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Written with the narrative tension of The Road and the exquisite terror of classic Stephen King, Bird Box is a propulsive, edge-of-your-seat horror thriller, set in an apocalyptic near-future world—a masterpiece of suspense from the brilliantly imaginative Josh Malerman.

Something is out there . . .

Something terrifying that must not be seen. One glimpse and a person is driven to deadly violence. No one knows what it is or where it came from.

Five years after it began, a handful of scattered survivors remain, including Malorie and her two young children. Living in an abandoned house near the river, she has dreamed of fleeing to a place where they might be safe. Now, that the boy and girl are four, it is time to go. But the journey ahead will be terrifying: twenty miles downriver in a rowboat—blindfolded—with nothing to rely on but her wits and the children’s trained ears. One wrong choice and they will die. And something is following them. But is it man, animal, or monster?

Engulfed in darkness, surrounded by sounds both familiar and frightening, Malorie embarks on a harrowing odyssey—a trip that takes her into an unseen world and back into the past, to the companions who once saved her. Under the guidance of the stalwart Tom, a motely group of strangers banded together against the unseen terror, creating order from the chaos. But when supplies ran low, they were forced to venture outside—and confront the ultimate question: in a world gone mad, who can really be trusted?

Interweaving past and present, Josh Malerman’s breathtaking debut is a horrific and gripping snapshot of a world unraveled that will have you racing to the final page.

• Sales Rank: #20833 in Books
• Published on: 2015-02-10
• Released on: 2015-02-10
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 8.00" h x .61" w x 5.31" l, .65 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 272 pages

From Booklist
Malorie, a young mother of two children known simply as Boy and Girl, is a survivor living in a postapocalyptic world, raising her children to use all their senses, especially their listening skills, as sight is not an option here. In this world, the survivors struggle to stay alive by living indoors with all the windows boarded up. The sight of whatever is outside is causing people to become violent murderers, as well as suicidal, in the most horrific ways possible. The book moves back and forth over a four-year period when all the insanity began, exploring the personalities of the people that came together and survived and how they managed to live after all forms of communication effectively withered and died with most of the population. The characters are involving, the story moves along very rapidly as the suspense builds, but unfortunately, the ending is a disappointment. The reason for all the bloodshed is never explored or explained. Still, recommend this one to readers who enjoy a blend of horror and postapocalyptic fiction. --Stacy Alesi

Review
“A book that demands to be read in a single sitting, and through the cracks between one’s fingers. There has never been a horror story quite like this. Josh Malerman truly delivers.” (—Hugh Howey, New York Times bestselling author of Wool)

“This completely compelling novel contains a thousand subtle touches but no mere flourishes-it is so well, so efficiently, so directly written I read it with real admiration. Josh Malerman does the job like a fast-talking, wised-up angel.” -Peter Straub (—Peter Straub)

“[A] chilling debut… Malerman...keeps us tinglingly on edge with his cool, merciless storytelling [and] douses his tale in poetic gloom….An unsettling thriller, this earns comparisons to Hitchcock’s The Birds, as well as the finer efforts of Stephen King and cult sci-fi fantasist Jonathan Carroll.” (—Kirkus Reviews (starred review))

“The author uses understatement and allusion to create a lean, spellbinding thriller that Stephen King fans will relish.” (—Publishers Weekly (starred review))

From the Back Cover

Something is out there . . .

Something terrifying that must not be seen. One glimpse and a person is driven to deadly violence. No one knows what it is or where it came from.

Five years after it began, a handful of scattered survivors remain, including Malorie and her two young children. Living in an abandoned house near the river, Malorie has long dreamed of fleeing to a place where her family might be safe. But the journey ahead will be terrifying: twenty miles downriver in a rowboat—blindfolded. One wrong choice and they will die. And something is following them. But is it man, animal, or monster?

Engulfed in darkness, surrounded by sounds both familiar and frightening, Malorie embarks on a harrowing odyssey—a trip that takes her into an unseen world and back into the past, to the companions who once saved her. Interweaving past and present, Josh Malerman's breathtaking debut is a horrific and gripping snapshot of a world unraveled that will have you racing to the final page.

Most helpful customer reviews

86 of 89 people found the following review helpful.
What a nasty little treat this was.
By booknerdsbraindump
This book was recommended to me by a friend who apparently knows me better than I know myself. I don’t usually read speculative fiction, as I generally like my trash a little more grounded in reality, which is to say, even the horrors of the night won’t keep us all away from Facebook. As such, post-apocalyptic stuff usually doesn’t interest me. I mean, there are only so many ways to tell the story of “we have to rebuild civilization while protecting ourselves from whatever destroyed it”, right?

Bird Box is the same, but catchier. It opens with a woman named Malorie waking up and deciding that today is the day she will row twenty miles down a river, blindfolded, with her two young children, to try to reach other survivors. And that’s when I said “wait, hold up. Twenty miles to where? Why blindfolded? Survivors of what?” And just like that, Josh Malerman got me.

It all begins five years before, in the present day, somewhere in Russia. A couple of guys are in a car, the passenger asks the driver to pull over, then viciously and gruesomely murders him and kills himself. It’s a weird anomaly, like the guy who ate the other guy’s face in Florida a while back. Normally, a story like that would hit the news, then fade. But before long, there are many more such stories that all end the same way - with the perpetrator killing themselves before anyone can find out why. And as the events spread to the US, there are more and more paranoid theories, and fewer and fewer people to repeat them. The only constant is that the people who have been driven mad have opened their eyes outside.

Malorie has just found out she is pregnant when she loses her sister, parents, and everyone else she has known. She finds a house with a few other survivors, and the grim vigil begins.

The only way to describe Bird Box is as a whirlpool. We see Malorie of today, blindfolded with two small blindfolded children, navigating a river by sound alone, then we circle back to the house where she waits to give birth, then back to today. With every loop, the pace of the story picks up, and we are drawn more and more quickly to the center, the horrific night that the babies are born, and the fate of the others who were in the house. Simultaneously, there are fresh nightmares on the river in a number of flavors, including the creatures that have nearly destroyed humanity, a bad guy of the human variety, and even wolves.

Bird Box was short and nasty in the best way. It’s like jalapeno fudge. It doesn’t sound that good, really. As I said, speculative, post-apocalyptic works usually turn me off. But hey, I do love chocolate, so I decided to try a bite. It was sweet and smooth, then BAM the heat kicked in. Totally different from what I usually enjoy, an unexpected jolt, but delicious nonetheless.

The babies added a deeper level of emotion to the narrative. The fear and tension were unrelenting in both storylines, but seeing what Malorie went through to keep the little ones safe threw an element of heartbreak into the mix. It was actually harder for me to read how she trained them to always keep their eyes shut than to read the graphic murder/suicide passages.

The prose is not poetic, but smooth, not descriptive, more statement of fact. I will admit, I initially wanted more description. I think I was spoiled by The Stand (uncut version) where every nuance of the End of the World was spelled out in excruciating detail. With Bird Box, there’s just one word - creatures - and we are left knowing exactly what Malorie knows, which isn’t much at all.

In the end, it’s that leanness that is Bird Box’s strength and weakness. You’re thrown from one time period and situation to another, all of them breathlessly tense, until the final few pages. There’s no nice neat bow tying everything up. There’s no awkward explanation shoe-horned in. It’s less about the how and why, and more about the “now what?”.

