If an ice-pop stick can dream of being a horse, what magic might follow? A fanciful tale by Russell Hoban, mischievously illustrated by Quentin Blake.Once its icy sweetness is gone, a discarded ice-pop stick is lonely until young Rosie comes by and lays i
They eat sand and gravel for breakfast and a stew of sticks and stones for dinner. No one says "please" or "thank you." Instead, they kick and yell and punch and shove. Then one day everything changes, when Baby Brute happens upon "a little wandering lost
Kleinzeit, Russell Hoban's second novel, is probably the funniest of his books. It's a stylized, completely unpredictable story about a man in search of reality, armed only with a Glockenspiel and a copy of Thucydides' The Peloponnesian War. The story ope
Jonathan Lethem is perhaps our most active literary voice mining the genre margins of our culture. In this unique collection he creates an anthology that no one else could. He draws on the work of such unforgettables as Julio Cortazar, who presents
It is Gloria's birthday but Frances is not sure whether or not to give Gloria a present, as she is the kind of little sister who can't catch, can't throw and who when playing hide-and-seek, always hides in places where part of her is sticking out.Will Fra
He climbs a ladder to reach another man's wife and gives himself up to her beauty, but then Pilgermann descends into a mob of peasants inspired by the Pope to shed the blood of Jews. Alone on the cobblestones, he cries out to Israel, to the Lord his God,
"What are we, Papa?" the toy mouse child asked his father."I don't know," the father answered. "We must wait and see."A tin father and son dance under a Christmas tree until they break ancient clock-work rules and are themselves broken. Discarded, rescued
The turtles in London Zoo become the mutual obsession of two lonely strangers who dream of setting free the turtles and themselves. Detail by detail their diaries record a world in which thought leads to action and action brings William G. and Neaera H. t
There were no more lions any more. There had been lions once. Sometimes in the shimmer of of the heat on the plains the motion of their running still flickered on the dry wind – tawny, great and quickly gone. Sometimes the honey-coloured moon shivere
