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~ Download PDF The Price of Spring (Long Price Quartet), by Daniel Abraham

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The Price of Spring (Long Price Quartet), by Daniel Abraham

The Price of Spring (Long Price Quartet), by Daniel Abraham



The Price of Spring (Long Price Quartet), by Daniel Abraham

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The Price of Spring (Long Price Quartet), by Daniel Abraham

Fifteen years have passed since the devastating war between the Galt Empire and the cities of the Khaiem in which the Khaiem’s poets and their magical power known as “andat” were destroyed, leaving the women of the Khaiem and the men of Galt infertile.

The emperor of the Khaiem tries to form a marriage alliance between his son and the daughter of a Galtic lord, hoping the Khaiem men and Galtic women will produce a new generation to help create a peaceful future.

But Maati, a poet who has been in hiding for years, driven by guilt over his part in the disastrous end of the war, defies tradition and begins training female poets. With Eiah, the emperor’s daughter, helping him, he intends to create andat, to restore the world as it was before the war.

Vanjit, a woman haunted by her family’s death in the war, creates a new andat. But hope turns to ashes as her creation unleashes a power that cripples all she touches.

As the prospect of peace dims under the lash of Vanjit’s creation, Maati and Eiah try to end her reign of terror. But time is running out for both the Galts and the Khaiem.

  • Sales Rank: #474341 in Books
  • Brand: Brand: Tor Books
  • Published on: 2009-07-21
  • Released on: 2009-07-21
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 9.58" h x 1.22" w x 6.49" l, 1.14 pounds
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • 352 pages
Features
  • Used Book in Good Condition

From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. Nothing ever goes the way I plan, laments Otah, long-suffering emperor of the Khaiem, concisely summarizing Abraham's melancholy and near-perfect conclusion to the Long Price Quartet. Fifteen years after the disaster that led to the sterilization of all Khaiem women and Galtish men in 2008's An Autumn War, Otah seeks an alliance between the two long-warring nations in hopes of there being a next generation, while former poet Maati tries to teach young women to summon andat, beings that embody and control concepts. Maati's student Vanjit harnesses the andat Clarity-of-Sight, but war trauma transforms her from possible savior into deranged dictator. Abraham shies away from the blood and swashbuckling of the previous novels, instead telling a tale of forgiveness and catharsis that concludes this complex saga with mixed notes of sadness and hope. (July)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From Bookmarks Magazine
Reviewers of science fiction and fantasy novels tend to respect authors who wrap up a series neatly rather than spinning out endless sequels. But they also demand good endings, which may be why expectations for Abraham's The Price of Spring were so high. The book generally met them; critics were pleased to see that Abraham could settle all the questions raised in the earlier novels without losing any of his innovative edge. Several reviewers felt that The Price of Spring was the best book in the series; Jo Walton (in an independent review on Tor.com, a Web site run by the book's publisher) wrote that it is "the fastest moving and most exciting of all the volumes."

Review
"Abraham shies away from the blood and swashbuckling of the previous novels, instead telling a tale of forgiveness and catharsis that concludes this complex saga with mixed notes of sadness and hope." ---Publishers Weekly Starred Review

Most helpful customer reviews

18 of 18 people found the following review helpful.
Bone-Deep Characterization, Great World-Building & Plot!
By Karen S. Coyle
I just finished the last of the books in Daniel Abraham's "Long Price Quartet" series, and I'm so sincerely impressed and excited about the series, I just wanted to give it a shout out here. The first book started a little slow but gradually pulled me in, and it just kept getting better until this last one; which is absolutely outstanding.

The last reviewer covered some of the plot details; and I don't want to inadvertantly slip in any spoilers, so let me just say this: I love it when sci-fi and fantasy writers go the extra mile with the depth and believability of their characters (sometimes the world-building or the magic system or the spaceship engines are meticulously detailed, and the actual people are cardboard cut-outs, you know what I mean?) and this guy went absolute extra light years! His people are such thoroughly real and unique individuals you feel like you've known them for years, and everything they think and feel and do is exactly what you would think and feel and do in their place.
I didn't realize how much that aspect of good story-telling was missing from some of the things I've read lately until I saw it done so well again here. All those tell-tale little details of characterization and world-building are present here in spades - too many to go into, but you get the idea.

And the guy has such a lyrical writing style! You know that first page of Patrick Rothfuss's book "The Name of the Wind", where all the author is doing is describing for paragraphs the exact nature of the silence around the inn that night, and you could just weep for the beauty of the language? Well, in Abraham's "The Price of Spring", practically the whole BOOK is written that gorgeously, and still the action never lets up.

OK. Enough fan-girl gushing! Thanks for listening; I think I'm done raving now! Just buy this series if you love a really good, really absorbing novel, fantasy genre or not. If I was as good a writer as Abraham, I could explain better why you'll thank me later - but just trust me, you will.

13 of 14 people found the following review helpful.
A very nice series
By A Customer
This review covers all four books. The first thing I noticed was the stakes increased from each book to the next. Book one essentially evolved around a plot to remove a single poet from a single city. Book two focuses on a central characters rise to ruling a city. Book 3 involves a fight to save an entire country or collection of cities. Book 4 involves a plot to save 2 nations from complete anihilation. The books are character driven but increase in plot intensity from one book to the next. The plot holes in book one seem to not appear in books 2-4 as the writer's skill increases.

The series is aplty named: The Long Price. The focus is on the price poets pay to control andants (essentially the only magic or fantasy element in these stories). There is a price of power and it is always related to the poet themselves. Essentially they cannot create this power with also creating their own price they must pay. But the price of decisions is carried on as a theme for all characters and all decisions. The decision to love someone and betray a friend has a price carried through all the novels. The decision to love someone and not take other wives has a price. The deicision to abandon being a husband and father has a price. The decision to strive for peace has a cost as does the decision to forgoe peace and seek unilateral victory. Over and over characters make decisions and the novels chronicle the cost of their decisions. In this, the novel is deep, character driven, and realistic.

The other thing I noted is that this is minimally fantasy. In other words, there is very little magic (limited to the andants), no non-human characters, no strange worlds. I dont say this as a critique. The author focus on a real world of politics, intrigue, and mercantilism. Armies cant feed themselves without farmers. Rulers cant have wealth without merchants being successful. The books recognize this and are very realistic in their writing.

The author also avoids fantasy tropes of good and evil characters. In the veins of GRR Martin, Glen Cook, Joe Ambercrombie, ect, ect... the characters here are not good and not bad. They are human and as such motivated to protect and advance themselves. The difference here is that most of these characters fall closer on the scale to good. If Martins characters are grey to black, Abrahams are grey to white. I actually found this refreshing, to see characters closer to the world I live in.

The last point, for a man, Mr Abraham writes women well. They are intuitive, strong, vulnerable, loving, intelligent, beautiful. So many fantasy writers seem to write women into boxes. The women who exist only for sex. The women who are so bitter and trying to fight males, they become strong but hard and callous. Mr Abraham wrote the women as well as the men in my opinion and a huge downside for me was the absence of the two main female characters in book 4.

In all, book 1 was 3.5 stars, books 2 and 3 are 4.0 stars, and book 4 is 4.5 stars for me. The nice thing about buying this series is you know it is done and complete. No waiting for 5 years for the next novel. That alone is worth something.

5 of 5 people found the following review helpful.
Bittersweet, and I wouldn't have it any other way
By MSB
The setup of this book is fairly simple: Maati is after one thing, Otah another. They have very clear reasons that are easy to understand and hard to disagree with. Of course, they're heading in opposite directions and they can not both succeed. To stir things up even more, a new and very sympathetic villain is introduced. You understand her reasons and motivations as well, and I at least kept hoping that the character would come around somehow. That was impossible as the character had made far too many bad decisions and on far too large a scale to ever go back, but I hoped all the same.

It makes for a very good read that is predictably unpredictable.