Malerman’s stripped-down prose is a perfect way to drive the narrative, but it doesn’t work as well when it comes to characters other than Malorie. Tom is the generic Calm Wise Leader. The other women are just… there, and with the exception of the bad guy(s) (no spoilers here!) the rest of men are interchangeable. We got a few sentences of backstory for some of them, but there isn’t enough to differentiate them from each other, or to generate any real emotion for the ones that are lost.

Overall, Bird Box’s strengths far outweigh its weaknesses, and I look forward to seeing what Josh Malerman does in the future.

The Nerd’s Rating: FOUR HAPPY NEURONS

11 of 12 people found the following review helpful.
A fine unique wine of a horror novel, where every sip will give you the cold shivers
By Whitt Patrick Pond
Bird Box by John Malerman is absolutely one of the most tensely claustrophobic horror novels I've ever read. Some horror is based on fear of things you see. And some horror is based on fear of things you don't see. Bird Box has a different kind of horror going on - a fear of things that you must not see.

Malorie lives in rural Michigan, in a run-down house with two small children. The three of them have not seen or spoken to another human being in four years. All of the windows and doors have been carefully covered over with blankets, tape, paper, tarps, anything to prevent any possibility of ever glimpsing anything outside the house, even by accident. When Malorie has to go outside, she wears a blindfold tied tightly in place. The children sleep with blindfolds in carefully covered pens. Because there are _things_ out there, and to see them, even for a second, means madness and painful torturous death. But the day has come when Malorie and the two children must leave the house, feel their way to a boat on the river, and then blindly make their way down the river, in the hope that maybe, just maybe, there's a place of safety that still exists in the world.

The chapters alternate, sometimes in the present, more often in the past as we learn about the events of the preceding five years that led to Malorie's current situation. A lot of what makes Bird Box work is the atmosphere Malerman creates for the reader where he immerses you into a world where there's something out there, something that if seen, even by accident, even for a second, results in murderous insanity and death. Something that no one knows what it looks like because no one who sees it, even indirectly, survives intact to describe it. And you can feel Malorie's mounting apprehension early on in flashbacks as the outside world grows more and more ominous:

"It is six months before the children are born. Malorie is showing. Blankets cover every window in the house. The front door is never left unlocked and never left open. Reports of unexplainable events have been surfacing with an alarming frequency. What was once breaking news twice a week now develops every day. Government officials are interviewed on television. Stories from as far east as Maine, as far south as Florida, have both sisters now taking precautions. Shannon, who visits dozens of blogs daily, fears a mishmash of ideas, a little bit of everything she reads. Malorie doesn't know what to believe. New stories appear hourly online. It's the only thing anybody talks about on social media and it's the only topic on the news pages. New websites are devoted entirely to the evolution of information on the subject. One site features only a global map, with small red faces placed upon the cities in which something occurred. Last time Malorie checked, there were more than three hundred faces. Online, they are calling it 'the Problem.' There exists the widespread communal belief that whatever 'the Problem' is, it definitely begins when a person _sees_ something.
-- Malorie resisted believing it as long as she could. The sisters argued constantly, Malorie citing the pages the derided mass hysteria, Shannon citing everything else. But soon Malorie had to relent, when the pages she frequented began to run stories about their own loved ones, and the authors of these pages stepped forward to admit some concern.
-- Cracks, Malorie thought then. Showing even in the skeptics.
-- Days passed in which Malorie experienced a sort of double life. Neither sister left the house anymore. Both made sure the windows were covered. They watched CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News until they physically couldn't watch the same stories repeating themselves. And while Shannon grew more serious, and even grave, Malorie held on toe a pinch of hope that this would all simply go away.
-- But it didn't. And it got worse.
-- Three months into living like shut-ins, Malorie and Shannon's worse fears came true when their parents stopped answering their phone. They didn't answer e-mails either.
-- Malorie wanted to drive north to the Upper Peninsula. But Shannon refused.
-- "We're just going to have to hope they're being safe, Malorie. We're going to have to hope their phone was shut off. Driving anywhere right now would be dumb. Even to the store, and driving nine hours would be suicide."
-- 'The Problem' always resulted in suicide. Fox News had reported the word so often that they were now using synonyms. 'Self-destruction.' 'Self-immolation.' 'Hari-Kari.' One anchorman described it as 'personal erasing,' a phrase that did not catch on. Instructions from the government were reprinted on the screen. A national curfew was mandated. People were advised to lock their doors, cover their windows, and, above all, not to look outside. On the radio, music was replaced entirely with discussions.
-- A blackout, Malorie thinks. The world, the outdoors, is being shut down."

What's even more remarkable about Bird Box is that it's Malerman's first novel. It was nominated this year for the Bram Stoker Award for Best First Novel, a nomination that was well deserved.

Highly, highly recommended for anyone who enjoys a novel that will literally make you afraid to look up or turn around.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
So apropos for this spooky time of year!
By Basia
I'll confess the following straight away: I have three favorite spooky, creepy, super scary books this year. The Light of the Fireflies remains my #1 favorite. It's so "cult classic," yet deserves a much wider audience. Finished it weeks ago, and I still think about it. Unlike any story I've ever read. Then my 2nd choice: The Last Days of Jack Sparks. Awesome. Funny in a way that often makes one feel a bit guilty for laughing, but oh my goodness, does it ever offer up a bunch of scares. And now to my 3rd favorite: The Bird Box.
This book was also unusual, and that's no easy feat with a post-apocalyptic, dystopian story. We don't really ever find out too much about what all went wrong with the world; we learn only that no human can survive seeing whatever horrors remain out in the open world.
The protagonist describes her daily life to us as best she can, given that she has been unable to EVER open her eyes outside. She also cares for a 4 year old. Part of the story is also comprised of her flashbacks to a time when there were a number of people in her party.
It is such an unsettling story. The absence of sufficient information to allow us even the most elementary grasp on what has happened, what horrors exist that would so affect a person just by being seen that they would cease to be human or alive, or in any case, would no longer be counted amongst the living, these ideas creep the hell out of the reader...or at least they did me. Maybe they die from the sight. Or perhaps it drives them mad. What is not questionable is that seeing one of these horrors marks the end of that person's life.
Quietly unforgettable, and superb at getting under one's skin, I highly recommend this awesome horror story. And lucky for us all, it's another one of those books that grabs hold at page 1, and won't let go until the last page. I hope those of you who end up reading the book enjoy it AT LEAST as much as I did.

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[G712.Ebook] Free Ebook Dirtiest Lie (Executive Toy Book 5), by Cleo Peitsche

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Dirtiest Lie (Executive Toy Book 5), by Cleo Peitsche

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DIRTIEST LIE (#5) is a steamy romance of 27,000 words. Contains gorgeous billionaire bosses who like to take charge.

Lindsay needs to trust someone other than herself, and that means confiding her darkest secret to her billionaire bosses.

The secret that turned her into a desperate runaway seven years ago.

The secret that will destroy her innocent sister’s life.

With her cruel grandfather now aware of Lindsay’s location, time is running out. He’s coming for her, and each of her options can only lead to disaster.

Trusting Romeo, Slade, and Hawthorne will save her.

It will destroy her, too.

This office menage is a romantic suspense. Includes BDSM elements of dominance and submission.

• Sales Rank: #44225 in eBooks
• Published on: 2015-04-21
• Released on: 2015-04-21
• Format: Kindle eBook

From the Author
Thanks for stopping by! The order of the books in the "Executive Toy" series is:

1. Executive Toy
2. Professional Sin
3. Dangerously Big
4. Trickiest Job
5. Dirtiest Lie
6. Forbidden Fix--coming soon

Most helpful customer reviews

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
HOT!
By Brandy Kennedy
I love the whole Executive Toy series! Feelings and emotions are getting real for those sexy dominant bosses of Lindsay and I love it!! Looking forward to the next book in this series!!

