HFVBT ~ Excerpt of 1886: Ties That Bind by AE Wasserman + Tour-Wide Giveaway!!

The Central Valley, California, United States

August 1886


The passengers waited on the Delano Station platform for its arrival; some relaxed on crude wooden benches, while others stood in anticipation, ready to pick up their suitcases to board as soon as they could. The hot California sun danced on the metal rails while the motionless air under the depot’s overhang hung heavy with heat.

They saw it first, a dark dot where the rails converged. Those sitting stood in anticipation, gripping their bags with tight fists. Everyone as a unit slowly moved toward the edge of the worn wooden planks, leaving the stale shade of the overhang so they might encroach upon the edge above the gap, where shiny rails on dark ties lay embedded in gravel deep below. Not too close, for that felt dangerous, but close enough to peer up the track as the dark dot rapidly enlarged into the locomotive they expected.

The black steel mass burst forth into the station, as promised, but failed to fulfill its duty to stop. Indeed, failed to even slow. It monstered through, roaring indignation. The would-be passengers instinctively took a step back under the protection of the short roofed area and away from the now-filled gulf as the wheels spun on hidden rails. The whizzing blur of noise and black roared, followed by a dark-gray car flashing square windows as it clacked past, rapid rhythm, the wind-wake whipping onto the depot platform. Everyone stood frozen with the force of the noise and braced against the hot gust that slammed their bonnets, hats, skirts.

Then it was gone. Silence. A void—above the rails and within their senses. Quiet.

Stunned by the sudden unexpected, they all gasped in unison; a communal breath. Wide-eyed, they tried to speak as they slowly began to recognize what they had just seen fly past.

Two men standing nearest the wooden edge exchanged horrified looks. Clad in dungarees and cotton shirts, they adjusted their wide brimmed hats, and as if practiced, simultaneously turned. “Someone has to stop that train!” The second replied, “Let’s go!” They ran inside the depot sprinting toward the front door and out onto Main Street.

The rest remained on the platform. Some had dropped their valises; mothers stood with babes tight in their arms, or children held against their skirts. Husbands shielded their wives as they all began to react.

Did you see what I saw? Was that real? Were they …?

Those who spoke would finish with their hands over their mouths for what they had seen, was, in fact, unspeakable. The image burned in their minds, like the lingering light in an eye after a lamp’s extinguished wick.

The raging engine had held no engineer. Instead, draped upon the coal bin behind the cab was a body. The car flew by, a body or two leaned awkwardly on a seat, and in one case, flung with shoulders, arms and head hanging through a window, flopping with the speeding rhythm of the iron beast.

The train raged away, diminishing in size as quickly as it had emerged for its arrival.

The metal parade was a dead man’s train.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Publisher: Archway Publishing

Pub. Date: November 8th, 2016

Pages: 370

Series: Langford Series, Book #2
Genre: Fiction/Historical

It is 1886 as Englishman Lord Langsford travels by train to San Francisco. Newly widowed, Langsford is desperate to escape his grief, demons, and life in England. As Langsford completes the last leg of his transcontinental journey, his life unexpectedly changes once again when he crosses paths with Miss Sally Baxter, a beautiful rancher who packs a pistol in her purse.

Sally has made it her mission to find the men who robbed a train and killed her brother. Unfortunately, no one—not even the owners of the Southern Pacific Railroad—seem to care. Unable to resist her pleas, Langsford offers to help Sally and soon becomes entangled in a web of politics, corruption, and greed. As murder, threats, and attacks ensue that endanger both Sally and Langsford, influential men in both California and Washington, D.C. jockey for positions of power. Langsford, who finds himself oddly attracted to Sally, now must sort through criminals and politicians alike to discover the truth behind her brother’s death and prevent his own murder.

 

 

Praise for 1886: Ties That Bind

“Not only is this a fast-paced historical mystery, 1886 Ties That Bind offers commentary on the political and social issues that are still relevant today.” – Helga Schier, PhD, author and founder of With Pen and Paper

“Wasserman’s writing is atmospherically rich. Very strongly recommended.” – Historical Novel Society, London, critical review of 1884 No Boundaries

 

 

Buy the Book



AMAZON US | AMAZON UK | BARNES AND NOBLE

 

 

About the Author

 

 

The daughter of a newspaperman, A.E. Wasserman grew up in a household filled with books and stories. At age 14, she wrote her first novella and never stopped writing.

She is the author of a new mystery/thrillers series, the first of which takes place in London: 1884 No Boundaries, A Story of Espionage and International Intrigue. The second in the Langsford Series, 1886 Ties That Bind, A Story of Politics, Graft and Greed, has just been released.

Her work, critically acclaimed as “richly atmospheric,” is being noticed by readers and critics alike, and has garnered international attention, not only in the U.S., but Europe and the U.K. as well. She recently received top honors from Writer’s Digest for her work.

After graduating from The Ohio State University, she lived in London, then San Francisco. Currently she resides in Southern California with her family and her muse, a Border Collie named Topper.

For more information, please Visit the author’s web site at www.aewasserman.com. You can also connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.

 

 

It's Giveaway Time!!

 

During the Blog Tour we will be giving away two eBooks of 1886 Ties That Bind by A.E. Wasserman! To enter, please enter via the Gleam form HERE.

Giveaway Rules

– Giveaway ends at 11:59pm EST on April 6th. You must be 18 or older to enter.
– Giveaway is open INTERNATIONALLY.
– Only one entry per household.
– All giveaway entrants agree to be honest and not cheat the systems; any suspect of fraud is decided upon by blog/site owner and the sponsor, and entrants may be disqualified at our discretion.
– Winner has 48 hours to claim prize or new winner is chosen.

 

Good Luck!!

