naked and t rembling, waiting to endure the punishment of a vengeful sire. No t even the current consolation of heated female flesh could compl etely drive away the memories-although it made up in some measure for the countless hours of fear and torment he had suffered here . The distant blare of the night watchman's horn brought Ranulf' s head up like a wolf scenting the wind. At his sudden tensing, L ayla's eyes flew open. Nay! My lord . . . you cannot cease. . . . Her demanding tone was sharp and insistent-and breathless as we ll. He smiled faintly as his brutal memories faded. We have time . And they would. Any new arrival must first await the lowering of the drawbridge, then ride through the outer and inner baileys before seeking entrance to Vernay's tower. He had the leisure to bring Layla to fulfillment. Yet even before the grateful, sobbi ng woman had collapsed against him, Ranulf's thoughts had already moved ahead to review his plans. If the new arrival was indeed t he duke's messenger with a summons, it meant King Stephen had die d and Henry was preparing to claim his rightful crown as king of England. And since Henry was certain to be met with resistance, h e would need to raise adequate forces to ensure the successful as sumption of power. Ranulf felt anticipation swell at the promise d conflict. Not only was he willing to supply the knight's fees h e owed his liege, he was impatient to take up arms for Henry. He had remained idle too long, his battle sword and lance growing ru sty with disuse. For the past three months and more, peace had re igned in Normandy. There had been no rebellions, no skirmishes, n ot even a nearby tourney where he could hone his skills and exhau st his frustrations in the melee or increase his wealth by captur ing enemy knights for ransom. For the past fortnight all had bee n in readiness for the forthcoming journey: the armor polished, t he weapons sharpened, and the baggage wains staged for loading. H is knights and men-at-arms had engaged in daily practice, sparrin g in swordplay, tilting at the quintains, shooting archery butts, and yet, they too were restless at the delay and eager to begin the campaign. And now it seemed the moment was at hand. As Ranu lf expected, a lengthy interval passed before a rap sounded on th e iron-banded door-time which he spent attending to Flore's pleas ure in reward for her sweetness and patience. At his command to e nter, Ranulf's vassal, Payn FitzOsbern, strode into the solar, ha lf-dressed in an unlaced tunic and grinning broadly. Duke Henry? Ranulf queried as he eased his body over the Saracen wench to si t on the edge of the massive bed. Aye, the duke-soon to be king of England. He rides for the coast in two days' time and expects us to accompany him. Payn made no apparent attempt to keep the gl ee from his tone. The messenger would speak with you. Flashing h is own grin, Ranulf solicitously twitched the linen sheet up over the two nude women in his bed. Bid him enter. The messenger had obviously ridden hard from the duke's court, for his cloak was s pattered with mud, while grime and weariness lined his face. He c onfirmed what Payn had already announced, adding more details abo ut the departure plans and composition of Henry's forces, and war ning of the resistance expected from the late King Stephen's supp orters in England. Satisfied, Ranulf dismissed the man with orde rs to seek food and rest in the hall, then strode naked to the ta ble where refreshment awaited. Pouring wine from a flagon into tw o pewter cups, he handed one to Payn and raised his own. On to E ngland, then! Aye, on to England! May we find a vast supply of E nglish rebels to vanquish-before your impatience renders your tem per even more vile than of late. I? Ranulf's black eyebrow rose in amused mockery. My disposition has been sweet as honey. His v assal gave a snort of laughter. And what of the three quintains y ou destroyed yesterday? Had their straw forms been infidels, we w ould have freed the Holy Land by now! I vow I've encountered wild boars less dangerous than you after you've been caged here at Ve rnay for any length. Ranulf's sole response was a shrug as he dr ained his cup. Perhaps. Yet I see you have been laboring at a cu re for your foul mood. Payn grinned wickedly as, with a nod of hi s head, he indicated the women in his lord's bed. By the rood, tw o wenches at once, Ranulf? Could you not save some for the rest o f us? Ranulf surveyed the handsome, chestnut-haired knight with wry amusement. I much doubt you lacked for company yourself. Nay , but for some reason I find utterly unfathomable, females seem t o favor you, despite your black scowl. Simply because I take the time to ensure their pleasure instead of seeking merely my own. At Payn's grimace, it was Ranulf's turn to grin. Less selfishness would stand you in good stead, my friend. Doubtless you are rig ht. Tilting his head back, Payn swallowed the remainder of his wi ne, then glanced at Ra- nulf with a measure of slyness. And wise, as well. Best get your fill of your lemans now while you still c an. Your bride will be none too pleased to share you after the we dding. A lady of her rank will expect you to devote your attentio ns to her, at least in the beginning. Ranul, Ivy Books, 2005, 3, Simon & Schuster. Very Good. Hardcover. 2001. 592 pages. <br>An epic novel of Manhattan's first century follows two families--one Dutch, the other British--from the earliest da ys of the settlement to the Revolutionary War. A first novel. 75, 000 first printing. Editorial Reviews From Publishers Weekly Th e tapestry of early American society is hung out for a fresh view ing in this ambitious historical novel of 1660s New Amsterdam. Th e English Turners are brother and sister, surgeon/barber and apot hecary. Devoted to one another, Sally and Lucas quickly learn to make their way in the harsh, prosperous new world, aiding the Dut ch governor Stuyvesant's family and making their reputation in th e bargain. Then Lucas sells Sally in marriage to Jacob Van der Vr ies, a cruel, foolish physician, in order to save her life, Lucas says, but she believes it is to buy his lover's freedom to marry , and she never forgives him. This rift begins a feud between the Van der Vries (later Devreys) and Turners that lasts through the American Revolution. Colorful characters vie with historical fig ures for attention on this broad stage: there's Jennet, Sally's g reat-granddaughter, who marries a wealthy Jew; Caleb Devrey, Jenn et's first cousin, who loved her as a boy, but becomes her bitter est enemy; Morgan, Jennet's son, a privateer and patriot; and Mor gan's best friend and former slave, Cuffy, whose fate is bound to Morgan's by love, hate and the same woman the gorgeous Roisin Ca mpbell aka Mistress Healsall. The healing profession is carried d own through each generation of Turners and Devreys, and Swerling' s descriptions of early operations with crude instruments are det ailed and riveting. The city of New York is a character in its ow n right, but even it cannot compete with the richly drawn, well-r ounded people Swerling creates. This engrossing, generously imagi ned tale deserves the large audience it should find at a time whe n the founding fathers reign triumphant in biography. (Oct.) Fore cast: The size of this hefty debut may actually be a selling poin t, since it promises an epic tale. The colorful period jacket art should appeal to browsers, too. Copyright 2001 Cahners Busines s Information, Inc. From Booklist The early history of Manhatta n is chronicled through six generations of a remarkable clan of s urgeons, physicians, and apothecaries. Hounded out of England for illegally practicing surgery, gifted Lucas Turner and his sister , Sally, immigrate to the New World. Landing in New Amsterdam in 1661, Lucas employs a combination of daring and skill to establis h his reputation as a surgeon, and Sally begins planting and gath ering the herbs, plants, and flowers she needs to concoct the med icinal potions and drugs necessary for his practice. Though their future seems bright, the arrival of an unscrupulous and inept Du tch physician threatens both their security and their relationshi p. When Jacob Van der Vies succeeds in his vile blackmail effort, he causes an irreparable rift between the two siblings. For more than 100 years, the Turner and the Van der Vies branches of the family participate in both the evolution of