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
A charismatic, enticing, racy next installment in the series.
By Colorado Avid Reader
Romeo, Hawthorne and Slade. Were there ever three more perfect men? Lindsay is one lucky woman. Not only will they protect her with their lives, they like her, respect her, and are falling in love with her. They show this in their care of her every day and in their erotic, hot physical sharing of Lindsay.

A grand scheme is devised to "take down" her evil grandfather while protecting her younger sister from harm. They will all work together to make this happen. Just as they are working together to help Lindsay heal, and become more confident and secure of her personal safety. This is a book about trust, honor, respect, and compassion. Lindsay is falling for all three of her dominant bosses. She is already completely enamored of Slade. She is viciously protective of Romeo and wants desperately to heal his pain of rejection by the triad's ex. She admires, respects, and "doesn't hate" Hawthorne, the sternest and toughest of them all.

We're left on the precipice of a plan to eradicate the threat her grandfather poses while seeing the positive changes in Lindsay and the maturation of their ménage relationship. This story will have you on the edge of your seat waiting for the next segment of the story.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Another awesome hot great part in the series!
By Cassandra
Geez, Cleo knows how to torture me and make me craving and needing til it hurts!!!

Dirtiest Lie is the next episode in the Executive Toy series. More and more the secrets of Lindsay's past are revealed. And instead of turning her down, Hawthorne, Romeo and Slade do everything they can to earn her trust.
As Lindsay agreed to work for two more weeks for them on their terms, every day she has to go through a lesson. And let me tell you...Cleo has me all hot and squirming about a ruler! :P
They not only show her how submissive she is and how much she craves it, but also show her their sweet and caring sides.
In all that Lindsay discovers that a past relationship the three had, has left them hurt and vulnerable as well. Do they really only wanna help Lindsay? Or isn't it also a chance for them to heal their wounds and look forward to a fulfilling future?

I'm so ready for the next and unfortunately last part, to finally see what the grandfather will do and if they get their hea.

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Published to accompany the 1996 mid-career survey organized by the Whitney Museum of American Art, I'll Be Your Mirror remains the most comprehensive and critically praised publication on the work of photographer Nan Goldin. Covering two decades of her life and art, from her time in Boston in the 1970s through her move to downtown New York City and her subsequent and stratospheric rise in the art world, Goldin's most memorable work is collected here. Amongst the many powerful images are photographs of friends and lovers sometimes in pain, sometimes in repose; self portraits taken during an abusive relationship, from The Ballad of Sexual Dependency; the transvestite and transgendered kings and queens of The Other Side; and the harrowing and moving documentation of the slow death from AIDS of close friend Cookie Mueller. Scalo Publishers is pleased to offer this seminal book at a new and more affordable price, making this classic title accessible to an even wider audience of Goldin's fans than ever before

• Sales Rank: #2512873 in Books
• Published on: 1997-03
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 491 pages

Amazon.com Review
Based on an exhibition of the same title at the Whitney Museum of American Art this collection of more than 300 pictures documents the alternative culture of Nan Goldin's friends and acquaintances in the arty bohemian substrata of Manhattan. Goldin turns her camera outward to record transvestites carousing in downtown clubs and the social impact of AIDS and drugs; and inward to look with unblinking intimacy at her friends, her lovers of both sexes, and herself. She records her boyfriend masturbating. She shows him on the toilet. She shows her own battered face in a mirror after he beats her up. She traces the decline and death of her friend Cookie Mueller. Goldin has created a stark record of her urban demi-monde.

From Publishers Weekly
As this highly engrossing companion to a traveling mid-career retrospective suggests, photographer Goldin's influence has trickled in from the margins to the mainstream, from contemporary museum exhibitions to the latest Calvin Klein advertising campaign. Once a cult portraitist of drag queens, drug addicts and nightclub bohemians, Goldin has earned a broad audience and wide critical praise for a visually opulent, harshly intimate body of work. Arriving in New York in the early 1970s, Goldin began exhibiting The Ballad of Sexual Dependency, a constantly evolving, audio-visual slide show depicting the bacchanalian, at times nihilistic, demimonde of the Lower East Side and Times Square. Those heady days are chronicled here, as are their grim aftermath, evinced in Goldin's subsequent, lavishly colorful snapshots of friends afflicted with AIDS, of her own battering at the hands of a lover and of her recent recovery from drug addiction at McLean hospital in Belmont, Mass. An overview by curator Elizabeth Sussman, who places Goldin in an artistic context ranging from Larry Clark to Lucien Freud, is accompanied by personal commentary from an impressive cast of Goldin's friends, including camp movie actress Cookie Mueller and artist David Wojnarowicz (both of whom died of AIDS). Two other friends, Luc Sante and Darryl Pinckney, reminisce in separate essays about the edgy, outrageous and ultimately doomed Manhattan milieu commemorated in her early work. Other works include an interview with film critic J. Hoberman and a poem by James Fenton. This is not a scholarly analysis of Goldin's work but rather an emotionally charged look at her life and times and an extraordinary catalogue of her photographs unburdened by academic analysis.
Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Library Journal
Goldin's work, often described as intimate and passionate but sometimes seen too reductively as snapshots of her milieu, has always suffered from its direct simplicity. Acknowledged as the most influential photographer of her generation, she has been so often imitated in both advertising and art photography that it is easy to miss her still powerful edge. Even more than the current show at the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York, which this catalog accompanies, this volume reestablishes Goldin as the master of the personal documentary. In addition to the more than 300 images, mostly presented as full-page or two-page bleeds, the book collects diverse writings, from curator Elisabeth Sussman's straightforward biographical essay to interviews with Goldin and her roommate/best friend/collaborator David Armstrong to writings by Goldin's late friends David Wojnarowicz and Cookie Mueller that reflect and complement her direct style without actually discussing her work. The body of work?which was selected and edited by Goldin?is the heart of the book, though, and thankfully it still exhibits the old intensity without apology. Highly recommended for all libraries collecting American art and artists.?Eric Bryant, "Lirbary Journal"
Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Most helpful customer reviews

22 of 24 people found the following review helpful.
Nan Goldin, a retrospective of brilliance
By A Customer
Goldin is the one of the most talented and prolific photographers of the 90's. Her work, which is based mainly on friends and lovers, is painful and delicate, striking a nerve in anyone who looks. It shows the beauty and horror of everyday life, sometimes bringing a tear to your eye. This book is worth every dollar.

11 of 14 people found the following review helpful.
art not of the void
By danielle
this is one of the most important books available in contemporary photography. i admire it for its bold reality, honesty and shockingly moving images. Anyone who takes documentary photo seriously should own this book. there is no pomp or frill here just the pain, disapointments and celebrations of life and death.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
An Artist at the Peak
By Amazon Customer
It's a fantastic photo book that captures the range of the artist's intense sensibility and talents with light and composition and compelling themes.
An artist of "decisive moments" at the peak.

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• Sales Rank: #244713 in eBooks
• Published on: 2015-04-29
• Released on: 2015-04-29
• Format: Kindle eBook

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Wealth That Only Comes from Knowledge and Wisdom
By John North
A lot of us are having so much difficulty finding their real purpose in life and this book is just the answer! It contains a lot of self-inspiring messages and principles that will guide you on how you should be living your life.