A few other tidbits of info for potential buyers:
- With the exception of the prologue/epilogue, the book is told from the POV of either Maati or Otah.
- The POVs switch off every chapter. One Maati, one Otah, one Maati...
- The book takes place around 15 years after the last one.
- Several characters from earlier books make appearances: Idaan, Balasar, Sinja, Eiah, Cehmai and Danat, off the top of my head. Seedless makes a one-line cameo in a dream (doesn't say anything) that I found amusing. Liat and Kiyan are absent, though.

Just buy the darn thing. I'm a tough reviewer, but I really enjoyed it. It's not perfect, and is decidedly bittersweet, but that's the charm of this series. The characters screw up, what we want doesn't always happen - if it happens at all, and we end up liking it anyway.

See all 63 customer reviews...

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? Free Ebook Golden Years (O'Malley Novels (Forge Hardcover)), by Andrew M. Greeley

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Golden Years (O'Malley Novels (Forge Hardcover)), by Andrew M. Greeley

Golden Years (O'Malley Novels (Forge Hardcover)), by Andrew M. Greeley



Golden Years (O'Malley Novels (Forge Hardcover)), by Andrew M. Greeley

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Golden Years (O'Malley Novels (Forge Hardcover)), by Andrew M. Greeley

Father Andrew M. Greeley, one of America's most popular and trusted storytellers, has long charmed readers with his continuing chronicles of the crazy O'Malleys, an irrepressible and resilient Irish American family caught up in the rush of modern American history. The previous novels in the O'Malley saga, including A Midwinter's Tale and Second Spring, have taken the longtime Chicago residents from the early postwar era through the turmoil and malaise of the 1970s. Now, in Golden Years, Chucky O'Malley and his ever-growing clan enter the Reagan years---even as a series of painful shocks tests the family's strength as never before.

The death of Chucky's elderly father brings the entire brood together to mourn, but what should be a time of unity is disrupted by the increasingly erratic behavior of Chucky's unhappy and emotionally unstable older sister, igniting a family crisis that ultimately threatens the lives of both young and old O'Malleys. Furthermore, as if their own struggles are not enough to cope with, Chucky and his wife, Rosemarie, also find themselves called upon to help an old high school friend whose beloved wife and daughter have disappeared inexplicably. To find Brigid "Bride" O'Brien and her innocent child, Chucky and Rosemarie must untangle a shadowy mystery that stretches from the bogs of Old Erin to the darkest chapters of the cold war. . . .

There will hard days ahead but, with love and more than a bit of faith, the O'Malleys will bury their dead, dry their tears, and try to make the best of their . . . Golden Years.

  • Sales Rank: #2366097 in Books
  • Published on: 2004-11-01
  • Released on: 2004-11-04
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 9.98" h x 1.21" w x 5.94" l,
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • 304 pages

Review
""[A] warm and wonderful tale...he tells his story with his Irish wit and inborn charm." -- The Abilene Reporter-News on September Song

"...a triumph of the steadfastness of this family. . . . Readers will eagerly anticipate the next installment..." -- Romantic Times on Second Spring

"A truly well-crafted read. . . . The O’Malleys are a wonderful Irish family, full of good humor and love..." -- Romantic Times on September Song

"Rich pages of family humor" -- Kirkus Reviews on Golden Years

"The true subject of Greeley’s series is Chucky and Rosemarie’s blissful marriage, which is as passionate as ever." -- Publishers Weekly on Golden Years

“Rich pages of family humor”--Kirkus Reviews on Golden Years

 

“The true subject of Greeley’s series is Chucky and Rosemarie’s blissful marriage, which is as passionate as ever.”--Publishers Weekly on Golden Years

 

“Always entertaining, Greeley’s O’Malley series is a triumph of the steadfastness of this family. . . . Readers will eagerly anticipate the next installment in this series chronicling the lives of this warm, witty family.”--Romantic Times on Second Spring

“[A] warm and wonderful tale of Chuck and the rest of the O’Malleys. Greeley’s unique view of life and his passionate love affair with the Windy City shine through as he tells his story with his Irish wit and inborn charm.”--The Abilene Reporter-News on September Song

“A truly well-crafted read. . . . The O’Malleys are a wonderful Irish family, full of good humor and love, against the backdrop of a very trying era in American history.”--Romantic Times on September Song

“Pulled me in instantly and never let go. . . . You will want to read the next one. . . . Greeley certainly made me laugh.”--Chicago Tribune on Younger Than Springtime

“The leisurely, enjoyable sequel to Greeley’s A Midwinter’s Tale again follows the O’Malley family of Chicago. . . . By the end, where Greeley skillfully ties up one plot line as he keeps the other aloft for the next book, readers may discover that they, too, have been romanced--by an expert storyteller.”--Publishers Weekly on Younger Than Springtime



"The true subject of Greeley's series is Chucky and Rosemarie's blissful marriage, which is as passionate as ever." (Publishers Weekly )

"Rich pages of family humor" (Kirkus Reviews )

About the Author

Priest, sociologist, author and journalist, Father Andrew M. Greeley built an international assemblage of devout fans over a career spanning five decades. His books include the Bishop Blackie Ryan novels, including The Archbishop in Andalusia, the Nuala Anne McGrail novels, including Irish Tweed, and The Cardinal Virtues. He was the author of over 50 best-selling novels and more than 100 works of non-fiction, and his writing has been translated into 12 languages.

Father Greeley was a Professor of Sociology at the University of Arizona and a Research Associate with the National Opinion Research Center (NORC) at the University of Chicago. In addition to scholarly studies and popular fiction, for many years he penned a weekly column appearing in the Chicago Sun-Times and other newspapers. He was also a frequent contributor to The New York Times, the National Catholic Reporter, America and Commonweal, and was interviewed regularly on national radio and television. He authored hundreds of articles on sociological topics, ranging from school desegregation to elder sex to politics and the environment.

Throughout his priesthood, Father Greeley unflinchingly urged his beloved Church to become more responsive to evolving concerns of Catholics everywhere. His clear writing style, consistent themes and celebrity stature made him a leading spokesperson for generations of Catholics. He chronicled his service to the Church in two autobiographies, Confessions of a Parish Priest and Furthermore!

In 1986, Father Greeley established a $1 million Catholic Inner-City School Fund, providing scholarships and financial support to schools in the Chicago Archdiocese with a minority student body of more than 50 percent. In 1984, he contributed a $1 million endowment to establish a chair in Roman Catholic Studies at the University of Chicago. He also funded an annual lecture series, “The Church in Society,” at St. Mary of the Lake Seminary, Mundelein, Illinois, from which he received his S.T.L. in 1954.

Father Greeley received many honors and awards, including honorary degrees from the National University of Ireland at Galway, the University of Arizona and Bard College. A Chicago native, he earned his M.A. in 1961 and his Ph.D. in 1962 from the University of Chicago.

