By Dan Simmons
On June nine, 1865, whereas touring by way of teach to London along with his mystery mistress, 53-year-old Charles Dickens--at the peak of his powers and recognition, the main well-known and profitable novelist on this planet and maybe within the background of the world--hurtled right into a catastrophe that modified his lifestyles without end.
Did Dickens commence residing a gloomy double lifestyles after the twist of fate? have been his nightly forays into the worst slums of London and his deepening obsession with corpses, crypts, homicide, opium dens, using lime pits to dissolve our bodies, and a hidden subterranean London mere study . . . or anything extra terrifying?
Just as he did in The Terror, Dan Simmons attracts impeccably from historical past to create a gloriously enticing and terrifying narrative. in keeping with the old information of Charles Dickens's existence and narrated through Wilkie Collins (Dickens's buddy, common collaborator, and Salieri-style mystery rival), DROOD explores the still-unsolved mysteries of the well-known author's final years and will give you the key to Dickens's ultimate, unfinished paintings: The secret of Edwin Drood. Chilling, haunting, and totally unique, DROOD is Dan Simmons at his strong top.
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Additional resources for Drood
She refused to pause for the writer’s ministrations and did not seem to hear his urgings that she sit down and wait for help. She walked past Dickens in a brisk manner and disappeared into the few trees that grew along the bank. He helped two stunned guards extricate the crushed body of another woman from a flattened carriage and lay the body gently on the bank. A man was wading downstream, screaming, “My wife! ” Dickens led him to the corpse. ” Then the man fainted, dropping into the marsh more like someone shot through the heart than through the lungs.
Her left breast was missing. She refused to pause for the writer’s ministrations and did not seem to hear his urgings that she sit down and wait for help. She walked past Dickens in a brisk manner and disappeared into the few trees that grew along the bank. He helped two stunned guards extricate the crushed body of another woman from a flattened carriage and lay the body gently on the bank. A man was wading downstream, screaming, “My wife! ” Dickens led him to the corpse. ” Then the man fainted, dropping into the marsh more like someone shot through the heart than through the lungs.
Earlier, even before rescuing Ellen and Mrs Ternan, he had carried out his leather bag carrying most of the manuscript of the sixteenth number of Our Mutual Friend, which he had been working on in France, but now he had remembered that the last two chapters were in his overcoat, which still lay folded in the overhead above their former seats. Standing on the backs of this last row of seats in the swaying, creaking coach, the river thirty feet below reflecting darts of dancing light through the shattered windows, he retrieved the overcoat, pulled the manuscript out to make sure that all the pages were there—it had been slightly soiled but was otherwise intact—and then, still balancing on the seats, he tucked the papers back into his overcoat.
Drood by Dan Simmons