After reading this book, I learned so many things that has made a great impact on my life. I realized that success isn't defined on how big your material wealth is, but rather it is measured by how you treat others and what you do to make a huge difference in other people's lives.

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0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
VERY WELL PRESENTED
By Theodoro
Very good, the best strategys in a clear form. Each one os us need diferent ways to internalize modifications we pretend to make. Maybe we can have read some of those thecnics but Wouter write very clear and easy. It was for me atonish to read a writer from Sout Africa and enjoy so much. Diferent enviroments can create diferent visions and forms of expressions this one is grate for me. I am reading for the third time and will read many more, is on my preference reading books for my transformation.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Hiring a better editor would be money well spent
By Browne
Light regurgitation of others' ideas. The title has no value besides the bragging rights of the author driving a Porche. To me, both the book and the car scream "midlife crisis" - let me show you what an accomplished man I am - fancy car, wise man, and published author. Hiring a better editor would be money well spent.

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For courses in Human Geography

 

Eye-catching learning modules get students straight to the important concepts

Contemporary Human Geography is a beautifully crafted, modular springboard into essential human and cultural geography concepts, designed for the contemporary geography student. This brief, innovative text explores current human geography in the bold visual style that distinguishes Dorling Kindersley (DK) publications. Topics within each chapter are organized into modular, self-contained, two-page spreads. Together with the graphics, Rubenstein’s efficient writing presents information clearly without sacrificing the high-quality geography content essential to students and instructors. The Third Edition offers an updated cartography program, new pedagogical tools to help guide students, and the latest data and applications.

 

Also Available with MasteringGeography™
This title is also available with MasteringGeography -- an online homework, tutorial, and assessment program designed to work with Contemporary Human Geography to engage students and improve results. Interactive, self-paced coaching activities provide individualized coaching to keep students on track. With a wide range of visual and media-rich activities available, students can actively learn, understand, and retain even the most difficult concepts.

NOTE: You are purchasing a standalone product; MasteringGeography does not come packaged with this content. If you would
like to purchase both the physical text and MasteringGeography search for ISBN-10: 0321994302/ISBN-13: 9780321994301. That package includes ISBN-10: 0321999010/ISBN-13: 9780321999016 and ISBN-10: 0134007956/ISBN-13: 9780134007953.

MasteringGeography should only be purchased when required by an instructor.

• Sales Rank: #11020 in Books
• Published on: 2015-01-03
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 10.80" h x .70" w x 8.50" l, .0 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 408 pages

About the Author

James M. Rubenstein received his Ph.D. from Johns Hopkins University in 1975. He was Professor of Geography at Miami University, Oxford, Ohio, where he taught urban and human geography, and where he helped develop the new Sustainability co-major in the Institute for the Environment & Sustainability.

 

He is also the author of Pearson’s The Cultural Landscape and Introduction to Contemporary Geography. He is often invited to give talks and presentations at colleges, high schools, and professional meetings.

 

Rubenstein works as a regional consultant for the Chicago Federal Reserve Bank and he conducts research in the automotive industry. He is often interviewed by the media on automotive and economic issues, and has published three books on the subject: The Changing U.S. Auto Industry: A Geographical Analysis (Routledge); Making and Selling Cars: Innovation and Change in the U.S. Auto Industry (The Johns Hopkins University Press); and Who Really Made Your Car? Restructuring and Geographic Change in the Auto Industry (W.E. Upjohn Institute, with Thomas Klier).

 

He is a semi-amateur, semi-professional painter, and displays his work at galleries in Maryland and Ohio.

 

Most helpful customer reviews

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
I am glad that some professors allow students to choose whether or ...
By Shannyn
Required book for a college course that is now requiring a new book to be purchased with a one-time-use access code. It seems that publishers are finding new ways to avoid sustainability and circumvent the used book market by making colleges assign these new book bundles. I am glad that some professors allow students to choose whether or not they want to buy the bundle, which includes some extras including study guides, or opt out and buy/rent the used books and save money. At NVCC in Manassas, every class this semester "required" the access code bundles at $150-278 a book. Multiply that by 6 classes and you get a cost-prohibitive situation for most students. I was glad that find this book as an inexpensive rental, and I'll go the extra mile and scour the book for my answers and make my own study guide. If it costs me a half a grade or more, it may be worth it to be able to afford college.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
The 1st, 2nd, and the third chapter are ...
By Mohammad
The 1st , 2nd , and the third chapter are separate from the book itself . It is hard to study with a book whose pages will fall down any minute' besides, it is very imbarceing using this book in class . But Thankfully, we have page numbers :)

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
I have seen better textbooks, this one left much room for manipulation ...
By Deidre Murphy
I have seen better textbooks, this one left much room for manipulation opposed to cultivating critical thinking. Wasn't too happy our private Catholic HS was using this....

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NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

Nearly twenty years ago, Robin Hobb burst upon the fantasy scene with the first of her acclaimed Farseer novels, Assassin’s Apprentice, which introduced the characters of FitzChivalry Farseer and his uncanny friend the Fool. A watershed moment in modern fantasy, this novel—and those that followed—broke exciting new ground in a beloved genre. Together with George R. R. Martin, Robin Hobb helped pave the way for such talented new voices as Scott Lynch, Brandon Sanderson, and Naomi Novik.
 
Over the years, Hobb’s imagination has soared throughout the mythic lands of the Six Duchies in such bestselling series as the Liveship Traders Trilogy and the Rain Wilds Chronicles. But no matter how far she roamed, her heart always remained with Fitz. And now, at last, she has come home, with an astonishing new novel that opens a dark and gripping chapter in the Farseer saga.
 
FitzChivalry—royal bastard and former king’s assassin—has left his life of intrigue behind. As far as the rest of the world knows, FitzChivalry Farseer is dead and buried. Masquerading as Tom Badgerlock, Fitz is now married to his childhood sweetheart, Molly, and leading the quiet life of a country squire.
 
Though Fitz is haunted by the disappearance of the Fool, who did so much to shape Fitz into the man he has become, such private hurts are put aside in the business of daily life, at least until the appearance of menacing, pale-skinned strangers casts a sinister shadow over Fitz’s past . . . and his future.
 
Now, to protect his new life, the former assassin must once again take up his old one. . . .

Praise for Fool’s Assassin
 
“Hobb knows the complicated workings of the wayward human heart, and she takes time to depict them in her tale, to tell her story sweetly, insistently, compellingly. . . . A book meant to be inhabited rather than run through.”—The Seattle Times
 
“[FitzChivalry Farseer is] one of the best characters in fantasy literature.”—Fantasy Book Review
 
“[Hobb’s] prose sparkles, her characters leap off the page.”—Tor.com
 
“Modern fantasy at its irresistible best.”—The Guardian
 
“Fantastic . . . emotionally rich storytelling.”—Library Journal (starred review)

Praise for Robin Hobb
 
“Fantasy as it ought to be written . . . Robin Hobb’s books are diamonds in a sea of zircons.”—George R. R. Martin


From the Hardcover edition.

• Sales Rank: #35158 in Books
• Published on: 2015-07-28
• Released on: 2015-07-28
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.88" h x 1.15" w x 4.14" l, .72 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 704 pages

Review
Praise for Fool’s Assassin
 
“[Robin] Hobb knows the complicated workings of the wayward human heart, and she takes time to depict them in her tale, to tell her story sweetly, insistently, compellingly. . . . A book meant to be inhabited rather than run through.”—The Seattle Times
 
“[FitzChivalry Farseer is] one of the best characters in fantasy literature.”—Fantasy Book Review
 
“[Hobb’s] prose sparkles, her characters leap off the page.”—Tor.com
 
“Modern fantasy at its irresistible best.”—The Guardian
 
“Fantastic . . . emotionally rich storytelling.”—Library Journal (starred review)
 
Praise for Robin Hobb
 
“Fantasy as it ought to be written . . . Robin Hobb’s books are diamonds in a sea of zircons.”—George R. R. Martin


From the Hardcover edition.