Father Greeley was a penetrating student of popular culture, deeply engaged with the world around him, and a lifelong Chicago sports fan, cheering for the Bulls, Bears and the Cubs. Born in 1928, he died in May 2013 at the age of 85.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Golden Years
CHAPTER ONERosemarie"This country," the ambassador said in his most ambassadorial tone, "will implode in ten years.""On what grounds do you make that prediction, sir?"The lean, hungry man with thin black hair who had been introduced to us as the second secretary of the US embassy in Moscow was obviously the CIA resident.At that very moment we would soon learn, back home in Chicago where we should have been, tragedy was stalking our family."It should be obvious to all of you," Ambassador O'Malley said, with serene confidence. "It's falling apart. When it does collapse, most--probably all--of the constituent republics will depart quickly. The satellite countries--which our presently gloriously reigning president has deigned to characterize as an 'evil empire' will also leave. After six decades the Bolshevik revolution will reside in the ash can of history."My husband is a man of many different personae. He can slide back and forth among them with considerable ease, not to say delight. Usually he is Chucky Ducky, my adorable and funny little redhead lover, about whom I write an occasional story for The New Yorker. However, tonight at the formal embassy dinner (myself the only woman present), he had become Charles Cronin O'Malley, ambassador of the United States of America with all the rights, privileges, and solemnity pertaining thereto. In fact, his term as ambassador to the Federal Republicof Germany had ended in 1964, seventeen years ago. Yet, as he explained to me, "once an ambassador, always an ambassador, just like being West Side Irish."He was also known as one of the "wise men" who had advised a hapless Lyndon Johnson to withdraw from Vietnam in 1968. In the world of the Foreign Service he was therefore by definition wise, even if he doesn't look like it. He was treated with enormous respect, the kind of which the family never accorded him. So when a young member of the embassy staff encountered us on the Moscow subway the day after we returned from Siberia, it became mandatory that the embassy invite us to dinner.They were disappointed and a little miffed that we had not announced our arrival at the beginning of the trip. They could have given us some warnings. Surely the KGB knew who we were and would shadow us during our month of wandering the Soviet outback. They did not trust people with cameras. They were not eager to have the impoverishment of the Soviet Union revealed to the media of the world.Chucky replied with ambassadorial aplomb that the secret police agents who were our guides had been very friendly and offered no objections to the pictures of ordinary Soviet people that he had snapped. "Snapped" was his word. My husband's persona as a photographer required that he create the image of a little kid with a Kodak box camera, such as the one he had used to take my picture when I was ten years old, a photograph which still shocks me. He saw too much."The Russians," he said, "are a friendly, gregarious people. They love to have their pictures taken."This was much less than the truth. However, the Russians were as likely as anyone else to succumb to West Side Irish charm. Our guides could see no harm to the Soviet image in what we were doing. All we did was "snap" pictures of families, and kids, and elderly people. We put the camera away when we were near factories or military installations. Only if the secret police had a chance to see all our pictures or to read the notes I had taken would they realize what an indictment of Soviet society our work really was.We arrived at the embassy with all my notebooks andnearly a hundred rolls of film Chucky had used, the latter in three X-ray-proof bags. The ambassador, a handsome WASP with silver hair and a red face, was only too willing to agree to put them in the diplomatic pouch."You may have trouble at the airport," he said. "They'll want to know where all your photos are.""I'll tell them that they went home in the diplomatic pouch."He nodded."They won't like it but that's just too bad."Everyone around the dinner table seemed hostile to the Soviet Union. The Cold War was still on. They didn't quite call it the "evil empire," yet their attitude was that the struggle with the Kremlin could go on for decades. Then my dear husband dropped his bomb. He was telling them in effect that all the intelligence on Russia the State Department and the CIA had labored so diligently to assemble was dead wrong."I don't quite see it that way, Mr. Ambassador," the DCM (Deputy Chief of Mission) replied after a couple of moments of awkward silence. "I admit that nothing is very efficient here, but I can't imagine people turning out in the streets as they did in 1917.""They won't have to, Tony." Chuck smiled serenely. "The revolution will come from within the party, some of the middle-level apparatchiks will come into power in the next ten years and replace such senile Neanderthals as Brezhnev, Chernenko, and Andropov. They'll try to change the system to solve some immediate problems, and it will all fall apart.""The party won't let that happen," the resident said dismissively."The party has made the same mistake that the Catholic Church made. It educated its technicians and middle management. They have begun to think for themselves. Such people become revolutionaries.""I have never met any revolutionaries in the nomenklatura," the DCM said sternly. "They don't promote men with any tendency to think for themselves.""How much of their gold reserve do they spend each year to buy foreign grain?" Chuck fired back."Billions.""In a country which has some of the best farmland in the world?""They keep trying," a younger staff member observed. "When they succeed in making their agriculture work, they'll become a forbidding adversary.""We've been threatening ourselves with that possibility for a couple of decades ... And when they run out of gold reserves?"More silence around the table."Socialism doesn't work," my husband continued. "Never has. Never will. The workers have no motivation to work. Stalin is no longer around to put a gun to their heads. So they don't work. The regime is both incompetent and corrupt. Male life expectancy is down to fifty-seven years, less than many third world countries. A quarter of the men are chronic alcoholics. Highway deaths are higher than in the United States, and they have a tenth of the cars. They make the best ice cream in the world, however.""Many countries are both corrupt and incompetent," the ambassador, all diplomatic charm, said. "All of Africa, for example.""The African countries have not promised their people a dream of the good life for seven decades and they are not industrial giants with an educated population. The evidence is all around: one of the great industrial powers in the world is grinding to a halt, good ice cream or not.""We don't quite see it that way, sir," the resident said. "And our experience is much longer and has more depth than your month of wandering about with a camera.""The lens of a camera has no ideological filters," Chuck replied. "It sees the results of a collapsing social structure which you don't see."That was an insult. My husband was arguing that he was more of an expert on the Soviet Union than men who had spent much of their lives studying it, precisely because he was free of their Cold War ideological blinders.I had warned him as the embassy limousine had delivered us to the door that he should not start a fight and insult our hosts."We both agree about what we saw, Chuck," I said. "But welook at this country from the perspective of the West Side of Chicago. The people we saw out there in Sverdlovsk might see it differently.""They all call it Yekaterinburg," he replied and kissed me gently. "They know that this regime is only temporary, even if it has lasted seventy years."I knew then we were in for a fight.The ambassador deftly intervened to change the subject. Chuck, knowing that he had made his point, just as deftly backed off."Well, you creamed them," I said as the limo took us back to the Cosmos Hotel."Yeah, I won't say the same thing to the president when I take his picture next week.""The heck you won't!"There is a tradition dating back to Ike that my husband "take a picture" as he calls his work of every president. He was not looking forward to the trip to the White House to "snap" a man he called "a washed-up actor.""Idiots who try to build a Hilton and end up with a dump like this," he said as we climbed out of the limo, "can't stay in power much longer."The tile was peeling off the tub in our bathroom, the curtains hung at half-mast, the TV worked intermittently. The staff were indifferent, but not unfriendly, especially when Chuck tipped them with Yankee dollars.He had slept most of the way to the hotel. My husband travels very badly. I was astonished that he had survived the Trans-Siberian Railway, the endless rides on very bad roads, and the crazy pilots on Aeroflot's domestic routes who seem to feel that they had to prove they were totally unafraid of death. Indeed he kept muttering that we were pushing our respective guardian angels too far. It would take him a-couple of weeks to recoup once we were home. My role on these trips, besides that of a film provider and an occasional lover, was to take care of him. This time I was worn-out too. We were a long way from home.It is probably clear already that I love him deeply, passionately, permanently. He is not much to look at, unless you happento like pint-size altar boys with red hair like a wire brush, gentle blue eyes, and a grin that would melt your heart. His exact height is c...

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Four Stars
By Amazon Customer
good book easy read

23 of 24 people found the following review helpful.
Wonderful book, wonderful series!
By Book Fan
I have read every book in the O'Malley family series and have thoroughly enjoyed each one. The first book, A Midwinter's Tale introduces you to Charles "Chucky" O'Malley and his entertaining family just before the start of WW1. You are also introduced to Rosemarie Clancy, Chucky's future wife.

Each book in the series covers a specific period of time. It is great to see the relationship of Chucky and Rosemarie progress in each book. Chucky's dream is to be an accountant, but he gets side tracked and becomes a famous photographer taking pictures of presidents and popes. The relationship between Chucky and Rosemarie is wonderful and realistic. Rosemarie comes from an abusive family and has a drinking problem. With the help of Chucky and his family, she is able to face her problems and deal with them. There are several times where Chucky gets tired of fighting her demons and is close to walking away, but he never does because of the love they share. Too much today, people are ready to divorce at the first sign of trouble, so it is very nice to read a story where each party works at dealing with their problems and staying together.

Through the books, you watch Chucky grow up. He serves in Germany during WW1, he goes to Rome to witness the seating of a new Pope and take his picture, his daughter runs off and joins a commune during the 60's, he becomes the US Ambassador for the president, all the while taking pictures that are considered outstanding by the public and still insisting that he wants to be an accountant. Rosemarie is by his side the whole time. They are there for each other no matter what. They have their fights and disagreements, but always come back to each other.

In this book, Chucky's wonderful father passes away, which Chucky has a hard time dealing with. He is now considered the "head" of the family, something he does not want to be. But with Rosemarie at his side, he deals with the day to day garbage that comes up, like dealing with an unstable, mentally disturbed sister, and also with the joys and happiness a family can bring.

