For many of us, the Ace Double Novels of the '50s and '60s have long been a source both of pleasure and nostalgia. This new double volume from Subterranean Press stands squarely in that distinguished tradition, offering a pair of colorful, fast-paced stories from the reigning master of the intergalactic space opera: Alastair Reynolds. Thousandth Night, the genesis for the epic novel House of Suns, is quintessential Reynolds. A visionary account of intrigue, ambition, and technological marvels set within a beautifully realized far-future milieu, it combines world-class storytelling with a provocative meditation on the mystery, grandeur, and inconceivable immensity of the universe. The masterful novella Minla's Flowers features Merlin, a familiar figure to Reynolds's readers. Diverted by technical difficulties to a planet known as Lecythus, Merlin finds himself forced to play a part in the moral and military dilemmas of a world on the verge of extinction.

"A story threaded with shimmering vibrance and beauty, A Thousand Nights will weave its spell over readers' hearts and leave them captivated long after the final tale has been told." -- Alexandra Bracken, New York Times best-selling author of The Darkest Minds series A dazzling retelling of Arabian Nights, A THOUSAND NIGHTS is a tale of family, love and power that would not feel out of place if Scheherazade herself were telling it. And maybe she is... Lo-Melkhiin killed three hundred girls before he came to her village, looking for a wife. When she sees the dust cloud on the horizon, she knows he has arrived. She knows he will want the loveliest girl: her sister. She vows she will not let her be next. And so she is taken in her sister's place. Night after night, Lo-Melkhiin comes to her and listens to the stories she tells, and day after day she is awoken by the sunrise. Exploring the palace, she begins to unlock years of fear that have tormented and silenced a kingdom. Lo-Melkhiin was not always a cruel ruler. Something went wrong. Far away, back in their village, her sister is mourning. Through her pain, she calls upon the desert winds, conjuring a subtle unseen magic, and something besides death stirs the air. Then at the palace, the words she speaks to Lo-Melkhiin every night are given a strange life of their own. Little things, at first: a dress from home, a vision of her sister. With each tale she spins, her power grows. Soon she dreams of bigger, more terrible magic: power enough to save a king, if she can put an end to the rule of a monster.

The second volume of this accurate translation of the wonderful and enchanting tales of the Arabian nights.

Winner Of The 1993 Commonwealth Writers&Rsquo; Prize For Best First Book What Makes A Dutiful Daughter, Wife, Mother? What Makes A Good Indian Woman? Devi Returns To Madras With An American Degree, Only To Be Sucked In By The Old Order Of Things&Mdash;A Demanding Mother&Rsquo;S Love, A Suitable But Hollow Marriage, An Unsuitable Lover Who Offers A Brief Escape. But The Women Of The Hoary Past Come Back To Claim Devi Through Myth And Story, Music And Memory. They Show Her What It Is To Stay And Endure, What It Is To Break Free And Move On.Sita Has Been The Ideal Daughter-In-Law, Wife And Mother. But Now That She Has Arranged A Marriage For Her Daughter She Has To Come To Terms With An Old Dream Of Her Own. Mayamma Knows How To Survive As The Old Family Retainer, Bending The Way The Wind Blows. But, Through Devi, She Too Can See A Different Life. A Subtle And Tender Tale Of Women'S Lives In India, This Award-Winning Novel Is Structured With The Delicacy And Precision Of A Piece Of Music. Fusing Myth, Tale And The Real Voices Of Different Women, The Thousand Faces Of Night Brings Alive The Underworld Of Indian Women&Rsquo;S Lives. &Lsquo;

A collection of seven stories from "The Arabian Nights", including the tales of Ali Baba and Aladdin's lamp.

When an indentured servant becomes a vampire during the plague of Seville, the affliction costs him everyone he loves. Unmoored, he slowly loses himself - until he is captured by Nazis three hundred years later. Imprisoned and tortured, he must reclaim his humanity in a world torn apart by the horrors of World War 2. A war that dramatically changes course due to his capture.

In these poems, the poet restlessly inhabits the night, finding it terrifying and beautiful, searching for meaning in the yard, the neighborhood, the heavens and every wise book he owns. These urban pastoral meditations employ ritual and repetition to create a kind of mantra, seeking surrender to that state of meditation leading to enlightenment—yet arguing with the idea of surrendering any attachments at all to this world we’ve been given to learn and love: a city garden cohabitated by ancient Romans and tattooed kids, automobiles and hollyhock, maurauding cats and the Buddha. “I should be satisfied with the household gods,” he mourns, but is satisfied with nothing, determined to fit the whole world into his poems lest the one essential thing slip by. From “The One God is Mysterious” The king and his queen are feasting. . They recline, sumptuously, on long divans. and are attended by naked servants. They. can have anything they want, this much is. clear, and I believe they have been having. sex with one another and with the servants. Why wouldn’t they? Who among the servants. . would not be honored to help? And it’s Babylon. after all, and doesn’t Babylon exist in your. memory? Isn’t Babylon the clear rumbling. of your heart at ease with its every craving—. not the way it is now, fenced off with spiked wire. and old pipes, with signs telling the pedestrians. to beware: the litter, the old cans rusting. No, . this is my own memory of excess and extravagance, . of abandonment to the weight of everything. that pulls me down to ruin, those same ticks. and voices that lift me up and fill me with breath. “Frank Gaspar’s poems are agile and forceful, their narratives clear and absorbing. In them, he is speaking to the reader—but also to himself, or perhaps to some hazy divinity or to the blue sky. I felt in his voice no attempt to persuade me of anything. I felt only the abiding imperative to get it right. Which is, of course, what real writing is all about.”—Mary Oliver