About the Author
Robin Hobb is the author of the Farseer Trilogy, the Liveship Traders Trilogy, the Tawny Man Trilogy, the Soldier Son Trilogy, and the Rain Wilds Chronicles. She has also written as Megan Lindholm. She is a native of Washington State.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
9780553392425|excerpt

Liss / FOOL'S ASSASSIN

Chapter 1

Withywoods



Burrich, old friend,

Well, we are settled here, I suppose. It has not been a pleasant time for me, or for you if your somewhat terse message conceals as much as I suspect it does. The house is immense, far too large for the two of us. It is so like you to ask after our mounts before inquiring after my own health. I will answer that query first. I’m pleased to tell you that Silk has taken the change in stable quite calmly, as the well-­mannered palfrey she has always been. Tallfellow, in contrast, has made a new hobby out of bullying the resident stallion, but we have taken steps to be sure their stalls and paddocks are well separated now. I’ve reduced his grain and there is a young stableman here named, oddly enough, Tallman, who was absolutely ecstatic to receive my request that he take the horse out and run him hard at least once a day. With such a regimen, I am sure he will soon settle.

My lady wife. You did not ask after her, but I know you well, my friend. So I will tell you that Patience has been furious, wounded, melancholy, hysterical, and altogether of a hundred different minds about the situation. She berates me that I was unfaithful to her before we met, and in the next instant forgives me and blames herself that she has not furnished me an heir, given that “it is evident that the problem is entirely with me.” Somehow, we two will weather this.

I appreciate that you have taken command of my other responsibilities there. My brother has told me enough of your charge’s temperament that I send my sympathy to both of you and my deepest thanks. On whom else could I rely at a time such as this, for a favor so extreme?

I trust you to understand why I remain circumspect in this regard. Give Vixen a pat, a hug, and a large bone from me. I am confident that I owe as much to her vigilance as to yours. My wife is calling for me down the halls. I must end this and send it on its way. My brother may have words for you from me when next your paths cross.

Unsigned letter from Chivalry to Stablemaster Burrich

Fresh snowfall perched in white ramparts on the bare black birch limbs that lined the drive. White gleamed against black, like a fool’s winter motley. The snow came down in loose clumps of flakes, adding a fresh layer of glistening white to the banked snow in the courtyard. It was softening the hard ridges of fresh wheel tracks in the carriageway, erasing the boys’ footprints in the snow and smoothing the rutted pathways to mere suggestions of themselves. As I watched, another carriage arrived, drawn by a dapple-­gray team. The driver’s red-­cloaked shoulders were dusted with snow. A page in green and yellow darted from the steps of Withywoods to open the carriage door and gesture a welcome to our guests. From my vantage I could not tell who they were, save that their garb bespoke Withy merchants rather than gentry from one of the neighboring estates. As they passed out of my view and their driver moved the carriage off to our stables, I looked up at the afternoon sky. Definitely more to come. I suspected it would snow all night. Well, that was fitting. I let the curtain fall and turned as Molly entered our bedchamber.

“Fitz! You aren’t ready yet?”

I glanced down at myself. “I thought I was . . .”

My wife clicked her tongue at me. “Oh, Fitz. It’s Winterfest. The halls are festooned with greenery, Patience had Cook create a feast that will probably sustain the whole household for three days, all three sets of minstrels that she invited are tuning up, and half our guests have already arrived. You should be down there, greeting them as they enter. And you’re not even dressed yet.”

I thought of asking her what was wrong with what I was wearing, but she was already digging through my clothing chest, lifting garments, considering them, and discarding them. I waited. “This,” she said, pulling out a white linen shirt with ridges of lace down the sleeves. “And this jerkin over it. Everyone knows that wearing green at Winterfest is good luck. With your silver chain to match the buttons. These leggings. They’re old-­fashioned enough to make you look like an old man, but at least they’re not as saggy as those you have on. I know better than to ask you to wear your new trousers.”

“I am an old man. At forty-­seven, surely I’m allowed to dress as I please.”

She lowered her brows and gave me a mock glare. She set her hands to her hips. “Are you calling me an old woman, sirrah? For I seem to recall I have three years on you.”

“Of course not!” I hastily amended my words. But I could not resist grumbling, “But I have no idea why everyone wishes to dress as if they are Jamaillian nobility. The fabric on those trousers is so thin, the slightest bramble would tear them, and . . .”

She looked up at me with an exasperated sigh. “Yes. I’ve heard it from you a hundred times. Let’s ignore that there are few brambles inside Withywoods, shall we? So. Take these clean leggings. The ones you have on are a disgrace; didn’t you wear them yesterday when you were helping with that horse that had a cracked hoof? And put on your house shoes, not those worn boots. You’ll be expected to dance, you know.”

She straightened from her excavation of my clothing chest. Conceding to the inevitable, I’d already begun shedding garments. As I thrust my head out of the shirt, my gaze met hers. She was smiling in a familiar way, and as I considered her holly crown, the cascading lace on her blouse and gaily embroidered kirtle, I found a smile to answer hers. Her smile broadened even as she took a step back from me. “Now, Fitz. We’ve guests below, waiting for us.”

“They’ve waited this long, they can wait a bit longer. Our daughter can mind them.”

I advanced a step. She retreated to the door and set her hand to the knob, all the while shaking her head so that her black ringlets danced on her brow and shoulders. She lowered her head and looked up at me through her lashes, and suddenly she seemed just a girl to me again. A wild Buckkeep Town girl, to be pursued down a sandy beach. Did she remember? Perhaps, for she caught her lower lip between her teeth and I saw her resolve almost weaken. Then, “No. Our guests can’t wait, and while Nettle can welcome them, a greeting from the daughter of the house is not the same as an acknowledgment from you and me. Riddle may stand at her shoulder as our steward and help her, but until the king gives his permission for them to wed, we should not present them as a couple. So it is you and I who must wait. Because I’m not going to be content with ‘a bit’ of your time tonight. I expect better effort than that from you.”

“Really?” I challenged her. I took two swift steps toward her, but with a girlish shriek she was out the door. As she pulled it almost shut, she added through the crack, “Hurry up! You know how quickly Patience’s parties can get out of hand. I’ve left Nettle in charge of things, but you know, Riddle is very nearly as bad as Patience.” A pause. “And do not dare to be late and leave me with no dancing partner!”

She shut the door just as I reached it. I halted and then, with a small sigh, went back for my clean leggings and soft shoes. She would expect me to dance, and I would do my best. I did know that Riddle was apt to enjoy himself at any sort of festivity at Withywoods with an abandon that was very unlike the reserved fellow he showed himself at Buckkeep, and perhaps not precisely correct for a man who was ostensibly just our former household steward. I found myself smiling. Where he led, sometimes Nettle followed, showing a merry side of herself that she, too, seldom revealed at the king’s court. Hearth and Just, the two of Molly’s six grown sons who were still at home, would need very little encouragement to join in. As Patience had invited half of Withy and far more musicians than could perform in one evening, I fully expected that our Winterfest revelry would last at least three days.

