Poet, novelist, painter and musician, Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) is the grand master of Bengali culture. Written during the 1890s, the stories in this selection brilliantly recreate vivid images of Bengali life and landscapes in their depiction of peasantry and gentry, casteism, corrupt officialdom and dehumanizing poverty. Yet Tagore is first and foremost India's supreme Romantic poet, and in these stories he can be seen reaching beyond mere documentary realism towards his own profoundly original vision.

Jesus' Son is a visionary chronicle of dreamers, addicts, and lost souls. These stories tell of spiraling grief and transcendence, of rock bottom and redemption, of getting lost and found and lost again. The raw beauty and careening energy of Denis Johnson's prose has earned this book a place among the classics of twentieth-century American literature.

A selection of short stories including favourites such as Youth, a modern epic of the sea; The Secret Sharer, a thrilling psychological drama; An Outpost of Progress, a blackly comic prelude to Heart of Darkness; Amy Foster, a moving story of a shipwrecked, alienated Pole; and The Lagoon and Karain, two exotic, exciting Malay tales.

From the Modern Library’s new set of beautifully repackaged hardcover classics by William Faulkner—also available are Snopes, As I Lay Dying, The Sound and the Fury, Light in August, and Absalom, Absalom! William Faulkner was a master of the short story. Most of the pieces in this collection are drawn from the greatest period in his writing life, the fifteen or so years beginning in 1929, when he published The Sound and the Fury. They explore many of the themes found in the novels and feature characters of small-town Mississippi life that are uniquely Faulkner’s. In “A Rose for Emily,” the first of his stories to appear in a national magazine, a straightforward, neighborly narrator relates a tale of love, betrayal, and murder. The vicious family of the Snopes trilogy turns up in “Barn Burning,” about a son’s response to the activities of his arsonist father. And Jason and Caddy Compson, two other inhabitants of Faulkner’s mythical Yoknapatawpha County, are witnesses to the terrorizing of a pregnant black laundress in “That Evening Sun.” These and the other stories gathered here attest to the fact that Faulkner is, as Ralph Ellison so aptly noted, “the greatest artist the South has produced.” Including these stories: “Barn Burning” “Two Soldiers” “A Rose for Emily” “Dry September” “That Evening Sun” “Red Leaves” “Lo!” “Turnabout” “Honor” “There Was a Queen” “Mountain Victory” “Beyond” “Race at Morning”

In the ancient land of Mirrors, where reflections held secrets and shadows whispered forgotten truths, a realm was teetering on the brink of oblivion. The very fabric of time was fraying, unraveling like a moth-eaten tapestry, and the heart of magic pulsed weakly, its rhythm faltering. At the center of this fading world stood the Evil Queen, becoming the Mistress of Evil. She had been a beacon of malevolence, her desires fueled by envy and bitterness. But now, her reflection wavered, distorted by regret. The mirror that once showed her beauty now reflected her fractured soul, a mosaic of shattered dreams and broken promises. Mistress of Evil's transformation began with a whisper, a forbidden incantation muttered in the hollows of the enchanted forest. She sought power beyond her own, a way to mend the rifts in time and restore the fading magic. But every spell exacted a price, and hers was steep. Her heart, once black as obsidian, now pulsed with a strange ache, a longing for something she couldn't name. It was a transformation of her physical form and her very essence, a journey from darkness to aching light. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the Mirrorlands, Mistress of Evil ventured deeper into the forest. Ancient oaks, their branches gnarled with age, whispered secrets that only the wind could carry. Phosphorescent mushrooms, like tiny lanterns, illuminated her path. She followed the ethereal glow, guided by a spectral light that danced just beyond her reach, beckoning her into the unknown. The fragrant world of Mirrors shifted around her. Trees twisted into grotesque shapes, their bark etched with forgotten runes. Pools of liquid silver reflected memories of lost battles, broken alliances, and the taste of poisoned apples. Mistress of Evil's footsteps echoed through the silence, each one a step closer to her destiny. At the heart of the forest, concealed by the shifting shadows, stood the Mirror of Eternity. A colossal pane of glass, it shimmered with iridescence, its surface rippling like water. It offered glimpses of other worlds and possibilities, a gateway to the unknown. Turin pressed her hand against the glass, feeling the vibrations resonate through her bones. "Show me," she whispered, her breath fogging the mirror. And it did. Images flickered: a prince with eyes like midnight, a spindle spinning fate, a mermaid with scales like moonlight. Each fragment held a clue, a thread to weave back the fabric of time. Yet, the mirror was not without its demands. Turin's reflection wavered, splitting into shards. She found herself at a crossroads, torn between her old self and the promise of redemption. The Mistress of Evil, once feared, now trembled like a leaf caught in a storm, her fate hanging in the balance. And so, with a final breath, Turin stepped into the mirror. The glass swallowed her, and the world of Mirrors held its breath. Time knitted itself together, and the heart of magic pulsed stronger, fueled by her sacrifice. But what emerged on the other side was not the Evil Queen. Instead, a woman stood there as a stranger with eyes like fractured glass, a heart stitched from memories. Turin was gone, her name whispered only in forgotten tales. And so, the ending of one story became the beginning of another. The fragrant world of Mirrors shifted, and new tales unfolded, a dance of light and shadow, redemption and transformation. And somewhere, in the depths of the enchanted forest, a mirror reflected a fractured soul, waiting for someone to whisper its name.

The first ever collection of Michael Marshall Smith's award-winning short stories. The first piece of fiction Smith ever wrote -- a short story called The Man Who Drew Cats -- won the World Fantasy award. It's included here along with many others, some unpublished, which show the incredible versatility of one of the most exciting writers working in Britain today. The collection is stuffed with surreal, disturbing gems including: 'When God Lived in Kentish Town' Someone comes up to you when you're quietly eating your stir-fried rice in a great Chinese take away, and tells you: 'I've found God'. You try to ignore them, right? But what if they have, and what if He works in a drab old electrical store on Kentish Town Road and he's not getting many customers? 'Diet Hell' Some people will do anything to fit into their old jeans. 'Save As...' What if you could back up your life? Save it up to a certain point and return to it when things went horribly wrong? 'Everybody Goes' An idyllic childhood day from a long, hot summer. The kind you want to last for ever. All good things must come to an end, mustn't they?