Each book is a story on it's own, but I recommend starting at the beginning to avoid confusion in later books. You won't be disappointed.

I can't wait for the next book to be released. I don't normally keep books once I'm done with them, I usually pass them on so they can be enjoyed by others, but this series I'm keeping. I can see myself re-reading them in the future, which I rarely do. If you are interested in reading a great family series, this is the one! I highly recommend it!

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
Superb!
By Amazon Customer
Golden Years is a breathtaking view of the middle years of life. We no longer believe the 50's or 60's or even the 70's are a time of slowing down in the progression of life. Greeley presents vibrant and vital living continuing through all these decades.

A delightful read. I recommend it unreservedly!

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Kamis, 29 Oktober 2015

!! PDF Download Sisterhood of Dune, by Brian Herbert, Kevin J. Anderson

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Sisterhood of Dune, by Brian Herbert, Kevin J. Anderson

It is eighty-three years after the last of the thinking machines were destroyed in the Battle of Corrin, after Faykan Butler took the name of Corrino and established himself as the first Emperor of a new Imperium. Great changes are brewing that will shape and twist all of humankind.

The war hero Vorian Atreides has turned his back on politics and Salusa Secundus. The descendants of Abulurd Harkonnen Griffen and Valya have sworn vengeance against Vor, blaming him for the downfall of their fortunes. Raquella Berto-Anirul has formed the Bene Gesserit School on the jungle planet Rossak as the first Reverend Mother. The descendants of Aurelius Venport and Norma Cenva have built Venport Holdings, using mutated, spice-saturated Navigators who fly precursors of Heighliners. Gilbertus Albans, the ward of the hated Erasmus, is teaching humans to become Mentats…and hiding an unbelievable secret.

The Butlerian movement, rabidly opposed to all forms of "dangerous technology," is led by Manford Torondo and his devoted Swordmaster, Anari Idaho. And it is this group, so many decades after the defeat of the thinking machines, which begins to sweep across the known universe in mobs, millions strong, destroying everything in its path.

Every one of these characters, and all of these groups, will become enmeshed in the contest between Reason and Faith. All of them will be forced to choose sides in the inevitable crusade that could destroy humankind forever….

  • Sales Rank: #46808 in Books
  • Brand: Tor Books
  • Published on: 2012-01-03
  • Released on: 2012-01-03
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 10.00" h x 2.00" w x 7.00" l, 1.49 pounds
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • 496 pages
Features
  • Great product!

About the Author

BRIAN HERBERT has been nominated for both the Hugo and the Nebula Awards. In 2003, he published Dreamer of Dune, a Hugo Award–nominated biography of his father.

KEVIN J. ANDERSON has been nominated for the Nebula Award, the Bram Stoker Award, and the SFX Reader's Choice Award. He set the Guinness-certified world record for the largest single-author book signing.

Review

“In his inimitable style, Brick draws upon his well-established characterizations to weave the threads of the plot and maintain interest and focus.” – AudioFile Magazine

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
After being enslaved for a thousand years, we finally overwhelmed the forces of the computer evermind Omnius, yet our struggle is far from ended. Serena Butler’s Jihad may be over, but now we must continue the fight against a more insidious and challenging enemy—human weakness for technology and the temptation to repeat the mistakes of the past.
—MANFORD TORONDO, The Only Path
 