the art and science o f medicine and the transition of Manhattan from a fledgling colon ial outpost to a bustling, thriving metropolis on the brink of re volution. Margaret Flanagan Copyright © American Library Associat ion. All rights reserved From Booklist The early history of Manh attan is chronicled through six generations of a remarkable clan of surgeons, physicians, and apothecaries. Hounded out of England for illegally practicing surgery, gifted Lucas Turner and his si ster, Sally, immigrate to the New World. Landing in New Amsterdam in 1661, Lucas employs a combination of daring and skill to esta blish his reputation as a surgeon, and Sally begins planting and gathering the herbs, plants, and flowers she needs to concoct the medicinal potions and drugs necessary for his practice. Though t heir future seems bright, the arrival of an unscrupulous and inep t Dutch physician threatens both their security and their relatio nship. When Jacob Van der Vies succeeds in his vile blackmail eff ort, he causes an irreparable rift between the two siblings. For more than 100 years, the Turner and the Van der Vies branches of the family participate in both the evolution of the art and scien ce of medicine and the transition of Manhattan from a fledgling c olonial outpost to a bustling, thriving metropolis on the brink o f revolution. Margaret Flanagan Copyright © American Library Asso ciation. All rights reserved About the Author Beverly Swerling i s a writer, consultant, and amateur historian. She lives in New Y ork City with her husband. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. A ll rights reserved. Chapter One Eleven weeks in a ship thirty-s even feet long by eleven wide, carrying a crew of nine as well as twenty passengers. Lurching and lunging and tossing on the Atlan tic swells, the sails creaking night and day, spread above them l ike some evil bird of prey. Hovering, waiting for death. The du ng buckets on the open deck were screened only by a scanty calico curtain that blew aside more often than it stayed in place. For Sally Turner the dung buckets were the worst. She was twenty-th ree years old -- small, with dark hair, bright brown eyes, and a narrow, pinched face -- from a Rotterdam slum by way of a rodent- infested corner of a Kentish barn. The crossing had turned her in sides to water. She went seven or eight times a day to the dung b uckets. The flimsy cloth almost always blew aside and she saw the grizzled, hungry-eyed crewmen watching, waiting for her to lift her skirts. As if all the battles between Kent and now had been f or nothing. Her brother suffered more from the seasickness. Luc as Turner was a big man, like his sister only in his dark colorin g, and in the intelligence that showed behind his eyes. Until now most would have called him handsome; the journey had reduced him to a shell. From the start Lucas hung day and night over the sid e of the wooden ship, vomiting his guts into the sea. The voyag e was beyond imagination, beyond bearing. Except that there was n o choice but to bear it. One small consolation: the April day whe n the Princess left Rotterdam was exceptionally warm. A premature summer rushed toward them as they sailed west. Most of the food spoiled before the end of the first three weeks. Constant illness prevented hunger. A crossing longer and more miserable and mor e dangerous than anything they had talked about or prepared for, and when they got there -- what? By all reports bitter cold in wi nter and fierce heat in summer. And savages, Sally Turner said th e first morning of June, when they were nine weeks into the voyag e, and she and her brother were hanging on to the rail in the shi p's bow. The swells were stronger in that position, but Lucas was convinced he could be no worse. And there was a bit of privacy. There are red men in America, Lucas. With painted faces and feath ers and hatchets. In God's name, what have we done? Lucas didn' t answer. They had decided the risk was worth the taking while th ey were still in Holland. Besides, he had to lean over the rail a nd puke yet again. There was nothing in his stomach to come up, e ven the bile was gone, but the dry heaves would not leave him. For as long as Sally could remember, it was Lucas who made such s ecurity as there was in her world. She felt every shudder of his agony-racked frame as if it were her own. She slid down, using th e wooden ship's planked bulkhead to keep her steady, and pawed th rough her basket. Eventually she drew herself up and pulled the t iny cork of a small pewter vial. Chamomile powder, Lucas. Let me shake some onto your tongue. No, that's all you've left. I won' t take it. I've more. With our things down below. You're lyin g, Sal. I can always -- He had to stop to heave again. His sis ter leaned toward him with the remedy that promised relief. Lucas eyed the small tube with longing. You're sure you've more? In our box in the hold. I swear it. Lucas opened his mouth. Sally emptied the last few grains of the chamomile powder onto his tong ue. It gave him some fifteen minutes of freedom from nausea. Be low decks, in the sturdy box that held all their belongings caref ully wrapped in oilskin, she did indeed have more chamomile, but only in the form of seed. Waiting, like Lucas and Sally Turner, t o be planted in Nieuw Amsterdam and thrive in the virgin earth of the island of Manhattan. * There was a wooden wharf of sorts , but two ships were already moored alongside it. The Princess dr opped anchor some fifty yards away, and a raft carried them to sh ore. It wasn't big enough to take everyone in one trip. Lucas and Sally were dispatched on the third. They clung together to kee p from being pitched overboard, and listened in disbelief to one of the crewmen talk about the calm of the deep, still harbor. Not too many places on this coast you can raft folks to land like th is. But here the bay's flat as a lake when the tide's with you. M eanwhile it seemed to Lucas and Sally that they were sliding and rolling with each wave, unable to lift their heads and see what t hey'd come to after their eleven weeks in hell. At last, land b eneath their feet and they could barely stand on it. They'd exper ienced the same misery three years before, after the far shorter crossing between England and the Netherlands. Give it a little ti me, Sal, her brother said. We'll be fine. Sally looked at what she could see of the place. A piece of crumbling earthworks that was a corner of Fort Amsterdam. A windmill that wasn't turning be cause there was no breath of air. A gibbet from which was suspend ed a corpse, covered in pitch and buzzing with flies. And the sun beating down on them. Relentless. Lucas, she whispered. Dear God , Lucas. Her brother put a hand on her arm. You there, a voice shouted. Mijnheer Turner. When you get your legs under you, come over here. There's some shade over by that tree, Lucas murmured . Wait there. I'll deal with this. A couple of rough planks had been spread across two trestles made from saplings. The man seat ed behind this makeshift table was checking off names on a list. Lucas staggered toward him. The clerk didn't look up. Turner? A ye. Lucas Turner. And Sally Turner. English? His accent alway s gave him away. Yes, but we're come under the auspices of... P atroon Van Renselaar. I know. You're assigned to plot number twen ty-nine. It's due north of here. Follow the Brede Wegh behind the fort to Wall Street. Take you some ten minutes to walk the lengt h of the town, then you leave by the second gate in the wall. The path begins straightaway on the other side. You'll know your pla ce when you get to it. There are three pine trees one right behin d the other, all marked with whiting. Lucas bent forward, tryin g to see the papers in front of the Dutchman. Is that a map of ou r land? It's a map of all the Van Renselaar land. Your piece is included. Lucas stretched out his hand. The clerk snatched the papers away. At last, mildly surprised, he looked up. Can you re ad, Englishman? Yes. And I'd like to see your map. Only for a m oment. The man looked doubtful. Why? What will it tell you? L ucas was conscious of his clothes hanging loose from his wasted f rame, and his face almost covered by weeks of unkempt beard. For one thing, a look at your map might give me some idea of the dist ance we must go before we reach those three pine trees. No need for that. I'll tell you. Half a day's walk