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all the books of H.P I want to talk with daniel radcliffe because I want to ask him some questions about the movie and I want to now how is him.I think H.p is the best book in the world.good bye! thank for read this.
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The collection is marvelous. It displays Davidson's trademark wonderfully discursive prose, and his autodidact-style erudition, and his deep interest in the nooks and crannies of history. The stories span pretty much Davidson's whole career. Among the best: "What Strange Stars and Skies", about a virtuous do-gooder woman ministering to people in the slums of London who runs afoul of "that unspeakably evil Eurasian, Motilal Smith". "The Lineaments of Gratified Desire" aka "The Price of a Charm", about a man in the early part of this century deciding whether to buy a love charm or a hunting charm -- with significant results. "The Montavarde Camera" is a spooky story about a man with a nagging wife who buys the title camera only to learn its terrible power. The rather late "Twenty-Three", in which we slowly learn the horrible secret of an old family. Another late story, "El Vilvoy de las Islas", about a strange man living on a remote South African island. One of the last (perhaps it was the last) Eszterhazy stories, "The Odd Old Bird", more of a jape than anyhing. "Dragon Skin Drum", a dark story about two American servicemen in China, and Mao's revolution, and the ignorance of Westerners. And so on, and so on ... excellent excellent stuff.
OK, I'm hesitant to say, "the last century" or "the century recently passed", partly because that's awfully goofy, and partly because I'm not near well-read enough to make such claims with authority. I'm gonna say it anyway. I stumbled upon a copy of a long out of print and svelter collection of Davidson's work (Or All The Seas With Oysters...) at fourteen and I've never been quite the same. He's not the writer whose works I wish I could have written: he is the writer whose works I would have wished I could have written had I been the writer I wished I could have been.
(we see why a writer I am not, Yoda knowingly says)
Davidson had a dear whimsy, a weariness, and a bite that was, dare I say it, very Jewish. When I (re)read his stories I feel as if I (an agnostic Gentile) have magically been allowed to understand & overhear the Yiddish folk yarns the kindly, crusty grandfather spins for the kids while the middle generation shouts in the background.
Davidson wrote as well as Singer. Perhaps better, at his best. No small praise; I know what I am claiming. Do not allow my muddy writing dissuade any reader from buying and luxuriating in this important collection.
This collection is organized as a retrospective, with the selections placed in order of first appearance. This is, I think, an excellent choice for any collection of this magnitude in that it allows the interested reader to try to track evolutions in the writer's style and thematic concerns over time. (I would suggest, perhaps, that the older Davidson was more prone to explorations of esoterica than the younger, and less often openly angry. Throughout his career he was ready with the comic touch, even in the midst of a darker context. His style was always special, but perhaps grew more involved as he grew older.)
Another feature of this collection is the introductions, by many of Davidson's friends: mostly fellow authors and editors, but also his bibliographer, Henry Wessels, and his son. This represent a significant chunk of "value added": they include some personal reminiscences, some analyses of the work, some elegiac passages. I'll add that the book is nicely and elegantly put together, and that editors Robert Silverberg and Grania Davis (as well as Tor in-house editor Teresa Nielsen Hayden) deserve thanks and applause for working to bring us this book.
But, of course, there is no Avram Davidson Treasury without the stories Avram Davidson wrote, of which 38 are assembled here. And the stories are the only real reason to buy and exult in this book. I'm a big Davidson fan, make no mistake: I come to this review not at all objective, and having reading all but a few of the stories already, many of them several times. At least one, "The Sources of the Nile", is firmly on my personal list of the best SF stories of all time.
There is not space to discuss the delightful stories herein contained. Suffice it to say that this collection is big enough, and varied enough, to whet the appetite of any reader whose ear can be tuned to catch the strains of Davidson's voice. And even this large collection inevitably leaves out many fine stories (the other Eszterhazy and Limekiller stories, "The Lord of Central Park", many more), to say nothing of his engaging collection of essays, Adventures in Unhistory, in which he discusses at length many obscure legends, and their possible bases in fact. So buy it and read it, and very likely you will find yourself searching out the out of print and small press books which house the rest of his work (for now), and very likely too you will be hoping with the rest of us Davidson lovers for a few more treasures to be dug from his papers.
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While the primary locale for the stories is his native New York City, Davidson also uses New England, Memphis, Cyprus, "La Banana" and Mexico. They range back in time as far as the 1840's. More remarkable than their diverse settings, though, is how economically Davidson creates a sense of time, place, and mood -- with a just a handful of descriptive wordstrokes. The heat in a chinese laundry becomes palpable when Davidson describes a washman wiping his hands and bare torso before he folds an ironed shirt so that his persperation won't drip on the garment.
Few of the stories' twists are predictable -- even for an old mystery hand. I finished each story smiling at the inventiveness of the plot and enriched by the esoteric pieces of information (like the origins of and differences between sea island and nanking cotton) that dot Davidson's writing like raisins in a scone.
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The story moves effortlessly between the everyday world of the island, with its occasional Western tourists, and the mystic world of spirits, demons and gods. Especially wonderful are the descriptions of Madai's voyages to the undersea realm of the Nagas, his flight to a moon of myth, and his journey to the mountain at the center of the universe in the company of Hanuman the Monkey-King:
"The army of forest creatures reached the shore of the island, and paused on a narrow beach ringed with fluttering coco-palms. The frothy ocean looked like purple jade in the moonlight. Madai wondered where they would go, for monkeys have no power to fly to other realms. Then the white monkey made a running leap and vaulted into a giant somersault. It was all Madai could do to cling to the coarse hair of his neck as they whizzed through the air. They hurtled across the water--a vast distance, and landed in a desolate range of gleaming iron mountains, where the air was thin and nothing grew in the rusty dust. ...Another leaping somersault, and they landed on the slopes of glowing copper mountains as the monkey grew even bigger. Another leap across endless black waters, and they stood among silver mountains that shone with their own light, for there was no longer any moon or stars in the airless black overhead... Another hurtling somersault, and they landed among bright golden mountains that glimmered like morning sunlight. The great monkey bellowed a great whoop and made another great leap, and landed on the slopes of a mountain so high that its peak could never be seen. The jagged boulders on the hillsides were made of precious stones--turguoise and jade, amethyst, ruby and lapis lazuli--that flashed in the crystalline light of a very young sun. They had reached the mountain in the center of the universe..."
Read this wonderful book! It's worth searching to find -- most highly recommended!