Morin knjiški reflektor – u kojem vam donosimo mali pogled na to što je novo u domaćoj produkciji
Slavic Supernatural: An Anthology of Slavic-Inspired Speculative Fiction (izašlo u veljači 2023.)
Žanr: antologija spekulativne fikcije
Duljina: 253 str. / 76k riječi
Tagline: Something Slavic this way comes…
Urednice: Antonija Mežnarić i Vesna Kurilić
Autori priča: Josh Reynolds, Petra Rapaic, Srebrenka Peregrin, Ivana Geček, Petra Valković, Laura J. Veligor, Ivan Botica, Robert Norok, Miha Trochael, Lidiana Bunda i Greg Gajek.
From the past to the future, across various Slavic cultures and throughout several European regions, this anthology brings you short speculative fiction stories inspired by Slavic folklore and mythology.
Darkness and light, grief and hope, gods and humans mingle on these pages as they take you on the supernatural journey of a lifetime.
As you travel through the Slavic lands of magic and mayhem, take special care—beware of the rusalka and of the creatures lurking in the woods, don’t mess with the thing sleeping in the cave, and whatever you do, don’t cross the goddess Morana… or your frozen corpse will be found, come next spring.
Dive into these eleven stories of seasonal changes, life, and Slavic wonder!
Linkovi (za nabavku knjige):
e izdanje: https://books2read.com/u/3k2eqG
meki uvez: https://www.amazon.com/Slavic-Supernatural-Anthology-Slavic-Inspired-Speculative-ebook/dp/B0BTMVG4VL/
Ulomci dijela priča:
Josh Reynolds: The Deep Woods
Baron Palman Vordenburg situated himself on the wooden stool and reached into his coat for his cigarette case. Outside the hut, the sun was setting over the forested slopes of the Northern Urals, and the labourers were setting aside their tools as their overseers called them back into camp for the night. “Tell me,” Vordenburg said, selecting a cigarette from the case.
“It comes in the night,” replied the man standing in the doorway. (…)
Srebrenka Peregrin: Out of Linden and Oak They Made You
“Is the child from Here?” I ask Dean, trying to make the H capital in my voice.
My skin is in goosebumps from the double chill: both the air and the thought that our world may not be the only one which we can tread in the mountains. I move closer to get a peek through his looking rod. He does not let me, but hurries to get to her.
“Gods, she is a fragile thing, isn’t she?” Dean breathes, his eyes full of compassionate tears. He snuffles them away and spits out a clot.
I am disgusted with his manners but must agree with the words—the girl’s hair is like black fleece, her eyes the color of olive leaves. She is a child of the Adriatic coast. She is shivering in dirty, ragged remains of her clothes, for which I cannot say whether they were a dress, or trousers. Dean is already taking off his own coat, to shelter her from the late December wind that carries the promise of snow. (…)
Ivana Geček: The Gentleman Hat
The nurse is looking at me suspiciously from behind her small, fogged-up glasses. I’m convinced her lips are making a sour, thin line behind her blue medical mask. There’s a name tag on her neat uniform that says Kristina. I hear her tongue clicking disapprovingly: the sound of it fills the quiet corridor, mixing with the soft drizzle of the rain outside.
“Only family is allowed to visit him,” she says. (…)
Laura J. Veligor: Death Will See
River always struggled with the notion of tossing a person-like figure off the bridge and began to cry the moment the effigy disappeared over the railing. Looking on, she imagined the pain of hitting the water and the misery of realizing no one followed its journey. And although her mother and grandmother had explained the significance of the tradition many times, it still remained a horrifying experience for her. (…)
Greg Gajek: Where the Birch Trees Sing
“From now on, Bośka and you will always be sisters, you’ll always love one another. There are some things no spell can change, however. One day, both of you will get married and have children. And when you do, and you fall on bad days, as we are all bound to, seek solace in the memory of this night.” Bogna leaned forward over the firepit, her face oddly hazy in the predawn gloom and the faint glow of the dying embers. “Solace, nothing more.” (…)
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