once you're recovered from the journey. The clerk glanced toward Sally. Could take a b it longer for a woman. Some of the hills are fairly steep. This time when Lucas leaned forward the map wasn't snatched away. He saw one firm line that appeared to divide the town from the count ryside, doubtless the wall the clerk had spoken of, and just beyo nd it what appeared to be a small settlement of sorts. Our land - - Lucas pointed to the settlement beyond the wall -- is it in tha t part there? No, that's the Voorstadt, the out-city, a warehou se and the farms that serve the town. The clerk seemed amused by the newcomer's curiosity. He placed a stubby finger on an irregul ar circle a fair distance beyond the Voorstadt. And that's the Co llect Pond as gives us fresh water to brew beer with. Anything el se you'd care to know, Englishman? Shall I arrange a tour? I wa s promised land in the town, Lucas said. But I'll take a place in this Voorstadt. I'm a barber. I can't earn my keep if -- Your land's where I said it was. You're a farmer now. That's what's n eeded here. Wait. The voice, a woman's, was imperious. I wish t o speak with this man. A slight figure stepped away from the knot of people standing a little distance from the clerk. Despite the heat she was entirely covered by a hooded cloak of the tightly w oven gray stuff the Dutch called duffel. She freed a slender arm long enough to point to Lucas. Send him to me. Ja, mevrouw, of course. The clerk jerked his head in the woman's direction. Do as she says, he muttered quietly in the Englishman's direction. Wha tever she says. Lucas took a step toward the woman. He removed his black, broad-brimmed hat and held it in front of him, bobbed his head, and waited. Her hair was dark, shot with gray and dra wn back in a strict bun. Her features were sharp, and when she sp oke her lips barely moved, as if afraid they might forget themsel ves and smile. I heard you tell the clerk you could read. And tha t you're a barber. Both are true, mevrouw. Were you then the surgeon on that excuse for a ship? She nodded toward the Princess riding at anchor in the harbor. God help all who cross in her. No, mevrouw, I was not. A point in your favor. We are cursed w ith so-called ship's surgeons in this colony. Ignorant butchers, all of them. You're English, but you speak Dutch. And that misera ble craft sailed from Rotterdam, not London. So are you a member of the English Barbers' Company? I am, mevrouw. But I've lived two years in Rotterdam, and I was told I'd be allowed to practice here exactly as... I have no reason to think otherwise. And if you know your trade -- She broke off, chewing on her thin lower lip, studying him. Lucas waited. A number of silent seconds went by; then the woman pointed toward Sally. I take it that's your w ife. No, mevrouw, I am unmarried. That is my siste, Simon & Schuster, 2001, 3, New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue Woods. keywords: Literature California Los Angeles Hollywood. FROM THE PUBLISHER - At the center of STARS SCREAMING is Ray Burk, a network censor struggling to break into The Business as a screenwriter. As his wife begins to lose her mind, Burk spends entire days in his car, circling Los Angeles on an endless path, worrying about the future of his five-year-old son and remembering all the friends, enemies, and lovers he has known. Through his seemingly aimless wandering, a searing picture of Los Angeles emerges. John Kaye's vision of Hollywood does not convey the alluring promise of stardom, but the acrid disappointments of the damaged souls that inhabit L.A.'s underside. Alongside the gleaming stars set in the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, a volatile mix of pimps and winos eke out their existence. Far from the power lunches where deals get made, washed-up B-movie actors drink away the afternoon, desperately trying to recapture the glory days that evaded them. And, as Burk slowly loses his grip on his own life, stories from his past converge with the present, uncovering dark secrets and restaging the most shattering events of his life. Spanning the arc from the golden 1940s to the bitter 1970s, Stars Screaming captures the moment when the American dream fell apart. In this gritty portrait of a lost era, Kaye has created a strange and heartbreaking gallery of characters and unflinchingly tells their unforgettable stories. inventory #34416 ISBN: 0871136910., 0<
usa, n.. | Biblio.co.uk |
1997, ISBN: 0871136910
Hardcover
[EAN: 9780871136916], [PU: Atlantic Monthly Press], LITERATURE CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HOLLYWOOD, New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in D… More...
[EAN: 9780871136916], [PU: Atlantic Monthly Press], LITERATURE CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HOLLYWOOD, New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue Woods. keywords: Literature California Los Angeles Hollywood. FROM THE PUBLISHER - At the center of STARS SCREAMING is Ray Burk, a network censor struggling to break into The Business as a screenwriter. As his wife begins to lose her mind, Burk spends entire days in his car, circling Los Angeles on an endless path, worrying about the future of his five-year-old son and remembering all the friends, enemies, and lovers he has known. Through his seemingly aimless wandering, a searing picture of Los Angeles emerges. John Kaye's vision of Hollywood does not convey the alluring promise of stardom, but the acrid disappointments of the damaged souls that inhabit L.A.'s underside. Alongside the gleaming stars set in the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, a volatile mix of pimps and winos eke out their existence. Far from the power lunches where deals get made, washed-up B-movie actors drink away the afternoon, desperately trying to recapture the glory days that evaded them. And, as Burk slowly loses his grip on his own life, stories from his past converge with the present, uncovering dark secrets and restaging the most shattering events of his life. Spanning the arc from the golden 1940s to the bitter 1970s, Stars Screaming captures the moment when the American dream fell apart. In this gritty portrait of a lost era, Kaye has created a strange and heartbreaking gallery of characters and unflinchingly tells their unforgettable stories. inventory #34416 Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge, Books<
AbeBooks.de |
1997, ISBN: 0871136910
Hardcover
[EAN: 9780871136916], [PU: Atlantic Monthly Press], LITERATURE CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HOLLYWOOD, New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in D… More...
[EAN: 9780871136916], [PU: Atlantic Monthly Press], LITERATURE CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HOLLYWOOD, New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue Woods. FROM THE PUBLISHER - At the center of STARS SCREAMING is Ray Burk, a network censor struggling to break into The Business as a screenwriter. As his wife begins to lose her mind, Burk spends entire days in his car, circling Los Angeles on an endless path, worrying about the future of his five-year-old son and remembering all the friends, enemies, and lovers he has known. Through his seemingly aimless wandering, a searing picture of Los Angeles emerges. John Kaye's vision of Hollywood does not convey the alluring promise of stardom, but the acrid disappointments of the damaged souls that inhabit L.A.'s underside. Alongside the gleaming stars set in the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, a volatile mix of pimps and winos eke out their existence. Far from the power lunches where deals get made, washed-up B-movie actors drink away the afternoon, desperately trying to recapture the glory days that evaded them. And, as Burk slowly loses his grip on his own life, stories from his past converge with the present, uncovering dark secrets and restaging the most shattering events of his life. Spanning the arc from the golden 1940s to the bitter 1970s, Stars Screaming captures the moment when the American dream fell apart. In this gritty portrait of a lost era, Kaye has created a strange and heartbreaking gallery of characters and unflinchingly tells their unforgettable stories. inventory #34416 Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge, Books<
AbeBooks.de |
1997, ISBN: 9780871136916
New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue W… More...