 

 

HFVBT Schedule

Tuesday, February 27

Feature at Passages to the Past

Saturday, March 3

Excerpt at Encouraging Words from the Tea Queen

Sunday, March 4

Interview at T’s Stuff

Wednesday, March 7

Excerpt at Let Them Read Books

Friday, March 9

Feature at What Is That Book About

Monday, March 12

Interview at Donna’s Book Blog

Thursday, March 15

Review at Locks, Hooks, and Books

Tuesday, March 20

Review at Teaser Addicts Book Blog

Thursday, March 22

Review at Impressions in Ink

Friday, March 23

Excerpt at A Literary Vacation

Friday, April 6

Interview at Passages to the Past

 

 

 

 

 

Novel Expressions Blog Tours: Excerpt of Daughters of the Night Sky by Aimie K. Runyan

Chapter I

1931, Miass, Chelyabinsk Oblast, the Gateway to Siberia

I stared as the rainbow-hued blooms danced in the breeze, imagining them ballerinas on the Moscow stage. The expansive steel-blue mountains, always capped with a hood of ice, were so different from the narrow streets and towering buildings of the city where I had spent my earliest years. My memories of the capital were garish with color. On bleak days, I could see in my mind Saint Basil’s with its earthy, sienna-colored body and onion-shaped spires swathed in rich tones of emerald, ruby, sapphire, and topaz, always set against a flurry of snow. The white swirl of frost made the colors reverberate even more, the memory refusing to be erased from the brilliant palette of my youth. The people—happy or cross, handsome or plain—were more colorful, too. Miass was gray, and the people with it. They mined in the hills, tended their shops, managed their farms. Mama worked in the laundry, day after day in a fog of gray.

But for two weeks in July, the muddy hills along the riverbank outside Miass were a riot of color. The summer of my tenth year was a particularly magnificent display. The splashes of lavender, crimson, and indigo against the sea of grass were the closest thing I could imagine to heaven. It was as though the Ural Mountains had been given an annual allotment of color by the new regime and they had chosen to use it up during those two glorious weeks.

I should have been at home in the cabin, doing the mending or preparing supper for Mama. She would be too tired to attend to these things when she came home, but to waste any of that color seemed inexcusable. So I left the chores undone, reveling in the light of summer.

When the hulking, olive-green airplane scarred the sky with its white trail, I thought perhaps my mother’s worst fears had been realized, that my imagination had run wild and I had finally gone mad. She would be so disappointed, but there was always a satisfaction in being proved right, I supposed.

But then I saw the neighbor, a squat old farmer with a face like a weathered beet, emerge from his cabin and follow the winding white exhaust from the sputtering engines with his dull, black eyes until the green speck was low on the horizon. It was real, and it was landing in the field outside the town square.

I knew I was running the risk of making Mama angry. I had no school that day, or marketing, or any other errand that would call me into town. She didn’t want me there more than I had to be, but she could hardly blame me for my curiosity. Papa used to talk about the airplanes he had flown in the European War—the war that had made him a hero—and Mama had to know the lure of seeing an aircraft for myself would be too great to resist.

I ran the two kilometers into Miass, and by the time I reached it, the townspeople had abandoned their work and gathered in the field to the east of town to see the remarkable machine and its pilot. He was a tall man with dark hair and a bristling black mustache that gleamed in the afternoon sun. He spoke to the crowd with a strong voice, and they stood captivated, as though Stalin himself had come to speak. I had seen Stalin once when he addressed the people of Moscow, and was far more impressed with this new visitor with the leather helmet and goggles atop his head.

Mama, who had been straining to take a peek, spotted me as I approached the crowd, and wove her way through the throng to my side, clasping my hand when I was within reach. Her power for worry was a formidable monster, and I had learned it was easier to placate it than to fight it.

“I thought this would bring you in, Katya. I wish you’d stayed home.” Annoyance or sheer exhaustion lined her face. “I can’t afford to leave early to see you home.”

“I made it here, Mama. I can make it home,” I answered, careful to keep any hint of cheek from my tone.

“Very well,” she said. “But I won’t tolerate this again.”

I laced my fingers in hers and kissed the back of her hand, hoping to soften her mood. I wouldn’t enjoy this if she were angry with me. “What has he told everyone, Mama?”

“He’s flying across the whole country,” she said, absently stroking my hair with her free hand. “He says there is a problem with his engine and he had to land for repairs.”

She strained her neck and stood on the tips of her toes to get a better view of the aircraft, but it was useless for me. I was a tall girl but still could not hope to see over the heads of the swarm that encircled the astounding contraption. I broke free from Mama’s grip and squeezed myself through the cracks until I was standing only a few centimeterss from the metal casing. It was not smooth, as it appeared from a distance, but dimpled by the rivets that attached the sheets of metal to the frame beneath.

The pilot answered the townspeople’s questions with patience.

“How does it stay up?” one of the town’s mechanics called out.

“Aren’t you afraid to crash?” a young woman with a squawking toddler asked.

They didn’t seem like interesting questions to me, but all the same he didn’t answer the mechanic with a sarcastic “Fairy dust” or the young mother with a “No, I wouldn’t feel a thing if I did,” as others might have done. He gave a very simple explanation and spoke as if each question was the most important matter in his world. No one chattered when he offered his explanations; no one muttered about men forgetting that their place was on the ground.

Emboldened, I placed my hand on the metal of the plane’s body, warmed by the summer sun, but not too hot to touch for a few seconds. I removed my hand before the pilot could chastise me. Though I longed to run my hands along the wings that spread outward forever, I wouldn’t have the stolen caress ruined by a reprimand. Papa’s descriptions had not come close to doing the machine justice. My mind could only begin to understand the freedom this aircraft gave its pilot. He could go anywhere he pleased: If he could fly from the western border of Russia to the farthest reaches of Siberia, there was nothing stopping him from continuing on to see the wonders of China. Better still, he could go back west to see Geneva, Madrid, Florence, and all the cities Mama had dreamed of seeing but no longer spoke of.

I knew that if I had one of these machines for myself, I would never settle in one place for the rest of my days. I would hop from the pyramids of Egypt to the Amazon to the streets of New York and wherever else my fancy flew me. I looked at the pilot and tried not to let my jealousy consume me. He had earned his wings, his freedom. Someday I could earn mine, too. I would take Mama on my adventures, and she could leave the laundry behind her. She’d never do so much as rinse a blouse out in a sink ever again. She would smile again. Sing again. We would eat like queens and hire people to see to the less pleasant tasks of daily life. I would never speak that aloud in front of my teacher, Comrade Dokorov. He’d chastise me for setting a bad example of capitalist greed.

In an unprecedented gesture of generosity, Mama’s boss allowed her to come home early that day without docking her pay, owing to my presence in town. The plane must have bewitched him as it had me. The entire way home and all throughout preparations of dinner, I spoke of nothing but the pilot and his airplane. Mama listened patiently, but her cornflower eyes began to grow hazy.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m boring you,” I said, adding the potatoes to the stewpot.

“No, darling. I’m simply tired, as usual.” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand as she stirred.

