"The Moon Moth by Jack Vance is a short story first published in 1961 set in an alien society on the planet Sirene. It remains to his fans, his most popular story. The story has our hero, Edwin Thissel, a consul newly arrived from Earth who has been ordered to stop an assassin, Haxo Angmark, and his detective work in unmasking the murderer. It combines sci-fi, a murder mystery and the intricacies of society culture formalities involving the wearing of elaborate masks that determine your status and communication through song and the playing of instruments...get it wrong and you could end up dead."--Publisher's website.

Have you ever wondered how some of nature's smallest creatures spend their days? Here's your chance to take a scientifically accurate peek into the life of the luna moth (Actias luna). Striking illustrations and lively storyline capture the real life changes for this small animal as it hunts for food, faces its enemies, and interacts with humans. The luna moth is found in forested areas throughout the eastern United States and southwestern Canada. The caterpillars eat the leaves of white birch, walnut, and hickory trees. The adult luna moth comes out of its cocoon in the late spring or early summer in the north. In the south, the moth can come out at any time of the year. As a result, up to three generations of lunas can live in one year. Adults die within a week of mating. They do not have working mouthparts, so they do not eat. Their energy comes from the leaves they fed upon while in the caterpillar stage. The name "luna" means "moon" in Latin. The moth was named after the moon because it is a creature of night. The two long tails are said to aid in making it difficult for bats to target them with their sonar. Luna moths are often attracted to bright lights. Be sure to look for them around outdoor lights.

The first collection from celebrated storytelling phenomenon The Moth presents fifty spellbinding, soul-bearing stories selected from their extensive archive. With tales from writer Malcolm Gladwell's wedding toast gone horribly awry; legendary rapper Darryl "DMC" McDaniels' obsession with a Sarah McLachlan song; poker champion Annie Duke's two million-dollar hand; and A. E. Hotchner's death-defying stint in a bullring . . . with his friend Ernest Hemingway. Read about the panic of former Clinton Press Secretary Joe Lockhart when he misses Air Force One after a hard night of drinking in Moscow, and Dr. George Lombardi's fight to save Mother Teresa's life. Inspired by friends telling stories on a porch, The Moth was born in small-town Georgia, garnered a cult following in New York City, and then rose to national acclaim with the wildly popular podcast and Peabody Award-winning weekly public radio show The Moth Radio Hour. A beloved read for Moth enthusiasts and all who savor well-told, hilarious, and heartbreaking stories.

Read Along or Enhanced eBook: Feeling quite ordinary, a plain gray moth sadly compares itself to its more exotic kin, such as the Luna Moth, the Spider Moth, and the Hummingbird Moth. And the little moth feels even worse when a young girl sees it and says "Eww!" But things change when her brother explains that this particular type of moth is his favorite kind of insect. Maybe an ordinary moth is really extraordinary after all. Back matter includes fascinating moth facts, along with a special activity.

In writing the story of our adventures in the Moon I, Thomas Stubbins, secretary to John Dolittle, M.D. (and son of Jacob Stubbins, the cobbler of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh), find myself greatly puzzled. It is not an easy task, remembering day by day and hour by hour those crowded and exciting weeks. It is true I made many notes for the Doctor, books full of them. But that information was nearly all of a highly scientific kind. And I feel that I should tell the story here not for the scientist so much as for the general reader. And it is in that I am perplexed. For the story could be told in many ways. People are so different in what they want to know about a voyage. I had thought at one time Jip could help me; and after reading him some chapters as I had first set them down I asked for his opinion. I discovered he was mostly interested in whether we had seen any rats in the Moon. I found I could not tell him. I didn’t remember seeing any; and yet I am sure there must have been some—or some sort of creature like a rat. Then I asked Gub-Gub. And what he was chiefly concerned to hear was the kind of vegetables we had fed on. (Dab-Dab snorted at me for my pains and said I should have known better than to ask him.) I tried my mother. She wanted to know how we had managed when our underwear wore out—and a whole lot of other matters about our living conditions, hardly any of which I could answer. Next I went to Matthew Mugg. And the things he wanted to learn were worse than either my mother’s or Jip’s: Were there any shops in the Moon? What were the dogs and cats like? The good Cats’-meat-Man seemed to have imagined it a place not very different from Puddleby or the East End of London. No, trying to get at what most people wanted to read concerning the Moon did not bring me much profit. I couldn’t seem to tell them any of the things they were most anxious to know. It reminded me of the first time I had come to the Doctor’s house, hoping to be hired as his assistant, and dear old Polynesia the parrot had questioned me. “Are you a good noticer?” she had asked. I had always thought I was—pretty good anyhow. But now I felt I had been a very poor noticer. For it seemed I hadn’t noticed any of the things I should have done to make the story of our voyage interesting to the ordinary public. The trouble was of course attention. Human attention is like butter: you can only spread it so thin and no thinner. If you try to spread it over too many things at once you just don’t remember them. And certainly during all our waking hours upon the Moon there was so much for our ears and eyes and minds to take in it is a wonder, I often think, that any clear memories at all remain. The one who could have been of most help to me in writing my impressions of the Moon was Jamaro Bumblelily, the giant moth who carried us there. But as he was nowhere near me when I set to work upon this book I decided I had better not consider the particular wishes of Jip, Gub-Gub, my mother, Matthew or any one else, but set the story down in my own way. Clearly the tale must be in any case an imperfect, incomplete one. And the only thing to do is to go forward with it, step by step, to the best of my recollection, from where the great insect hovered, with our beating hearts pressed close against his broad back, over the near and glowing landscape of the Moon.