New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue Woods. keywords: Literature California Los Angeles Hollywood. FROM THE PUBLISHER - At the center of STARS SCREAMING is Ray Burk, a network censor struggling to break into The Business as a screenwriter. As his wife begins to lose her mind, Burk spends entire days in his car, circling Los Angeles on an endless path, worrying about the future of his five-year-old son and remembering all the friends, enemies, and lovers he has known. Through his seemingly aimless wandering, a searing picture of Los Angeles emerges. John Kaye's vision of Hollywood does not convey the alluring promise of stardom, but the acrid disappointments of the damaged souls that inhabit L.A.'s underside. Alongside the gleaming stars set in the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, a volatile mix of pimps and winos eke out their existence. Far from the power lunches where deals get made, washed-up B-movie actors drink away the afternoon, desperately trying to recapture the glory days that evaded them. And, as Burk slowly loses his grip on his own life, stories from his past converge with the present, uncovering dark secrets and restaging the most shattering events of his life. Spanning the arc from the golden 1940s to the bitter 1970s, Stars Screaming captures the moment when the American dream fell apart. In this gritty portrait of a lost era, Kaye has created a strange and heartbreaking gallery of characters and unflinchingly tells their unforgettable stories. inventory #34416 ISBN: 0871136910., 0<
Biblio.co.uk |
1997, ISBN: 9780871136916
New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue W… More...
New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue Woods. FROM THE PUBLISHER - At the center of STARS SCREAMING is Ray Burk, a network censor struggling to break into The Business as a screenwriter. As his wife begins to lose her mind, Burk spends entire days in his car, circling Los Angeles on an endless path, worrying about the future of his five-year-old son and remembering all the friends, enemies, and lovers he has known. Through his seemingly aimless wandering, a searing picture of Los Angeles emerges. John Kaye's vision of Hollywood does not convey the alluring promise of stardom, but the acrid disappointments of the damaged souls that inhabit L.A.'s underside. Alongside the gleaming stars set in the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, a volatile mix of pimps and winos eke out their existence. Far from the power lunches where deals get made, washed-up B-movie actors drink away the afternoon, desperately trying to recapture the glory days that evaded them. And, as Burk slowly loses his grip on his own life, stories from his past converge with the present, uncovering dark secrets and restaging the most shattering events of his life. Spanning the arc from the golden 1940s to the bitter 1970s, Stars Screaming captures the moment when the American dream fell apart. In this gritty portrait of a lost era, Kaye has created a strange and heartbreaking gallery of characters and unflinchingly tells their unforgettable stories. inventory #34416 ISBN: 0871136910., 0<
Biblio.co.uk |
2005, ISBN: 9780871136916
Hardcover
New York: Delacorte Press, 1998. Hardcover. Very Good/Very Good. 5.5"x8.5"x1". 259 pages. Black boards with gilt letters on spine. Jacket design by Jorge Martinez.. Front and back jacke… More...
New York: Delacorte Press, 1998. Hardcover. Very Good/Very Good. 5.5"x8.5"x1". 259 pages. Black boards with gilt letters on spine. Jacket design by Jorge Martinez.. Front and back jacket photos c Eliot Holtaman. Spine slanted. PON blacked out inside front cover. Binding tight, pages clean and bright. DJ rough around edges. Not x-library, not clipped. "This is the story of an extraordinary boy with a brilliant mind, a heart of gold, and a tortured soul. It is the story of an illness, a fight to live, and a race against death." From the day he was born, Nick Traina was his mother's joy. By nineteen, he was dead. This is Danielle Steel's powerful personal story of the son she lost and the lessons she learned during his courageous battle against darkness. Sharing tender, painful memories and Nick's remarkable journals, Steel brings us a haunting duet between a singular young man and the mother who loved him--and a harrowing portrait of a masked killer called manic depression, which afflicts between two and three million Americans. Nick rocketed through life like a shooting star. Signs of his illness were subtle, often paradoxical. He spoke in full sentences at age one. He was a brilliant, charming child who never slept. And at first, even his mother explained away his quicksilver moods. Nick always marched to a different drummer. His gift for writing was extraordinary, his musical talent promised a golden future. But by the time he entered junior high, Danielle Steel saw her beloved son hurtling toward disaster and tried desperately to get Nick the help he needed--the opening salvos of what would become a ferocious pitched battle for his life. Even as he struggled, Nick's charisma and accomplishments remained undimmed. He bared his soul in his journal with uncanny insight, in searing prose, poetry, and song. When he was finally diagnosed and treated, it bought time, but too little. In the end, perhaps nothing could have saved him from the insidious disease that had shadowed him from his earliest years. At once a loving legacy and an unsparing depiction of a devastating illness, Danielle Steel's tribute to her lost son is a gift of life, hope, healing, and understanding to us all." Goodreads****4.14., Delacorte Press, 1998, 3, Ivy Books. Very Good. 4.19 x 1.12 x 6.79 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2005. 512 pages. Cover worn<br>Bestselling author Nicole Jordan weaves a breathtakingly sensuous story of love and passion between the v aliant Ariane of Claredon and the fierce knight who loses his hea rt to her. . . . For five turbulent years Ariane has dutifully p repared herself for marriage to King Henry's most trusted vassal, the legendary Norman knight Ranulf de Vernay. But cruel circumst ance has branded Ariane's father a traitor to the crown. And now Ranulf is returning to Claredon, not as a bridegroom . . . but as a conqueror. Survivor of a hellish youth, Ranulf knows well the treacheries of noblewomen-and mistrusts the regal, defiant beaut y to whom he was once betrothed. But while he shields his wounded heart with impenetrable armor, she sears his soul with sensuous fire. Ranulf may have vowed to claim her lands and her body as hi s prize, but ultimately it is the mighty warrior who must surrend er to Ariane's proud, determined passion-and her remarkable heali ng love. Editorial Reviews Review Ms. Jordan proves herself a m arvelous storyteller. -Rendezvous From the Back Cover Bestsellin g author Nicole Jordan weaves a breathtakingly sensuous story of love and passion between the valiant Ariane of Claredon and the f ierce knight who loses his heart to her. . . . For five turbulen t years Ariane has dutifully prepared herself for marriage to Kin g Henry's most trusted vassal, the legendary Norman knight Ranulf de Vernay. But cruel circumstance has branded Ariane's father a traitor to the crown. And now Ranulf is returning to Claredon, no t as a bridegroom . . . but as a conqueror. Survivor of a hellis h youth, Ranulf knows well the treacheries of noblewomen-and mist rusts the regal, defiant beauty to whom he was once betrothed. Bu t while he shields his wounded heart with impenetrable armor, she sears his soul with sensuous fire. Ranulf may have vowed to clai m her lands and her body as his prize, but ultimately it is the m ighty warrior who must surrender to Ariane's proud, determined pa ssion-and her remarkable healing love. About the Author Nicole J ordan is the nationally bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She recently moved with her real-life hero to the Rock y Mountains of Utah, where she is at work on her next sizzling ta le of dangerous rakes and bold adventurers during the Regency era . You can e-mail her via her website at www.NicoleJordanAuthor.co m. