By Dan Simmons

Calcutta: a tremendous urban of substantial slums, ailment and distress, is clasped within the foetid embody of an historic cult. At its decaying center is the Goddess Kali: the darkish mom of soreness, four-armed and everlasting, her music the sound of loss of life and destruction. Robert Luczak has been employed through Harper's to discover a famous Indian poet who has reappeared, below unusual situations, years after he used to be proposal lifeless. yet not anything is straightforward in Calcutta and Lucsak's regimen task becomes a nightmare while he learns that the poet is rumoured to were introduced again to existence in a bloody and grisly rite of human sacrifice.

A nice paintings of horror, yet with deeply annoying scenes in it.

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The Song of Kali

Calcutta: a titanic urban of vast slums, sickness and distress, is clasped within the foetid include of an historic cult. At its decaying middle is the Goddess Kali: the darkish mom of discomfort, four-armed and everlasting, her music the sound of loss of life and destruction. Robert Luczak has been employed via Harper's to discover a famous Indian poet who has reappeared, less than unusual conditions, years after he was once proposal lifeless.

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Based on a visit the writer took via Asia within the overdue 70's, The final India Overland incorporates a drug-fueled forged of ex-pats and refugees from fact, screwing and doping their method from London to the Khyber go. a desirable mixture of personalities and a story thrillingly informed, even if decidedly now not the type of travelogue prone to be recommended by way of the nations involved.

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This quantity is lengthy out of print and it's late for revival, a brand new iteration of readers and fun-seekers learning its indisputable attraction and extraordinary strangeness.

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Hence it matters where the Amur’s source lies. It is why it disturbs Russians when the Chinese say that the Songhua, rising in the Changbai mountains, is the Amur’s proper source—that the Songhua, indeed, is the great and essential stream, and that the Amur is its mere tributary. Not long ago, Chinese and Russian geographers decided the matter of the Amur simply had to be resolved. Not just truth was at stake, but dignity and perhaps even national destiny. Satellite maps were printed, to expansive scales.

For the Amur’s source, that is, the one most distant from the river’s mouth and the ocean beyond it, lay in neither one country nor the other. The Amur tributary farthest from the sea was the Onon River. And for that half of the year in which all the streams of Siberia are not hard-frozen, the Onon’s headwaters bubble from the side of a mountain not in China or in Russia, but in a wild part of northern Mongolia. I resolved to see the Onon’s source, source of the Amur, the Amoor, the Black Dragon River, L’Amour, one the world’s great rivers, siren stream to dreamers.

It required careful planning. Leaving the flocks in charge of the women and children, the clansmen crossed the Khentii range and launched their ambush while Temujin and his family were camped in this same broad valley near the Kherlen’s headwaters through which we are riding now, the valley that leads to Burkhan Khaldun. An old serving woman was the first to wake at the sound of hoofbeats and raised the alarm. Hoelun grabbed her granddaughter and galloped up the valley and crept into the thickly forested flanks of Burkhan Khaldun, sacred even then to all Mongols.

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