By S. P. Somtow
Nominated for the Bram Stoker Award, Darker Angels takes the reader from the bloodstained battlefields of Virginia to the slave auctions of Haiti. As Abraham Lincoln lies in kingdom in ny, the widow of the recognized abolitionist has an opportunity stumble upon with the poet Walt Witman, who has an magnificent story to inform. Edgar Allan Poe, Lord Byron, and Marie Laveau, the mythical voodoo queen of recent Orleans, all have a component to play within the epic story of a mysterious, one-eyed shaman who dares to elevate the useless from the battlefields of the Civil conflict.
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Additional resources for Darker Angels
Their song choirboys, but the drum Grainger, I've heard them. the angels that is come with happening, is light. I not know, Mrs. not the keening of sweet taps of desolation. They — this resurrection are I know, Mrs. They are Oh, Mrs. are the darker angels. the descent of night. Grainger, I've seen them, and I'm afraid they've stolen the poetry clean out of song. nals Mayhap I'll me. I don't become know that a prose hack I'll ever sing another now, and churn out jour- and memoirs of the ghasdy war.
Broader now. "I haven't had the benefit of a there are times when I might be The cat had a mouse by classical training," he a litde less blinkered said, the "so than the average pedant. I've heard, for example, that in certain parts of 44 SOMTOW 5. P. " Phoebe pricked up her ears at this. Then she mumbled some- thing and cackled. "What did you more in asked her. >" I " 'A litde learning a is dangerous thing,' unmistakable mimicry of " 'Drink deep, or taste cunning. First he say my " she said, dead husband's voice.
Wliitman, and not entirely appreciative of the liberty we have always allowed her. " "Well, that witnessed. eti*y, know but one interpretation of what we have that — you only have a just poor opinion of my po- Mrs. Grainger "Well, I I is I spoke haven't read "But I hastily. I've much heard others talk of it. " "Oh, nonsense," nervously. " Mr. Whitman smiled. " that I Mrs. Grainger, that her an- it, >" tribe. Her mother was from glanced across to the corner, and Phoebe was I could Africa, I've now discern listening intently to him, half-fearfiil, half- fascinated.
Darker Angels by S. P. Somtow