2013, ISBN: 9780439139281
gebonden uitgave
Pocket Star. Very Good. 4.19 x 1 x 6.75 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2009. "480 pages. <br>Colossal in concept, dazzlingly plotted, filled w ith vivid, jaw-dropping violence,… Meer...
Pocket Star. Very Good. 4.19 x 1 x 6.75 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2009. "480 pages. <br>Colossal in concept, dazzlingly plotted, filled w ith vivid, jaw-dropping violence, Sins of the Assassin confirms R obert Ferrigno as the modern master of the futuristic thriller. In the second book of Ferrigno's spectacular Assassin Trilogy, R akkim Epps battles radical fundamentalist forces in a futuristic America, now a divided blood-soaked dystopia. Will he survive? Ca n America ever be unified again? The year is 2043. New York and Washington, D.C., have been leveled by nuclear bombs. New Orlean s is submerged beneath fifty feet of water and treasure hunters s cavenge its watery ruins. The United States no longer exists, and in its place two new nations maintain an uneasy coexistence. T o the west stretches the Islamic Republic, seemingly governed by a moderate president but hollowed from within by the violent, rep ressive Black Robes, a shadowy fundamentalist group intent on cru shing all those who do not follow Allah's path. In this frighteni ng world, freedom is controlled by the state, and non-Muslims are either second-class citizens, hidden underground, exiled, or exe cuted. To the east and south lies the Christian Bible Belt, its elf torn by conflict from warring factions, each claiming to be m ore righteous than the others. Meanwhile the former United States is being nibbled away at the edges: South Florida, known as ""Nu evo Florida,"" is independent; the Aztlán Empire, formerly Mexico , encroaches from the south; and Canada has laid claim to huge sw aths of territory along the United States's former northern borde r. What stability exists between the warring empires is threate ned when the president of the Islamic Republic discovers that a B ible Belt warlord, known simply as the Colonel, is searching for a superweapon hidden inside a remote mountain decades earlier by the old United States regime. Rakkim Epps, retired shadow warrior , is sent on a perilous mission to infiltrate the Belt and steal or destroy the weapon. Accompanying Rakkim is Leo, a naive ninete en-year-old whose technologically enhanced brain is crucial to th eir success.Together they sneak through the Belt, a lawless terri tory where a bloodthirsty, drug-addled militia prepares for the E nd-Times. When Rakkim and Leo finally reach the Colonel's mount ain, Epps is forced to rely on his shadow warrior's ability to ki ll any and all who would halt his quest. Opposing him is the Colo nel's enforcer, a sadistic, carbon-skinned killer named Gravenhol tz, and the Colonel's wife, the alluring, sexually rapacious Baby , who wants -- and gets -- more of everything. Meanwhile, the Old One, the ancient and immensely rich Muslim fanatic who seeks to rule both American nations, plots his attack from the safety of h is ocean liner. Rakkim Epps, he realizes, must be stopped, contro lled, or killed. A terrific stand-alone read, Sins of the Assas sin is a cinematic feast of action and plot, and verifies Robert Ferrigno's Assassin Trilogy as a monumental imaginative work of s uspense. Editorial Reviews Review ""White-knuckle suspense."" - - Chicago Sun-Times ""Provocative, unpredictable, and nuanced... .Sins of the Assassin is terrific -- all killer, no filler."" -- The Seattle Times About the Author Robert Ferrigno was born in S outh Florida, a tropical backwater rife with mosquitoes and flyin g cockroaches. After earning college degrees in philosophy, film- making, and creative writing, he returned to his first love, poke r. He spent the next five years gambling full-time and living in a high-crime area populated by starving artists, alcoholics, thie ves, and drug dealers, becoming friends with many people who woul d later populate his novels. Over the next several years he flew jets with the Blue Angels, drove Ferraris, and went for desert su rvival training with gun nuts. He ultimately gave up his day job to become a novelist, and his first book, The Horse Latitudes, wa s called ""the fiction debut of the season"" by Time. He lives in Washington with his family. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Sins of the Assassin Chapter 1 Moseby ne eded to slow down. His haste stirred up a gray confetti of silt, disintegrating paper, and pulverized glass from the neon sign tha t once flashed OYSTER PO’ BOYS, TREAT YO MOUTH. The tiny halogen beams on either side of his face mask bounced back from the confetti, the light made useless by his excitement. Mose by drifted in the warm water of the Gulf, waiting. Plenty of time , no need to rush. He easily got four hours out of a three-hour t ank. More if he stayed calm and clear. Mama’s Home Cookin’ lay crumbling on its foundation, roof gone , the concrete-block walls scoured clean by the tide. A couple of red leatherette stools still sat upright, the floor carpeted wit h gently waving sea grass. He thought of the crowd at the LSU hom ecoming game last month, Annabelle on her feet beside him, pom-po ms shaking as she cheered louder than anyone. He smiled around hi s mouthpiece. The cash register was sprung open on the counter, s oggy bills hanging out like fingers from the till. Old money. Wor thless. Mama’s didn’t hold any treasu re. The oyster shack was just a marker, an indicator that he was close to what he sought. Moseby floated in place, listening to t he sound of his own steady breathing. Easy to get spooked fifty f eet under, a swimmer alone with the dead. It took patience to sur vive in the drowned city. More than patience, it took faith. Mose by pulled at the chain around his neck, clasped the small gold cr ucifix between thumb and forefinger. He silently asked the blessi ng of Mary, mother of God. Asked her to intercede on behalf of al l who had lost their lives in the city below. Asked the dead for their permission to take what they no longer needed. A man could never pray too much. Particularly a man like Moseby, who had much to atone for. He let go of the crucifix, drifted again, shiverin g in the warm water. Unlike Moseby, most scavengers used electri c sleds in their explorations, racing around at full power, churn ing up debris. Greedy, frightened men chopping their way through the city, so eager to get back to the surface that they ruined mo st of what they brought up. Dangerous work under the best of circ umstances. Rebreathers failed. Floors and ceilings gave way. Wall s collapsed. Jagged metal sliced through wet suits, the rush of b lood attracting the barracuda and morays that lurked in the mossy grottos of the French Quarter and the collapsed Superdome. More dangerous than anything else to the scavengers was the panic, men disoriented by the darkness, and the fractured geometry of wreck ed buildings. Gulping air, swimming frantically, they got lost in the concrete maze, adding themselves to the long list of dead. The streets below were almost beyond the reach of sunlight, obscu red further by thousands of automobiles leaking oil even after al l these years. Murkier still in the houses and restaurants, the g rand hotels where the easy spoils lay. Afraid of the deep, the sc avengers used ever more powerful lights, blinding themselves, los ing all perspective in the undersea tableau. Men had died for a c rystal doorknob they mistook for a massive diamond, gotten trappe d reaching for a sterling punch bowl far from their grasp. Fright ened of the dark and the loneliness, frightened most of all by th e ghosts. Commuters floating in their vehicles. Lovers in their h otel beds, honeymooners huddling in the lavish bathrooms where th ey had taken cover. Hard to pluck a gold Rolex off a bony wrist u nder those watching eye sockets. Hard not to hurry, to drop the g oods and fumble to find them again. Easy to breathe too fast, to let the nitrogen build up in the bloodstream, to overestimate the air supply. This year alone sixty-seven men had died or disappea red. Most scavengers focused on the French Quarterâ€""the f ancy stores and tourist emporiums had been picked over, but their familiarity offered some illusion of safety. Not Moseby. His cr ew worked the untouched areas, the mansions and banks and busines ses outside the central core, places where the flood had been mos t ferocious, leaving behind a deadly jumble of concrete and steel and twisted rebar. They were the most successful crew working th e city, bringing up gold coins and jewelry, carved stonework, vin tage brandy, and Creole memorabilia. Steering wheels from classic cars had been particularly hot this yearâ€""most of them s old to collectors in Asia and South America. Moseby trained his m en himself, taught them as much as they could handle. The men wer e carefulâ€Â¦but they still died. Not as often as the men wo rking the supposedly safer parts of the city, but too often, for Moseby. That’s why he dove alone today. Men had the right to risk their lives to feed their families, but Moseby was n’t seeking treasure today. At least none that woul d be sold or bartered. He switched off his light. Gave in to the darkness. Waiting. Moseby closed his eyes. Patient. When he open ed them again, he could see. Not clearly, even his eyes werenâ 364;™t that good, but he could see. Now that Mamaâ€&# 8482;s had oriented him, the shapes and shadows seemed laid out b efore him, the messy grid on the city’s outskirts. St. Bernard’s Parish in the Ninth Ward, where the l evee had failed first. The old government had raised the levees two times after Hurricane Katrina inundated the city. Built them higher and higher, trying to keep up with the rising sea level an d the ever more powerful hurricanes spawned by the warming. Septe mber 23, 2013, thirty years ago, Hurricane James, a category 6 hu rricane, predicted to miss the city, had suddenly veered west in the middle of the night and struck New Orleans at sunrise. The le vees gave way as though made of tissue, the waters of the Gulf co vering the city under fifty feet of water. Most of the estimated 300,000 dead were stuck in traffic trying to flee. Hurricane Jame s was the most violent storm ever recorded. Until Hurricane Maria two years later. He glided over the road, his no-wake flippers almost living up to their name. Brightly colored fish ignored him , twisting and turning as they darted past him, weaving in and ou t the open windows of the barnaclecrusted vehicles strewn below. The houses in the immediate area were small and falling down, but the land rose slightly toward the north, where the homes were la rger, many of them surrounded by iron fences and stone walls. Thi s was where Sweeny would have lived. Annabelle couldn†482;t remember much from her visit to her eccentric uncle†™s houseâ€""she was barely fiveâ€""but there ha d been an ancient banyan tree in his backyard dripping with Spani sh moss, and a swing set already rusted, squeaking loudly, one le g of the swing lifting off the ground as she had rhythmically pum ped away. She remembered Sweeny taking her and her mother to a lo cal po’boy joint, a hole-in-the-wall specializing i n oysters drenched in fresh lime juice, bourbon, and Tabasco. Swe eny said he ate two po’boys for lunch every day, pr oudly watched as his niece devoured one of her own, smacking her lips with pleasure in spite of the blistering hot sauce. Moseby h ad spent months searching for New Orleans take-out joints special izing in the Cajun delicacy, months of scouring local guidebooks