Manford Torondo had lost count of his many missions. Some he wanted to forget, like the horrific day that the explosion tore him apart and cost him the lower half of his body. This mission, though, would be easier, and eminently satisfying—eradicating more remnants of mankind’s greatest enemy.
Bristling with cold weapons, the machine warships hung outside the solar system, where only the faintest mist of dwindled starlight glinted off their hulls. As a result of the annihilation of the scattered Omnius everminds, this robot attack group had never reached its destination, and the population of the nearby League star system never even realized they had been a target. Now Manford’s scouts had found the fleet again.
Those dangerous enemy vessels, still intact, armed, and functional, hung dead in space, long after the Battle of Corrin. Mere derelicts, ghost ships—but abominations, nonetheless. They had to be dealt with accordingly.
As his six small vessels approached the mechanical monstrosities, Manford experienced a primal shudder. The dedicated followers of his Butlerian movement were sworn to destroy all vestiges of forbidden computer technology. Now, without hesitation, they closed in on the derelict robot fleet, like gulls on the carcass of a beached whale.
The voice of Swordmaster Ellus crackled over the comm from an adjacent ship. For this operation, the Swordmaster flew point, guiding the Butlerian hunters to these insidious robot vessels that had drifted unnoticed for decades. “It’s an attack squadron of twenty-five ships, Manford—exactly where the Mentat predicted we’d find them.”
Propped in a seat that had been specially modified to accommodate his legless body, Manford nodded to himself. Gilbertus Albans continued to impress him with his mental prowess. “Once again, his Mentat School proves that human brains are superior to thinking machines.”
“The mind of man is holy,” Ellus said.
“The mind of man is holy.” It was a benediction that had come to Manford in a vision from God, and the saying was very popular now with the Butlerians. Manford signed off and continued to watch the unfolding operation from his own compact ship.
Seated next to him in the cockpit, Swordmaster Anari Idaho noted the position of the robot battleships on the screen and announced her assessment. She wore a black-and-gray uniform with the emblem of the movement on her lapel, a stylized sigil that featured a blood-red fist clenching a symbolic machine gear.
“We have enough weaponry to destroy them from a distance,” she said, “if we use the explosives wisely. No need to risk boarding the ships. They’ll be guarded by combat meks and linked fighting drones.”
Looking up at his female attendant and friend, Manford maintained a stony demeanor, though she always warmed his heart. “There is no risk—the evermind is dead. And I want to gaze at these machine demons before we eliminate them.”
Dedicated to Manford’s cause, and to him personally, Anari accepted the decision. “As you wish. I will keep you safe.” The look on her wide, innocent face convinced Manford that he could do no wrong in her eyes, make no mistakes—and as a result of her devotion, Anari protected him with ferocity.
Manford issued brisk orders. “Divide my followers into groups. No need to hurry—I prefer perfection to haste. Have Swordmaster Ellus coordinate the scuttling charges across the machine ships. Not a scrap can remain once we’re finished.”
Because of his physical limitations, watching the destruction was one of the few things that gave him pleasure. Thinking machines had overrun his ancestral planet of Moroko, captured the populace, and unleashed their plagues, murdering everyone. If his great-great-grandparents had not been away from home, conducting business on Salusa Secundus, they would have been trapped as well, and killed. And Manford would never have been born.
Though the events affecting his ancestors had occurred generations ago, he still hated the machines, and vowed to continue the mission.
Accompanying the Butlerian followers were five trained Swordmasters, the Paladins of Humanity, who had fought hand-to-hand against thinking machines during Serena Butler’s Jihad. In the decades after the great victory on Corrin, Swordmasters had busied themselves with cleanup operations, tracking down and wrecking any remnants of the robotic empire they found scattered throughout the solar systems. Thanks to their success, such remnants were getting more and more difficult to locate.
As the Butlerian ships arrived among the machine vessels, Anari watched the images on her screen. In a soft voice, which she used only with him, she mused, “How many more fleets like this do you think we’ll find, Manford?”
The answer was clear. “I want all of them.”
These dead robotic battle fleets were easy targets that served as symbolic victories, when properly filmed and broadcast. Lately, though, Manford had also become worried about the rot, corruption, and temptation he observed within the new Corrino Imperium. How could people forget the dangers so quickly? Soon enough, he might need to channel his followers’ fervor in a different direction and have them perform another necessary cleansing among the populations.…
Swordmaster Ellus took care of the administrative details, sorting the robotic ships onto a grid and assigning teams to specific targets. The five other ships settled in among the derelict machines and attached to individual hulls. Then the respective teams blasted their way aboard.
Manford’s team suited up and prepared to board the largest robotic vessel, and he insisted on going along to see the evil with his own eyes, despite the effort it entailed. He would never be content to stay behind and watch; he was accustomed to using Anari as his legs, as well as his sword. The sturdy leather harness was always close by in case Manford needed to go into battle. She pulled the harness onto her shoulders, adjusted the seat behind her neck, then attached the straps under her arms and across her chest and waist.
Anari was a tall and physically fit woman and, in addition to being faultlessly loyal to Manford, she also loved him—he could see that every time he looked into her eyes. But all of his followers loved him; Anari’s affection was just more innocent, and more pure than most.
She hefted his legless body easily, as she had done countless times before, and settled his torso onto the seat behind her head. He didn’t feel like a child when he rode on her shoulders; he felt as if Anari were part of him. His legs had been blown off by a deluded technology-lover’s bomb that had killed Rayna Butler, the saintly leader of the anti-machine movement. Manford had been blessed by Rayna herself, in the moments before she died of her injuries.
The Suk doctors called it a miracle that he’d survived at all, and it was that: a miracle. He’d been meant to live on after the horrifying day. Despite the physical loss, Manford had seized the helm of the Butlerian movement, and led them with great fervor. Half a man, twice the leader. He had a few fragments of pelvis left, but very little remained below his hips; nevertheless, he still had his mind and heart, and did not need anything else. Just his followers.
His curtailed body fit neatly into the socket of Anari’s harness, and he rode high on her shoulders. With subtle shifts of his weight, he guided her like part of his own body, an extension below his waist. “Take me to the hatch, so we can be the first to board.”
Even so, he was at the mercy of her movements and decisions. “No. I’m sending the other three ahead.” Anari meant no challenge in her refusal. “Only after they verify there is no danger will I take you aboard. My mission to protect you outweighs your impatience. We go when I have been advised that it is safe, and not a moment sooner.”
Manford ground his teeth together. He knew she meant well, but her overprotectiveness could be frustrating. “I expect no one to take risks in my stead.”
Anari looked up and over her shoulder to gaze at his face, with an endearing smile. “Of course we take risks in your stead. We would all lay down our lives for you.”
While Manford’s team boarded the dead robotic ship, searching the metal corridors and looking for places to plant charges, he waited aboard his own vessel, fidgeting in his harness. “What have they found?”
She did not budge. “They’ll report when they have something to report.”
Finally, the team checked in. “There are a dozen combat meks aboard, sir—all of them cold and deactivated. Temperature is frigid, but we’ve restarted the life-support systems so you can come aboard in comfort.”
“I’m not interested in comfort.”
“But you need to breathe. They will tell us when they’re ready.”
Though robots did not require life-support systems, many of the machine vessels had been equipped to haul human captives in the cargo bays. In the final years of the Jihad, Omnius had dedicated all functional vessels to the battle fleet, while also building huge automated shipyards to churn out new war vessels by the thousands.
And still the humans had won, sacrificing everything for the only victory that mattered.…
Half an hour later, the atmosphere in the machine ship reached a level where Manford could survive without an environment suit. “Ready for you to come aboard, sir. We’ve located several good places to plant explosive charges. And human skeletons, sir. A cargo hold, at least fifty captives.”
Manford perked up. “Captives?”
“Long dead, sir.”
“We’re coming.” Satisfied, Anari descended to the connecting hatch, and he rode high on her back, feeling like a conquering king. Aboard the large vessel, the air was still razor-thin and cold. Manford shuddered, then grasped Anari’s shoulders to steady himself.
She gave him a concerned glance. “Should we have waited another fifteen minutes for the air to warm up?”
“It’s not the cold, Anari—it’s the evil in the air. How can I forget all the human blood these monsters spilled?”
Aboard the dim and austere ship, Anari took him to the chamber where the Butlerians had pried open the sealed door to reveal a jumble of human skeletons, dozens of people who had been left to starve or suffocate, likely because the thinking machines didn’t care.
The Swordmaster wore a deeply troubled and hurt expression. For all her hardened fighting experience, Anari Idaho remained astonished by the offhand cruelty of the thinking machines. Manford both admired and loved her for her innocence. “They must have been hauling captives,” Anari said.
“Or experimental subjects for the evil robot Erasmus,” Manford said. “When the ships received new orders to attack this system, they paid no further attention to the humans aboard.” He muttered a silent prayer and blessing, hoping to speed the lost souls off to heaven.
As Anari led him away from the human-cargo chamber, they passed an angular, deactivated combat mek that stood like a statue in the corridor. The arms sported cutting blades and projectile weapons; its blunt head and optic threads were a mockery of a human face. Looking at the machine in disgust, Manford suppressed another shudder. This must never be allowed to happen again.
Anari drew her long, blunt pulse-sword. “We’re going to blow up these ships anyway, sir … but would you indulge me?”
He smiled. “Without hesitation.”
Like a released spring, the Swordmaster attacked the motionless robot; one blow obliterated the mek’s optic threads, more blows severed the limbs, others smashed the body core. Deactivated for decades, the mek didn’t even spurt a stream of sparks or lubricant fluid when she dismembered it.
Looking down, breathing heavily, she said, “Back at the Swordmaster School on Ginaz, I slew hundreds of these things. The school still has a standing order for functional combat meks, so trainees can practice destroying them.”
The very thought soured Manford’s mood. “Ginaz has too many functional meks, in my opinion—it makes me uneasy. Thinking machines should not be kept as pets. There is no useful purpose for any sophisticated machine.”
Anari was hurt that he had criticized her fond recollection. Her voice was small. “It’s how we learned to fight them, sir.”
“Humans should train against humans.”
“It’s not the same.” Anari took out her frustration on the already battered combat mek. She bludgeoned it one last time, then stalked toward the bridge. They found several other meks along the way, and she dispatched each one, with all the ferocity that Manford felt in his heart.
On the robotic control deck, he and Anari met up with the other team members. The Butlerians had knocked over a pair of deactivated robots at the ship’s controls. “All the engines function, sir,” one gangly man reported. “We could add explosives to the fuel tanks just for good measure, or we can overload the reactors from here.”
Manford nodded. “The explosions need to be big enough to eradicate all the nearby ships. These vessels are still operational, but I don’t want to use even the scrap metal. It’s … contaminated.”
He knew that others did not have such qualms. Beyond his control, groups of corruptible humans were scouring the space shipping lanes to find intact fleets like this for salvage and repair. Scavengers without principles! The VenHold Spacing Fleet was notorious for this; more than half of their ships were refurbished thinking-machine vessels. Manford had argued with Directeur Josef Venport several times over the issue, but the greedy businessman refused to see reason. Manford took some consolation in the knowledge that at least these twenty-five enemy warships would never be used.
Butlerians understood that technology was seductive, fraught with latent danger. Humanity had grown soft and lazy since the overthrow of Omnius. People tried to make exceptions, seeking convenience and comfort, pushing the boundaries to their perceived advantage. They wheedled and made excuses: that machine might be bad, but this slightly different technology was acceptable.
Manford refused to draw artificial lines. It was a slippery slope. One small thing could lead to another, and another, and soon the downgrade would become a cliff. The human race must never be enslaved by machines again!
Now he swiveled his head to address the three Butlerians on the bridge. “Go. My Swordmaster and I have one last thing to do here. Send a message to Ellus—we should be away within fifteen minutes.”
Anari knew exactly what Manford had in mind; she had, in fact, prepared for it. As soon as the other followers returned to their ship, the Swordmaster removed a small gilded icon from a pouch in her harness, one of many such icons that Manford had commissioned. He held the icon reverently, looked at the benevolent face of Rayna Butler. For seventeen years now, he had followed in that visionary woman’s footsteps.
Manford kissed the icon, then handed it back to Anari, who placed it on the robotic control panel. He whispered, “May Rayna bless our work today and make us successful in our critically important mission. The mind of man is holy.”
“The mind of man is holy.” At a brisk trot, breathing out warm steam in the frigid air, Anari hurried to their ship, where the team sealed the hatch and disengaged from the dock. Their vessel drifted away from the rigged battle group.
Within the hour, all the Butlerian strike vessels rendezvoused above the dark robot ships. “One minute left on the timers, sir,” Swordmaster Ellus transmitted. Manford nodded, his gaze intent on the screen, but he spoke no words aloud. None were necessary.
One of the robot ships blossomed into flame and shrapnel. In rapid succession, the other ships detonated, their engine compartments overloading or their fuel ignited by timed explosions. The shock waves combined, swirling the debris into a soup of metal vapor and expanding gases. For a few moments, the sight was as bright as a new sun, reminding him of Rayna’s radiant smile … then it gradually dissipated and faded.
Across the calm, Manford spoke to his devout followers. “Our work here is done.”