“I’m going to learn how to fly a plane of my own someday, Mama. I’m going to get us out of here.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Publisher: Lake Union Publishing

Pub. Date: January 1st, 2018

Pages: 316

Genre: Historical Fiction

A novel—inspired by the most celebrated regiment in the Red Army—about a woman’s sacrifice, courage, and love in a time of war.

Russia, 1941. Katya Ivanova is a young pilot in a far-flung military academy in the Ural Mountains. From childhood, she’s dreamed of taking to the skies to escape her bleak mountain life. With the Nazis on the march across Europe, she is called on to use her wings to serve her country in its darkest hour. Not even the entreaties of her new husband—a sensitive artist who fears for her safety—can dissuade her from doing her part as a proud daughter of Russia.

After years of arduous training, Katya is assigned to the 588th Night Bomber Regiment—one of the only Soviet air units comprised entirely of women. The Germans quickly learn to fear nocturnal raids by the daring fliers they call “Night Witches.” But the brutal campaign will exact a bitter toll on Katya and her sisters-in-arms. When the smoke of war clears, nothing will ever be the same—and one of Russia’s most decorated military heroines will face the most agonizing choice of all.

About the Author

Aimie K. Runyan writes to celebrate history’s unsung heroines. She is the author of two previous historical novels: Promised to the Crown and Duty to the Crown, and hard at work on novel #4. She is active as an educator and a speaker in the writing community and beyond. She lives in Colorado with her wonderful husband and two (usually) adorable children.

To learn more about Aimie and her work, please visit her website, and connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.

 

Novel Expressions Blog Tour Schedule

 

March 12th

Book Review – 2 Kids and Tired Books
Book Review – MY NOVELSQUE LIFE

March 13th

Guest Post – Let Them Read Books
Book Review – Locks, Hooks and Books

March 14th

Book Spotlight – The Writing Desk
Book Review – The Maiden’s Court

March 15th

Book Excerpt – A Bookaholic Swede

March 16th

Interview – Just One More Chapter
Book Excerpt – A Literary Vacation
Book Review – before the second sleep

 

 

 



Excerpt of The Lucky Ones by Tiffany Reisz

Pub. Date: February 13th, 2018
Publisher: MIRA
Pages: 368


They called themselves “the lucky ones”

They were seven children either orphaned or abandoned by their parents and chosen by legendary philanthropist and brain surgeon Dr. Vincent Capello to live in The Dragon, his almost magical beach house on the Oregon Coast. Allison was the youngest of the lucky ones living an idyllic life with her newfound family…until the night she almost died, and was then whisked away from the house and her adopted family forever.

Now, thirteen years later, Allison receives a letter from Roland, Dr. Capello’s oldest son, warning her that their father is ill and in his final days. Allison determines she must go home again and confront the ghosts of her past. She’s determined to find out what really happened that fateful night — was it an accident or, as she’s always suspected, did one of her beloved family members try to kill her?

But digging into the past can reveal horrific truths, and when Allison pieces together the story of her life, she’ll learns the terrible secret at the heart of the family she once loved but never really knew.

Excerpt of The Lucky Ones

She glared at him, tight-lipped, not amused. 

“Five hundred Ben Franklins don’t take up a lot of space,” he said. “Don’t believe everything you see in movies. Even one million won’t fill a briefcase, unless it’s all in ones.” 

“And you’re giving it to me out of the goodness of your heart?” she asked. 

“I am. You should know, my lawyer tried to tell me I should get you to sign an NDA before I gave you the money. I told him to shove it.” 

“An NDA? He wanted me to sign a nondisclosure agreement for sleeping with you?” 

“I pay the man to protect me,” McQueen said. “My daughter’s ex-babysitter talking to the press about how I slept with her at the tender age of nineteen might hurt me a little. You know I want to run for governor one of these days. But I’m not making you sign anything. I trust you. I have always trusted you. The money is yours free and clear. I want you to take it. You’re only hurting yourself if you don’t.” 

“I shouldn’t accept it,” she said. “It’ll let you off the hook too easily.” 

He smiled at that. He knew his own faults, which was one of his few virtues. 

“But I’m going to take it,” she said. 

“You earned it.” 

“I did,” she said. “But not because I put up with you the past six years. I earned this much just for putting up with this conversation.” 

He lowered his head and exhaled loudly. 

“You don’t make it easy on a man,” he said. “You could say thank you. Most girlfriends don’t get severance pay after a breakup.” 

“I’m not your girlfriend, remember?” She put the money into the box. She saw her earrings. She saw the rent receipt. She saw the letter. She saw two thick envelopes. 

“What are those?” 

“One’s your mail. The other’s…they’re the pictures.” 

“Our pictures?” she asked. 

He slowly nodded. “You have any idea how much it hurt giving those pictures up?” 

“How much?” 

“A lot. I came this close to keeping them.” He held up his fingers a hairbreadth apart. 

“They’re pornographic,” she said, glaring at him. 

“They’re beautiful. And you’re beautiful in them. And I don’t look too bad myself.” 

“What about running for governor someday?” she asked. 

“That’s the only reason I gave them back to you,” he said. 

“You seem sadder about losing them than losing me.” 

“Cricket, please…” 

“Don’t call me that anymore,” she said, closing her eyes. “I did everything you asked me to do—in bed and out. Everything. I never asked for anything from you. I never complained. I never…” She never made a scene. She never cried in front of him. She did all his favorite tricks. 

“We had six good years,” he said. 

“Good for you. I was nineteen. Do you feel bad about that at all?” 

“Let me ask you this,” he said. “Do you?” 

“You want me to absolve you.” 

“I want you to be honest with me,” he said. “Did I take advantage of you? If I did, then tell me. Or did you want it as much as I did?” 

“I was nineteen,” she said again. 

“You weren’t drafted into the army. You had sex with an older man who paid your rent and your bills and gave you diamonds for Christmas. You knew what the deal was when I offered it to you. I’ve told my fair share of lies to my fair share of women,” he said. “But I never lied to you about us. Did I?” 

Allison would have argued except it was true. Of course he never lied to her. Lovers lied to protect the loved one. No love to protect meant no need for lies. 

“No, you never lied to me.” 

McQueen met her eyes for a split second before glancing away, a guilty look on his face. 

“So this is it?” she asked. “The end?” 

“I’d like to have sex with you before I leave,” he said. 

Allison stared at him, incredulous. 

“Yes, and I’d like to marry a knight-errant and raise rare-breed cats with him in our castle by the sea,” she said. 

“I’m taking that as a ‘no’ to breakup sex,” he said. 

“Safe to say that’s a ‘no.’

