Showing results by narrator "Stephen Mendel" in All Categories

Physicians swear a Hippocratic Oath whose central vow is “Do no harm.” I wonder—how many other professions might do well to set that goal above all others?

In electric prose T. C. Boyle explores myriad facets of society: greed and excess, parenthood and responsibility, the digital world and the way we understand our mortality. Roaming unrestrainedly through the present and near future, he inhabits his characters’ minds with a ventriloquist’s flair, skewering human motivations and revealing us to ourselves with empathy and wry humour.

Hands, those strong hands holding her down upon the tabletop...in her pain and confusion, they reminded her of those tentacled sea creatures of fabled days which ola-chan had described when she was little, whose habit it was to drag unfortunate mariners down to a watery doom.

Since the days of Olaf Stapledon, science fiction has been attracted to cosmic themes. The three stories in this section are about the shape, nature and fate of the universe...or universes...reflecting recent concepts which would have been thought scientifically absurd only a decade ago.

It all began when my publisher sent me out on what used to be called a Chautauqua circuit—public seminars and panels and rubber-chicken dinners—to promote my books. That’s when I began noticing something very strange about the way people have started thinking these days.

We survived the transition to a new millennium…when the great digital clock of the common era squeaked, groaned and finally clicked a new digit upon the thousand-year slot. To all the planets and stars, rocks and trees, it was just another day. But none of them love celebrating milestones at the drop of a metaphor. We humans do.

Jason let the flimsy message slip from his fingers, fluttering in the gentle, centrifugal pseudo-gravity of the station apartment. Coriolis force—or perhaps the soft breeze from the wall vents—caused it to drift past the edge of the table and land on the floor of the small dining nook.

It is, fundamentally, a question of balance. Minoru reminded himself as he left the air-flyer and set foot on the island that would be his home for many months. Keeping his stance wide and footsteps close to the ground, he moved cautiously in the insistent, heavy pull of Genji. Balance is vital when exploring a new world.

This section, “Contact,” is devoted to that special, often maligned sub-genre of SF, the think piece. Once upon a time, such tales comprised nearly all of science fiction. An author would ask, “What if?” or “If this goes on?” and head off from there, working out what might result from a given premise.

On planets, they say, water always runs downhill…Serena had no way of knowing if it was true. She had never been on a planet. Not in the brief million or so years she had been aware. Neither had any of her acquaintances. The very idea was ridiculous. Very few Grand Voyageurs ever got a chance to see a planet. And yet, even among them, the ancient truisms were still told.

“...So you want to talk about flying saucers? I was afraid of that." This happens every damn time I’m blackmailed into babysitting you insomniacs, while Talkback Larry escapes to Bimini for a badly needed rest. I’m supposed to field call-in questions about astronomy and outer space for two weeks. You know, black holes and comets? But it seems we always have to spend the first night wrangling over puta UFOs.

Penguin presents the unabridged, downloadable audiobook edition of Foxcatcher by Mark Schultz, read by Stephen Mendel. On 22 January 1996, Dave Schultz, Olympic gold medalist and wrestling's golden boy, was shot in the back by John E. du Pont at the famed Foxcatcher estate in Pennsylvania. That started a two-day siege at the ranch before the du Pont family heir was finally captured.

I earn my living as a writer. In other words, as a magician, shaman, metaphorist. By chant and incantation—and with the active collaboration of my clients, the readers—I create images, characters, alternate realities in other minds. It is an ancient, venerable profession. All tribes have had storytellers, who wove legends round the campfire. My specialty involves epics not about long ago, but times and places yet to come.

The preceding little fable, cribbed from my novel, Earth, is an example of the super-short story, which some call a “drabble.” Collections have been published in the 100 and 750-word categories, but my favorite length is precisely 250.

In all of history, no organized system of thought has changed humanity as much as science. It's offspring technologies have brought unrivaled power and wealth to our lives, as well as unprecedented danger. Answers to countless questions that mystified our ancestors are now freely available to all.

I know, things taste better fresh, not packaged. They say hamburger clogs your arteries and hurts the rain forests. We should eat like our Stone Age ancestors, who dug roots, got plenty of exercise, and always stayed a little hungry. So they say. Still, I balked when my wife served me termites. “Come on honey, try one. They’re delicious.”

Black. As deep as night is black between the stars. Deeper than that. Night isn’t really black, but a solemn, utter shade of red. As black, then, as Tenembro Nought, which drinks all color, texture, substance from around it, giving back only its awful depth of presence.