and newspaper articles. Last week he got lucky, ran into an old-t imerâ€Â¦a regular at Mama’s in the old days. Moseby’s eyes adjusted even further to the dim ligh t. Annabelle said if it had been him instead of Jonah swallowed b y the whale, Moseby wouldn’t have needed divine int ervention to find his way out of its innards. He checked his watc h. Plenty of time. Plenty of air. He passed over a small backyard , a line of laundry drooping but still standing. Shirts and pants and dresses, their colors faded, eaten through with time, ragged pennants rippling in the current. Another yardâ€Â¦the scree n door thrown open, torn half off its hinges, and Moseby wondered if the family inside the house had made it out alive, had clung to a boat, a skiff, an inflatable swimming pool; he wondered if t hey had gotten lucky, awakened from a nightmare before dawn, and raced ahead of the raging floodwaters. Annabelle said her uncleâ €™s house had been large, with a high river-rock fenc e and white pillars; he had become a rich man down on his luck by then, his house the remnant of his fortune as the neighborhood s unk into squalor. She and her mother had never gone back after th at first visit. Sweeny had taken offense at something her mother saidâ€Â¦or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, he r uncle and the house were a dim memory. The marble bust of the womanâ€Â¦that was a different story. Annabelle remembered it vividly. The stone queen, that’s what she had call ed the statue. A beautiful woman with a head full of tight curls, her expression distant and dreamy, as though she had seen someth ing that no one else had ever seen, and the sight had changed her . The world would never be quite fine enough for the woman now. A nnabelle said she thought the stone queen must have looked into h eaven and couldn’t wait to go there. Moseby knew be tter. He and Annabelle had sifted through photos on the Net until she narrowed down what she remembered. If she was right, the sta tue was Greek, probably early classical, in the style of Aphrodit e of Melos. Priceless. Moseby was going to surprise Annabelle wit h it for their anniversary tonight. For weeks he had been searchi ng for it, not even telling his daughter, Leanne. A gro, Pocket Star, 2009, 3, Rodale Books. Very Good. 6.12 x 1.11 x 9 inches. Hardcover. 2008. 256 pages. <br>In the tradition of her bestseller, Finding Your O wn North Star, Oprah Magazine columnist Martha Beck reconnects re aders with their best destinies. Described as one of the best-kn own life coaches in America in media such as Psychology Today, NP R, and USA Today, Martha Beck has demonstrated a rare gift for he lping people whose lives have gone off course find their way back to authentic, rewarding lives. Now, in Steering by Starlight: Fi nd Your Right Life, No Matter What!, Martha Beck describes the st ep-by-step process she uses with her private clients to help them navigate the terrain of their best lives. Bringing together cut ting-edge research in psychiatry, neurology, and related fields i n an accessible, substantive, original way, Dr. Beck offers power ful new methods for solving the problems that beset ordinary peop le. Using her trademark wisdom, empathy, and engaging style, she connects readers with fresh, never-before published strategies th at have proven most effective and efficient for the hundreds of p eople she has coached. For readers who have found their North Sta rs, this book will be an invaluable tool to stay the course and o vercome obstacles. For those who still feel adrift, it will provi de a way to find true North and follow the path of best destiny. Dr. Beck identifies three stages along the path to recapturing a satisfying life: -the stargazer helps readers understand why it' s so easy to lose themselves and offers strategies for sighting t heir North Star -the mapmaker uses this newly clarified perspecti ve to evaluate one's situation and plot a course for upcoming yea rs -the pathfinder discusses the adventures that may be encounter ed as one travels along this new life course Whether it's seekin g better relationships, more focused career direction, the achiev ement of specific fitness goals, or a more harmonious lifestyle, Steering by Starlight's colorful anecdotes, case studies, and exe rcises will point the way. Editorial Reviews Review The best kn own life coach in America. -Psychology Today Martha Beck has a r are ability to see the world with wisdom and heart. She is a teac her in the truest sense of the word. -Harriet Lerner, author of T he Dance of Anger and The Dance of Connection If you want to be like Oprah Winfrey--and who doesn't--we have two words for you: M artha Beck. -Boston Globe About the Author MARTHA BECK, PHD, is a life coach and monthly columnist for O: The Oprah Magazine. Sh e has taught career development at the American Graduate School o f International Management and was research assistant to Dr. John Kotter at Harvard Business School. The author of the bestsellers Finding Your Own North Star and the memoir Expecting Adam, and T he Four-Day Win, she lives in Phoenix, Arizona. Excerpt. ® Repr inted by permission. All rights reserved. CHAPTER 1 The End The first guy to go in always carries a shotgun, says Kirk Fowler. H e's not a big man, for a law enforcer; in fact, he's not much tal ler than I am. This is a quality I appreciate in a martial arts i nstructor. Kirk is my sensei, and in the middle of a lesson, he's telling me how he used to serve warrants on suspected drug runne rs and coyotes, con artists who take would- be immigrants' money, then load them into trucks and abandon them in the desert to die . These are really violent people, Kirk says, and they have an i ntense fight-or-flight reaction at that first sight of the office rs. They're usually doing drugs as well as selling them, and that makes them about as violent and unpredictable as humans get. You 're never in more danger than when you're walking into a room to serve a warrant. It's scary as hell. It's hard to imagine Kirk t errified. He's a master of aikido, a martial art that focuses mor e on inner peace than on physical power. I'm learning aikido beca use it works like magic. Literally. An aikido master gently touch es your head, and suddenly you're on the floor. You try to slug h im, and you can barely lift your arm. These effects feel almost s upernatural, but given a few minutes, anyone can use them well en ough to see that they're real. So it isn't surprising that Kirk's aikido training was very helpful when he worked for the Border P atrol. What is surprising is the way it helped. One day when I w as serving a warrant, I decided to try going in with my energy to tally calm and relaxed, instead of high adrenaline. The suspects were in a motel room, wired, scared, and well armed. To reach a p lace where my energy was calm, I had to imagine that all of them were already dead. So I went into that room feeling really quiet and respectful, the way you'd feel going to a funeral. And when I opened the door, no one did anything. The suspects just looked at me as though they'd invited me to a summer picnic. They cooper ated with the officers through the whole arrest. Even to me, that was weird. From then on, Kirk concludes, I kept my energy tuned that way whenever we served a warrant. I still had the shotgun. But I never needed it. Over and over, people who should have foug ht or run simply started cooperating. I know this makes no kind of sense. It sounds like an exaggeration, if not an outright lie. But I don't think it is. I've seen and felt Kirk's energy change the atmosphere in the room without his moving a muscle. In my m ind, he says, the fight's already won. You begin where you want i t to end. That's most of the battle. Most people will never disc over this because it contradicts everything we're taught to expec t. We have a linear view of progress: We start at the beginning o f a task, and we work our way to the end. This is a useful way to look at things, but it isn't the only way. Especially when you'r e seeking to fulfill your destiny, the best way to succeed is to begin at the end. A Quick Trip to the Observatory By the time y ou finish this book, you should be able to identify and dissolve most of the mind clouds that keep you from seeing your own North Star. This is a process you'll continue all your life. It's a ver y specific and disciplined way of thinking (although it's easy an d delicious once you're used to it). It will bring you inner peac e and also help you build your outward empire. But it takes a whi le to make all that happen, and I've never been a fan of deferred gratification. So right now, even if you're a homeless junkie wh o found this book in a dumpster and is planning to eat it, I want it to give you access to the end of your journey, the fulfillmen t of your best destiny. Think of the techniques in this chapter as ways you can visit a celestial observatory in your head. The o bservatory has powerful telescopes that you can use to get a clea r look at the stars. For a moment, as you look through those tele scopes, your own North Star will shine like a floodlight. You'll feel as though your destiny is a done deal--until something pushe s your mind out of the observatory and back into its typical patt erns, the well- worn trails ground into your life by repetition a nd habit, and you go back to feeling as though nothing in your li fe will ever really work. You may have experienced this after he aring a powerful speaker or watching an uplifting movie. I can do anything! you feel. Nothing can stop me now! Then you get home f rom the convention hall or the movie theater, and everything goes to hell in a hand basket. Your spouse yells at you, the mail is full of bills, the cat has eaten the steaks you left out to thaw and is now experiencing bouts of diarrhea in parts of your home y ou didn't even know existed. Abruptly, you lose your connection t o your Stargazer self and slam back into your cold, cruel, earthb ound daily life. Upcoming chapters will help you learn how to ke ep this exhausting emotional vacillation from smacking you around . You'll learn to live in your Stargazer self, which exists beyon d the reach of what Chinese philosophy calls the 10,000 joys and sorrows of ordinary life. But right now, from the word go, I want you to be able to run back to the observatory and look through t he telescope whenever you need reassurance. This can help you sta y motivated as you learn the sometimes baffling work of becoming a full-time Stargazer. So, as they never told you in school, last things first. Step 1 on the Path of Your Destiny: Getting Whate ver You Want Screenwriters tell us that all movie plots begin wi th a character who wants something very, very much and is having a lot of trouble getting it. We viewers identify with that charac ter immediately, because that's us up on the big screen. That str uggle to get what we want is the story of our lives. Identifying Your Wants Right now, you probably have a mental list of things you want very, very much. You may be working toward these things , buying Lotto tickets in bulk, praying in every living language as well as interpretive dance. In the space below, write down a f ew of the things you most frequently wish you had: a bigger house , loving friends, more time to meditate, a boyfriend with fewer t han 12 pit bulls. List up to five of these things. Some Things I Really Want Thing 1: _________________________________________ Thing 2: _________________________________________ Thing 3: ___ ______________________________________ Thing 4: ________________ _________________________ Thing 5: _____________________________ ____________ No offense, but if you're like most people, the thi ngs you just wrote down probably aren't what you actually want. M ore likely, each thing is a means to an end. Remember King Midas? When he got his wish--that everything he touched would turn to g old--he found himself surrounded by cold metal objects that used to be his bed, his favorite horse, his wife, and his children. Ob viously, this didn't feel nearly as good as he'd expected. The mo ral: What we think would bring us happiness often won't do the tr ick. What we're really after when we yearn for something is a fee ling state. Look back at the list you just made and imagine that you already have each thing on the list. Try to feel as you'd fe el if you had millions of dollars or a perfect lover or a gorgeou s body that never gets tired or sick. Pay attention to the feelin g state you'd get from this dream come true. In the spaces below, write a word or two that best describes the feeling state you'd get from having each of the things you want. How I'll Feel When I Have What I Really Want When I have Thing 1, the sensation I'l l feel is: _________________ When I have Thing 2, the sensation I'll feel is: _________________ When I have Thing 3, the sensati on I'll feel is: _________________ When I have Thing 4, the sens ation I'll feel is: _________________ When I have Thing 5, the s ensation I'll feel is: _________________ I've found that while p eople's desires seem endlessly varied, the feeling states we all desire are few, simple, and universal. They include peace, securi ty, belonging, comfort, love, joy. We think we'll get these feeli ngs by nabbing anything from an Olympic gold medal to our parents ' approval. I hear a lot of statements like these. Popular Lies about Destiny If I could find that special someone, I wouldn't b e lonely anymore. When I get that promotion, I'll finally know I 'm good enough. If my spouse stopped being critical, I'd be able to relax. What I really need is a job in television. That would be so exciting. I need my mother to say she loves me; then I'll be happy. I'd have plenty of confidence if only the right mento r would show up. Once I'm at my goal weight, I'll feel great abo ut dating. Building my dream business would be easy if I had an MBA. If you can't see that all these statements are false assump tions, you haven't been sitting in my life-coaching chair for the past 10 years. From my vantage point, you'd have seen many, many people who are deeply loved and still lonely, beautiful and stil l horribly self-conscious, professionally successful and still so terrified of failure that their nocturnal tooth-gnashing could c rush diamonds. Here's something you'll need to hold in your mind, at least temporarily, if you want to get a good look at your own North Star: External circumstances do not create feeling states. Feeling states create external circumstances. Here, let me show you. Testing the Causal Direction of Desire and Destiny It's e asy to see that in everyday human interactions, most situations c ome from feeling states rather than feeling states coming from si tuations. Consider these scenarios. 1. You're an employer lookin g for someone to hire. Two clients apply. One is desperate and fr antic. Please, please, I need this job; you've got to help me, he begs. The other candidate is calm and confident. He asks, How ca n I help you?Which one would you rather hire? 2. You're shopping for clothes. In one store, a salesperson dogs you, pressuring yo u to buy more expensive merchandise, now! In the other location, you get a cheerful Hello, and then you're allowed to try on outfi ts without pressure. Where do you feel more comfortable making a purchase? 3. You meet your friends Pat and Chris for lunch. You haven't seen them for weeks. Pat is relaxed and happy, eager to c atch up. Chris, on the other hand, keeps putting in passive-aggre ssive digs at you, the absentee friend: I wish you'd made it to t he concert, but I know you're too busy for insignificant folks li ke me. With whom do you want to spend more time? Unless you are truly an epic codependent, you probably feel more like cooperatin g with the people who behave as though their needs are already be ing met. This is simply how human psychology works: When we push, grab, manipulate, or pursue people, they start to feel as though we're huge mutant versions of the bird-flu virus. For this reaso n, if no other, you'll experience far more success in all areas o f life when you dwell in a sense that your goal has already been achieved. (It's also true that when you reside in a calm future-s elf, even inanimate objects like money seem to seek you out--but that's a level of magic we'll talk about later on.) Quick Starga zing Exercise for Beginning at the End Try this: Think of someon e whose approval you covet. It might be your lover, someone else' s lover, your boss, a celebrity who may never even meet you, or ( if you happen to be an approva, Rodale Books, 2008, 3, Simon & Schuster. Very Good. Hardcover. 2001. 592 pages. <br>An epic novel of Manhattan's first century follows two families--one Dutch, the other British--from the earliest da ys of the settlement to the Revolutionary War. A first novel. 75, 000 first printing. Editorial Reviews From Publishers Weekly Th e tapestry of early American society is hung out for a fresh view ing in this ambitious historical novel of 1660s New Amsterdam. Th e English Turners are brother and sister, surgeon/barber and apot hecary. Devoted to one another, Sally and Lucas quickly learn to make their way in the harsh, prosperous new world, aiding the Dut ch governor Stuyvesant's family and making their reputation in th e bargain. Then Lucas sells Sally in marriage to Jacob Van der Vr ies, a cruel, foolish physician, in order to save her life, Lucas says, but she believes it is to buy his lover's freedom to marry , and she never forgives him. This rift begins a feud between the Van der Vries (later Devreys) and Turners that lasts through the American Revolution. Colorful characters vie with historical fig ures for attention on this broad stage: there's Jennet, Sally's g reat-granddaughter, who marries a wealthy Jew; Caleb Devrey, Jenn et's first cousin, who loved her as a boy, but becomes her bitter est enemy; Morgan, Jennet's son, a privateer and patriot; and Mor gan's best friend and former slave, Cuffy, whose fate is bound to Morgan's by love, hate and the same woman the gorgeous Roisin Ca mpbell aka Mistress Healsall. The healing profession is carried d own through each generation of Turners and Devreys, and Swerling' s descriptions of early operations with crude instruments are det ailed and riveting. The city of New York is a character in its ow n right, but even it cannot compete with the richly drawn, well-r ounded people Swerling creates. This engrossing, generously imagi ned tale deserves the large audience it should find at a time whe n the founding fathers reign triumphant in biography. (Oct.) Fore cast: The size of this hefty debut may actually be a selling poin t, since it promises an epic tale. The colorful period jacket art should appeal to browsers, too. Copyright 2001 Cahners Busines s Information, Inc. From Booklist The early history of Manhatta n is chronicled through six generations of a remarkable clan of s urgeons, physicians, and apothecaries. Hounded out of England for illegally practicing surgery, gifted Lucas Turner and his sister , Sally, immigrate to the New World. Landing in New Amsterdam in 1661, Lucas employs a combination of daring and skill to establis h his reputation as a surgeon, and Sally begins planting and gath ering the herbs, plants, and flowers she needs to concoct the med icinal potions and drugs necessary for his practice. Though their future seems bright, the arrival of an unscrupulous and inept Du tch physician threatens both their security and their relationshi p. When Jacob Van der Vies succeeds in his vile blackmail effort, he causes an irreparable rift between the two siblings. For more than 100 years, the Turner and the Van der Vies branches of the family participate in both the evolution of the art and science o f medicine and the transition of Manhattan from a fledgling colon ial outpost to a bustling, thriving metropolis on the brink of re volution. Margaret Flanagan Copyright © American Library Associat ion. All rights reserved From Booklist The early history of Manh attan is chronicled through six generations of a remarkable clan of surgeons, physicians, and apothecaries. Hounded out of England for illegally practicing surgery, gifted Lucas Turner and his si ster, Sally, immigrate to the New World. Landing in New Amsterdam in 1661, Lucas employs a combination of daring and skill to esta blish his reputation as a surgeon, and Sally begins planting and gathering the herbs, plants, and flowers she needs to concoct the medicinal potions and drugs necessary for his practice. Though t heir future seems bright, the arrival of an unscrupulous and inep t Dutch physician threatens both their security and their relatio nship. When Jacob Van der Vies succeeds in his vile blackmail eff ort, he causes an irreparable rift between the two siblings. For more than 100 years, the Turner and the Van der Vies branches of the family participate in both the evolution of the art and scien ce of medicine and the transition of Manhattan from a fledgling c olonial outpost to a bustling, thriving metropolis on the brink o f revolution. Margaret Flanagan Copyright © American Library Asso ciation. All rights reserved About the Author Beverly Swerling i s a writer, consultant, and amateur historian. She lives in New Y ork City with her husband. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. A ll rights reserved. Chapter One Eleven weeks in a ship thirty-s even feet long by eleven wide, carrying a crew of nine as well as twenty passengers. Lurching and lunging and tossing on the Atlan tic swells, the sails creaking night and day, spread above them l ike some evil bird of prey. Hovering, waiting for death. The du ng buckets on the open deck were screened only by a scanty calico curtain that blew aside more often than it stayed in place. For Sally Turner the dung buckets were the worst. She was twenty-th ree years old -- small, with dark hair, bright brown eyes, and a narrow, pinched face -- from a Rotterdam slum by way of a rodent- infested corner of a Kentish barn. The crossing had turned her in sides to water. She went seven or eight times a day to the dung b uckets. The flimsy cloth almost always blew aside and she saw the grizzled, hungry-eyed crewmen watching, waiting for her to lift her skirts. As if all the battles between Kent and now had been f or nothing. Her brother suffered more from the seasickness. Luc as Turner was a big man, like his sister only in his dark colorin g, and in the intelligence that showed behind his eyes. Until now most would have called him handsome; the journey had reduced him to a shell. From the start Lucas hung day and night over the sid e of the wooden ship, vomiting his guts into the sea. The voyag e was beyond imagination, beyond bearing. Except that there was n o choice but to bear it. One small consolation: the April day whe n the Princess left Rotterdam was exceptionally warm. A premature summer rushed toward them as they sailed west. Most of the food spoiled before the end of the first three weeks. Constant illness prevented hunger. A crossing longer and more miserable and mor e dangerous than anything they had talked about or prepared for, and when they got there -- what? By all reports