Flight from Nevèrÿon (Return to Nevèrÿon, Volume 3)
Samuel R. Delany
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Two novellas and a full-length novel of Nevèrÿon, the land at the limit of history
In The Tale of Plagues and Carnivals, a disease has come to Nevèrÿon. Men, rich and poor, have been stricken with it—but far fewer women. More and more die, and no one recovers. The illness seems to have first come from the Bridge of Lost Desire, a hangout for prostitutes male and female, but its spread through the city has been terrifying. And it will change Nevèrÿon forever, both its sexual and its political landscape.
Written in 1984, The Tale of Plagues and Carnivals is an astute fictionalization of New York City in the first two years of the AIDS crisis. Interwoven with the ancient story are Samuel R. Delany's modern accounts of what went on in the meanest streets of Gotham during that time.
This wholly original novel (the first novel about AIDS from a major American publisher) is presented along with two other stories about mummers, prostitutes, and street people in the fantastic land of Nevèrÿon and its capital, port Kolhari—an ancient city that becomes more and more modern with each story.
This ebook features an illustrated biography of Samuel R. Delany including rare images from his early career.
blond hair gone silver in dim deceiving light. You won’t tell me where you heading? I won’t follow you! I won’t rob you! I won’t hurt you! You city folks don’t need to be afraid of me now!’ He laughed. The dark couple trudged on. The smuggler pulled his cart up to the stair and walked around his ox to pat the hard ridge between her stubby horns. Blinking black eyes in blurred-over moonlight, the beast stepped back. Traces creaked. Leaving his cart among milling boys, the young smuggler
some of the children looked as though they might have been his. But she knew who I was, Arly prompted. She knew all about me! Hadn’t Arly told her the story of our travels together, years ago? Didn’t she remember? Of course she did! I was the nobleman who had given him the money to come here! He’d told her that. Yes, of course she knew of me. Whether she did or not, I don’t know. But I was struck with a memory absent for years. When we’d reached Kolhari, I’d paid Arly a servant’s wages for the
drafty halls? Who would ever stay in those cramped little rooms? Think of the cleaning. Think of the furniture. Think of the work!’ ‘And I have work to do!’ The tall woman shook her head. ‘I certainly haven’t time to stand here arguing with someone who can’t follow two words in a row (how do you keep your weaving straight!) and a dirty creature—’ this last was to the pig girl—‘who dreams of queens, when she has work to do too!’ But there was a smile in with it. The old woman, however, looked up
stade from here, down from the left side of this road, is a good spot where a woman—or a man—might take a wagon over easy rocks and in among wide-spaced trees, till she came to a naturally protected clearing, where you could make camp. At least half a dozen times in the last three months, since I’ve been scouting the area, I have seen Her Majesty’s inspectors ride right by it. The Liberator himself first showed it to me: he used it as a stopping place back in his own smuggling days. You only have
helped him out at the workshop the week before the illness had forced him home? Not that he expected to see him again. Oh, definitely a girl next time. No more boys. Not in the shop at any rate. The girls appreciated his wit, were impressed with the stream of (impressive) clients in and out, fell in love with him a little, and worked dreadfully hard because of it. With the boys, however, even the ugly awkward ones he’d offered jobs only out of compassion, sure he could never feel anything but