STRANGE ROADS (CHAPBOOK)
Peter S. Beagle
Unsigned, $15
Signed by the author, $25
Personalized, $30
Click here to order Strange Roads.
Cover art and illustrations by Lisa Snellings-Clark.
DreamHaven Books 2008 chapbook. 69 pages. Three stories totaling 27,000 words.
[Please note: Dreamhaven only printed 1,000 copies of this chapbook, and have not decided whether they will ever reprint it. Readers wanting a first edition should order now, because the supply is limited. At this time we have only 20 copies in inventory.]
This title is the second in DreamHaven's Strange series of chapbooks, each one inspired by the art of Lisa Snellings-Clark. It includes three wonderful new stories by Peter, plus a cover and illustrations by Lisa.
The three stories are "Uncle Chaim and Aunt Rifke and the Angel," "King Pelles the Sure," and "Spook" (the latter featuring Joe Farrell, who has previously appeared in "Lila the Werewolf," "Julie's Unicorn," and the novel The Folk of the Air). Both "Uncle Chaim and Aunt Rifke and the Angel" and "King Pelles the Sure" were picked for Best Fantasy of the Year anthologies.
Here's how each story begins:
UNCLE CHAIM AND AUNT RIFKE AND THE ANGEL
My Uncle Chaim, who was a painter, was working in his studio — as he did on every day except Shabbos — when the blue angel showed up. I was there.
I was usually there most afternoons, dropping in on my way home from Fiorello LaGuardia Elementary School. I was what they call a "latchkey kid," these days. My parents both worked and traveled full-time, and Uncle Chaim’s studio had been my home base and my real playground since I was small. I was shy and uncomfortable with other children. Uncle Chaim didn’t have any kids, and didn’t know much about them, so he talked to me like an adult when he talked at all, which suited me perfectly. I looked through his paintings and drawings, tried some of my own, and ate Chinese food with him in silent companionship, when he remembered that we should probably eat. Sometimes I fell asleep on the cot. And when his friends — who were mostly painters like himself — dropped in to visit, I withdrew into my favorite corner and listened to their talk, and understood what I understood. Until the blue angel came.
It was very sudden: one moment I was looking through a couple of the comic books Uncle Chaim kept around for me, while he was trying to catch the highlight on the tendons under his model’s chin, and the next moment there was this angel standing before him, actually posing, with her arms spread out and her great wings taking up almost half the studio. She was not blue herself — a light beige would be closer — but she wore a blue robe that managed to look at once graceful and grand, with a white undergarment glimmering beneath. Her face, half-shadowed by a loose hood, looked disapproving.
I dropped the comic book and stared. No, I gaped, there’s a difference. Uncle Chaim said to her, “I can’t see my model. If you wouldn’t mind moving just a bit?” He was grumpy when he was working, but never rude.
“I am your model,” the angel said. “From this day forth, you will paint no one but me.”
“I don’t work on commission,” Uncle Chaim answered. “I used to, but you have to put up with too many aggravating rich people. Now I just paint what I paint, take it to the gallery. Easier on my stomach, you know?”
KING PELLES THE SURE
Once there was a king who dreamed of war. His name was Pelles.
He was a gentle and kindly monarch, who ruled over a small but wealthy and completely tranquil kingdom, beloved alike by noble and peasant, despite the fact that he had no queen, and so no heir except a brother to ensure an orderly succession. Even so, he was the envy of mightier kings, whose days were so full of putting down uprisings, fighting off one another’s invasions, and wiping out rebellious villages that they never knew a single moment of comfort or security. King Pelles — and his people, and his land — knew nothing else.
But the king dreamed of war.
SPOOK
When they came out of the consultation with the santero, Farrell said, "Seventy-five bucks. For seventy-five bucks I can get an Eskimo and make my own ice." It was his favorite Marx Brothers line, employed often.
Ben said, "Come on, we learned something. At least we know it’s bound to the house, can’t even go round the block. You and Julie can find another place easy, it’s a buyers’ market right now. I’m sure you could get the deposit back."
"Julie loves that dump." Farrell said sourly. "Says she’s finally got the north light exactly the way she wants it, and she’ll never move again, ever. And she means it, I know her." He kicked a bottle into the gutter, and then felt guilty and went back and picked it up. "“Buddies, lovers, partners — whatever the hell it is we are after twenty-five years — listen, if the Spook isn’t gone when she gets back, I’ll be sleeping at the restaurant with my clothes in a plastic bag. Live with an artist, you take your chances."
Yes, I would like to get Strange Roads.