About the Author

Tiffany Reisz lives in Lexington, Kentucky with her husband, author Andrew Shaffer. Learn more about Tiffany on her website and connect with her on Facebook and Instagram.

Buy the Book

Amazon | Books-A-Million | Barnes & Noble

TLC Book Tours Excerpt Tour

Monday, January 22nd: Books & Spoons

Tuesday, January 23rd: The Sassy Bookster

Wednesday, January 24th: A Literary Vacation

Thursday, January 25th: The Book Diva’s Reads

Friday, January 26th: What is That Book About

Monday, January 29th: Snowdrop Dreams

Tuesday, January 30th: Book Reviews and More by Kathy

Wednesday, January 31st: Palmer’s Page Turners

Thursday, February 1st: Suzy Approved

Friday, February 2nd: Thoughts from a Highly Caffeinated Mind

Monday, February 5th: Clues and Reviews

Tuesday, February 6th: Bibliotica

Wednesday, February 7th: From the TBR Pile

Thursday, February 8th: Books a la Mode

Friday, February 9th: Jathan & Heather

TLC Book Tours Review Tour

Monday, February 12th: Books & Bindings

Monday, February 12th: Into the Hall of Books and @intothehallofbooks

Tuesday, February 13th: Clues and Reviews and @cluesandreviews

Tuesday, February 13th: Read Love Blog

Tuesday, February 13th: @anniabbauer and @beach.house.books

Wednesday, February 14th: Palmer’s Page Turners

Thursday, February 15th: 5 Minutes for Books

Friday, February 16th: Bibliotica

Monday, February 19th: Patricia’s Wisdom

Tuesday, February 20th: Books a la Mode

Tuesday, February 20th: Katy’s Library and @katyslibrary

Wednesday, February 21st: Thoughts from a Highly Caffeinated Mind and @artbookscoffeee

Thursday, February 22nd: Tales of a Book Addict

Friday, February 23rd: Kritter’s Ramblings

Friday, February 23rd: Novel Gossip and @novelgossip

Monday, February 26th: Jathan & Heather

Monday, February 26th: Jenn’s Bookshelves

Tuesday, February 27th: @athousandbookstoread

Tuesday, February 27th: Kahakai Kitchen

Wednesday, February 28th: From the TBR Pile

Wednesday, February 28th: The Lit Bitch

Thursday, March 1st: A Chick Who Reads

Friday, March 2nd: Not in Jersey

Monday, March 5th: Snowdrop Dreams

Tuesday, March 6th: Bookchickdi

Wednesday, March 7th: West Metro Mommy Reads

Thursday, March 8th: Hoser’s Blook

Friday, March 9th: Thoughts on This ‘n That

Friday, March 9th: What is That Book About

Excerpt of There is Always a Tomorrow by Anna Belfrage + Tour-Wide Giveaway!!

Pub. Date: November 5, 2017
Publisher: Timelight Press
Pages: 400

Series: Graham Saga, Book #9
Genre: Historical Fiction/Time-Slip


There is Always a Tomorrow is the ninth book in Anna Belfrage’s time slip series featuring time traveller Alexandra Lind and her seventeenth century husband, Matthew Graham.


It is 1692 and the Colony of Maryland is still adapting to the consequences of Coode’s Rebellion some years previously. Religious tolerance in the colony is now a thing of the past, but safe in their home, Alex and Matthew Graham have no reason to suspect they will become embroiled in the ongoing religious conflicts—until one of their sons betrays their friend Carlos Muñoz to the authorities.

Matthew Graham does not leave his friends to rot—not even if they’re papist priests—so soon enough most of the Graham family is involved in a rescue attempt, desperate to save Carlos from a sentence that may well kill him.

Meanwhile, in London little Rachel is going through hell. In a matter of months she loses everything, even her surname, as apparently her father is not Master Cooke but one Jacob Graham. Not that her paternity matters when her entire life implodes.

Will Alex and Matthew be able to help their unknown grandchild? More importantly, will Rachel want their help?

Excerpt of There is Always a Tomorrow

John Law at eight in the morning was not as sparkling a personage as he was at midnight. In fact, the young man looked as if he’d planted one foot in a premature grave, a side-effect, Luke presumed, of ingesting too much wine and gin the previous night.

“You came in with Charlie?” Luke asked, nodding a greeting at his son who was presently helping himself to porridge.

“Aye.” John Law grinned. “At the time, it seemed wise not to repair to my own lodgings.”

“Ah. And who did you ruin this time?”

“Yet another little lordling.” Law sniffed. “With a rich papa and no sense whatsoever.”

“One day you’ll overstep the mark,” Luke warned.

“Which is why I accepted Charlie’s offer of a bed,” Law replied.

“In my house—not his,” Luke commented.

At this, Charlie grimaced. “It was late. Jane would not have liked it, that we came home smelling of gin and—” He broke off.

Women, Luke filled in. Little more than perfumed whores, those desperate third and fourth daughters who frequented the salons at night, hoping to meet a man who’d marry them or at least set them up in style, like his dear departed king and lord, Charles II, used to do.

“Mind you,” Law continued, “should they challenge me, I would win.”

“Mmm?” Luke added some salt to his porridge. No matter that he’d lived most of his life in London, some habits were hard to break. His mam had always served them porridge for breakfast, Margaret had done the same, and so here they were, with Luke closer to sixty than fifty and still starting his days with a bowl of oat porridge.

“I am a skilled fencer,” Law explained.

“Ah.” Luke dabbed at his mouth. “So am I. And unlike you, I’ve used those skills to stay alive on the battlefield.”

Law cocked his head. “Begging your pardon, but you’re too old to be much of a challenge now, Sir Luke.”

Luke suppressed a smile. “Really?” he said mildly.

“Father is an excellent swordsman,” Charlie put in. “I’d not wager against him.”

“No?” A speculative light lit up Law’s eyes. “I would.”

In the doorway, David laughed. “Best make sure the footmen come prepared with bandages, Law. He’ll leave you covered in gashes. The only one who stands a chance against him is—”

“Yes, yes,” Luke interrupted, sharing a swift look with Charlie. A responding wink had him suppressing yet another smile.

“Ten guineas says I’ll win.” Law threw a heavy pouch on the table.

Luke looked at his nephew, his son. “Done.”

Law was good, but Luke was better. After having bloodied the youngster—a mere scratch across his cheek—Luke bowed out and chose to watch as the three young men went at it with their swords. David was a hopeless case, attempting to compensate with brute force for the grace and skills he lacked.