 
Copyright © 2011 by Herbert Properties LLC

Most helpful customer reviews

127 of 137 people found the following review helpful.
Dune has jumped the shark
By W. Stacey
I've read every single Dune book. This review is not a statement of someone who categorically hates the new authors. I enjoyed the "Houses" trilogy; though they were not in the same style as Frank, the story was very enjoyable. The Jihad trilogy and Hunter/Sandworms had good and bad points, but I liked them. I think that any Dune fan should read those.

But with this book I think I am done with the series.

I found myself just angry as I read this, trying to finish as quickly as possible and get on to another book that I wanted to read more. The writing style is childish. Conversations are obvious and predictable, like a TV show script. This is a Dune novel? Remember those conversations in the original series where the characters were all "smarter than you"? When you couldn't understand what they were talking about until many chapters later? When there were many layers of "plots within plots?" When you had to THINK? Nope, won't find that here.

Instead, we get horribly one dimensional characters: grunting thugs (Anari), cookie-cutter zealouts (Manford), mindlessly vengeful women (Harkonnen). The characters are not likable nor do you feel empathy for them. And the story? Whereas previous BH/KJA novels were retelling pieces of Dune, this is nothing more than a retcon. They already told us how the Butlerian Jihad ended and the initiation of the societies we know about ... and now they are telling us that it isn't REALLY over, and that all those societies weren't REALLY doing what you expected. To do this, they need to twist the story so it can be retold. If that sounds familiar, you've seen it on many TV shows that try to extend additional seasons (Alias, Heroes, etc).

It's called "Jumping the Shark".

55 of 61 people found the following review helpful.
strong two, weak three--mostly flat
By B. Capossere
The Sisterhood of Dune is the latest installment by Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson in the add-ons to Frank Herbert's classic Dune series. To be honest, it's a series I gave up on after the The Battle of Corrin--the third book in the opening Legends of Dune group--after it continued a downward spiral from a solid if not inspiring book one (The Butlerian Jihad). It's several years and books later, and I wish I could say Sisterhood recaptured my interest, but unfortunately I found many of the same problems that caused me to give up the earlier series.

The human race has won against the machines, but the Butlerians, led by Manford Torondo, are trying to force the complete rejection of nearly all technology (while blind or self-rationalizing about their own uses of said tech of course). Meanwhile, the Bene Gesserit is in its embryonic stages as the very first Reverend Mother, Raquella Berto-Anirul, continues to try to find a way to create others in her Sisterhood, even as they explore the possibilities of a human breeding program, aided by "thinking machines" that would bring the wrath of the Butlerians down on them. As these two groups grow in power, the Corinno Emperor is having a hard time solidifying his own and standing up against the Butlerians especially, even as other groups and schools and factions rise and fall--the Suk school, the Swordmaster school, the Mentat school led by Gilbertus Albans--who has his own dangerous secret, the Venport Space Fleet, which is the Navigators Guild in its nascent stage, and so on. Along with all the galactic politics, more personal motives arise as two young Harkonnen heirs seek vengeance on the disappeared Vorian Atreides who enters back on stage after long absence. And it's a Dune book, so we'll make a stop off in Arrakis and see some sand worms.

There's are always several potential pitfalls in prequels. One is that the big picture suspense is a bit lacking as we know where much of the story ends up. The other is that the books become too much of a connect-the-dots kind of mechanical adding up of the steps required to get us to where we know we're going. I can't say the book avoids either of these problems. The stop-off on Arrakis, for instance, feels especially detached and perfunctory.

As with the earlier books, characterization tends to be flat and simply presented; none of them really comes fully alive or feel uniquely themselves. The underlying pattern of ideals and principles walking the precipice (and sometimes falling over it) of fanaticism and hypocrisy is interesting, but its expression is a bit too simply and flatly presented in terms of plot, character, and prose. The structure, a lot of short little chapters is a common one I know, but it's one I've never warmed up to and I can't say it does much to enhance the reading experience here. If anything, it probably hurts characterization as we spin off so quickly from one character to another.

If you've liked the earlier books, my guess is Sisterhood of Dune is not going to feel much different and so you'll probably enjoy its plot-driven story despite the flat characterization and style and the somewhat mechanical collection of the necessary pieces to put together the original Dune story. If you've tried the earlier ones and didn't care for them, Sisterhood isn't going to be an improvement. And if you've never dipped into the Dune world at all, then grab the original which is a true must-read classic that more than earns its status. Sometimes we should leave well enough alone.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
I liked it, but...
By David Benson
A good book, just not as deep or engrossing as the original Dune books.

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* Download Robert A. Heinlein: In Dialogue with His Century: Volume 1: Learning Curve 1907-1948, by William H. Patterson

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Robert A. Heinlein: In Dialogue with His Century: Volume 1: Learning Curve 1907-1948, by William H. Patterson

Robert A. Heinlein (1907–1988) is generally considered the greatest American SF writer of the twentieth century. A famous and bestselling author in later life, he started as a navy man and graduate of Annapolis who was forced to retire because of tuberculosis. A socialist politician in the 1930s, he became one of the sources of Libertarian politics in the United States in his later years.

His most famous works include the Future History series (stories and novels collected in The Past Through Tomorrow and continued in later novels), Starship Troopers, Stranger in a Strange Land, and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. He was a friend of admirals and of bestselling writers and artists, and was on the advisory committee that helped Ronald Reagan create the Star Wars Strategic Defense Initiative. Given his desire for privacy in the later decades of his life, he was both stranger and more interesting than one could ever have known.

This is the first of two volumes of a major American biography. Robert A. Heinlein: Volume 1 (1907–1948): Learning Curve is about Robert A. Heinlein's life up to the end of the 1940s and the midlife crisis that changed him forever.

  • Sales Rank: #704585 in Books
  • Published on: 2011-06-21
  • Released on: 2011-06-21
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 9.00" h x 1.42" w x 6.00" l, 1.39 pounds
  • Binding: Paperback
  • 640 pages

Review

“[Heinlein] made footsteps big enough for a whole country to follow. And it was our country that did it… We proceed down a path marked by his ideas. That's legacy enough for any man. He showed us where the future is.” ―Tom Clancy

“Like Carlos Baker's Hemingway, this is an essential and exhaustive life.” ―Joe Haldeman

“Patterson offers a meticulous life-portrait of America's most pivotal science fiction author. In following Robert Heinlein's journey, step-by-step, we come to understand the persistent themes of his work. Perseverance, compassion, courage, curiosity, and--above all--a drive to confront the future on its own terms, eye-to-eye.” ―David Brin