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Vern ay Keep, Normandy: November 1154 The warm lips nuzzling his bare skin no longer had the power to arouse him, nor did the cool, si lken hair trailing provocatively over his naked back. Ranulf lay sprawled on his stomach upon the musky linen sheets, sated and sp ent, his body glistening with sweat after his exertions. Pleasing two lusty wenches at once taxed even a man of his strength and s tamina. Yet Layla continued her merciless assault with mouth and tongue, her lush, opulent curves pressing erotically against him , her nails sending delicate shivers racing along his spine, her teeth intermittently nipping his buttocks with a sharpness that w as just short of pain. Enough, he muttered huskily-a command he lacked the energy to enforce. When she bent to offer a luscious breast to him, teas- ing her dusky nipple against his mouth, Ranu lf patiently averted his head. When she threaded her fingers thro ugh his raven hair and tugged insistently, he merely caught her w rist and pried loose her grip. It was only when Layla scraped her nails in a deliberate path over his scarred back that he finally reacted; she knew quite well such probing of his scars was forbi dden, even though he had been unable to break her of the habit. Cease, wench. At his sharp tone, the ripe young body at his othe r side flinched, and Ranulf had to murmur gently to Flore and str oke her soothingly till she curled against him once more. For te mperament, he much preferred the petite, fair-haired Flore to the voluptuous Layla, whose ebony tresses were as dark as his own. F lore was a sweetly submissive Norman wench, always eager to do hi s bidding, whereas the foreign Layla had a grasping, querulous na ture. Only because of her exquisite skills did he humor the beaut iful Saracen. I seek simply to pleasure you, lord, she said petu lantly in her thick, honeyed accents. You know well Layla pleases you far better than any other. Ranulf could not dispute her cla im. Stolen from her family and enslaved in an infidel brothel, La yla had been trained in the sexual arts of the East, and knew wel l how to satisfy a man and bring his desire to a fever pitch. If he also gained a bitter measure of satisfaction in possessing th e exotic concubine his detested father had brought back from the Holy Land . . . well then, he would not deny himself the pleasure , even if he was perforce required to bear with Layla's sharp ton gue and acid jealousy. He could have chosen from a dozen peasant wenches just as eager to warm his bed, and yet tonight he had nee ded the fierce release the Saracen could bring him. He needed to forget. Summoning Flore at the same time only increased the odds that he would find respite from the demons that shadowed him. Yo u are cruel to Layla, lord, she complained, running her tongue ov er her pouting lower lip. Methinks thrice is enough, Ranulf reto rted, his tone dry, even for a woman of your passion. In answer, she captured his hand and held it to the satiny flesh of her gen erous breast. You dislike my passion? You desire Layla no longer? Ranulf grinned unwillingly as he gave her taut nipple a playful squeeze. You would have to geld me to quench my desire for you, wench. But it is time for you to seek your own pallet. When Layla made to protest, Ranulf raised his powerful body up on one elbow . You know my wishes. I sleep alone. In truth, he was not singli ng her out for punishment by sending her away. His solitary slumb er was a self-imposed rule. Though he took great pleasure in the female body, he rarely lingered with a woman. Too much sensual in dulgence bred softness in a warrior; a knight who cavorted too of ten grew lazy and careless. When Layla refused to budge, Ranulf gave her bare flank a mild cuff, which made her squeal in mock pr otest. Defiantly, she lay back upon the dishevelled pillows, gaz ing up at him with languorous, seductive eyes. Provocatively her long fingers played over her sumptuous breasts, caressing the dus ky crimson nipples in erotic invitation, while her lush thighs sp read for his masculine appreciation. Once more, lord, I beg you. . . . Despite her disobedience, Ranulf gave a rough chuckle. He was sated enough at the moment to be amused at her tactics, and w ise enough to relent. Sometimes it behooved a man to let a wench win small victories so that she yielded more readily in important matters. Once more, then. His fingers splayed over the smooth m ound between her thighs, shaved bare in the Saracen style . . . p arting the damp, passion-flushed lips, seeking the tender nubbin that was a woman's delight. Layla drew a sharp breath and closed her eyes, while her legs opened wide, giving his stroking finger s full access to her heated, dewy center. With controlled experti se, he caressed the slick flesh, sliding slowly inside the hot, s leek moistness. Layla quivered with arousal. In merely moments a throaty moan of rapture escaped her; her head fell back in ecstas y as she arched her supple back, her voluptuous, golden body undu lating in the flickering candlelight. Ranulf viewed her breathle ss, writhing response with gratification. Layla deserved to be re warded for her earlier exquisite ministrations. She had provided him comfort tonight; it was only fair he reciprocate. Indeed, for the past fortnight-ever since he'd returned home to Vernay to co ol his heels and await a summons from Duke Henry-Layla had succor ed him frequently. He should feel more remorse, perhaps, at relax ing his own strict custom of self-denial. Yet if he indulged his lust more often than usual when occupying Vernay Keep, it was bec ause the diversion helped keep the memories at bay. Restlessly, Ranulf lifted his gaze from the panting woman in his bed to glanc e beyond the open bed curtains. The solar at Vernay, where the lo rd slept and spent his leisure, remained a cold, stark, spartan c hamber, devoid of comforts other than a roaring fire in the heart h and an occasional tapestry draping the stone walls to thwart th e chill. He had refused to change a single appointment since his father's tenancy, perversely determined to preserve the bitter ev idence of his past. Yet he was lord here now, Ranulf reminded hi mself. The honor of Vernay belonged to him, given to him in fief by Duke Henry, along with a charter of nobility that had reinstat ed him to his rightful rank. He was a disinherited, landless cast off no longer. For all his present power and wealth, though, he could not quell the unease that always assaulted him in this cham ber-the place where his father had flayed the flesh from his back . Even now, his skin turned clammy with dread each time he entere d these apartments, for he could not help recalling the terror an d pain of his youth. He had no need even to shut his eyes to reme mber crouching there against the far wall as a child, naked and t rembling, waiting to endure the punishment of a vengeful sire. No t even the current consolation of heated female flesh could compl etely drive away the memories-although it made up in some measure for the countless hours of fear and torment he had suffered here . The distant blare of the night watchman's horn brought Ranulf' s head up like a wolf scenting the wind. At his sudden tensing, L ayla's eyes flew open. Nay! My lord . . . you cannot cease. . . . Her demanding tone was sharp and insistent-and breathless as we ll. He smiled faintly as his brutal memories faded. We have time . And they would. Any new arrival must first await the lowering of the drawbridge, then ride through the outer and inner baileys before seeking entrance to Vernay's tower. He had the leisure to bring Layla to fulfillment. Yet even before the grateful, sobbi ng woman had collapsed against him, Ranulf's thoughts had already moved ahead to review his plans. If the new arrival was indeed t he duke's messenger with a summons, it meant King Stephen had die d and Henry was preparing to claim his rightful crown as king of England. And since Henry was certain to be met with resistance, h e would need to raise adequate forces to ensure the successful as sumption of power. Ranulf felt anticipation swell at the promise d conflict. Not only was he willing to supply the knight's fees h e owed his liege, he was impatient to take up arms for Henry. He had remained idle too long, his battle sword and lance growing ru sty with disuse. For the past three months and more, peace had re igned in Normandy. There had been no rebellions, no skirmishes, n ot even a nearby tourney where he could hone his skills and exhau st his frustrations in the melee or increase his wealth by captur ing enemy knights for ransom. For the past fortnight all had bee n in readiness for the forthcoming journey: the armor polished, t he weapons sharpened, and the baggage wains staged for loading. H is knights and men-at-arms had engaged in daily practice, sparrin g in swordplay, tilting at the quintains, shooting archery butts, and yet, they too were restless at the delay and eager to begin the campaign. And now it seemed the moment was at hand. As Ranu lf expected, a lengthy interval passed before a rap sounded on th e iron-banded door-time which he spent attending to Flore's pleas ure in reward for her sweetness and patience. At his command to e nter, Ranulf's vassal, Payn FitzOsbern, strode into the solar, ha lf-dressed in an unlaced tunic and grinning broadly. Duke Henry? Ranulf queried as he eased his body over the Saracen wench to si t on the edge of the massive bed. Aye, the duke-soon to be king of England. He rides for the coast in two days' time and expects us to accompany him. Payn made no apparent attempt to keep the gl ee from his tone. The messenger would speak with you. Flashing h is own grin, Ranulf solicitously twitched the linen sheet up over the two nude women in his bed. Bid him enter. The messenger had obviously ridden hard from the duke's court, for his cloak was s pattered with mud, while grime and weariness lined his face. He c onfirmed what Payn had already announced, adding more details abo ut the departure plans and composition