FragileThings - (EPUB全文下载)

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FRAGILE THINGS
S
HORT
F
ICTIONS AND
W
ONDERS
NEIL GAIMAN
For Ray Bradbury and Harlan Ellison,
and the late Robert Sheckley,
masters of the craft
CONTENTS
Introduction
A Study in Emerald
The Fairy Reel
October in the Chair
The Hidden Chamber
Forbidden Brides of the Faceless Slaves in the Secret House of the Night of Dread Desire
The Flints of Memory Lane
Closing Time
Going Wodwo
Bitter Grounds
Other People
Keepsakes and Treasures
Good Boys Deserve Favors
The Facts in the Case of the Departure of Miss Finch
Strange Little Girls
Harlequin Valentine
Locks
The Problem of Susan
Instructions
How Do You Think It Feels?
My Life
Fifteen Painted Cards from a Vampire Tarot
Feeders and Eaters
Diseasemaker’s Croup
In the End
Goliath
Pages from a Journal Found in a Shoebox Left in a Greyhound Bus Somewhere Between Tulsa, Oklahoma, and Louisville, Kentucky
How to Talk to Girls at Parties
The Day the Saucers Came
Sunbird
Inventing Aladdin
The Monarch of the Glen
About the Author
Other Books by Neil Gaiman
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
INTRODUCTION
“I think…that I would rather recollect a life misspent on fragile things than spent avoiding moral debt.” The words turned up in a dream and I wrote them down upon waking, uncertain what they meant or to whom they applied.
My original plan for this book of tales and imaginings, some eight years ago, was to create a short story collection that I would call These People Ought to Know Who We Are and Tell That We Were Here, after a word balloon in a panel from a Little Nemo Sunday page (you can now find a beautiful color reproduction of the page in Art Spiegelman’s book In the Shadow of No Towers), and every story would be told by one of a variety of dodgy and unreliable narrators as each explained their life, told us who they were and that, once, they too were here. A dozen people, a dozen stories. That was the idea; and then real life came along and spoiled it, as I began to write the short stories you’ll find in here, and they took on the form they needed to be told in, and while some were told in the first person and were slices of lives, others simply weren’t. One story refused to take shape until I gave it to the months of the year to tell, while another did small, efficient things with identity that meant it had to be told in the third person.
Eventually I began to gather together the material of this book, puzzling over what I should call it now that the previous title seemed no longer to apply. It was then that the ............

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