About the Author

William H. Patterson, Jr., is an independent scholar who has published two books about Heinlein as well as numerous articles. He is an editor and contributor to the Virginia Edition Collected Works of Robert A. Heinlein. He lives in Los Angeles.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Robert A. Heinlein
1THE HEINLEINS OF BUTLER, MISSOURIButler, Missouri, has been the county seat and market town for Bates County since the resettlement of the "dark and bloody ground" after the Civil War. Eighty miles southeast of Kansas City, in 1907 it was in its third decade of sustained growth and had achieved a kind of stability that let its residents--most of them--enjoy what is now seen as a golden age of America, though in October of that year they were in for another depression, as debilitating as the savage depression of 1893.Both the Heinlein and Lyle families were well established in Butler. Rex Ivar Heinlein and Bam Lyle Heinlein grew up there (though Rex's father, Samuel Edward Heinlein, was a traveling salesman working out of Kansas City), and they began dating when both were attending Butler's Academy (the local equivalent of a college). Rex enlisted for the Spanish-American War, and when he came back, sick and "on a shutter," as family lore has it,1 they were married in November 1899.The couple immediately moved into Bam's parents' house--a common practice in the days before installment credit contracts brought the purchase of a house within the range of newlyweds. Extended families were the rule, and houses were built to accommodate generations living under the same roof. Even so, the Lyle ménage must have been crowded: Bam's six-year-old brother, Park, was living at home, and when her older sister, Anna, was widowed, leaving her to support her daughter, Thelma, by teaching, she, too, had gone back home to Butler and to her father's house.Fortunately, Dr. Lyle's horse-and-buggy medical practice was flourishing; even with the additional people in residence, he was able to indulge in trotting races as a hobby, running a fashionable sulky--a light cart with only a driver's seat--in the annual Bates County Fair, drawn by a half-brother of the famous Dan Patch.In 1899 Rex Ivar had prospects: he was working as a clerk and bookkeeperin his uncle Oscar Heinlein's dry goods store in Butler, a kind of combination hardware and general store. Uncle Oscar, in his mid-thirties, was unmarried and childless; it was understood that, if he applied himself and worked hard, Rex Ivar might inherit O. A. Heinlein Mercantile one day.2Rex Ivar and Bam started a family: their first child, a boy, was born on August 15, 1900. They named him Lawrence Lyle Heinlein, honoring grandparents on both sides of the family. On March 25, 1905, another boy was born. They named him Rex Ivar, after his father. A year later, Bam Heinlein became pregnant again.On July 7, 1907, not-quite-seven-year-old Larry Heinlein was delegated to keep his two-year-old brother, Rex, under control, at least till his father got home from work.3 Bam Lyle Heinlein was upstairs for her lying-in, attended by her father's office partner, Dr. Chastain, since it would have been improper for Dr. Lyle to attend his own daughter. Shortly after 3 P.M., she delivered a fine baby boy. They named him Robert Anson, after her great-grandparents Robert Lyle and Anson S. Wood.But by 1907 Rex Ivar's prospects in Butler no longer seemed quite so rosy. Like the biblical Jacob, he had served his uncle for seven years, and that was enough. The October stock market crash and Panic of 1907 threw the country into a depression. That winter Rex Ivar decided to give up on Butler and joined his father and uncles (plus aunt Jessie) in Kansas City.Rex Ivar's father, Samuel Edward Heinlein, had been in Kansas City for some years, working as a traveling salesman for the Kansas-Moline Plow Company. In 1903 he moved to the Midland Manufacturing Company, where his brothers Harvey and Lawrence also got work as salesmen and his sister Jessie was a clerk. In 1906 Samuel Edward was promoted from traveling salesman and assistant manager to full manager for Midland Manufacturing (soon to become Midland Implements, Jobbers of Implements & Vehicles), and with the attendant raise he bought a larger house. In December 1907 Rex and Bam and the three boys moved into his father's house. Rex Ivar, too, started out as a traveling salesman for Midland, and Robert remembered being taken several times by his mother to the train station at the foot of Wyandotte (building torn down in 1914) to meet his father returning home from his sales route.4 Soon, however, Midlands promoted him to clerk and cashier, and he was able to rent a small house of his own at 2605 Cleveland.5 Now Rex and Bam felt truly launched in Kansas City.6 They would work hard and strive--and have many more children.Robert Anson was an easy baby for his mother. She later said he gave no trouble and always entertained himself.7 Robert later recalled that he was fedon Eagle Brand condensed and sweetened milk, rather than breastfed like the rest of the children.8 No explanation for this has survived. Sometimes it just happens that lactation does not start.Robert's infancy cannot have been easy for him, though: a middle child, between the older boys and the new babies that came one by one, he was outcompeted for his mother's attention. He said on several occasions that he was a stammerer as a young man, and stammering is often associated with family disturbances during the time when a child is learning to speak, roughly from about ages two through five--for Robert, that was from 1909 through 1912.9 Bam seems to have preferred her father's day-to-day care during her pregnancies (there are no records of perinatal doctoring or midwifery), and she spent a great deal of time in her father's house in the early days.A baby girl, Louise, arrived on February 27, 1909. In 1910 Midland failed and went out of business. In 1911 brothers Samuel and Harvey Wallace Heinlein put the Heinlein family's expertise to work and set up their own company--Heinlein Brothers, Agricultural Implements--across the street from the old Midlands site. Rex Ivar was their clerk-cashier.10He was thirty-one years old; he was also sickly and had a series of operations during Robert's childhood. Work, church, and politics left very little time to spend with the family. When Bobby was five years old, he noticed unusual tension in the house; he later found out his father had received word from a local doctor that he had only three months to live--a false alarm, it turned out.11The children shared two bedrooms, with the smallest children in a crib in the parents' bedroom. Nor were there enough beds to go around. Heinlein recalled as an adult that he slept on a pallet on the floor for years, in a constant state of amiable warfare with baby sister Louise, "a notorious pillow-swiper (with nine in the family, pillows were at a premium) clear back when she pronounced the word pillow as 'pidduh.'"12As is common in large families, the older children had to help raise the younger. Bobby adored his oldest brother, Lawrence, but not brother Rex. Rex was only two years older, but gave himself privileges Bobby did not appreciate. A family anecdote from about 1911 or 1912 illustrates the problem: Rex came running in to their mother complaining--tattling--that Bobby was standing by the curb and saying hello to everybody who came along, and Rex didn't approve of that.13 Rex continued trying to raise his brother for a very long time, and this was a source of strain between them as they grew older.On September 10, 1912, another boy was born, Jesse (later called "Jay")Clare, named for his Aunt Jessie. Then Rose Elizabeth on July 23, 1918, named apparently for the paternal and maternal grandmothers, Rose Adelia Wood and Elizabeth Johnson (much as Robert Anson had been named for the grandfathers). Mary Jean, arriving on Christmas Day in 1920, rounded out the family at seven children. Bam Heinlein was forty-one years old.Until 1914 Bam and the children went by train to live with Dr. Lyle in Butler during summers and holidays. There she and the children could get out from under many of the pressures and privations of their life in Kansas City and Bam could let the children run (relatively) free in the cleaner, rural environment. Rex Ivar was bound to his desk in Kansas City, joining them when he could get away--weekends occasionally; a full week when possible. (In 1909 he had taken a temporary job with a bank in Butler while Bam was pregnant with Louise.)14Young Bobby seems to have been a particular favorite of Dr. Lyle's, and the affection was certainly reciprocated; Dr. Lyle built a special seat in his sulky for the boy, so he could accompany him on his medical rounds. Dr. Lyle did not shield the realities from the boy: outside the very largest and most advanced hospitals, medical practice consisted of iodine and aspirin, and encouraging people to heal themselves.15 Years later, Robert remembered seeing Dr. Lyle burn and bury his instruments after an infectious disease case, possibly anthrax.16Dr. Lyle also taught Bobby to play chess at age four. As Dr. Lyle died in August 1914, when his grandson had just turned seven years old, these incidents must have made a very deep impression on him. Heinlein was to take Dr. Lyle as his pattern for all the American frontier virtues of intellectual range and toughness, patriotism, and pragmatic morality in his fictional portrait of Lazarus Long's grandfather, Dr. Ira Johnson, in Time Enough for Love (1973) and To Sail Beyond the Sunset (1987).But Kansas City was home, more and more. The Heinleins had an almost proprietary, family interest in Swope Park, since an uncle Ira (who had married Bobby's Aunt Jessie) worked for the city, and he drew for his own amusement a detailed map locating every rock and shrub in the park (he also achieved renown for collecting a large ball of twine).17 Later, Heinlein recalled stripping and playing naked in the park, before World War I, pretending he was Tarzan.18 Nakedness became an important sensual experience for him. Years later, for fictional purposes, he r...