of Henry's forces, and war ning of the resistance expected from the late King Stephen's supp orters in England. Satisfied, Ranulf dismissed the man with orde rs to seek food and rest in the hall, then strode naked to the ta ble where refreshment awaited. Pouring wine from a flagon into tw o pewter cups, he handed one to Payn and raised his own. On to E ngland, then! Aye, on to England! May we find a vast supply of E nglish rebels to vanquish-before your impatience renders your tem per even more vile than of late. I? Ranulf's black eyebrow rose in amused mockery. My disposition has been sweet as honey. His v assal gave a snort of laughter. And what of the three quintains y ou destroyed yesterday? Had their straw forms been infidels, we w ould have freed the Holy Land by now! I vow I've encountered wild boars less dangerous than you after you've been caged here at Ve rnay for any length. Ranulf's sole response was a shrug as he dr ained his cup. Perhaps. Yet I see you have been laboring at a cu re for your foul mood. Payn grinned wickedly as, with a nod of hi s head, he indicated the women in his lord's bed. By the rood, tw o wenches at once, Ranulf? Could you not save some for the rest o f us? Ranulf surveyed the handsome, chestnut-haired knight with wry amusement. I much doubt you lacked for company yourself. Nay , but for some reason I find utterly unfathomable, females seem t o favor you, despite your black scowl. Simply because I take the time to ensure their pleasure instead of seeking merely my own. At Payn's grimace, it was Ranulf's turn to grin. Less selfishness would stand you in good stead, my friend. Doubtless you are rig ht. Tilting his head back, Payn swallowed the remainder of his wi ne, then glanced at Ra- nulf with a measure of slyness. And wise, as well. Best get your fill of your lemans now while you still c an. Your bride will be none too pleased to share you after the we dding. A lady of her rank will expect you to devote your attentio ns to her, at least in the beginning. Ranul, Ivy Books, 2005, 3, Simon & Schuster. Very Good. Hardcover. 2001. 592 pages. <br>An epic novel of Manhattan's first century follows two families--one Dutch, the other British--from the earliest da ys of the settlement to the Revolutionary War. A first novel. 75, 000 first printing. Editorial Reviews From Publishers Weekly Th e tapestry of early American society is hung out for a fresh view ing in this ambitious historical novel of 1660s New Amsterdam. Th e English Turners are brother and sister, surgeon/barber and apot hecary. Devoted to one another, Sally and Lucas quickly learn to make their way in the harsh, prosperous new world, aiding the Dut ch governor Stuyvesant's family and making their reputation in th e bargain. Then Lucas sells Sally in marriage to Jacob Van der Vr ies, a cruel, foolish physician, in order to save her life, Lucas says, but she believes it is to buy his lover's freedom to marry , and she never forgives him. This rift begins a feud between the Van der Vries (later Devreys) and Turners that lasts through the American Revolution. Colorful characters vie with historical fig ures for attention on this broad stage: there's Jennet, Sally's g reat-granddaughter, who marries a wealthy Jew; Caleb Devrey, Jenn et's first cousin, who loved her as a boy, but becomes her bitter est enemy; Morgan, Jennet's son, a privateer and patriot; and Mor gan's best friend and former slave, Cuffy, whose fate is bound to Morgan's by love, hate and the same woman the gorgeous Roisin Ca mpbell aka Mistress Healsall. The healing profession is carried d own through each generation of Turners and Devreys, and Swerling' s descriptions of early operations with crude instruments are det ailed and riveting. The city of New York is a character in its ow n right, but even it cannot compete with the richly drawn, well-r ounded people Swerling creates. This engrossing, generously imagi ned tale deserves the large audience it should find at a time whe n the founding fathers reign triumphant in biography. (Oct.) Fore cast: The size of this hefty debut may actually be a selling poin t, since it promises an epic tale. The colorful period jacket art should appeal to browsers, too. Copyright 2001 Cahners Busines s Information, Inc. From Booklist The early history of Manhatta n is chronicled through six generations of a remarkable clan of s urgeons, physicians, and apothecaries. Hounded out of England for illegally practicing surgery, gifted Lucas Turner and his sister , Sally, immigrate to the New World. Landing in New Amsterdam in 1661, Lucas employs a combination of daring and skill to establis h his reputation as a surgeon, and Sally begins planting and gath ering the herbs, plants, and flowers she needs to concoct the med icinal potions and drugs necessary for his practice. Though their future seems bright, the arrival of an unscrupulous and inept Du tch physician threatens both their security and their relationshi p. When Jacob Van der Vies succeeds in his vile blackmail effort, he causes an irreparable rift between the two siblings. For more than 100 years, the Turner and the Van der Vies branches of the family participate in both the evolution of the art and science o f medicine and the transition of Manhattan from a fledgling colon ial outpost to a bustling, thriving metropolis on the brink of re volution. Margaret Flanagan Copyright © American Library Associat ion. All rights reserved From Booklist The early history of Manh attan is chronicled through six generations of a remarkable clan of surgeons, physicians, and apothecaries. Hounded out of England for illegally practicing surgery, gifted Lucas Turner and his si ster, Sally, immigrate to the New World. Landing in New Amsterdam in 1661, Lucas employs a combination of daring and skill to esta blish his reputation as a surgeon, and Sally begins planting and gathering the herbs, plants, and flowers she needs to concoct the medicinal potions and drugs necessary for his practice. Though t heir future seems bright, the arrival of an unscrupulous and inep t Dutch physician threatens both their security and their relatio nship. When Jacob Van der Vies succeeds in his vile blackmail eff ort, he causes an irreparable rift between the two siblings. For more than 100 years, the Turner and the Van der Vies branches of the family participate in both the evolution of the art and scien ce of medicine and the transition of Manhattan from a fledgling c olonial outpost to a bustling, thriving metropolis on the brink o f revolution. Margaret Flanagan Copyright © American Library Asso ciation. All rights reserved About the Author Beverly Swerling i s a writer, consultant, and amateur historian. She lives in New Y ork City with her husband. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. A ll rights reserved. Chapter One Eleven weeks in a ship thirty-s even feet long by eleven wide, carrying a crew of nine as well as twenty passengers. Lurching and lunging and tossing on the Atlan tic swells, the sails creaking night and day, spread above them l ike some evil bird of prey. Hovering, waiting for death. The du ng buckets on the open deck were screened only by a scanty calico curtain that blew aside more often than it stayed in place. For Sally Turner the dung buckets were the worst. She was twenty-th ree years old -- small, with dark hair, bright brown eyes, and a narrow, pinched face -- from a Rotterdam slum by way of a rodent- infested corner of a Kentish barn. The crossing had turned her in sides to water. She went seven or eight times a day to the dung b uckets. The flimsy cloth almost always blew aside and she saw the grizzled, hungry-eyed crewmen watching, waiting for her to lift her skirts. As if all the battles between Kent and now had been f or nothing. Her brother suffered more from the seasickness. Luc as Turner was a big man, like his sister only in his dark colorin g, and in the intelligence that showed behind his eyes. Until now most would have called him handsome; the journey had reduced him to a shell. From the start Lucas hung day and night over the sid e of the wooden ship, vomiting his guts into the sea. The voyag e was beyond imagination, beyond bearing. Except that there was n o choice but to bear it. One small consolation: the April day whe n the Princess left Rotterdam was exceptionally warm. A premature summer rushed toward them as they sailed west. Most of the food spoiled before the end of the first three weeks. Constant illness prevented hunger. A crossing longer and more miserable and mor e dangerous than anything they had talked about or prepared for, and when they got there -- what? By all reports bitter cold in wi nter and fierce heat in summer. And savages, Sally Turner said th e first morning of June, when they were nine weeks into the voyag e, and she and her brother were hanging on to the rail in the shi p's bow. The swells were stronger in that position, but Lucas was convinced he could be no worse. And there was a bit of privacy. There are red men in America, Lucas. With painted faces and feath ers and hatchets. In God's name, what have we done? Lucas didn' t