With some reluctance, I removed my leggings and pulled on the trousers. They were a dark green that was nearly black, thin linen, and almost as voluminous as a skirt. They tied at my waist with ribbons. A broad silk sash completed the ridiculous garment. I told myself that my wearing them would please Molly. I suspected that Riddle would have been bothered into donning similar garb. I sighed again, wondering why we must all emulate Jamaillian fashions, and then resigned myself to it. I finished dressing, badgered my hair into a warrior’s tail, and left our bedchamber. I paused at the top of the grand oak staircase; the sounds of merriment drifted up to me. I took a breath as if I were about to dive into deep water. I had nothing to fear, no reason to hesitate, and yet the ingrained habits of my distant boyhood still clutched at me. I had every right to descend this stair, to walk among the glad company below as master of the house and husband to the lady who owned it. Now I was known as Holder Tom Badgerlock, common-­born perhaps but elevated alongside Lady Molly to gentry status. The bastard FitzChivalry Farseer—­grandson and nephew and cousin to kings—­had been laid to rest twoscore years ago. To the folk below, I was Holder Tom and the founder of the feast they would enjoy.

Even if I was wearing silly Jamaillian trousers.

I paused a moment longer, listening. I could hear two distinct groups of minstrels vying to tune their instruments. Riddle’s laugh rang suddenly clear and loud, making me smile. The hum of voices from the Great Hall lifted in volume and then fell again. One set of minstrels gained ascendancy, for a lively drumbeat suddenly broke through the voices to dominate all. The dancing would soon begin. Truly, I was late, and had best descend. Yet there was sweetness to standing here, above it all, imagining Nettle’s flashing feet and sparkling eyes as Riddle led her through the dance steps. Oh, and Molly! She would be waiting for me! I had become a passable dancer over the years, for her sake, as she loved it so. She would not easily forgive me if I left her standing.

I hurried down the polished oak steps two at a time, reached the hall foyer, and was there suddenly ambushed by Revel. Our new young steward was looking very fine indeed in a white shirt, black jacket, and black trousers in the Jamaillian fashion. His green house shoes were startling, as was the yellow scarf at his throat. Green and yellow were the Withywoods colors, and I suspected these accoutrements were Patience’s idea. I did not let the smile curve my mouth but I think he read it in my eyes. He stood even taller and looked down at me as he soberly informed me, “Sir, there are minstrels at the door.”

I gave him a puzzled glance. “Well, let them in, man. It’s Winterfest.”

He stood still, his lips folded in disapproval. “Sir, I do not think they were invited.”

“It’s Winterfest,” I repeated, beginning to be annoyed. Molly would not be pleased at being kept waiting. “Patience invites every minstrel, puppeteer, tumbler, tinker, or blacksmith she meets to come and sojourn with us for a time. She probably invited them months ago and forgot all about it.”

I did not think his back could get stiffer, but it did. “Sir, they were outside the stable, trying to peer in through a crack in the planking. Tallman heard the dogs barking and went to see what it was about and found them. That is when they said they were minstrels, invited for Winterfest.”

“And?”

He took a short breath. “Sir, I do not think they are minstrels. They have no instruments. And while one said they were minstrels, another said, no, they were tumblers. But when Tallman said he would walk them up to the front door, they said that he needn’t, they only wished to beg shelter for the night, and the stable would be fine.” He shook his head. “Tallman spoke to me privately when he brought them up. He thinks they’re none of what they claim to be. And so do I.”

I gave him a look. Revel folded his arms. He did not meet my glance, but his mouth was stubborn. I found a bit of patience for him. He was young and fairly new to the household. Cravit Softhands, our ancient steward, had died last year. Riddle had stepped up to shoulder many of the old man’s duties, but insisted that Withywoods needed a new steward trained. I’d casually replied that I did not have time to find one, and within three days Riddle had brought Revel to us. After two months, Revel was still learning his place, I told myself, and considered that perhaps Riddle had infused him with a bit too much caution. Riddle was, after all, Chade’s man, insinuated into our household to watch my back and probably spy on me. Despite his current merriness and devotion to my daughter, he was a man steeped in carefulness. Given his way, we’d have had a guard contingent at Withywoods to rival the Queen’s Own. I reined my mind back to the question at hand.

“Revel, I appreciate your care. But it’s Winterfest. And be they minstrels or wandering beggars, no man should be turned from our door on such a holiday, or on such a snowy evening. While there’s room in the house, they need not sleep in the stable. Bring them in. I’m sure all will be well.”

“Sir.” He was not agreeing, but he was obeying. I suppressed a sigh. That would do for now. I turned to join the throng in the Great Hall.

“Sir?”

I turned back to him. My voice was stern as I asked him, “Is there something else, Revel? Something pressing?” I could hear the tentative notes of musicians bringing their instruments into harmony, and then the music suddenly opened into blossom. I’d missed the start of the first dance. I gritted my teeth as I thought of Molly standing alone, watching the dancers whirl.

I saw his teeth catch for an instant on his lower lip. He decided to press on. “Sir, the messenger still waits for you in your study.”

“Messenger?”

Revel gave a martyred sigh. “Hours ago, I sent one of our temporary pages looking for you with a message. He said he shouted it at you through the door of the steams. I have to inform you, sir, this is what comes of us using untrained boys and girls as pages. We should have a few here permanently, if only to train them for future need.”

At my wearied look, Revel cleared his throat and changed tactics. “My apologies, sir. I should have sent him back to confirm you’d heard him.”

“I didn’t. Revel, would you mind dealing with it for me?” I took a hesitant step toward the hall. The music was rising.

Revel gave a minute shake of his head. “I am very sorry, sir. But the messenger says the message is specifically for you. I have asked twice if I could be of any help, and offered to write the message for you.” He shook his head. “The messenger insists that only you can receive the words.”

I guessed the message, then. Holder Barit had been trying to wrangle me into agreeing that he could pasture some of his flock with our sheep. Our shepherd had adamantly insisted that this would be too many beasts for our winter pasturage. I intended to listen to Shepherd Lin, even if Barit was now willing to offer a decent amount of money. Winterfest eve was no time to be doing business. It would keep. “It’s fine, Revel. And don’t be too stern with our pages. You are right. We should have one or two on staff. But most of them will grow up to work in the orchards or follow their mothers’ trades. It’s rare that we need them here at Withy.” I didn’t want to be thinking about this right now. Molly was waiting! I took a breath and made my decision. “Thoughtless as it is for me to have left a messenger waiting so long, it would be ruder by far if I leave my lady unpartnered for the second dance as well as the first. Please extend my apology to the messenger for my unfortunate delay and see that he is made comfortable with food and drink. Tell him that I’ll come to the study directly after the second dance.” I had no wish to do so. The festivities beckoned tonight. A better idea came to me. “No! Invite him to join the festivities. Tell him to enjoy himself, and that we will sit down together before noon tomorrow.” I could think of nothing in my life that could possibly be so pressing as to demand my attention tonight.

“Her, sir.”

“Revel?”

“Her. The messenger is a girl, sir. Scarcely a woman, by the look of her. Of course, I have already offered her food and drink. I would not so neglect anyone who came to your door. Let alone one who seems to have come a long and weary way.”

Music was playing and Molly was waiting. Better the messenger wait than Molly. “Then offer her a room, and ask if she would like a hot bath drawn or a quiet meal alone before we meet tomorrow. Do your best to see she is comfortable, Revel, and I will give her as much of my time as she wishes tomorrow.”

“I shall, sir.”