bitter cold in wi nter and fierce heat in summer. And savages, Sally Turner said th e first morning of June, when they were nine weeks into the voyag e, and she and her brother were hanging on to the rail in the shi p's bow. The swells were stronger in that position, but Lucas was convinced he could be no worse. And there was a bit of privacy. There are red men in America, Lucas. With painted faces and feath ers and hatchets. In God's name, what have we done? Lucas didn' t answer. They had decided the risk was worth the taking while th ey were still in Holland. Besides, he had to lean over the rail a nd puke yet again. There was nothing in his stomach to come up, e ven the bile was gone, but the dry heaves would not leave him. For as long as Sally could remember, it was Lucas who made such s ecurity as there was in her world. She felt every shudder of his agony-racked frame as if it were her own. She slid down, using th e wooden ship's planked bulkhead to keep her steady, and pawed th rough her basket. Eventually she drew herself up and pulled the t iny cork of a small pewter vial. Chamomile powder, Lucas. Let me shake some onto your tongue. No, that's all you've left. I won' t take it. I've more. With our things down below. You're lyin g, Sal. I can always -- He had to stop to heave again. His sis ter leaned toward him with the remedy that promised relief. Lucas eyed the small tube with longing. You're sure you've more? In our box in the hold. I swear it. Lucas opened his mouth. Sally emptied the last few grains of the chamomile powder onto his tong ue. It gave him some fifteen minutes of freedom from nausea. Be low decks, in the sturdy box that held all their belongings caref ully wrapped in oilskin, she did indeed have more chamomile, but only in the form of seed. Waiting, like Lucas and Sally Turner, t o be planted in Nieuw Amsterdam and thrive in the virgin earth of the island of Manhattan. * There was a wooden wharf of sorts , but two ships were already moored alongside it. The Princess dr opped anchor some fifty yards away, and a raft carried them to sh ore. It wasn't big enough to take everyone in one trip. Lucas and Sally were dispatched on the third. They clung together to kee p from being pitched overboard, and listened in disbelief to one of the crewmen talk about the calm of the deep, still harbor. Not too many places on this coast you can raft folks to land like th is. But here the bay's flat as a lake when the tide's with you. M eanwhile it seemed to Lucas and Sally that they were sliding and rolling with each wave, unable to lift their heads and see what t hey'd come to after their eleven weeks in hell. At last, land b eneath their feet and they could barely stand on it. They'd exper ienced the same misery three years before, after the far shorter crossing between England and the Netherlands. Give it a little ti me, Sal, her brother said. We'll be fine. Sally looked at what she could see of the place. A piece of crumbling earthworks that was a corner of Fort Amsterdam. A windmill that wasn't turning be cause there was no breath of air. A gibbet from which was suspend ed a corpse, covered in pitch and buzzing with flies. And the sun beating down on them. Relentless. Lucas, she whispered. Dear God , Lucas. Her brother put a hand on her arm. You there, a voice shouted. Mijnheer Turner. When you get your legs under you, come over here. There's some shade over by that tree, Lucas murmured . Wait there. I'll deal with this. A couple of rough planks had been spread across two trestles made from saplings. The man seat ed behind this makeshift table was checking off names on a list. Lucas staggered toward him. The clerk didn't look up. Turner? A ye. Lucas Turner. And Sally Turner. English? His accent alway s gave him away. Yes, but we're come under the auspices of... P atroon Van Renselaar. I know. You're assigned to plot number twen ty-nine. It's due north of here. Follow the Brede Wegh behind the fort to Wall Street. Take you some ten minutes to walk the lengt h of the town, then you leave by the second gate in the wall. The path begins straightaway on the other side. You'll know your pla ce when you get to it. There are three pine trees one right behin d the other, all marked with whiting. Lucas bent forward, tryin g to see the papers in front of the Dutchman. Is that a map of ou r land? It's a map of all the Van Renselaar land. Your piece is included. Lucas stretched out his hand. The clerk snatched the papers away. At last, mildly surprised, he looked up. Can you re ad, Englishman? Yes. And I'd like to see your map. Only for a m oment. The man looked doubtful. Why? What will it tell you? L ucas was conscious of his clothes hanging loose from his wasted f rame, and his face almost covered by weeks of unkempt beard. For one thing, a look at your map might give me some idea of the dist ance we must go before we reach those three pine trees. No need for that. I'll tell you. Half a day's walk once you're recovered from the journey. The clerk glanced toward Sally. Could take a b it longer for a woman. Some of the hills are fairly steep. This time when Lucas leaned forward the map wasn't snatched away. He saw one firm line that appeared to divide the town from the count ryside, doubtless the wall the clerk had spoken of, and just beyo nd it what appeared to be a small settlement of sorts. Our land - - Lucas pointed to the settlement beyond the wall -- is it in tha t part there? No, that's the Voorstadt, the out-city, a warehou se and the farms that serve the town. The clerk seemed amused by the newcomer's curiosity. He placed a stubby finger on an irregul ar circle a fair distance beyond the Voorstadt. And that's the Co llect Pond as gives us fresh water to brew beer with. Anything el se you'd care to know, Englishman? Shall I arrange a tour? I wa s promised land in the town, Lucas said. But I'll take a place in this Voorstadt. I'm a barber. I can't earn my keep if -- Your land's where I said it was. You're a farmer now. That's what's n eeded here. Wait. The voice, a woman's, was imperious. I wish t o speak with this man. A slight figure stepped away from the knot of people standing a little distance from the clerk. Despite the heat she was entirely covered by a hooded cloak of the tightly w oven gray stuff the Dutch called duffel. She freed a slender arm long enough to point to Lucas. Send him to me. Ja, mevrouw, of course. The clerk jerked his head in the woman's direction. Do as she says, he muttered quietly in the Englishman's direction. Wha tever she says. Lucas took a step toward the woman. He removed his black, broad-brimmed hat and held it in front of him, bobbed his head, and waited. Her hair was dark, shot with gray and dra wn back in a strict bun. Her features were sharp, and when she sp oke her lips barely moved, as if afraid they might forget themsel ves and smile. I heard you tell the clerk you could read. And tha t you're a barber. Both are true, mevrouw. Were you then the surgeon on that excuse for a ship? She nodded toward the Princess riding at anchor in the harbor. God help all who cross in her. No, mevrouw, I was not. A point in your favor. We are cursed w ith so-called ship's surgeons in this colony. Ignorant butchers, all of them. You're English, but you speak Dutch. And that misera ble craft sailed from Rotterdam, not London. So are you a member of the English Barbers' Company? I am, mevrouw. But I've lived two years in Rotterdam, and I was told I'd be allowed to practice here exactly as... I have no reason to think otherwise. And if you know your trade -- She broke off, chewing on her thin lower lip, studying him. Lucas waited. A number of silent seconds went by; then the woman pointed toward Sally. I take it that's your w ife. No, mevrouw, I am unmarried. That is my siste, Simon & Schuster, 2001, 3, Scholastic, USA, 2002. Medium Trade Paperback. Very Good. Medium Trade Paperback. *** PUBLISHING DETAILS: Scholastic, USA, 2002. *** CONDITION: This book is in very good condition. *** ABOUT THIS BOOK: There is a great disturbance in the Force...From the sleek ships of the glimmering Coruscant skyscape to the lush gardens of pastoral Naboo, dissent is roiling. The Republic is failing, even under the leadership of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, elected ten years earlier to save the crumbling government. Separatists threaten war, and the Senate is hopelessly divided, unable to determine whether to raise an army for battle or keep the fragile peace. Anakin Skywalker has come of age in a time of great upheaval. The nineteen-year-old apprentice to Obi-Wan Kenobi is an enigma to the Jedi Council, and a challenge to his Jedi Master. Time has not dulled Anakin's ambition, nor has his Jedi training tamed his independent streak. When an attempt on Senator Padme Amidala's life brings them together for the first time in ten years, it is clear that time also has not dulled Anakin's intense feelings for the beautiful diplomat. The attack on Senator Amidala just before a crucial vote thrusts the Republic even closer to the edge of disaster. Masters Yoda and Mace Windu sense enormous unease. The dark side is growing, clouding the Jedi's perception of the events. But even as the Republic falters around them, Anakin and Padme find a connection so intense that all else begins to fall away. Anakin will lose himself - and his way - in emotions a Jedi, sworn to hold allegiance only to the Order, is forbidden to have. *** Quantity Available: 1. Category: Fiction; Movie / TV Tie-in; Science Fiction & Fantasy. ISBN: 0439139287. ISBN/EAN: 9780439139281. Inventory No: 09103070.. 9780439139281, Scholastic, 2002, 3<
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ISBN: 0439139287. Author: Patricia C. Wrede; George Lucas [Creator]; Jonathan Hales [Contributor];. Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones (Junior Novelization). Condition: Used: Good. Qty Available: 2. London Bridge Books presents ...Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones (Junior Novelization) ISBN:0439139287 Author:Patricia C. Wrede; George Lucas [Creator]; Jonathan Hales [Contributor]; Publisher:Scholastic Paperbacks Release Date:2002-05-01 Seller Category:-- Qty Available:2 Condition:Used: Good Sku: 0439139287-3-18483409Notes: Don't forget to check out other great deals in our eBay Store!!, Gut, Festpreisangebot, [LT: FixedPrice], Publication Year: 2002, Format: Paperback, Language: English, Book Title: Star Wars: Episode Ii, Attack of the Clones, Topic: Books, Number of Pages: 168 Pages, Scholastic US<
