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VanderMeer, Jeff and Ann (ed.) - ODD? / Вандермеер, Джефф и Энн (ред.) - Странно? [2011, EPUB, ENG]

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OldOldNick

Jeff and Ann VanderMeer (ed.) - ODD?

Название: ODD? / Странно?
Год выпуска: 2011
Под редакцией: VanderMeer, Jeff and Ann / Вандермеер, Джефф и Энн
Издательство: Cheeky Frawg Books
ISBN: Не указан
Формат: EPUB
Качество: eBook
Язык: английский

Описание:
Еще одна антология Джеффа и Энн Вандермеер, посвященная "странной" литературе.
The Dead Babies by Amos Tutuola
The War of the Vampires (excerpt) by Gustave Le Rouge
Weiroot by Jeffrey Ford
The Bloat Toad by Leopoldo Lugones
Apt 205 (= Apartment 205) by Mark Samuels
Modern Cities Exist Only to Be Destroyed by Michael Cisco
Slow Cold Chick by Nalo Hopkinson
A Hard Truth About Waste Management by Sumanth Prabhaker
Stinky Girl by Hiromi Goto
Logues by Eric Basso
Lotophagi by Edward R. Morris
Aunts by Karin Tidbeck
The Fork by Jeffrey Thomas
The Volatilized Ceiling of Baron Munodi by Rikki Ducornet
The Night of the Normal Distribution Curve by Leena Krohn
Unmaking by Amanda le Bas de Plumetot
The Head by Karl Hans Strobl
A Child's Guide to the Hollow Hills by Caitlin R. Kiernan
Sausage by Stacey Levine
Myster Odd Theme Song by Danny Fontaine and Jeff VanderMeer
WEIROOT


Jeffrey Ford


Weiroot, you mad man, what do you think you’re doing, sitting in the chill of the night, winking at the winking stars? Are you sending them a message? Come visit me? And what if they were to? What if in say a year or two a star fell, swept down out of the dark, trailing green fire, and smashed with an explosion of sparks and black diamond debris into the dunes surrounding your wooden plank palace? What would you do then? Oh sure, you’d call for your four marble men without faces, those savage quadruplets whose stone sculpted arms move with supple grace. “If they get obstreperous, let them have it,” you’d whisper and the four white dolts would nod and flex. But then, imagine your surprise, when the rock from space breaks open and out crawls a little fat baby, purple as a plum with a ridge of webbed spikes like a ladies’ open fan running from the crown of its head back to the base of the skull, orange eyes and a little “o” of a mouth. You know you’d gasp and wave your arms in the air. . .well; at least you’d wear a look of consternation and shake your head, and who wouldn’t? But then, even the four stone flunkies would make amazed faceless expressions when the little fellow from beyond the moon says “Feed me, Weiroot,” in a psychic voice that sounds between the ears. That would snarl your line of thought. So, I can see it now, you’d scoop that star baby up in your robed arms and shuffle with your lame stride back into that cockeyed palace.
. . .
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