Return to Nevèrÿon series

(Wesleyan editions)

Tales of Nevèrÿon:

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gins—not to say endings—in favor of fictions. Still, for those readers,

 

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collection of the first five tales (with Kermi’s intriguing appendix) in

 

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Theory of Sex, G. Spencer-Brown’s Laws of Form, Marx’s Critique

 

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       The tale halted, hammered to silence by Gorgik’s heart.

 

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ready done a dozen times that day. The boy sat there, still not

 

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the great, winged creatures (about which had gathered so many of the fables),

 

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only three weeks: An army had come, fire-arrows had lanced  

 

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larly clever barbarian—the same who had laid out the New Pavē down in
the port, Jahor explained, waking Gorgik’s wandering attention

 

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       ‘I have never met Lord Aldamir,’ Gorgik said, ‘though everyone I

 

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       Gorgik swayed. ‘Curly, I’m sick. I want a loaf of bread and a bot-

 

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expected hope of life that all this human energy expended to create

 

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again, then a gamekeeper to a provincial count, then as

 

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she urged them to elaborate on and invent for themselves—the kinds

 

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at the beach’s far end, weaving the sand, leaves, wings, waves, wasps . . .

 

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       Fevin hailed her: ‘Have you heard what happened to old Venn?’

 

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      Norema’s eyes widened.

 

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On the table among sheets of reed paper were brass rules, compasses,

 

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more than three generations old, Norema felt an awe before this

 

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        At any rate, it was not until 1974 that a young American scholar,

 

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confusion. Steiner suggests this might be a pun.

 

Neveryóna:

 

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where below, sheep, bleating, wandered over another rocky rise. Wind rushed

 

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queen’s own nurse, an old woman who loved the girl and came to her

 

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meet the long-robed invaders.

 

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merce. Though I swear—’ Madame Keyne wheeled the cart away

 

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of sugar beet for herself. Then she decided that had been a silly way to

 

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the last of her beet. Then they returned to the mummers where, as

 

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‘Belhams bridge it is,’ said Kurven, ‘propped up on old Venn’s rock.’

 

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own floor. ‘Why should a man’s marriage be anyone’s affair but his      

 

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into Neveryóna—’

 

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the noblemen used to live on the edge of Kolhari—’

 

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or tenths, though you’d be able to figure out what it meant, it still

 

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and time.’

 

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in Neveryóna.’

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peared into it: the castle door.

 

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‘. . . only I can’t remember what version I’m supposed to . . . I suppose

I could tell them . . . all. Now . . . after the girl had done all sorts of

 

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was roughly 6500 B.C.–3000 B.C. Thus your dates are about as solidly

 

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and just a whit less for me as only about one out of three was launched 

 

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from his hawk-profiled, darkmaned head (it was cold that evening!),
the two of them chattering on about bus schedules in Ha’bini—as if

 

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Xerox of pages 8/9 of Winnie Ille Pooh—on which someone has marked the long

 

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budget problems. That was CUNY, I think.

 

Flight from Nevèrÿon:

 

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who printed up file ‘i’.

 

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the fog lapped late over the mountains and rolled down through the

 

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friend to the swords of a huge, city-voiced bandit and his barbarian ac-

 

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later, a voice—“. . . you’re hot! Yes, you’re hot in me! It’s good! Yes,

 

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tracting, contracting again, again, once more, and again, propelled his mucus forward. Unsteady between painful

 

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the ceramic-hard sole and the wood-rough palm, it meant rather, in

 

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‘You notice,’ the smuggler said with a considered sigh, ‘how there’re

 

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‘after you’ve looked down on Kolhari, Sarness isn’t much. Still, it’s a

 

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glance back over) and, with it, the sweetish smell of slaughter.

 

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she’d heard, galloped ahead, leaving him plodding in black.

 

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that in full flower they could not have been prepossessing. I’ve

 

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other concerns could, till I finally suggested:

 

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       —It doesn’t matter. Last week, every time someone came near me, he

 

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ing thatch, trying to figure. Twenty-five? Fifty? (Did I throw such ab-

 

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                  For much of the time he did not look very different from any

 

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         He took his place in a line of five. In front of him a young woman

 

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us in Illness as Metaphor. (I’ve already seen her analysis of cancer-as-

 

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for any number of reasons.’ It’s July 1983. Peter has been doing volun-

 

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‘Nothing.’

 

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in postscript §3, I know of only one other, The Gay Men’s Health

 

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talk of AIDS.   

 

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a random orientation. Once the stylus lands, we observe whether it

 

Return to Nevèrÿon:

 

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shuttles, pushed one down among the threads, hooked another

 

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rasping, choking, roaring. He opened his eyes on blackness, while a

 

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others sent to help with the horses—though they had quite enough sol-

 

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this part of Nevèrÿon. A packsack, in two halves, hung over the mare’s

 

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outside the hut awhile, at last picked up a clod, and hurled it—hard

 

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narrowing his eyes against bright overcast. ‘Was I drunk again last

 

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est work—at least for the likes of you. Probably me too, at least
awhile. Where were the men to meet Teren? We’ll show him how to

 

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well, maybe not too) with hands like his cousin’s and feet like this

 

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          For—let me repeat it—we have been writing about the power of

 

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awhile.’ It was a generosity he’d performed once to keep the peace,

 

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But how often have I been out on the bridge this early before? Ordi-


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sat on the wall awhile, staring down at the flagstones. Once a boy

 

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suggest a few fragments, some of which fit together one way, some
another, before we move, twenty-five years on, to Clodon in the
Narnis inn yard.

12. The eyes. The hands.

             Funig said, ‘That’s her!’ just as though the open window she stood at

 

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            ‘Now you see?’ she said. ‘That’s something, somewhere in your trav-

 

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The tale halted, hammered to silence by Gorgik’s heart.

 

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ready done a dozen times that day. The boy sat there, still not   

 

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the great, winged creatures (about which had gathered so many of the fables),

 

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larly clever barbarian—the same who had laid out the New Pavē down in

 

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the port, Jahor explained, waking Gorgik’s wandering attention

 

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‘I have never met Lord Aldamir,’ Gorgik said, ‘though everyone I

 

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again, then a gamekeeper to a provincial count, then as

 

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on language. (Our focus? Freud’s? The text’s? Often it is as intrigu-

 

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friends over the years of Leiber’s Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, Moore’s

 

Last update to this page made on 20 Aug 2008.