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Pocket Star. Very Good. 4.19 x 1 x 6.75 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2009. "480 pages. <br>Colossal in concept, dazzlingly plotted, filled w ith vivid, jaw-dropping violence, Sins of the Assassin confirms R obert Ferrigno as the modern master of the futuristic thriller. In the second book of Ferrigno's spectacular Assassin Trilogy, R akkim Epps battles radical fundamentalist forces in a futuristic America, now a divided blood-soaked dystopia. Will he survive? Ca n America ever be unified again? The year is 2043. New York and Washington, D.C., have been leveled by nuclear bombs. New Orlean s is submerged beneath fifty feet of water and treasure hunters s cavenge its watery ruins. The United States no longer exists, and in its place two new nations maintain an uneasy coexistence. T o the west stretches the Islamic Republic, seemingly governed by a moderate president but hollowed from within by the violent, rep ressive Black Robes, a shadowy fundamentalist group intent on cru shing all those who do not follow Allah's path. In this frighteni ng world, freedom is controlled by the state, and non-Muslims are either second-class citizens, hidden underground, exiled, or exe cuted. To the east and south lies the Christian Bible Belt, its elf torn by conflict from warring factions, each claiming to be m ore righteous than the others. Meanwhile the former United States is being nibbled away at the edges: South Florida, known as ""Nu evo Florida,"" is independent; the Aztlán Empire, formerly Mexico , encroaches from the south; and Canada has laid claim to huge sw aths of territory along the United States's former northern borde r. What stability exists between the warring empires is threate ned when the president of the Islamic Republic discovers that a B ible Belt warlord, known simply as the Colonel, is searching for a superweapon hidden inside a remote mountain decades earlier by the old United States regime. Rakkim Epps, retired shadow warrior , is sent on a perilous mission to infiltrate the Belt and steal or destroy the weapon. Accompanying Rakkim is Leo, a naive ninete en-year-old whose technologically enhanced brain is crucial to th eir success.Together they sneak through the Belt, a lawless terri tory where a bloodthirsty, drug-addled militia prepares for the E nd-Times. When Rakkim and Leo finally reach the Colonel's mount ain, Epps is forced to rely on his shadow warrior's ability to ki ll any and all who would halt his quest. Opposing him is the Colo nel's enforcer, a sadistic, carbon-skinned killer named Gravenhol tz, and the Colonel's wife, the alluring, sexually rapacious Baby , who wants -- and gets -- more of everything. Meanwhile, the Old One, the ancient and immensely rich Muslim fanatic who seeks to rule both American nations, plots his attack from the safety of h is ocean liner. Rakkim Epps, he realizes, must be stopped, contro lled, or killed. A terrific stand-alone read, Sins of the Assas sin is a cinematic feast of action and plot, and verifies Robert Ferrigno's Assassin Trilogy as a monumental imaginative work of s uspense. Editorial Reviews Review ""White-knuckle suspense."" - - Chicago Sun-Times ""Provocative, unpredictable, and nuanced... .Sins of the Assassin is terrific -- all killer, no filler."" -- The Seattle Times About the Author Robert Ferrigno was born in S outh Florida, a tropical backwater rife with mosquitoes and flyin g cockroaches. After earning college degrees in philosophy, film- making, and creative writing, he returned to his first love, poke r. He spent the next five years gambling full-time and living in a high-crime area populated by starving artists, alcoholics, thie ves, and drug dealers, becoming friends with many people who woul d later populate his novels. Over the next several years he flew jets with the Blue Angels, drove Ferraris, and went for desert su rvival training with gun nuts. He ultimately gave up his day job to become a novelist, and his first book, The Horse Latitudes, wa s called ""the fiction debut of the season"" by Time. He lives in Washington with his family. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Sins of the Assassin Chapter 1 Moseby ne eded to slow down. His haste stirred up a gray confetti of silt, disintegrating paper, and pulverized glass from the neon sign tha t once flashed OYSTER PO’ BOYS, TREAT YO MOUTH. The tiny halogen beams on either side of his face mask bounced back from the confetti, the light made useless by his excitement. Mose by drifted in the warm water of the Gulf, waiting. Plenty of time , no need to rush. He easily got four hours out of a three-hour t ank. More if he stayed calm and clear. Mama’s Home Cookin’ lay crumbling on its foundation, roof gone , the concrete-block walls scoured clean by the tide. A couple of red leatherette stools still sat upright, the floor carpeted wit h gently waving sea grass. He thought of the crowd at the LSU hom ecoming game last month, Annabelle on her feet beside him, pom-po ms shaking as she cheered louder than anyone. He smiled around hi s mouthpiece. The cash register was sprung open on the counter, s oggy bills hanging out like fingers from the till. Old money. Wor thless. Mama’s didn’t hold any treasu re. The oyster shack was just a marker, an indicator that he was close to what he sought. Moseby floated in place, listening to t he sound of his own steady breathing. Easy to get spooked fifty f eet under, a swimmer alone with the dead. It took patience to sur vive in the drowned city. More than patience, it took faith. Mose by pulled at the chain around his neck, clasped the small gold cr ucifix between thumb and forefinger. He silently asked the blessi ng of Mary, mother of God. Asked her to intercede on behalf of al l who had lost their lives in the city below. Asked the dead for their permission to take what they no longer needed. A man could never pray too much. Particularly a man like Moseby, who had much to atone for. He let go of the crucifix, drifted again, shiverin g in the warm water. Unlike Moseby, most scavengers used electri c sleds in their explorations, racing around at full power, churn ing up debris. Greedy, frightened men chopping their way through the city, so eager to get back to the surface that they ruined mo st of what they brought up. Dangerous work under the best of circ umstances. Rebreathers failed. Floors and ceilings gave way. Wall s collapsed. Jagged metal sliced through wet suits, the rush of b lood attracting the barracuda and morays that lurked in the mossy grottos of the French Quarter and the collapsed Superdome. More dangerous than anything else to the scavengers was the panic, men disoriented by the darkness, and the fractured geometry of wreck ed buildings. Gulping air, swimming frantically, they got lost in the concrete maze, adding themselves to the long list of dead. The streets below were almost beyond the reach of sunlight, obscu red further by thousands of automobiles leaking oil even after al l these years. Murkier still in the houses and restaurants, the g rand hotels where the easy spoils lay. Afraid of the deep, the sc avengers used ever more powerful lights, blinding themselves, los ing all perspective in the undersea tableau. Men had died for a c rystal doorknob they mistook for a massive diamond, gotten trappe d reaching for a sterling punch bowl far from their grasp. Fright ened of the dark and the loneliness, frightened most of all by th e ghosts. Commuters floating in their vehicles. Lovers in their h otel beds, honeymooners huddling in the lavish bathrooms where th ey had taken cover. Hard to pluck a gold Rolex off a bony wrist u nder those watching eye sockets. Hard not to hurry, to drop the g oods and fumble to find them again. Easy to breathe too fast, to let the nitrogen build up in the bloodstream, to overestimate the air supply. This year alone sixty-seven men had died or disappea red. Most scavengers focused on the French Quarterâ€""the f ancy stores and tourist emporiums had been picked over, but their familiarity offered some illusion of safety. Not Moseby. His cr ew worked the untouched areas, the mansions and banks and busines ses outside the central core, places where the flood had been mos t ferocious, leaving behind a deadly jumble of concrete and steel and twisted rebar. They were the most successful crew working th e city, bringing up gold coins and jewelry, carved stonework, vin tage brandy, and Creole memorabilia. Steering wheels from classic cars had been particularly hot this yearâ€""most of them s old to collectors in Asia and South America. Moseby trained his m en himself, taught them as much as they could handle. The men wer e carefulâ€Â¦but they still died. Not as often as the men wo rking the supposedly safer parts of the city, but too often, for Moseby. That’s why he dove alone today. Men had the right to risk their lives to feed their families, but Moseby was n’t seeking treasure today. At least none that woul d be sold or bartered. He switched off his light. Gave in to the darkness. Waiting. Moseby closed his eyes. Patient. When he open ed them again, he could see. Not clearly, even his eyes werenâ 364;™t that good, but he could see. Now that Mamaâ€&# 8482;s had oriented him, the shapes and shadows seemed laid out b efore him, the messy grid on the city’s outskirts. St. Bernard’s Parish in the Ninth Ward, where the l evee had failed first. The old government had raised the levees two times after Hurricane Katrina inundated the city. Built them higher and higher, trying to keep up with the rising sea level an d the ever more powerful hurricanes spawned by the warming. Septe mber 23, 2013, thirty years ago, Hurricane James, a category 6 hu rricane, predicted to miss the city, had suddenly veered west in the middle of the night and struck New Orleans at sunrise. The le vees gave way as though made of tissue, the waters of the Gulf co vering the city under fifty feet of water. Most of the estimated 300,000 dead were stuck in traffic trying to flee. Hurricane Jame s was the most violent storm ever recorded. Until Hurricane Maria two years later. He glided over the road, his no-wake flippers almost living up to their name. Brightly colored fish ignored him , twisting and turning as they darted past him, weaving in and ou t the open windows of the barnaclecrusted vehicles strewn below. The houses in the immediate area were small and falling down, but the land rose slightly toward the north, where the homes were la rger, many of them surrounded by iron fences and stone walls. Thi s was where Sweeny would have lived. Annabelle couldn†482;t remember much from her visit to her eccentric uncle†™s houseâ€""she was barely fiveâ€""but there ha d been an ancient banyan tree in his backyard dripping with Spani sh moss, and a swing set already rusted, squeaking loudly, one le g of the swing lifting off the ground as she had rhythmically pum ped away. She remembered Sweeny taking her and her mother to a lo cal po’boy joint, a hole-in-the-wall specializing i n oysters drenched in fresh lime juice, bourbon, and Tabasco. Swe eny said he ate two po’boys for lunch every day, pr oudly watched as his niece devoured one of her own, smacking her lips with pleasure in spite of the blistering hot sauce. Moseby h ad spent months searching for New Orleans take-out joints special izing in the Cajun delicacy, months of scouring local guidebooks and newspaper articles. Last week he got lucky, ran into an old-t imerâ€Â¦a regular at Mama’s in the old days. Moseby’s eyes adjusted even further to the dim ligh t. Annabelle said if it had been him instead of Jonah swallowed b y the whale, Moseby wouldn’t have needed divine int ervention to find his way out of its innards. He checked his watc h. Plenty of time. Plenty of air. He passed over a small backyard , a line of laundry drooping but still standing. Shirts and pants and dresses, their colors faded, eaten through with time, ragged pennants rippling in the current. Another yardâ€Â¦the scree n door thrown open, torn half off its hinges, and Moseby wondered if the family inside the house had made it out alive, had clung to a boat, a skiff, an inflatable swimming pool; he wondered if t hey had gotten lucky, awakened from a nightmare before dawn, and raced ahead of the raging floodwaters. Annabelle said her uncleâ €™s house had been large, with a high river-rock fenc e and white pillars; he had become a rich man down on his luck by then, his house the remnant of his fortune as the neighborhood s unk into squalor. She and her mother had never gone back after th at first visit. Sweeny had taken offense at something her mother saidâ€Â¦or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, he r uncle and the house were a dim memory. The marble bust of the womanâ€Â¦that was a different story. Annabelle remembered it vividly. The stone queen, that’s what she had call ed the statue. A beautiful woman with a head full of tight curls, her expression distant and dreamy, as though she had seen someth ing that no one else had ever seen, and the sight had changed her . The world would never be quite fine enough for the woman now. A nnabelle said she thought the stone queen must have looked into h eaven and couldn’t wait to go there. Moseby knew be tter. He and Annabelle had sifted through photos on the Net until she narrowed down what she remembered. If she was right, the sta tue was Greek, probably early classical, in the style of Aphrodit e of Melos. Priceless. Moseby was going to surprise Annabelle wit h it for their anniversary tonight. For weeks he had been searchi ng for it, not even telling his daughter, Leanne. A gro, Pocket Star, 2009, 3, Rodale Books. Very Good. 6.12 x 1.11 x 9 inches. Hardcover. 