answer. They had decided the risk was worth the taking while th ey were still in Holland. Besides, he had to lean over the rail a nd puke yet again. There was nothing in his stomach to come up, e ven the bile was gone, but the dry heaves would not leave him. For as long as Sally could remember, it was Lucas who made such s ecurity as there was in her world. She felt every shudder of his agony-racked frame as if it were her own. She slid down, using th e wooden ship's planked bulkhead to keep her steady, and pawed th rough her basket. Eventually she drew herself up and pulled the t iny cork of a small pewter vial. Chamomile powder, Lucas. Let me shake some onto your tongue. No, that's all you've left. I won' t take it. I've more. With our things down below. You're lyin g, Sal. I can always -- He had to stop to heave again. His sis ter leaned toward him with the remedy that promised relief. Lucas eyed the small tube with longing. You're sure you've more? In our box in the hold. I swear it. Lucas opened his mouth. Sally emptied the last few grains of the chamomile powder onto his tong ue. It gave him some fifteen minutes of freedom from nausea. Be low decks, in the sturdy box that held all their belongings caref ully wrapped in oilskin, she did indeed have more chamomile, but only in the form of seed. Waiting, like Lucas and Sally Turner, t o be planted in Nieuw Amsterdam and thrive in the virgin earth of the island of Manhattan. * There was a wooden wharf of sorts , but two ships were already moored alongside it. The Princess dr opped anchor some fifty yards away, and a raft carried them to sh ore. It wasn't big enough to take everyone in one trip. Lucas and Sally were dispatched on the third. They clung together to kee p from being pitched overboard, and listened in disbelief to one of the crewmen talk about the calm of the deep, still harbor. Not too many places on this coast you can raft folks to land like th is. But here the bay's flat as a lake when the tide's with you. M eanwhile it seemed to Lucas and Sally that they were sliding and rolling with each wave, unable to lift their heads and see what t hey'd come to after their eleven weeks in hell. At last, land b eneath their feet and they could barely stand on it. They'd exper ienced the same misery three years before, after the far shorter crossing between England and the Netherlands. Give it a little ti me, Sal, her brother said. We'll be fine. Sally looked at what she could see of the place. A piece of crumbling earthworks that was a corner of Fort Amsterdam. A windmill that wasn't turning be cause there was no breath of air. A gibbet from which was suspend ed a corpse, covered in pitch and buzzing with flies. And the sun beating down on them. Relentless. Lucas, she whispered. Dear God , Lucas. Her brother put a hand on her arm. You there, a voice shouted. Mijnheer Turner. When you get your legs under you, come over here. There's some shade over by that tree, Lucas murmured . Wait there. I'll deal with this. A couple of rough planks had been spread across two trestles made from saplings. The man seat ed behind this makeshift table was checking off names on a list. Lucas staggered toward him. The clerk didn't look up. Turner? A ye. Lucas Turner. And Sally Turner. English? His accent alway s gave him away. Yes, but we're come under the auspices of... P atroon Van Renselaar. I know. You're assigned to plot number twen ty-nine. It's due north of here. Follow the Brede Wegh behind the fort to Wall Street. Take you some ten minutes to walk the lengt h of the town, then you leave by the second gate in the wall. The path begins straightaway on the other side. You'll know your pla ce when you get to it. There are three pine trees one right behin d the other, all marked with whiting. Lucas bent forward, tryin g to see the papers in front of the Dutchman. Is that a map of ou r land? It's a map of all the Van Renselaar land. Your piece is included. Lucas stretched out his hand. The clerk snatched the papers away. At last, mildly surprised, he looked up. Can you re ad, Englishman? Yes. And I'd like to see your map. Only for a m oment. The man looked doubtful. Why? What will it tell you? L ucas was conscious of his clothes hanging loose from his wasted f rame, and his face almost covered by weeks of unkempt beard. For one thing, a look at your map might give me some idea of the dist ance we must go before we reach those three pine trees. No need for that. I'll tell you. Half a day's walk once you're recovered from the journey. The clerk glanced toward Sally. Could take a b it longer for a woman. Some of the hills are fairly steep. This time when Lucas leaned forward the map wasn't snatched away. He saw one firm line that appeared to divide the town from the count ryside, doubtless the wall the clerk had spoken of, and just beyo nd it what appeared to be a small settlement of sorts. Our land - - Lucas pointed to the settlement beyond the wall -- is it in tha t part there? No, that's the Voorstadt, the out-city, a warehou se and the farms that serve the town. The clerk seemed amused by the newcomer's curiosity. He placed a stubby finger on an irregul ar circle a fair distance beyond the Voorstadt. And that's the Co llect Pond as gives us fresh water to brew beer with. Anything el se you'd care to know, Englishman? Shall I arrange a tour? I wa s promised land in the town, Lucas said. But I'll take a place in this Voorstadt. I'm a barber. I can't earn my keep if -- Your land's where I said it was. You're a farmer now. That's what's n eeded here. Wait. The voice, a woman's, was imperious. I wish t o speak with this man. A slight figure stepped away from the knot of people standing a little distance from the clerk. Despite the heat she was entirely covered by a hooded cloak of the tightly w oven gray stuff the Dutch called duffel. She freed a slender arm long enough to point to Lucas. Send him to me. Ja, mevrouw, of course. The clerk jerked his head in the woman's direction. Do as she says, he muttered quietly in the Englishman's direction. Wha tever she says. Lucas took a step toward the woman. He removed his black, broad-brimmed hat and held it in front of him, bobbed his head, and waited. Her hair was dark, shot with gray and dra wn back in a strict bun. Her features were sharp, and when she sp oke her lips barely moved, as if afraid they might forget themsel ves and smile. I heard you tell the clerk you could read. And tha t you're a barber. Both are true, mevrouw. Were you then the surgeon on that excuse for a ship? She nodded toward the Princess riding at anchor in the harbor. God help all who cross in her. No, mevrouw, I was not. A point in your favor. We are cursed w ith so-called ship's surgeons in this colony. Ignorant butchers, all of them. You're English, but you speak Dutch. And that misera ble craft sailed from Rotterdam, not London. So are you a member of the English Barbers' Company? I am, mevrouw. But I've lived two years in Rotterdam, and I was told I'd be allowed to practice here exactly as... I have no reason to think otherwise. And if you know your trade -- She broke off, chewing on her thin lower lip, studying him. Lucas waited. A number of silent seconds went by; then the woman pointed toward Sally. I take it that's your w ife. No, mevrouw, I am unmarried. That is my siste, Simon & Schuster, 2001, 3, New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue Woods. keywords: Literature California Los Angeles Hollywood. FROM THE PUBLISHER - At the center of STARS SCREAMING is Ray Burk, a network censor struggling to break into The Business as a screenwriter. As his wife begins to lose her mind, Burk spends entire days in his car, circling Los Angeles on an endless path, worrying about the future of his five-year-old son and remembering all the friends, enemies, and lovers he has known. Through his seemingly aimless wandering, a searing picture of Los Angeles emerges. John Kaye's vision of Hollywood does not convey the alluring promise of stardom, but the acrid disappointments of the damaged souls that inhabit L.A.'s underside. Alongside the gleaming stars set in the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, a volatile mix of pimps and winos eke out their existence. Far from the power lunches where deals get made, washed-up B-movie actors drink away the afternoon, desperately trying to recapture the glory days that evaded them. And, as Burk slowly loses his grip on his own life, stories from his past converge with the present, uncovering dark secrets and restaging the most shattering events of his life. Spanning the arc from the golden 1940s to the bitter 1970s, Stars Screaming captures the moment when the American dream fell apart. In this gritty portrait of a lost era, Kaye has created a strange and heartbreaking gallery of characters and unflinchingly tells their unforgettable stories. inventory #34416 ISBN: 0871136910., 0<
1997, ISBN: 0871136910
Hardcover
[EAN: 9780871136916], [PU: Atlantic Monthly Press], LITERATURE CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HOLLYWOOD, New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in D… More...