He turned to go back to the entrance hall, and I hastened to the Great Hall of Withywoods. The two tall doors stood open, the golden oak planks gleaming in firelight and candlelight. Music and the tap and slap of dancing feet spilled into the paneled corridor, but just as I drew near the musicians played the last refrain and with a shout the first dance was over. I rolled my eyes at my ill luck.

But as I stepped into the hall, breasting the wave of applause for the minstrels, I saw that Molly’s dance partner was bowing gravely to her. My stepson had rescued his mother and taken her to the floor. Young Hearth had been growing like a weed for the past year. He was as darkly handsome as his father, Burrich, had been, but his brow and smiling mouth were Molly’s. At seventeen he could look down at the top of his mother’s head. His cheeks were flushed with the lively dance, and Molly did not appear to have missed me even a tiny bit. As she looked up and her eyes met mine across the hall, she smiled. I blessed Hearth and resolved that I would find a substantial way to convey my thanks to him. Across the room, his older brother, Just, lounged against the hearth. Nettle and Riddle stood nearby; Nettle’s cheeks were pink and I knew Just was teasing his older sister, and Riddle was in on it.

I made my way across the room to Molly, pausing often to bow and return greetings to our many guests who hailed me. Every rank and walk of life was reflected there. The gentry and minor nobility of our area were there, finely dressed in lace and linen trousers; Tinker John and the village seamstress and a local cheesemaker were there as well. Their festive garments might be a bit more dated, and some were well worn, but they had been freshly brushed for the occasion and the shining holly crowns and sprigs that many wore were newly harvested. Molly had put out her best scented candles, so the fragrances of lavender and honeysuckle filled the air even as the dancing flames painted the walls with gold and honey. Grand fires blazed in all three hearths, with spitted meats tended by red-­faced village lads employed for the occasion. Several maids were busy at the ale keg in the corner, topping mugs on the trays they would offer to the breathless dancers when the music paused.

At one end of the room, tables were laden with breads, apples, dishes of raisins and nuts, pastries and creams, platters of smoked meats and fish, and many another dish I didn’t recognize. Dripping slices of fresh-­cut meat from the roasts on the spits supplied all that any man could ask for, and added their rich fragrance to the festive air. Benches were filled with guests already enjoying food and drink, for there was also beer and wine in plenty.

At the other end of the room the first minstrels were yielding the stage to the second group. The floor had been strewn with sand for the dancers. Undoubtedly it had been swept into elegant patterns when the guests first arrived, but it now showed the busy tread of the merrymakers. I reached Molly’s side just as the musicians swept into their opening notes. This tune was as pensive as the first had been jolly, so as Molly seized my hand and led me to the dance floor, I was able to keep possession of both her hands and hear her voice through the melody. “You look very fine tonight, Holder Badgerlock.” She drew me into line with the other men.

I bowed gravely over our joined hands. “If you are pleased, then I am content,” I replied. I ignored the flapping of fabric against my calves as we turned, parted briefly, and then clasped hands again. I caught a glimpse of Riddle and Nettle. Yes, Riddle wore the same sort of flapping trousers, in blue, and he held my daughter not by her fingertips but by her hands. Nettle was smiling. When I glanced back at Molly, she was smiling, too. She had noted the direction of my glance.

“Were we ever that young?” she asked me.

I shook my head. “I think not,” I said. “Life was harsher for us when we were that age.”

I saw her cast her thoughts back through the years. “When I was Nettle’s age, I was already the mother of three children and carrying a fourth. And you were . . .” She let the thought trail away, and I did not speak. I had been living in a little cabin near Forge with my wolf. Was that the year I had taken in Hap? The orphan had been glad of a home, and Nighteyes had been glad of livelier company. I had thought myself resigned, then, to losing her to Burrich. Nineteen long years ago. I pushed the long shadow of those days aside. I stepped closer, put my hands to her waist, and lifted her as we turned. She set her hands to my shoulders, her mouth opening in surprise and delight. Around us, the other dancers gawked briefly. As I put her back on her feet, I observed, “And that is why we should be young now.”

“You, perhaps.” Her cheeks were pink and she seemed a bit breathless as we made another promenade and turned, parted then rejoined. Or almost rejoined. No, I should have turned again and then . . . I’d hopelessly muddled it, just as I’d been taking great pride that I recalled every step from the last time we had danced this. The other dancers avoided me, parting to flow past me as if I were a stubborn rock in a creek. I spun in a circle, looking for Molly, and found her standing behind me, her hands lifted in a useless attempt to contain her laughter. I reached for her, intending to insert us back into the dance, but she seized both my hands and pulled me from the floor, laughing breathlessly. I rolled my eyes and tried to apologize but, “It’s all right, dear. A bit of rest and something to drink would be welcome. Hearth wore me out earlier with his prancing. I need to sit down.” She caught her breath suddenly and swayed against me. Her brow glistened with perspiration. She set her hand to the back of her neck and rubbed it as if to relieve a cramp.

“And I the same,” I lied to her. Her face flushed, she smiled faintly at me as she pressed her hand to her breast as if to calm her fluttering heart. I smiled back at her and took her to her chair by the hearth. I had scarcely seated her before a page was at my elbow, offering to bring her wine. She nodded and sent him scampering.

“What was that, stitched all round his cap?” I asked distractedly.

“Feathers. And locks of hair from horse tails.” She was still breathless.

I looked askance at her.

“It was Patience’s fancy this year. All the boys she hired from Withy to act as pages for the holiday are dressed so. Feathers to bid all our troubles take flight, and horse tail hairs, which is what we will show to our problems as we flee them.”

“I . . . see.” My second lie of the evening.

“Well, it’s good that you do, as I certainly don’t. But every Winterfest, it’s something, isn’t it? Do you remember the year that Patience handed out greenwood staffs to every unmarried man who came to the festival? With the length based on her assessment of his masculinity?”

I bit down on the laugh that threatened to escape. “I do. Apparently she thought the young ladies needed a clear indication of which men would make the best mates.”

Molly lifted her brows. “Perhaps they did. There were six weddings at Springfest that year.”

My wife looked across the room. Patience, my stepmother, was dressed in a grand old gown of pale-­blue velvet trimmed with black lace at the cuffs and throat. Her long gray hair had been braided and pinned to her head in a coronet. She had a single sprig of holly in it, and several dozen bright-­blue feathers stuck in at all angles. A fan dangled from a bracelet at her wrist; it was blue to match her gown and feathers, and also edged with stiffened black lace. She looked both lovely and eccentric to me, as she always had. She was wagging a finger at Molly’s youngest, warning him about something. Hearth stood straight, looking solemnly down at her, but his clasped fingers fidgeted behind his back. His brother Just stood at a distance, concealing his grin and waiting for him to be released. I took pity on them both. Patience seemed to think they were still ten and twelve, despite how they towered over her. Just was barely short of his twentieth birthday, and Hearth was Molly’s youngest at seventeen. Yet he stood like a scolded boy and tolerantly accepted Patience’s rebuke.

“I want to let Lady Patience know that more of her minstrels have arrived. I hope this is the last batch of them. Any more and I suspect they’ll be coming to blows over who gets to perform and for how long.” Any minstrels invited to perform at Withywoods were assured of meals and a warm place to sleep, and a small purse for their efforts. The rest of their rewards were won from the guests, and often the musicians who performed the most reaped the greatest gain. Three sets of musicians were more than ample for a Winterfest at our holding. Four would be a challenge.

Molly nodded. She lifted her hands to her rosy cheeks. “I think I’ll just sit here a bit longer. Oh, here’s the lad with my wine!”


From the Hardcover edition.