2008. 256 pages. <br>In the tradition of her bestseller, Finding Your O wn North Star, Oprah Magazine columnist Martha Beck reconnects re aders with their best destinies. Described as one of the best-kn own life coaches in America in media such as Psychology Today, NP R, and USA Today, Martha Beck has demonstrated a rare gift for he lping people whose lives have gone off course find their way back to authentic, rewarding lives. Now, in Steering by Starlight: Fi nd Your Right Life, No Matter What!, Martha Beck describes the st ep-by-step process she uses with her private clients to help them navigate the terrain of their best lives. Bringing together cut ting-edge research in psychiatry, neurology, and related fields i n an accessible, substantive, original way, Dr. Beck offers power ful new methods for solving the problems that beset ordinary peop le. Using her trademark wisdom, empathy, and engaging style, she connects readers with fresh, never-before published strategies th at have proven most effective and efficient for the hundreds of p eople she has coached. For readers who have found their North Sta rs, this book will be an invaluable tool to stay the course and o vercome obstacles. For those who still feel adrift, it will provi de a way to find true North and follow the path of best destiny. Dr. Beck identifies three stages along the path to recapturing a satisfying life: -the stargazer helps readers understand why it' s so easy to lose themselves and offers strategies for sighting t heir North Star -the mapmaker uses this newly clarified perspecti ve to evaluate one's situation and plot a course for upcoming yea rs -the pathfinder discusses the adventures that may be encounter ed as one travels along this new life course Whether it's seekin g better relationships, more focused career direction, the achiev ement of specific fitness goals, or a more harmonious lifestyle, Steering by Starlight's colorful anecdotes, case studies, and exe rcises will point the way. Editorial Reviews Review The best kn own life coach in America. -Psychology Today Martha Beck has a r are ability to see the world with wisdom and heart. She is a teac her in the truest sense of the word. -Harriet Lerner, author of T he Dance of Anger and The Dance of Connection If you want to be like Oprah Winfrey--and who doesn't--we have two words for you: M artha Beck. -Boston Globe About the Author MARTHA BECK, PHD, is a life coach and monthly columnist for O: The Oprah Magazine. Sh e has taught career development at the American Graduate School o f International Management and was research assistant to Dr. John Kotter at Harvard Business School. The author of the bestsellers Finding Your Own North Star and the memoir Expecting Adam, and T he Four-Day Win, she lives in Phoenix, Arizona. Excerpt. ® Repr inted by permission. All rights reserved. CHAPTER 1 The End The first guy to go in always carries a shotgun, says Kirk Fowler. H e's not a big man, for a law enforcer; in fact, he's not much tal ler than I am. This is a quality I appreciate in a martial arts i nstructor. Kirk is my sensei, and in the middle of a lesson, he's telling me how he used to serve warrants on suspected drug runne rs and coyotes, con artists who take would- be immigrants' money, then load them into trucks and abandon them in the desert to die . These are really violent people, Kirk says, and they have an i ntense fight-or-flight reaction at that first sight of the office rs. They're usually doing drugs as well as selling them, and that makes them about as violent and unpredictable as humans get. You 're never in more danger than when you're walking into a room to serve a warrant. It's scary as hell. It's hard to imagine Kirk t errified. He's a master of aikido, a martial art that focuses mor e on inner peace than on physical power. I'm learning aikido beca use it works like magic. Literally. An aikido master gently touch es your head, and suddenly you're on the floor. You try to slug h im, and you can barely lift your arm. These effects feel almost s upernatural, but given a few minutes, anyone can use them well en ough to see that they're real. So it isn't surprising that Kirk's aikido training was very helpful when he worked for the Border P atrol. What is surprising is the way it helped. One day when I w as serving a warrant, I decided to try going in with my energy to tally calm and relaxed, instead of high adrenaline. The suspects were in a motel room, wired, scared, and well armed. To reach a p lace where my energy was calm, I had to imagine that all of them were already dead. So I went into that room feeling really quiet and respectful, the way you'd feel going to a funeral. And when I opened the door, no one did anything. The suspects just looked at me as though they'd invited me to a summer picnic. They cooper ated with the officers through the whole arrest. Even to me, that was weird. From then on, Kirk concludes, I kept my energy tuned that way whenever we served a warrant. I still had the shotgun. But I never needed it. Over and over, people who should have foug ht or run simply started cooperating. I know this makes no kind of sense. It sounds like an exaggeration, if not an outright lie. But I don't think it is. I've seen and felt Kirk's energy change the atmosphere in the room without his moving a muscle. In my m ind, he says, the fight's already won. You begin where you want i t to end. That's most of the battle. Most people will never disc over this because it contradicts everything we're taught to expec t. We have a linear view of progress: We start at the beginning o f a task, and we work our way to the end. This is a useful way to look at things, but it isn't the only way. Especially when you'r e seeking to fulfill your destiny, the best way to succeed is to begin at the end. A Quick Trip to the Observatory By the time y ou finish this book, you should be able to identify and dissolve most of the mind clouds that keep you from seeing your own North Star. This is a process you'll continue all your life. It's a ver y specific and disciplined way of thinking (although it's easy an d delicious once you're used to it). It will bring you inner peac e and also help you build your outward empire. But it takes a whi le to make all that happen, and I've never been a fan of deferred gratification. So right now, even if you're a homeless junkie wh o found this book in a dumpster and is planning to eat it, I want it to give you access to the end of your journey, the fulfillmen t of your best destiny. Think of the techniques in this chapter as ways you can visit a celestial observatory in your head. The o bservatory has powerful telescopes that you can use to get a clea r look at the stars. For a moment, as you look through those tele scopes, your own North Star will shine like a floodlight. You'll feel as though your destiny is a done deal--until something pushe s your mind out of the observatory and back into its typical patt erns, the well- worn trails ground into your life by repetition a nd habit, and you go back to feeling as though nothing in your li fe will ever really work. You may have experienced this after he aring a powerful speaker or watching an uplifting movie. I can do anything! you feel. Nothing can stop me now! Then you get home f rom the convention hall or the movie theater, and everything goes to hell in a hand basket. Your spouse yells at you, the mail is full of bills, the cat has eaten the steaks you left out to thaw and is now experiencing bouts of diarrhea in parts of your home y ou didn't even know existed. Abruptly, you lose your connection t o your Stargazer self and slam back into your cold, cruel, earthb ound daily life. Upcoming chapters will help you learn how to ke ep this exhausting emotional vacillation from smacking you around . You'll learn to live in your Stargazer self, which exists beyon d the reach of what Chinese philosophy calls the 10,000 joys and sorrows of ordinary life. But right now, from the word go, I want you to be able to run back to the observatory and look through t he telescope whenever you need reassurance. This can help you sta y motivated as you learn the sometimes baffling work of becoming a full-time Stargazer. So, as they never told you in school, last things first. Step 1 on the Path of Your Destiny: Getting Whate ver You Want Screenwriters tell us that all movie plots begin wi th a character who wants something very, very much and is having a lot of trouble getting it. We viewers identify with that charac ter immediately, because that's us up on the big screen. That str uggle to get what we want is the story of our lives. Identifying Your Wants Right now, you probably have a mental list of things you want very, very much. You may be working toward these things , buying Lotto tickets in bulk, praying in every living language as well as interpretive dance. In the space below, write down a f ew of the things you most frequently wish you had: a bigger house , loving friends, more time to meditate, a boyfriend with fewer t han 12 pit bulls. List up to five of these things. Some Things I Really Want Thing 1: _________________________________________ Thing 2: _________________________________________ Thing 3: ___ ______________________________________ Thing 4: ________________ _________________________ Thing 5: _____________________________ ____________ No offense, but if you're like most people, the thi ngs you just wrote down probably aren't what you actually want. M ore likely, each thing is a means to an end. Remember King Midas? When he got his wish--that everything he touched would turn to g old--he found himself surrounded by cold metal objects that used to be his bed, his favorite horse, his wife, and his children. Ob viously, this didn't feel nearly as good as he'd expected. The mo ral: What we think would bring us happiness often won't do the tr ick. What we're really after when we yearn for something is a fee ling state. Look back at the list you just made and imagine that you already have each thing on the list. Try to feel as you'd fe el if you had millions of dollars or a perfect lover or a gorgeou s body that never gets tired or sick. Pay attention to the feelin g state you'd get from this dream come true. In the spaces below, write a word or two that best describes the feeling state you'd get from having each of the things you want. How I'll Feel When I Have What I Really Want When I have Thing 1, the sensation I'l l feel is: _________________ When I have Thing 2, the sensation I'll feel is: _________________ When I have Thing 3, the sensati