“Did Matthew not teach you to fence?” Luke asked. His brother was an impressive swordsman.

“No time.” David mopped at his brow. “Da is a farmer, not a gentleman of leisure.”

“You should have seen him on Barbados.” Charlie made a couple of quick sweeps with his rapier. “One man against six, and he held them off.”

“Aye, with some help from Mama.” David joined Luke on the bench, shivering as a sudden gust of wind swept through the garden.

“Your mother knows how to fence?” Law sounded impressed.

“Nay, she kicks—like a mule,” David said.

Law wrinkled his nose. “How unladylike.”

“Useful, though.” David shrugged and nodded at Charlie. “Have you bested him yet?”

Law smirked and straightened up, all elegant grace. As tall as Charlie, John Law was substantially lighter and was already bouncing on his toes in anticipation. David elbowed Luke. “Dear John doesn’t stand a chance,” he murmured.

“No,” Luke agreed, just as quietly. “And he has committed the grave mistake of underestimating his opponent.”

Charlie was standing sturdily on both feet, an ox facing a temperamental stallion. In contrast to Law, he was not holding his sword aloft, rather he was looking inept and clumsy. Until Law darted towards him. A whirlwind of red hair, of billowing sleeves, and Charlie was dancing round Law, his sword flashing in the October sun. Some while later, Law gave up, looking quite disgruntled.

“I haven’t lost for years,” he admitted. “Now, I’ve lost twice in one morning.”

“Complacency,” Luke told him. “The most dangerous adversary of all.” He looked the young Scotsman up and down. “Best beware you don’t fleece the wrong man.”

Law’s face reddened. “I don’t cheat,” he protested. “I just count.”

“A man who loses consistently will accuse you of cheating rather than admitting to his own incompetence.” Luke handed his sword to one footman and allowed the other to help him into his coat, a fashionably cut affair that fell almost to his knees.

“I’ll keep it in mind, sir,” Law said, bowing politely. He clapped Charlie on his shoulder and excused himself.

“I don’t think he will,” David said to Luke. “Yon Law is too full of himself.”

“But bright as a button.” Luke glanced at David. “He’ll learn.”

 

Buy the Book

 

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | IndieBound

 

 

About the Author



 

Anna was raised abroad, on a pungent mix of Latin American culture, English history and Swedish traditions. As a result she’s multilingual and most of her reading is historical- both non-fiction and fiction. Possessed of a lively imagination, she has drawers full of potential stories, all of them set in the past. She was always going to be a writer – or a historian, preferably both. Ideally, Anna aspired to becoming a pioneer time traveller, but science has as yet not advanced to the point of making that possible. Instead she ended up with a degree in Business and Finance, with very little time to spare for her most favourite pursuit. Still, one does as one must, and in between juggling a challenging career Anna raised her four children on a potent combination of invented stories, historical debates and masses of good food and homemade cakes. They seem to thrive…

For years she combined a challenging career with four children and the odd snatched moment of writing. Nowadays Anna spends most of her spare time at her writing desk. The children are half grown, the house is at times eerily silent and she slips away into her imaginary world, with her imaginary characters. Every now and then the one and only man in her life pops his head in to ensure she’s still there.

Other than on her website, www.annabelfrage.com, Anna can mostly be found on her blog, http://annabelfrage.wordpress.com – unless, of course, she is submerged in writing her next novel. You can also connect with Anna on Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads.

 

 

It's Giveaway Time!!

 

During the Blog Tour we will be giving away 2 eBooks & 2 paperback copies of There is Always a Tomorrow! To enter, please enter via the Gleam form HERE.

Giveaway Rules

– Giveaway ends at 11:59pm EST on December 21st. You must be 18 or older to enter.
– Giveaway is open INTERNATIONALLY.
– Only one entry per household.
– All giveaway entrants agree to be honest and not cheat the systems; any suspect of fraud is decided upon by blog/site owner and the sponsor, and entrants may be disqualified at our discretion.
– Winner has 48 hours to claim prize or new winner is chosen.

 

Good Luck!!

 

 

HFVBT Blog Tour Schedule

 

Monday, November 27

Review at A Holland Reads

Tuesday, November 28

Review at So Many Books, So Little Time
Excerpt at Locks, Hooks and Books

Wednesday, November 29

Review at Pursuing Stacie

Thursday, November 30

Feature at WS Momma Readers Nook
Excerpt at What Is That Book About
Excerpt at Myths, Legends, Books & Coffee Pots

Friday, December 1

Review at Just One More Chapter

Sunday, December 3

Feature at T’s Stuff

Monday, December 4

Review at A Chick Who Reads

Tuesday, December 5

Excerpt at A Literary Vacation

Wednesday, December 6

Feature at The Lit Bitch

Thursday, December 7

Feature at A Bookaholic Swede

Friday, December 8

Review at A Bookish Affair

Monday, December 11

Feature at View From the Birdhouse
Feature at Encouraging Words from the Tea Queen

Tuesday, December 12

Review at Beth’s Book Nook Blog

Wednesday, December 13

Feature at Historical Fiction with Spirit

Thursday, December 14

Feature at Passages to the Past

Friday, December 15

Review at Book Nerd

Monday, December 18

Feature at A Book Geek

Tuesday, December 19

Review at CelticLady’s Reviews

Wednesday, December 20

Review at Jorie Loves a Story

Thursday, December 21

Review at Broken Teepee
Interview at Jorie Loves a Story

 

 

 

 

 

 



Spotlight on Clara at the Edge by Maryl Jo Fox + Giveaway!!

Publisher: She Writes Press
Pub. Date: November 21st, 2017
Pages: 340


At seventy-three, eccentric widow Clara Breckenridge is on a last-ditch journey to reconcile with her estranged son, finally confront the guilty secrets surrounding her daughter’s death, and maybe find love again before she dies miserable and alone. But Clara is her own worst enemy. Rigid and afraid of change, she has cocooned herself in her old house to escape from life. Magic purple wasps saved her as a child from an abusive father and they want to help her now, but wasps only live 120 days. Clara’s time is running out.

When her beloved house is slated for demolition, she panics and persuades her son to haul the house from Eugene to Jackpot, Nevada, where Clara’s life is turned upside down by two troubled young people. Can the rowdy purple wasp, a spirit guide with surprising powers, help Clara confront her past and join life again or is it too late? Clara at the Edge is imaginative, eventful, sometimes funny and deeply moving.

