Название: Riddance
Автор: Shelley Jackson
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Зарубежная классика
isbn: 9781948226004
isbn:
The Stenographer’s Story: “I have told how I gained a reputation as a necronaut . . .”
Readings: from “A Visitor’s Observations.” A Secret
Letters to Dead Authors, #11: Jephra. “There has been another libelous letter in the Gazette.”
The Stenographer’s Story: “The months passed, the years.”
Readings: “Documentarian of the Dead”
Letters to Dead Authors, #12: Herman. “Something is going on in my school that I don’t understand.”
The Final Dispatch: “I am down at the swampy verge of our lawn . . .”
The Stenographer’s Story: “The voice crackles, drops out, returns as pure sound . . .”
Readings: from “A Visitor’s Observations.” On the Patois of the Vocational School
Letters to Dead Authors, #13: Ishmael. “I have grown gaunt— no one knows how gaunt . . .”
The Final Dispatch: “Well, here we are again in my office. It looks real . . .”
The Stenographer’s Story: “‘There is an excellent private sanatorium in Pittsfield . . .’”
Readings: from Principles of Necrophysics: “The Structure of the Necrocosmos”
Letters to Dead Authors, #14: Jane E. “I have had a disappointment.”
The Final Dispatch: “Do you hear it too? That low, cool, reasonable voice . . .”
The Stenographer’s Story: “The alarm, though we did not recognize it for what it was . . .”
Readings: from “A Visitor’s Observations.” On the Difficulty of My Task
The Final Dispatch: “I flew like a phoenix out of the fire, and like a phoenix I was reborn.”
The Stenographer’s Story: “The water went down, leaving the grass all slicked with mud.”
Readings: from “A Visitor’s Observations.” A Private Conversation
Letters to Dead Authors, #16: Bartleby. “The story may have already reached you . . .”
The Final Dispatch: “The inspector set his hat on the spindly legged occasional table . . .”
The Stenographer’s Story: “Reader, she was dead.”
Appendix A: Last Will and Testament
Appendix B: Instructions for Saying a Sentence
Appendix C: Ectoplasmoglyphs #1–40
Editor’s Introduction
I owe my discovery of the Sybil Joines Vocational School to a bookstore and a ghost.
Afternoon in a then-unfamiliar city, some years ago—heavy, overcast sky—the almost continuous grumble of distant thunder. I was in town for an academic conference, but had slipped out of the warren of little rooms in the ugly and prematurely dilapidated “new building” where the conference was being held and walked rapidly off campus into the deserted streets of the business district, feeling a little guilty about missing my colleague’s presentation, but unable to stand a moment more of our special brand of fatheadedness.
It was one of those melancholy downtowns not meant for walking, where СКАЧАТЬ