on I'll feel is: _________________ When I have Thing 4, the sens ation I'll feel is: _________________ When I have Thing 5, the s ensation I'll feel is: _________________ I've found that while p eople's desires seem endlessly varied, the feeling states we all desire are few, simple, and universal. They include peace, securi ty, belonging, comfort, love, joy. We think we'll get these feeli ngs by nabbing anything from an Olympic gold medal to our parents ' approval. I hear a lot of statements like these. Popular Lies about Destiny If I could find that special someone, I wouldn't b e lonely anymore. When I get that promotion, I'll finally know I 'm good enough. If my spouse stopped being critical, I'd be able to relax. What I really need is a job in television. That would be so exciting. I need my mother to say she loves me; then I'll be happy. I'd have plenty of confidence if only the right mento r would show up. Once I'm at my goal weight, I'll feel great abo ut dating. Building my dream business would be easy if I had an MBA. If you can't see that all these statements are false assump tions, you haven't been sitting in my life-coaching chair for the past 10 years. From my vantage point, you'd have seen many, many people who are deeply loved and still lonely, beautiful and stil l horribly self-conscious, professionally successful and still so terrified of failure that their nocturnal tooth-gnashing could c rush diamonds. Here's something you'll need to hold in your mind, at least temporarily, if you want to get a good look at your own North Star: External circumstances do not create feeling states. Feeling states create external circumstances. Here, let me show you. Testing the Causal Direction of Desire and Destiny It's e asy to see that in everyday human interactions, most situations c ome from feeling states rather than feeling states coming from si tuations. Consider these scenarios. 1. You're an employer lookin g for someone to hire. Two clients apply. One is desperate and fr antic. Please, please, I need this job; you've got to help me, he begs. The other candidate is calm and confident. He asks, How ca n I help you?Which one would you rather hire? 2. You're shopping for clothes. In one store, a salesperson dogs you, pressuring yo u to buy more expensive merchandise, now! In the other location, you get a cheerful Hello, and then you're allowed to try on outfi ts without pressure. Where do you feel more comfortable making a purchase? 3. You meet your friends Pat and Chris for lunch. You haven't seen them for weeks. Pat is relaxed and happy, eager to c atch up. Chris, on the other hand, keeps putting in passive-aggre ssive digs at you, the absentee friend: I wish you'd made it to t he concert, but I know you're too busy for insignificant folks li ke me. With whom do you want to spend more time? Unless you are truly an epic codependent, you probably feel more like cooperatin g with the people who behave as though their needs are already be ing met. This is simply how human psychology works: When we push, grab, manipulate, or pursue people, they start to feel as though we're huge mutant versions of the bird-flu virus. For this reaso n, if no other, you'll experience far more success in all areas o f life when you dwell in a sense that your goal has already been achieved. (It's also true that when you reside in a calm future-s elf, even inanimate objects like money seem to seek you out--but that's a level of magic we'll talk about later on.) Quick Starga zing Exercise for Beginning at the End Try this: Think of someon e whose approval you covet. It might be your lover, someone else' s lover, your boss, a celebrity who may never even meet you, or ( if you happen to be an approva, Rodale Books, 2008, 3, Simon & Schuster. Very Good. Hardcover. 2001. 592 pages. <br>An epic novel of Manhattan's first century follows two families--one Dutch, the other British--from the earliest da ys of the settlement to the Revolutionary War. A first novel. 75, 000 first printing. Editorial Reviews From Publishers Weekly Th e tapestry of early American society is hung out for a fresh view ing in this ambitious historical novel of 1660s New Amsterdam. Th e English Turners are brother and sister, surgeon/barber and apot hecary. Devoted to one another, Sally and Lucas quickly learn to make their way in the harsh, prosperous new world, aiding the Dut ch governor Stuyvesant's family and making their reputation in th e bargain. Then Lucas sells Sally in marriage to Jacob Van der Vr ies, a cruel, foolish physician, in order to save her life, Lucas says, but she believes it is to buy his lover's freedom to marry , and she never forgives him. This rift begins a feud between the Van der Vries (later Devreys) and Turners that lasts through the American Revolution. Colorful characters vie with historical fig ures for attention on this broad stage: there's Jennet, Sally's g reat-granddaughter, who marries a wealthy Jew; Caleb Devrey, Jenn et's first cousin, who loved her as a boy, but becomes her bitter est enemy; Morgan, Jennet's son, a privateer and patriot; and Mor gan's best friend and former slave, Cuffy, whose fate is bound to Morgan's by love, hate and the same woman the gorgeous Roisin Ca mpbell aka Mistress Healsall. The healing profession is carried d own through each generation of Turners and Devreys, and Swerling' s descriptions of early operations with crude instruments are det ailed and riveting. The city of New York is a character in its ow n right, but even it cannot compete with the richly drawn, well-r ounded people Swerling creates. This engrossing, generously imagi ned tale deserves the large audience it should find at a time whe n the founding fathers reign triumphant in biography. (Oct.) Fore cast: The size of this hefty debut may actually be a selling poin t, since it promises an epic tale. The colorful period jacket art should appeal to browsers, too. Copyright 2001 Cahners Busines s Information, Inc. From Booklist The early history of Manhatta n is chronicled through six generations of a remarkable clan of s urgeons, physicians, and apothecaries. Hounded out of England for illegally practicing surgery, gifted Lucas Turner and his sister , Sally, immigrate to the New World. Landing in New Amsterdam in 1661, Lucas employs a combination of daring and skill to establis h his reputation as a surgeon, and Sally begins planting and gath ering the herbs, plants, and flowers she needs to concoct the med icinal potions and drugs necessary for his practice. Though their future seems bright, the arrival of an unscrupulous and inept Du tch physician threatens both their security and their relationshi p. When Jacob Van der Vies succeeds in his vile blackmail effort, he causes an irreparable rift between the two siblings. For more than 100 years, the Turner and the Van der Vies branches of the family participate in both the evolution of the art and science o f medicine and the transition of Manhattan from a fledgling colon ial outpost to a bustling, thriving metropolis on the brink of re volution. Margaret Flanagan Copyright © American Library Associat ion. All rights reserved From Booklist The early history of Manh attan is chronicled through six generations of a remarkable clan of surgeons, physicians, and apothecaries. Hounded out of England for illegally practicing surgery, gifted Lucas Turner and his si ster, Sally, immigrate to the New World. Landing in New Amsterdam in 1661, Lucas employs a combination of daring and skill to esta blish his reputation as a surgeon, and Sally begins planting and gathering the herbs, plants, and flowers she needs to concoct the medicinal potions and drugs necessary for his practice. Though t heir future seems bright, the arrival of an unscrupulous and inep t Dutch physician threatens both their security and their relatio nship. When Jacob Van der Vies succeeds in his vile blackmail eff ort, he causes an irreparable rift between the two siblings. For more than 100 years, the Turner and the Van der Vies branches of the family participate in both the evolution of the art and scien ce of medicine and the transition of Manhattan from a fledgling c olonial outpost to a bustling, thriving metropolis on the brink o f revolution. Margaret Flanagan Copyright © American Library Asso ciation. All rights reserved About the Author Beverly Swerling i s a writer, consultant, and amateur historian. She lives in New Y ork City with her husband. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. A ll rights reserved. Chapter One Eleven weeks in a ship thirty-s even feet long by eleven wide, carrying a crew of nine as well as twenty passengers. Lurching and lunging and tossing on the Atlan tic swells, the sails creaking night and day, spread above them l ike some evil bird of prey. Hovering, waiting for death. The du ng buckets on the open deck were screened only by a scanty calico curtain that blew aside more often than it stayed in place. For Sally Turner the dung buckets were the worst. She was twenty-th ree years old -- small, with dark hair, bright brown eyes, and a narrow, pinched face -- from a Rotterdam slum by way of a rodent- infested corner of a Kentish barn. The crossing had turned her in sides to water. She went seven or eight times a day to the dung b uckets. The flimsy cloth almost always blew aside and she saw the grizzled, hungry-eyed crewmen watching, waiting for her to lift her skirts. As if all the battles between Kent and now had been f or nothing. Her brother suffered more from the seasickness. Luc as Turner was a big man, like his sister only in his dark colorin g, and in the intelligence that showed behind his eyes. Until now most would have called him handsome; the journey had reduced him to a shell. From the start Lucas hung day and night over the sid e of the wooden ship, vomiting his guts into the sea. The voyag e was beyond imagination, beyond bearing. Except that there was n o choice but to bear it. One small consolation: the April day whe n the Princess left Rotterdam was exceptionally warm. A premature summer rushed toward them as they sailed west. Most of the food spoiled before the end of the first three weeks. Constant illness prevented hunger. A crossing longer and more miserable and mor e dangerous than anything they had talked about or prepared for, and when they got there -- what? By all reports bitter cold in wi nter and fierce heat in summer. And savages, Sally Turner said th e first morning of June, when they were nine weeks into the voyag e, and she and her brother were hanging on to the rail in the shi p's bow. The swells were stronger in that position, but Lucas was convinced he could be no worse. And there was a bit of privacy. There are red men in America, Lucas. With painted faces and feath ers and hatchets. In God's name, what have we done? Lucas didn' t answer. They had decided the risk was worth the taking while th ey were still in Holland. Besides, he had to lean over the rail a nd puke yet again. There was nothing in his stomach to come up, e ven the bile was gone, but the dry heaves would not leave him. For as long as Sally could remember, it was Lucas who made such s ecurity as there was in her world. She felt every shudder of his agony-racked frame as if it were her own. She slid down, using th e wooden ship's planked bulkhead to keep her steady, and pawed th rough her basket. Eventually she drew herself up and pulled the t iny cork of a small pewter vial. Chamomile powder, Lucas. Let me shake some onto your tongue. No, that's all you've left. I won' t take it. I've more. With our things down below. You're lyin g, Sal. I can always -- He had