Praise for Clara at the Edge

“Clara is a fascinating, feisty character….The writing is haunting and lyrical, and frequently ripples with humor and heart….Clara truly is at the edge of something greater than herself....[and her] story unspools in a compelling and engaging way.”—FOREWORD REVIEWS

"Fox’s writing says yes to every surreal and absurd possibility life offers."—BOOKLIST

“Who knew wasps could be protectors, champions, and the best friends a girl ever had? Maryl Jo Fox has written a wild, enchanting, constantly surprising story of one woman’s resilience, courage, and redemption through what may be a kind of magical insanity. Clara At the Edge kept me buzzing on every page.”—Diana Wagman, author of Life #6 and The Care and Feeding of Exotic Pets

“This dazzling combination of riotous imagination with bottomless compassion makes this such a stellar debut. Readers will surely remember Clara and her crew— they are utterly distinct, and beautifully realized.”—Aimee Bender, author of The Color Master and The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake
                                                                  
"We will follow Clara anywhere."—Walter Kirn, author of Up in the Air and Blood Will Out

Buy the Book

 

Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Indie Bound

 

 

About the Author

 

 

Maryl Jo Fox grew up in Idaho and studied music at the University of Idaho before transferring to UC Berkeley for a BA in English. She went on to earn an MA in English at the University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana. Her short fiction has appeared in Passages North, Bat City Review, and other journals. Her writing has also appeared in LA Weekly and the LA Times. She is a former president of the L.A. Drama Critics Circle. She has taught literature and composition at Pasadena City College, Glendale College, and others, and currently leads a novels discussion group at Vromans bookstore in Pasadena. She discovered her focus in a UCLA Extension Writers’ Program class, “Master Sequence in Magic, Surrealism, and the Absurd." Learn more at https://maryljofox.com/ and https://www.facebook.com/MarylJoFoxAuthor/. 

 

 

It's Giveaway Time!!

 

Thanks to Caitlin Hamilton Summie I have one copy of Clara at the Edge to give away today! The giveaway is for one copy and is open to US addresses only. I'll make it super easy to enter: just leave a comment on this post about why you want to win this book (does the topic catch your fancy? Do you already enjoy the author's writing?) along with your email address so I can notify you if you are the winner. That's it!

Because I really appreciate anyone who follows my blog, if you do follow just leave a separate comment for each way you follow and you'll get extra entries for each (please state in each comment how you follow). I'll use a random number generator to pick a winner among all entries and will announce the winner here on Monday, November 27th, 2017. I'll also send the winner an email (don't forget to include your email address in your comment so I can notify you if you are my winner!) and they will have 48 hours to respond with their mailing address.

Good Luck!!



Excerpt of The It Girl and Me: A Novel of Clara Bow​ ​by Laini Giles + Tour-Wide Giveaway!!

Sepia Stories Publishing
Pub. Date: March 25, 2017
Pages: 341

Series: Forgotten Actresses, Book #2
Gere: Historical Fiction / Biographical


Daisy DeVoe has left her abusive husband, her father has been pinched for bootlegging, and she’s embarrassed by her rural Kentucky roots. But on the plus side, she’s climbing the ladder in the salon of Paramount Pictures, styling hair for actress Clara Bow.

Clara is a handful. The “It” Girl of the Jazz Age personifies the new woman of the 1920s onscreen, smoking, drinking bootleg hooch, and bursting with sex appeal. But her conduct off the set is even more scandalous. Hoping to impose a little order on Clara’s chaotic life, Paramount persuades Daisy to sign on as Clara’s personal secretary.

Thanks to Daisy, Clara’s bank account is soon flush with cash. And thanks to Clara, Daisy can finally shake off her embarrassing past and achieve respectability for herself and her family.

The trouble begins when Clara’s newest fiancé, cowboy star Rex Bell, wants to take over, and he and Daisy battle for control. Torn between her loyalty to Clara and her love for her family, Daisy has to make a difficult choice when she ends up in the county jail.

Here, Daisy sets the record straight, from her poverty-stricken childhood to her failed marriage; from a father in San Quentin to her rollercoaster time with Clara, leaving out none of the juicy details.

Excerpt of The It Girl and Me

 

“The Wild Party, scene three, take six,” said the slate boy. He clacked the halves together and retreated.

“Action!”

Clara frolicked into the frame, turned enthusiastically, and let out a booming “Whoopee!”

The dangling microphone shook for a moment, then emitted a poof, like a giant creature exhaling.

“Cut!” Dorothy called.

Everyone on the set looked up at it in confusion. Clarence lowered the mike, his eyes filled with fear. Roy Pomeroy stalked over, grabbed the thing away from Clarence, and examined it. He hacked at the twine with his pocketknife, then shook his head. “Clarence, bring me a new tube. This one’s blown.”

After fifteen minutes of searching for a replacement, Clarence dashed over to Pomeroy with it. Pomeroy pulled the microphone apart, pushed in the tube, and reassembled it. This time, instead of heading back into the sound booth, he waited to see what happened.

“Places, everyone!” Dorothy called. Cast and crew resumed their spots.

“The Wild Party, scene three, take seven,” said the slate boy.

“And . . . action!”

There came Clara again, executing her perfectly casual turn, her face animated.

“Whoopee!” she exclaimed.

Poof.

Dorothy shook her head.

Pomeroy turned to Clarence again. “Any tubes left?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Eight, Mr. Pomeroy.”

Pomeroy reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, then handed them to Clarence. “Get over to that place on Sunset. Pick up as many as they have in stock. We’re going to need plenty.”

While the cast and crew had a laugh over the tubes, Artie leaned over to me.

“She’s having to learn to use her voice for the very first time, and it scares the hell outta her.”

“And learn lines too,” I said. “She wanted me here for support the day they tested her. She was sobbing, Artie. Told me she couldn’t possibly be in pictures with a voice that bad.”

He shook his head. “It’s not bad. It’s just Brooklyn. We gotta help her develop some confidence. Everybody’s got mike fright right now. Think of all the foreigners in Hollywood who have accents thicker than butterscotch pudding. I got seated next to Vilma Banky and Rod La Rocque at a dinner party a couple months ago, and I couldn’t understand a word she said. Where the hell is she from, anyway? Those are the people who need to be worried. Clara is up to forty-five thousand fan letters a month! She’s Paramount’s biggest earner. They won’t kill her career over that voice, but I don’t want her sabotaging herself either.”