Most helpful customer reviews

102 of 105 people found the following review helpful.
An amazing accomplishment
By Michael Booker
Patterson has been given unprecedented access to prepare a two-volume authorized biography of science fiction giant Robert A. Heinlein. The depth of detail that he offers here - backed up by nearly a hundred pages of footnotes--means that we have a definitive biography of a one of America's greatest authors.

One of the things that I most deeply appreciate is that this isn't a hagiography. Patterson has deep affection for his subject, but Heinlein is shown as a flawed human being who makes many mistakes and who had many shortcomings. Many mysteries about his life are finally resolved (who was his first wife - the one before Leslyn?) thanks to extensive detective work.

For fans of Heinlein's fiction, this book (and I trust, the subsequent volume) will help to answer the tired question that ever author dreads, "Where do you get your ideas?" Heinlein's life is, naturally, the chief source for his fictional characters and plot lines. Sometimes Patterson is explicit in drawing these connections. In other places, readers versed in Heinlein's work will catch these linkages on their own.

The book must also be praised as a fascinating lesson in American history. Heinlein came from humble Missouri roots and lived through the bulk of the 20th century. His Navy career prior to WWII is fascinating in its own right, as is his involvement in California politics during the Depression.

Fans of Heinlein: READ THIS BOOK. Fans of science fiction: READ THIS BOOK. As for those interested in American History, especially U.S. Naval history...I strongly commend this biography to you.

36 of 37 people found the following review helpful.
A thorough and objective biography (up to 1948)
By T. D. Welsh
Having read every one of Heinlein's novels, short stories, and non-fiction articles that I could get hold of, I was keen to learn more about the great man and so snapped up this first of two volumes in William Patterson's authorized biography. My expectations were fairly low. Biographies of SF writers tend to be amateurish, enthusiastic, or condemnatory; in any case, they don't often measure up to the highest standards. Patterson, however, has done a scrupulously thorough job - as witness the 453 fact-packed pages he devotes to the first 41 years of Heinlein's life (1907-1948). Not only is this an authorized biography; Mr Patterson was actually invited to write it by Mrs Virginia Heinlein (Heinlein's third wife and widow), who gave him complete access to all the surviving documents as well as introducing him to many invaluable sources. While it is possible to argue that Heinlein is given an easy ride, in the sense that Patterson does not overtly condemn any of his behavior, I think it is fair to say that the biographer stands back and lets the facts speak for themselves. Whether you end up idolizing Heinlein, finding him flawed but admirable, or detesting him, is a matter for you and depends on how you choose the interpret the facts. The book is very well written, in fluent prose that never gets in the way of the story, and is full of interesting quotations from letters, conversations, and the like.

Even if you already knew, it is a shock to realize that Heinlein was born in the age of the horse and buggy, when motor cars, the telephone, and electricity were still quite recent inventions, and when Mark Twain still had a couple of years to live (and H.G. Wells another 39!) Indeed, Heinlein was 7 years old when the First World War began - and 10 when the USA became a combatant. He was 32 when the Second World War began (and 34 when the USA began to fight); and he spent over a third of his life in a world without technology that we take for granted, such as antibiotics, nuclear power, and miniaturized electronics. Probably not many of his readers know that he commanded a gun turret on the battleship USS Oklahoma in the 1920s, and as captain's aide even brought the aircraft carrier USS Lexington (at that time the world's largest warship) into port.

It is hard to say how much Heinlein's distinctive personality owed to nature, and how much to nurture (or lack of it). Born into a large and steadily expanding family with barely adequate resources, young Bobby began earning his own living as early as 12 - the year he entered high school - and was completely self-supporting by the age of 15. Somehow he managed to combine this life of what would now be considered "child labor" with a Matilda-like affinity for books - everything from Alice in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz to Mark Twain, Kipling, Edgar Rice Burroughs, T.H. Huxley, H.G. Wells, and Conan Doyle. Perhaps because his childhood (in the modern sense) was so short, he had very clear memories going back to a very early age. Seeing few possible escapes from the life of routine drudgery that so many of his friends and family endured, Heinlein pulled off the remarkable feat of getting himself appointed to the US Naval Academy, Annapolis, in 1925. The thoroughness of his preparation for this bid beggars belief - for instance, the US senator who sponsored him said that each of the 50 other candidates submitted one letter of recommendation... whereas Heinlein submitted 50 letters!

His four years at Annapolis shaped Heinlein's views in many ways, further strengthening his patriotism and love of the USA and giving him unusual insights into the nature of command and other military/naval relationships. This contributed to some of the apparently puzzling contradictions in his personality: a conservative with anarchic beliefs; a loving, sentimental, emotionally vulnerable man who could come across as authoritarian and insensitive; an intellectual who understood that there is sometimes no substitute for decisive action. Although he would have liked to be an admiral, ill health forced him out of the US Navy and eventually left him struggling to earn a living. The story of how he campaigned on behalf of Upton Sinclair's EPIC ("End Poverty in California") party, then stood for office as a Democrat in a heavily Republican district and suffered a crushing defeat, also casts a lot of light on some of his plots and the familiarity with practical politics which informed his writing. Then there was the abortive silver mine venture (very briefly described by Patterson) before taking up a public offer to submit a story to Astounding Science Fiction magazine. That story, "Lifeline" still reads very well today, and told editor John W Campbell that he had a talented new writer. Heinlein's reaction, when he gazed at the resulting check for $70 (worth a little over $1000 today), was characteristic: "How long has this racket been going on? And why didn't anybody tell me about it sooner?" That was 1939, the dawn of a new era in many ways, and the start of a brief few years when Heinlein wrote mostly for the pulp magazines. By 1948 (the year I was born) he had several novels in print, and had broken out of the pulp ghetto to sell stories to glossy magazines. From then on, he was to be almost exclusively a novelist.

It's hard to judge Heinlein's personal life without a better understanding of the period than most of us nowadays can muster. He seems to have had an overpowering urge to marry - certainly his first marriage, to Elinor Curry the moment he graduated from Annapolis, seems inexplicable otherwise. They had already slept together, and she had made it clear to him that she did not consider their marriage exclusive. So what difference did it make to either of them, except to make them unhappy? In the first place, it destroyed Heinlein's hopes for a Rhodes Scholarship, which would have paid for three years at Oxford University and could have opened the doors to a career in astronomy. His second marriage was no less singular: Cal Laning, one of his best friends from Annapolis, invited Heinlein to meet his new fiancee Leslyn Macdonald - a brilliant, mystical waif - only to hear, the following morning, that Leslyn was going to marry Heinlein instead! Nevertheless, they all remained firm friends. Reading about such events, it's sometimes hard to believe that we are getting the whole story. Either that, or people were different in the 1930s. Leslyn seems to have thrived on hard times, of which there were plenty as the two of them threw themselves into the war effort, but later (it seems) took to drink and suffered something like a nervous breakdown. And so Heinlein ended up with wife number three, Lieutenant Virginia Gerstenfeld (Ginny), who was to be his partner and helpmeet for the rest of his life.

In addition to its 32 chapters, this chunky hardback features a brief Introduction, over 30 good black-and-white photographs, a couple of pages of acknowledgments, a substantial appendix on the genealogy of the Heinlein and Lyle families, a brief one on Heinlein's political campaigns, a full 100 pages of detailed notes on the text and sources, and a good index. Even my critical eye found no editing oversights of any kind. Now I shall be biting my nails until I can get hold of Volume 2!

39 of 41 people found the following review helpful.
Heinlein biography brilliant
By Amazon Customer
This Heinlein biography is both well researched and brilliant. The author does his best to understand Heinlein and his work in the context of his work, his interest in science, and most of all, his patriotism and military service. As a former military member myself, it's hard to explain to those who have never been in exactly what a life-changing experience this can be. I had never heard over half of the personal detail before (the book's fair and in many ways, loving description of Leslyn Heinlein makes reading FARNHAM'S FREEHOLD a much more interesting experience). It was also great to see the descriptions of fans and other SF writers (some of whom I have been lucky enough to meet) in this book as well. I'm about three-quarters of the way through, and I can already tell that I'm going to be really ticked the second volume isn't out yet.

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