to stop to heave again. His sis ter leaned toward him with the remedy that promised relief. Lucas eyed the small tube with longing. You're sure you've more? In our box in the hold. I swear it. Lucas opened his mouth. Sally emptied the last few grains of the chamomile powder onto his tong ue. It gave him some fifteen minutes of freedom from nausea. Be low decks, in the sturdy box that held all their belongings caref ully wrapped in oilskin, she did indeed have more chamomile, but only in the form of seed. Waiting, like Lucas and Sally Turner, t o be planted in Nieuw Amsterdam and thrive in the virgin earth of the island of Manhattan. * There was a wooden wharf of sorts , but two ships were already moored alongside it. The Princess dr opped anchor some fifty yards away, and a raft carried them to sh ore. It wasn't big enough to take everyone in one trip. Lucas and Sally were dispatched on the third. They clung together to kee p from being pitched overboard, and listened in disbelief to one of the crewmen talk about the calm of the deep, still harbor. Not too many places on this coast you can raft folks to land like th is. But here the bay's flat as a lake when the tide's with you. M eanwhile it seemed to Lucas and Sally that they were sliding and rolling with each wave, unable to lift their heads and see what t hey'd come to after their eleven weeks in hell. At last, land b eneath their feet and they could barely stand on it. They'd exper ienced the same misery three years before, after the far shorter crossing between England and the Netherlands. Give it a little ti me, Sal, her brother said. We'll be fine. Sally looked at what she could see of the place. A piece of crumbling earthworks that was a corner of Fort Amsterdam. A windmill that wasn't turning be cause there was no breath of air. A gibbet from which was suspend ed a corpse, covered in pitch and buzzing with flies. And the sun beating down on them. Relentless. Lucas, she whispered. Dear God , Lucas. Her brother put a hand on her arm. You there, a voice shouted. Mijnheer Turner. When you get your legs under you, come over here. There's some shade over by that tree, Lucas murmured . Wait there. I'll deal with this. A couple of rough planks had been spread across two trestles made from saplings. The man seat ed behind this makeshift table was checking off names on a list. Lucas staggered toward him. The clerk didn't look up. Turner? A ye. Lucas Turner. And Sally Turner. English? His accent alway s gave him away. Yes, but we're come under the auspices of... P atroon Van Renselaar. I know. You're assigned to plot number twen ty-nine. It's due north of here. Follow the Brede Wegh behind the fort to Wall Street. Take you some ten minutes to walk the lengt h of the town, then you leave by the second gate in the wall. The path begins straightaway on the other side. You'll know your pla ce when you get to it. There are three pine trees one right behin d the other, all marked with whiting. Lucas bent forward, tryin g to see the papers in front of the Dutchman. Is that a map of ou r land? It's a map of all the Van Renselaar land. Your piece is included. Lucas stretched out his hand. The clerk snatched the papers away. At last, mildly surprised, he looked up. Can you re ad, Englishman? Yes. And I'd like to see your map. Only for a m oment. The man looked doubtful. Why? What will it tell you? L ucas was conscious of his clothes hanging loose from his wasted f rame, and his face almost covered by weeks of unkempt beard. For one thing, a look at your map might give me some idea of the dist ance we must go before we reach those three pine trees. No need for that. I'll tell you. Half a day's walk once you're recovered from the journey. The clerk glanced toward Sally. Could take a b it longer for a woman. Some of the hills are fairly steep. This time when Lucas leaned forward the map wasn't snatched away. He saw one firm line that appeared to divide the town from the count ryside, doubtless the wall the clerk had spoken of, and just beyo nd it what appeared to be a small settlement of sorts. Our land - - Lucas pointed to the settlement beyond the wall -- is it in tha t part there? No, that's the Voorstadt, the out-city, a warehou se and the farms that serve the town. The clerk seemed amused by the newcomer's curiosity. He placed a stubby finger on an irregul ar circle a fair distance beyond the Voorstadt. And that's the Co llect Pond as gives us fresh water to brew beer with. Anything el se you'd care to know, Englishman? Shall I arrange a tour? I wa s promised land in the town, Lucas said. But I'll take a place in this Voorstadt. I'm a barber. I can't earn my keep if -- Your land's where I said it was. You're a farmer now. That's what's n eeded here. Wait. The voice, a woman's, was imperious. I wish t o speak with this man. A slight figure stepped away from the knot of people standing a little distance from the clerk. Despite the heat she was entirely covered by a hooded cloak of the tightly w oven gray stuff the Dutch called duffel. She freed a slender arm long enough to point to Lucas. Send him to me. Ja, mevrouw, of course. The clerk jerked his head in the woman's direction. Do as she says, he muttered quietly in the Englishman's direction. Wha tever she says. Lucas took a step toward the woman. He removed his black, broad-brimmed hat and held it in front of him, bobbed his head, and waited. Her hair was dark, shot with gray and dra wn back in a strict bun. Her features were sharp, and when she sp oke her lips barely moved, as if afraid they might forget themsel ves and smile. I heard you tell the clerk you could read. And tha t you're a barber. Both are true, mevrouw. Were you then the surgeon on that excuse for a ship? She nodded toward the Princess riding at anchor in the harbor. God help all who cross in her. No, mevrouw, I was not. A point in your favor. We are cursed w ith so-called ship's surgeons in this colony. Ignorant butchers, all of them. You're English, but you speak Dutch. And that misera ble craft sailed from Rotterdam, not London. So are you a member of the English Barbers' Company? I am, mevrouw. But I've lived two years in Rotterdam, and I was told I'd be allowed to practice here exactly as... I have no reason to think otherwise. And if you know your trade -- She broke off, chewing on her thin lower lip, studying him. Lucas waited. A number of silent seconds went by; then the woman pointed toward Sally. I take it that's your w ife. No, mevrouw, I am unmarried. That is my siste, Simon & Schuster, 2001, 3, Scholastic, USA, 2002. Medium Trade Paperback. Very Good. Medium Trade Paperback. *** PUBLISHING DETAILS: Scholastic, USA, 2002. *** CONDITION: This book is in very good condition. *** ABOUT THIS BOOK: There is a great disturbance in the Force...From the sleek ships of the glimmering Coruscant skyscape to the lush gardens of pastoral Naboo, dissent is roiling. The Republic is failing, even under the leadership of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, elected ten years earlier to save the crumbling government. Separatists threaten war, and the Senate is hopelessly divided, unable to determine whether to raise an army for battle or keep the fragile peace. Anakin Skywalker has come of age in a time of great upheaval. The nineteen-year-old apprentice to Obi-Wan Kenobi is an enigma to the Jedi Council, and a challenge to his Jedi Master. Time has not dulled Anakin's ambition, nor has his Jedi training tamed his independent streak. When an attempt on Senator Padme Amidala's life brings them together for the first time in ten years, it is clear that time also has not dulled Anakin's intense feelings for the beautiful diplomat. The attack on Senator Amidala just before a crucial vote thrusts the Republic even closer to the edge of disaster. Masters Yoda and Mace Windu sense enormous unease. The dark side is growing, clouding the Jedi's perception of the events. But even as the Republic falters around them, Anakin and Padme find a connection so intense that all else begins to fall away. Anakin will lose himself - and his way - in emotions a Jedi, sworn to hold allegiance only to the Order, is forbidden to have. *** Quantity Available: 1. Category: Fiction; Movie / TV Tie-in; Science Fiction & Fantasy. ISBN: 0439139287. ISBN/EAN: 9780439139281. Inventory No: 09103070.. 9780439139281, Scholastic, 2002, 3<
Patricia,C Wrede:
Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clo- 0439139287, Patricia C Wrede, paperback - pocketboekISBN: 9780439139281
ISBN: 0439139287. Author: Patricia C. Wrede; George Lucas [Creator]; Jonathan Hales [Contributor];. Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones (Junior Novelization). Condition: Used: Goo… Meer...
ISBN: 0439139287. Author: Patricia C. Wrede; George Lucas [Creator]; Jonathan Hales [Contributor];. Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones (Junior Novelization). Condition: Used: Good. Qty Available: 2. London Bridge Books presents ...Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones (Junior Novelization) ISBN:0439139287 Author:Patricia C. Wrede; George Lucas [Creator]; Jonathan Hales [Contributor]; Publisher:Scholastic Paperbacks Release Date:2002-05-01 Seller Category:-- Qty Available:2 Condition:Used: Good Sku: 0439139287-3-18483409Notes: Don't forget to check out other great deals in our eBay Store!!, Gut, Festpreisangebot, [LT: FixedPrice], Publication Year: 2002, Format: Paperback, Language: English, Book Title: Star Wars: Episode Ii, Attack of the Clones, Topic: Books, Number of Pages: 168 Pages, Scholastic US<
ISBN: 9780439139281
Scholastic Paperbacks. Paperback. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible… Meer...
Scholastic Paperbacks. Paperback. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Scholastic Paperbacks, 2.5<
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[EAN: 9780439139281], Gebraucht, guter Zustand, [PU: Scholastic Paperbacks], JUVENILE FICTION CHILDREN'S BOOKS AGES 9 12 CHILDREN GRADES 3 4 ACTION & ADVENTURE GENER, This is a used book … Meer...
[EAN: 9780439139281], Gebraucht, guter Zustand, [PU: Scholastic Paperbacks], JUVENILE FICTION CHILDREN'S BOOKS AGES 9 12 CHILDREN GRADES 3 4 ACTION & ADVENTURE GENER, This is a used book in good condition and may show some signs of use or wear . This is a used book in good condition and may show some signs of use or wear ., Books<
ISBN: 9780439139281
Scholastic Paperbacks. Used - Very Good. . . All orders guaranteed and ship within 24 hours. Your purchase supports More Than Words, a nonprofit job training program for youth, empoweri… Meer...
Scholastic Paperbacks. Used - Very Good. . . All orders guaranteed and ship within 24 hours. Your purchase supports More Than Words, a nonprofit job training program for youth, empowering youth to take charge of their lives by taking charge of a business., Scholastic Paperbacks, 3<
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Gedetalleerde informatie over het boek. - SW EP2 ATTACK OF THE CLONES (Star Wars)
EAN (ISBN-13): 9780439139281
ISBN (ISBN-10): 0439139287
Gebonden uitgave
pocket book
Verschijningsjaar: 2002
Uitgever: SCHOLASTIC
Boek bevindt zich in het datenbestand sinds 2014-02-19T14:52:09+01:00 (Amsterdam)
Detailpagina laatst gewijzigd op 2024-04-04T00:45:40+02:00 (Amsterdam)
ISBN/EAN: 0439139287
ISBN - alternatieve schrijfwijzen:
0-439-13928-7, 978-0-439-13928-1
alternatieve schrijfwijzen en verwante zoekwoorden:
Auteur van het boek: hales, george lucas, georg lucas, patricia wrede
Titel van het boek: episode, star wars the clone wars, junior, the attack
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