Cloud & Ashes: Three Winter's Tales

"A publication whose carry in your brain, in your reminiscence, is guaranteed. it's a tale approximately tale, and tales are what we're all made up of. Abandon wish all ye who input here."
—Paul Kincaid, SF Site

"A paintings that reads like language stripped naked, delusion tracked to its origin."

"Sublimely lyrical Jacobeanesque dialect . . . readers who get pleasure from symbolism and allusion will cherish Gilman’s use of numerous folkloric components to create an unforgettable realm and ideology."—Publishers Weekly

"'Green quince and bletted medlar, quiddany and musk': Greer Gilman fills your mouth with wincing tastes, your ears with crowcalls, knockings and outdated, outdated rhythms, your eyes with attractive and battered creatures, sly-eyed, luminous or cackling as they cord and involute their tales. Gilman writes like not anyone else. To learn her is to trip again, good again, in time; to wander in thrall via mist on moor and fell; to sink as much as the nostrils in a wonderful bathroom of legend and language, riddled with bones and iron, sodden with witches' blood."
—Margo Lanagan, writer of Tender Morsels

"Greer Gilman is a grasp of delusion and language with few equals during this global. Cloud and Ashes is a positive, heart-rending triptych, a mosaic of folklore, highbrow pyrotechnics, and exceptional, motley characters that takes the breath and makes the blood beat faster."—Catherynne M. Valente, writer of In the evening Garden

"No one else writes like Greer Gilman. She is one among our so much cutting edge and critical writers, in delusion or out of it. in order to see what language can do, the heart-stopping attractiveness it could in attaining, learn Cloud & Ashes."
—Theodora Goss, writer of In the wooded area of Forgetting

"Cloud and Ashes is a depressing pastoral formed from bits of ballads, scraps of nursery rhymes, fragments of Tarot, tatters of historic fantasy, and shreds of archaic language, all shot via with luminous ribbons of Gilman's personal own cosmology.... Gilman's prose reminds us that the majority magical structures find the ability of magic within the strength of language itself. Cloud and Ashes is especially advised to these readers who get pleasure from fable and folklore, in particular the myths of Ariadne and Persephone. Cloud and Ashes is additionally hugely prompt to these readers who take pleasure in myth which explores language and folklore."
Green guy Review

“Gilman's ‘A Crowd of Bone’ . . . is dense, jammed with archaic phrases and neologisms . . . however the story—complex, tangled in narrative in addition to syntax, and intensely dark—rewards the main cautious of readings."
The Washington publish publication World

“I am wind and reminiscence who spells this . . .”

In the eighteen years considering that her Crawford Award–winning debut novel Moonwise, Greer Gilman’s writing has simply grown extra complicated and entrancing, extra beguiling and inventive.

Gilman’s moment novel, Cloud & Ashes, is a gradual whirlwind of language, a button field of phrases, a mythic Joycean delusion that might invite immersion, examine, revisitation, and pleasure. To step into her international is to witness the intense flashes, witty turns, and shadowy corners of the human mind's eye, limned with the entire element and humor of a grasp stylist. In Gilman’s complex prose, fable and fantasy stay, breathe, and dance as they do nowhere else.

Cloud & Ashes collects 3 Winter’s stories (“Jack Daw’s Pack,” “A Crowd of Bone,” and the longest, “Unleaving”) centering on folks traditions, harvest rites, the seasons, gods, and trickster figures.

In “Unleaving,” Margaret, granddaughter of a goddess, escapes from the underworld into the human realm, Cloud. She is pursued, and, in escaping, brings approximately an epochal swap, isolating the dominion of fable from the human world.

Cloud & Ashes is a piece that reaches again to the richness of Shakespeare—Gilman knows that the intensity of Shakespeare’s paintings lies in his range—and the reader will celebrate in her counterplay of excessive fable and bawdry even whereas being drawn into the area of Cloud.  artistic, playful, and erudite, Gilman is an archeolexicologist rewriting language itself in those long-awaited tales.

Greer Gilman is the writer of the radical Moonwise, which received the Crawford Award and was once shortlisted for the James Tiptree, Jr. and Mythopoeic awards, in addition to of the area delusion Award–winning “A Crowd of Bone.” She lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

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Along with her starglass hidden in her petticoats, she crept down the winding stair, unbarred the wicket within the door, and slipped like shadow into shadow. Breathless with expectancy, she trysted with the 9. on the sill of heaven, on their legislations. She walked as tender as though the moon have been owling her, as though the Raven at her again may perhaps undercover agent. Death's daughter's baby, she feared nought else, no ghost nor witch nor vacationer. How short this summer's evening: an island within the emerging tide. Even now, it glowed with intimations of the sunrise, now not stark nighttime yet owlgrey. Scarce darkish sufficient to work out the Lyke street, faint as foam above her head. She met no stranger yet a began hare. On legislations, the greycloaked sisters huddled, sparser than in reminiscence. Her grasp and Barbary did say they walked. And right here, the following basically used to be a ideal prospect of the east; as though the circle of the stones have been outfitted as body to it: night's lantern that the east might kindle. via it, she seemed eastward to the harbingers: the idiot, the Knot of Swords. towards Ninerise. quickly. She wiped her starglass, fogged with observing. out and in, she walked the maze of shadows, turning Nineward consistently in her stressed hi there. Barbary's track was once braided via her brain. A summoning: you might have 3 silver mantles as brilliant because the solar, mild down the stair, girl, by means of the shining of one... a celeb? nonetheless naked-eyed, she gazed till it dazzled. certain. A knot of stars. She waited as they rose; she bowed and raised her glass. Come, 9. They swirled to her, a skein of swallows—O a crowd, a dazzlement. without delay her global used to be cracked, fell shining. What new stars have been those? darkish sisters miraculous. as though her seeing have been a breath that kindled, blew the ashes of the sky to embers. * * * * Now Margaret dreamed not more of touring. opposed to her night-closed eyes, she observed as via her glass: a coin of sky that trembled, fogging in spite of her cautious breath. A imaginative and prescient circumscribed and but enlarged: bewildering, wonderful, aswarm with stars. She walked starblind, like a traveler in a storm from snow, within the whirl and sting of revelations. mendacity at midnight, on legislations, she informed the 9, with pebbles, nice and little, on a stone. A henge inside a better henge; a replicate of the smallest, optimum of all. A spiral she may conceal together with her nail. Eighteen. Nineteen. A gemel? Twenty-one. At sunrise, she swept them up like jackstones. It was once all to profit back. no longer chains and carcanets of stars, yet a scattering of stones, unset. She sifted for them, as for diamonds, in a go with the flow of silver sand. There, the Owl's Eye, unblinking; there, the Tabor on the Fool's knee; the Clasp within the Necklace like a clew of sunshine, woolgathered, wound a few spindle of thorn. Torn fragments of a textual content she'd learn in complete, an alphabet ungrammared. Notes of song performed through one and one who made no concord. yet there have been stranger issues to work out in heaven. She'd started to put in writing them down on scraps of paper: a mouse's nest of them at the back of the wainscot, along with her sketches and her notes. "Hulver in my Lady's condo. He hath a educate of Boyes approximately him, lillywhite: small Starres inside his Orbe that dance attendance.

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