“I heard they’re giving Greta Garbo all the time in the world to lose some of her accent,” I said.

“Clara’s got a better voice than that.”

“If she can keep that stammer in check,” I said.

“She only does it when she’s nervous. She’s had it since she was little.”

“That long? I had no idea. I thought she was just frightened of sound.”

“We’re all scared of sound. But audiences want it. We gotta teach Clara how to act all over again.”

 

Buy the Book

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Chapters

 

 

About the Author

 

Originally from the counterculture mecca of Austin, Texas, Laini discovered a love of reading early on, and when she was eight, decided to be Nancy Drew. This dream was dashed when she realized she was actually a big chicken, and that there were no guarantees of rescue from tarantulas, bad guys with guns, and other fiendish plot twists. She finished her first “mystery novel” (with custom illustrations) when she was nine.

She set the writing aside for a while when life got in the way, but was led back to it through her interest in genealogy and 18 months of enforced unemployment due to moving north for maple-flavored goodies and real beer. Reading old microfilm stirred new life into her interest in writing, and watching early silent films struck the match.

Like most other writers, most of her monthly budget is spent on coffee and books. She lives with her husband and their two gray cats in Edmonton, Alberta.

For more information, please visit Laini Giles’ website. You can also connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Goodreads.

It's Giveaway Time!!!

 

During the Blog Tour we will be giving away 5 paperback copies of The It Girl and Me! To enter, please enter via the Gleam form HERE.

Giveaway Rules

– Giveaway ends at 11:59pm EST on November 29th. You must be 18 or older to enter.
– Giveaway is open to US & Canada only.
– Only one entry per household.
– All giveaway entrants agree to be honest and not cheat the systems; any suspect of fraud is decided upon by blog/site owner and the sponsor, and entrants may be disqualified at our discretion.
– Winner has 48 hours to claim prize or new winner is chosen.

 

Good Luck!!

 

  

The It Girl and Me Blog Tour Schedule

 

Wednesday, November 1

Kick Off at Passages to the Past

Thursday, November 2

Feature at What Is That Book About

Friday, November 3

Feature at So Many Books, So Little Time

Monday, November 6

Review at Bookish

Tuesday, November 7

Feauture at WS Momma Readers Nook

Thursday, November 9

Review at Beth’s Book Nook Blog

Friday, November 10

Review at A Bookaholic Swede

Monday, November 13

Review at Creating Herstory
Excerpt at Myths, Legends, Books & Coffee Pots

Wednesday, November 15

Review at A Chick Who Reads

Friday, November 17

Excerpt at A Literary Vacation

Monday, November 20

Feature at Let Them Read Books

Wednesday, November 22

Feature at The Lit Bitch

Thursday, November 23

Review at Locks, Hooks and Books

Friday, November 24

Feature at CelticLady’s Reviews

Saturday, November 25

Excerpt at T’s Stuff

Tuesday, November 28

Review at View from the Birdhouse

Wednesday, November 29

Review at A Book Drunkard

 

  







Guest Post by Andrew Joyce, Author of Bedtime Stories for Grown-Ups

Hello, my name is Andrew Joyce. I have a new book out entitled Bedtime Stories for Grown-Ups. It came about because my editor hounded me for two years to put all my short stories into one collection. Actually, it was supposed to be a two-volume set because there was so much material. I fended her off for as long as possible. I didn’t want to do the work of editing all the stories. There were a lot of them. But she finally wore me down. Instead of two volumes, I put all the stories into a single book because I wanted to get the whole thing over with. I had other books to write.

Bedtime Stories is made up of fiction and nonfiction stories and some of ’em are about my criminal youth. I must tell you, I never thought any of these stories would see the light of day. I wrote them for myself and then forgot about them. By the way, there are all sorts of genres within its pages, from westerns to detective stories to love stories and just about anything else that you can imagine.

There are a whole lotta stories in the book—700 pages worth. Enough to keep you reading for the foreseeable future.

Anyway, here’s one of the shorter fiction stories from the book.

Everything’s Jake

 

It was early in the morning when the man rode into town from the east, the sun at his back, his long shadow before him. The street was deserted except for an old mongrel dog sniffing its way home after a long night’s prowl.

He proceeded on the main thoroughfare—the town’s only thoroughfare—until he came abreast of the Blue Moon Café with its “WE NEVER CLOSE” sign hanging from the ramada. Spurring his horse over to the hitching post outside the café, he dismounted and entered the establishment.

At that time in the morning, the chairs were on the tables, and the only occupants were a boy sweeping the floor and a disheveled, overweight man behind the bar wiping a glass with a dirty rag. The barkeep watched the stranger approach.

“How ’bout some whiskey?” said the stranger.

When the barman was slow in responding, the man grabbed his collar, pulled him down until he was bent over the bar and their eyes were staring into each other’s.

“I said whiskey,” growled the stranger.

“Yes sir, right away,” was the barkeep’s quick response.

When released, with a shaking hand he placed the glass he had been wiping on the bar, grabbed a bottle from beneath the counter, and poured a liberal amount of an amber liquid into it.

As he started to re-cork the bottle, he was told to leave it.

“Yes sir.”

Turning his back to the bar and placing his elbows thereon, he called to the youth doing the sweeping.

“Hey you, boy, come over here.”

Placing his broom against the nearest table, the boy did as he was bid.

“You got a name, son?”

“Yes sir. It’s Billy.”

“Well, Billy, do you know a man by the name of Jake Tapper?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Yes sir.”

Reaching into his vest pocket, the man withdrew a silver dollar and flicked it in the boy’s direction. “You go tell Jake that Mac’s in town.”


• • • • •


Jake lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was much too early to be awake, but since she left, he’d found it hard to sleep. It had been a heady eight months. He had never loved a woman as he had loved Jeanie. Sure, it was taking a chance messing with Mac Conway’s woman, but it had been worth it. Now that she had run off with that piano player from the Blue Moon, he thought he’d just stop running from Mac. Might as well get it over with, thought Jake.

Then there was a knock at his door. “Yes, who is it?”

“It’s me, Mister Tapper. Billy Doyle.”

“Whatcha want, Billy?”

“A man down to the Blue Moon told me to tell you that Mac is in town. I think he wants to talk to you.”

“Alright, Billy. You tell him I’ll be right there.”

Jake packed his few belongings and left the room. Instead of going to the Blue Moon, he went to the livery stable and saddled his horse. Then he mounted and headed out of town as fast as the beast could carry him.