[EAN: 9780871136916], [PU: Atlantic Monthly Press], LITERATURE CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HOLLYWOOD, New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue Woods. keywords: Literature California Los Angeles Hollywood. FROM THE PUBLISHER - At the center of STARS SCREAMING is Ray Burk, a network censor struggling to break into The Business as a screenwriter. As his wife begins to lose her mind, Burk spends entire days in his car, circling Los Angeles on an endless path, worrying about the future of his five-year-old son and remembering all the friends, enemies, and lovers he has known. Through his seemingly aimless wandering, a searing picture of Los Angeles emerges. John Kaye's vision of Hollywood does not convey the alluring promise of stardom, but the acrid disappointments of the damaged souls that inhabit L.A.'s underside. Alongside the gleaming stars set in the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, a volatile mix of pimps and winos eke out their existence. Far from the power lunches where deals get made, washed-up B-movie actors drink away the afternoon, desperately trying to recapture the glory days that evaded them. And, as Burk slowly loses his grip on his own life, stories from his past converge with the present, uncovering dark secrets and restaging the most shattering events of his life. Spanning the arc from the golden 1940s to the bitter 1970s, Stars Screaming captures the moment when the American dream fell apart. In this gritty portrait of a lost era, Kaye has created a strange and heartbreaking gallery of characters and unflinchingly tells their unforgettable stories. inventory #34416 Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge, Books<
1997
ISBN: 0871136910
Hardcover
[EAN: 9780871136916], [PU: Atlantic Monthly Press], LITERATURE CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HOLLYWOOD, New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in D… More...
[EAN: 9780871136916], [PU: Atlantic Monthly Press], LITERATURE CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HOLLYWOOD, New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue Woods. FROM THE PUBLISHER - At the center of STARS SCREAMING is Ray Burk, a network censor struggling to break into The Business as a screenwriter. As his wife begins to lose her mind, Burk spends entire days in his car, circling Los Angeles on an endless path, worrying about the future of his five-year-old son and remembering all the friends, enemies, and lovers he has known. Through his seemingly aimless wandering, a searing picture of Los Angeles emerges. John Kaye's vision of Hollywood does not convey the alluring promise of stardom, but the acrid disappointments of the damaged souls that inhabit L.A.'s underside. Alongside the gleaming stars set in the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, a volatile mix of pimps and winos eke out their existence. Far from the power lunches where deals get made, washed-up B-movie actors drink away the afternoon, desperately trying to recapture the glory days that evaded them. And, as Burk slowly loses his grip on his own life, stories from his past converge with the present, uncovering dark secrets and restaging the most shattering events of his life. Spanning the arc from the golden 1940s to the bitter 1970s, Stars Screaming captures the moment when the American dream fell apart. In this gritty portrait of a lost era, Kaye has created a strange and heartbreaking gallery of characters and unflinchingly tells their unforgettable stories. inventory #34416 Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge, Books<
1997, ISBN: 9780871136916
New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue W… More...
New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue Woods. keywords: Literature California Los Angeles Hollywood. FROM THE PUBLISHER - At the center of STARS SCREAMING is Ray Burk, a network censor struggling to break into The Business as a screenwriter. As his wife begins to lose her mind, Burk spends entire days in his car, circling Los Angeles on an endless path, worrying about the future of his five-year-old son and remembering all the friends, enemies, and lovers he has known. Through his seemingly aimless wandering, a searing picture of Los Angeles emerges. John Kaye's vision of Hollywood does not convey the alluring promise of stardom, but the acrid disappointments of the damaged souls that inhabit L.A.'s underside. Alongside the gleaming stars set in the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, a volatile mix of pimps and winos eke out their existence. Far from the power lunches where deals get made, washed-up B-movie actors drink away the afternoon, desperately trying to recapture the glory days that evaded them. And, as Burk slowly loses his grip on his own life, stories from his past converge with the present, uncovering dark secrets and restaging the most shattering events of his life. Spanning the arc from the golden 1940s to the bitter 1970s, Stars Screaming captures the moment when the American dream fell apart. In this gritty portrait of a lost era, Kaye has created a strange and heartbreaking gallery of characters and unflinchingly tells their unforgettable stories. inventory #34416 ISBN: 0871136910., 0<
1997, ISBN: 9780871136916
New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue W… More...
New York. 1997. October 1997. Atlantic Monthly Press. 1st American Edition. Very Good in Dustjacket.Remainder Mark On Bottom Edge. 0871136910. 326 pages. hardcover. Jacket design by Rue Woods. FROM THE PUBLISHER - At the center of STARS SCREAMING is Ray Burk, a network censor struggling to break into The Business as a screenwriter. As his wife begins to lose her mind, Burk spends entire days in his car, circling Los Angeles on an endless path, worrying about the future of his five-year-old son and remembering all the friends, enemies, and lovers he has known. Through his seemingly aimless wandering, a searing picture of Los Angeles emerges. John Kaye's vision of Hollywood does not convey the alluring promise of stardom, but the acrid disappointments of the damaged souls that inhabit L.A.'s underside. Alongside the gleaming stars set in the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, a volatile mix of pimps and winos eke out their existence. Far from the power lunches where deals get made, washed-up B-movie actors drink away the afternoon, desperately trying to recapture the glory days that evaded them. And, as Burk slowly loses his grip on his own life, stories from his past converge with the present, uncovering dark secrets and restaging the most shattering events of his life. Spanning the arc from the golden 1940s to the bitter 1970s, Stars Screaming captures the moment when the American dream fell apart. In this gritty portrait of a lost era, Kaye has created a strange and heartbreaking gallery of characters and unflinchingly tells their unforgettable stories. inventory #34416 ISBN: 0871136910., 0<
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Details of the book - Stars Screaming
EAN (ISBN-13): 9780871136916
ISBN (ISBN-10): 0871136910
Hardcover
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Publishing year: 1997
Publisher: Atlantic Monthly Pr
Book in our database since 2008-04-17T00:37:36-04:00 (New York)
Detail page last modified on 2024-01-15T02:14:24-05:00 (New York)
ISBN/EAN: 0871136910
ISBN - alternate spelling:
0-87113-691-0, 978-0-87113-691-6
Alternate spelling and related search-keywords:
Book author: kay john
Book title: stars, scream
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