Bøger af Brooks Hansen

...Here again, his natural figure crouched beside her in the dank darkness of the cave, watching her in silence as she slept, struggling with cravings which were new to him, both tender and violent, and which he could only really compare to hunger... (from ASMODEUS) On the cusp of the Great War, an even more pitched battle is waged in the furthest corner of the Nordic highlands, the final chapter of a centuries-old rivalry, pitting a troubled bloodline of thieves, journeyman, and politicians against the last and greatest dragon of the hemisphere, Asmodeus. Until now, the source of this antagonism has been a single gemstone, the fabled shamir, whose history traces to the coffers of King Solomon. The present clash, however, has been sparked by the emergence of an even more desirable, more defiant, and more powerful force than that. Inspired by the golden legend of St. Margaret, Brooks Hansen's Asmodeus is a masterfully woven tapestry of history, myth, and fantasy, in the tradition of J.R.R.Tolkien, Bram Stoker, and C.S. Lewis. By turns a romance, an adventure, and the darkest imaginable Gothic, his tale is also, as seen through the eyes of the maiden Margrét, an unflinching exploration of our divided nature - what makes us beasts, what makes us human, and what makes us divine. "Hansen writes with a poet's eye for image, building a novel as one might build a cathedral, stone by stone, sentence by sentence...comparisons to Nabokov and Calvino are doubtless in order - The New York Times Book Review "...the most imaginative and talented novelist of his generation." -Hugh Nissenson, author of The Days of Awe "Like Garcia Marquez, Borges, even Poe, Hansen creates a dangerous, enlightening new world...He is a true inventor of fiction, and a protean, generous one at that." -Village Voice Literary Supplement

There is a beast that lives in Central Park. The Castle is his home. The park is his domain, and he has been ruling there, in his way, for longer than anyone can remember. The reason so few know of him is because he only comes out at night, and it is said that while he makes his moonlit rounds, the statues of the park all come to life, to stretch their legs, to congregate, and "drink the evening air." But the reason so few people know this is because (as the poem says) the only one that they let seem them is the only one who lets them see... "They're not alone. There's flesh and bone. There's pointy ears, and fingernails, and teeth." Though I grew up not far from the park, I myself was unaware of the Beastie's existence until the spring of my tenth year, when for one week my parents left me and my sister in the care of our next door neighbor, Mrs Guildenweiser. This is the story of that week, and of my first encounter with our other, wilder neighbor, he of the moonward howl... ...the stomach's growl, the gnaw, the paw, the grunt the scratch, the cheer. Come along and meet the Beastie, shaggy Beastie, Lord of the Lamp Post!

A vivid, moving, and unprecedented biographical saga of John the Baptist.