It is one thing to think brave thoughts in the seclusion of your room, but it’s another thing to face Mac Conway in a saloon. Hell, it ain’t healthy to face off with Mac anywhere. Now that Jeanie’s gone, there’s no reason to git myself killed.

The next day Mac caught up with Jake, and then went looking for Jeanie.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Publisher: W. Birch & Associates

Pub. Date: September 21st, 2017

Pages: 689

 

Genre: Short Story Collection

 

Bedtime Stories for Grown-Ups is a jumble of genres—seven hundred pages of fiction and non-fiction … some stories included against the author’s better judgment. If he had known that one day they’d be published, he might not have been as honest when describing his past. Here is a tome of true stories about the author’s criminal and misspent youth, historical accounts of the United States when She was young, and tales of imagination encompassing every conceivable variety—all presented as though the author is sitting next to you at a bar and you’re buying the drinks as long as he keeps coming up with captivating stories to hold your interest.

Comprised of 218,000 words, you’ll have plenty to read for the foreseeable future. This is a book to have on your night table, to sample a story each night before extinguishing the lights and drifting off to a restful sleep.

Mr. Joyce sincerely hopes that you will enjoy his stories because, as he has stated, “It took a lot of living to come up with the material for some of them.”

 

 

Buy the Book

 

Amazon

 

 

About the Author

 

Andrew Joyce left high school at seventeen to hitchhike throughout the US, Canada, and Mexico. He wouldn't return from his journey until years later when he decided to become a writer. Joyce has written five books. His first novel, Redemption: The Further Adventures of Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, was awarded the Editors' Choice Award for Best Western of 2013. A subsequent novel, Yellow Hair, received the Book of the Year award from Just Reviews and Best Historical Fiction of 2016 from Colleen's Book Reviews.

Joyce now lives aboard a boat in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, with his dog, Danny, where he is busy working on his next book, tentatively entitled, Mahoney: An American Story.

 

To learn more about Joyce visit his website.

 





Spotlight on The Book of Air by Joe Treasure

Kitchen Surgery 

A group of people have gathered in Jason’s house in rural Wales, survivors of a virus that has wiped out most of the human population. Deirdre and Alesky have been out on a horse in scavenging tools and food from abandoned neighbouring farms. Meanwhile, with the help of Abigail and Maud, Jason has been searching for his five-year-old nephew Simon, who he last saw playing in the barn. 

We hear the cart on the drive. It’s moving faster than it should. We’re halfway across the yard when the horse comes round the side of the house, dragging the cart at a speed that tilts it on to its outer wheels at the turn. The geese scatter. The jackdaws flap from the stable roof, making their harsh noise. Deirdre pulls sharply on the reins and the horse rears up. 

Aleksy is slumped beside her. Deirdre’s shouting, ‘He’s hit, they shot him, he’s losing blood.’ We’re all over him, trying to help him down – Deirdre above him on the cart, Abigail lifting his legs, me pulling at him, taking the weight. And Aleksy’s thumping me, pummelling my shoulder. ‘Not me. The boy. See to the boy.’ I pull away and he stumbles to the ground, cursing in Polish. 

I get on the cart and fling the cardboard boxes aside. And there’s Simon in a foetal crouch. He rocks from side to side, humming to himself. 

‘What is it, Si? Where’d they get you?’ 

Abigail is beside me, straightening Simon’s legs, feeling for damage, touching his arms and fingers. 

I lift his hand gently from the side of his head. There’s a gash above the ear, muddied and bleeding – not a bullet wound. 

‘Is it your head, Si? Does it hurt anywhere else?’ 

He’s crammed with words that won’t come out. 

I carry him into the kitchen, following the trail of Aleksy’s blood. Aleksy is sideways on a kitchen chair, his good arm clinging to the back. Deirdre has cut the shirt sleeve from the injured arm. For a moment the wound is bright and open like a mouth, blood pulsing out of it. She’s knotted a tea towel above and winds it tight with a spoon. Abigail has pushed aside jars of jam to make space on the table for her sewing box. She pulls out pin cushions and reels of thread. She has a sheet over her shoulder. Maud comes up from the cellar with a bottle of brandy. They’ve got stuff stored away I don’t even know about. The kettle’s already rattling on the stove. 

I sit Simon on a chair and crouch to look at him. There’s no colour in his face. The external bleeding isn’t much but I’m worried about the knock to his skull. Behind him, Aleksy’s doing a lot of grunting. Maud and Abigail hold him still while Deirdre sews him up. Simon keeps twisting round to look, so I give up and turn his chair the other way. 

When I start cleaning the wound Simon says, ‘Ow’ and puts his hand up but he doesn’t take his eyes off the main attraction. ‘I said Ow.’ 

‘I heard you, but I’ve got to make sure it’s clean before I put a bandage on.’ 

Aleksy asks Deirdre if she’s done this before. 

‘With a horse, once, I did,’ she says. 

‘Well remember, please, that I am not a horse.’ 

I explode at them. ‘Christ, you two, what were you thinking, taking Simon?’ 

‘He was on the cart,’ Deirdre says. ‘He was playing in the boxes. We were a mile away before we knew.’ 

Aleksy grunts. ‘Stop talking and sew.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Publisher: Clink Street Publishing

Pub. Date: April 4th, 2017

Pages: 286

Genre: Science Fiction/Dystopian

Retreating from an airborne virus with a uniquely unsettling symptom, property developer Jason escapes London for his country estate, where he is forced to negotiate a new way of living with an assortment of fellow survivors. 

Far in the future, an isolated community of descendants continue to farm this same estate. Among their most treasured possessions are a few books, including a copy of Jane Eyre, from which they have constructed their hierarchies, rituals and beliefs. When 15-year-old Agnes begins to record the events of her life, she has no idea what consequences will follow. Locked away for her transgressions, she escapes to the urban ruins and a kind of freedom, but must decide where her future lies.

These two stories interweave, illuminating each other in unexpected ways and offering long vistas of loss, regeneration and wonder.

The Book of Air is a story of survival, the shaping of memory and the enduring impulse to find meaning in a turbulent world.

Buy the Book

Amazon UK

About the Author

Joe Treasure currently lives in South West London with his wife Leni Wildflower. As an English teacher in Wales, he ran an innovative drama programme, before following Leni across the pond to Los Angeles, an experience that inspired his critically acclaimed debut novel The Male Gaze (published by Picador). His second novel Besotted (also published by Picador) also met with rave reviews.

You can find out more about Joe on his website, and connect with him on Twitter.