This was my first foray into the fiction of Mr. Robert Jackson Bennett, and I have to say it was a very good venture. This novel has tinges of Steinbeck as others have mentioned, but I saw more shading of Cormac McCarthy than any other writer. Very reminiscent of The Road, Bennett shoves us headl...
But their might was not derived from the number of ships they commanded, nor the number of warriors that manned the ships—though both of these were immense. Rather, each individual ship, no matter its size, possessed incredibly destructive powers. For though it is true that Voortyashtani sentinel...
said Colette. “What the hell are you talking about, George?” “He’s right,” said Franny. “Anne… Anne Sillenes. It’s so strange to say that name. I had almost forgotten it. It died with me, so long ago. Franny Beatty was a name you chose for me, Bill, picked at random out of the paper. But my real ...
Mona wonders what to say. Something shudders and curls in her stomach. She runs to his trash can, grabs it, and vomits into it prolifically. Parson looks on, mildly perplexed. “Or perhaps not?” he asks. “Things got fucked,” gasps Mona. &...
The moon was yellow-brown, like a tea stain. The hills were stark and white, with short, twisted trees. And the ground was so uneven that it always forced you down, walking the floors of the valleys, lost in darkness. Or so it felt. Sometimes I saw firelight flickering on ...