Most helpful customer reviews

144 of 157 people found the following review helpful.
What all of us Fools have been waiting years to read!
By C. Klaassen
This work certainly justifies Ms. Hobbs return to the world of the Six Duchies.* This novel is a delight from opening page to concluding chapter. Ms. Hobb very cleverly fills in the back story of the years the characters have spent without us while still moving the story gently forward. The first half of the book is quietly character driven and the last half picks up speed to leave the reader breathless in anticipation for the next novel. Very, very clever pacing. Fitz returns to us fully fleshed and is the primary POV character for the first half of the book, then, amazingly enough, we are introduced to a second POV character who carries about half of the rest of the book. And, they carry it onward quite well indeed. Bits of this novel will simply break your heart, about half way in I sat down and just sobbed and I am not a crier. This story is so touching on so many levels but also manages to be thoroughly enjoyable. I am not going to give any hints about the story within, just assure any fan of Ms. Hobbs work that this book stands up to the best of her previous efforts. I highly recommend reading her prior novels based in this sector of the world** before taking on this book, they add so much to the experience.

Bravo Ms. Hobb, it is so nice to see you back in such fine form!

Highly Recommended.

*For the record I was not a fan of her resuming the story of Fitz and the Fool. I wanted our beloved Fitz to be safe and sound and live the remainder of his life with Molly, Nettle and Burrich's boys. I was clearly wrong.

**Assassin's Apprentice begins the work and Fool's Fate ends it for all reasonable purposes - the Mad Ship series fits in the middle but is not required reading - and the Rains Wild Chronicles fit between this book and Fools Fate but are not up to the level of the prior works IMHO.

52 of 55 people found the following review helpful.
I can't remember the last time I felt so torn about a book, and so conflicted about a review.
By Bob Milne
I can't remember the last time I felt so torn about a book, and so conflicted about a review. This was one of my most anticipated reads of the year, and I really wanted to enjoy it. In fact, compared to my usual reading pace, I spent a great deal of time in the world that Robin Hobb created - and while I did enjoy aspects of it, I have to be honest in that most of my time was spent waiting for aspects to enjoy. It's a testament to Hobb's writing (and to Fitz's legacy) that I was able to exhibit such patience. Looking back, the closest analogy I can think of is watching a chess game between tournament masters - fascinating, challenging, and admirable, but hardly riveting.

Fool's Assassin may be labeled book one of the Fitz and the Fool Trilogy, but it's really an extended prologue of over 500 pages, followed by an opening chapter of about 80. That is to say there's a lot of talking, a lot of speculating, a lot of worrying, but not a lot of action. In fact, there are only a handful of scenes where anything of consequence takes place, and most of them are rushed together in those final 80 pages. It's hard to talk about them without getting into spoiler territory, but I will say the resolution of Molly's pregnancy is genuinely surprising, and those of you anxious for a reunion between the characters of the title will be waiting a very long time.

Hobb's writing is gorgeous, as always, and it's easy to fall into the cadence and rhythms of her story. Initially, it felt like no time at all had passed since the last trilogy, allowing me to become lost in the world of Fitz all over again. It was truly marvelous. However, around the halfway mark I really began to feel the lagging pace, with the story slow going, but somehow still compelling. I genuinely doubt it would have worked if I weren't already so familiar with Fitz, and invested in seeing where his second life might take him. The problem is, Fitz wasn't Fitz. Yes, his personality was there, and I know Hobb was trying to show us how far he had distanced himself from his past, but I have a hard time believing he could become so lazy, so gullible, so careless, and so insecure.

As for the other characters, that's a sore spot for me. Characters that we know and love, like Chade and Kettricken, are but pale imitations of their former selves. New characters, like FitzVigilant and Shun, are as shallow as they are annoying, while the most significant new addition (whose identity I refuse to spoil) is far too cold and awkward to ever embrace as a character, much less a narrator. Molly started out with some real potential, but soon became an extended plot device, and as fascinating as his (small) piece of the story is, we hardly get a chance to know the Fool.

The opening scenes were fantastic, and I really expected the story to take off from there, but we're subjected to endless chapters of dancing, talking, dressing, shopping, dreaming, complaining, and musing. It took forever to come back to that potential and, when we finally did, it was a race to the finish with a cliffhanger that reeks of desperation. I will absolutely give the next book a read, but Fitz had damned well better return to his old self, and there had better be a significant payoff for all the time we've invested in tolerating that character/narrator I have been so careful not to spoil.

Fool's Assassin is for hardcore fans only, and even then I suspect it will be something of a polarizing tale. Then again, maybe it's just me. The book does have a plethora of 5-star reads, so I'll be curious to see how the readers and reviewers I respect most react to the read.

60 of 64 people found the following review helpful.
The series we've been waiting for!
By Nicole Hewitt
I cannot even begin to tell you how excited I was to see that Hobb was writing a new book about Fitz! As much as I have loved all of her books, the Farseer Trilogy and the Tawny Man Trilogy have always held a special place in my heart. I couldn't wait to see what Hobb had in store for Fitz (and the Fool!) next!

Let me start by saying that you really need to read both the Farseer Trilogy and the Tawny Man Trilogy before you tackle this book. Even though it's technically the start to a new series, it's definitely a continuation of those other two. In fact, I needed to go back and found recaps of the first six books to refresh my memory because it's been so many years since I read them. I actually think that I should go back and re-read both series, but I obviously haven't done it yet.

Fool's Assassin starts up about 10 years after Fitz and the Fool parted ways. Fitz is now living a peaceful life with Molly, having escaped all of the danger of his old existence as an assassin. The one thing missing from his life is the Fool - he hasn't heard from him at all since the Fool left him. Most of the book actually takes place in during this peaceful period in Fitz's life (part of what is described in the synopsis happens right away, but it really isn't picked up again till toward the end of the book). Still, fans of Hobb's previous series will love this new chapter in Fitz and the Fool's story!!

What I LOVED:

Fitz!
Fitz has always been one of my favorite characters ever. Even though he is often infuriatingly imperfect, there will always be a spot in my heart for this character. In the first six books, I ached with him over his loss of Molly, so I loved seeing him with her at last. But I also loved that his "perfect" life is still bittersweet because of the loss of the Fool - he has in no way forgotten him, and we see that his love for the Fool truly runs as deep as his love for Molly. Fitz's relationship with a new character (see my next point!) only makes my love for him stronger!

A new POV.
A new character is introduced in this book, and we get to see Hobb's world through her eyes. I don't even want to say who the new character is because I feel like it would be spoiling things, but she is a pivotal character with ties to both Fitz and the Fool. The Fool himself doesn't make an appearance until late in this book, but I felt like this new character bridged that gap in a lot of ways (even if Fitz didn't seem to acknowledge that for some reason!). Again, I want to say more, but I feel like it would be spoiling things - so I'll just say that I was incredibly emotionally invested in this new character and where her story was headed.

The ending.
The last ten or fifteen percent of this book really picked up (see my one negative below) and I couldn't believe some of the things that were happening!! I was riveted and in tears, wondering if at least one of my beloved characters wasn't going to make it through alive. Plus, I still can't stop thinking about the very ending and what it all means. I have so many questions spinning through my head and I NEED to know what will happen next!

The negatives:

Not a lot of action.
This book felt very much like a bridge book between the old trilogies and this new series. A good portion of the book dwells on Fitz' feelings about the Fool, Molly, Chade and a new character that I don't want to spoil. It explores his new settled life now that he's no longer FitzChivalry the assassin. Despite what the synopsis says, not much actually happens until the end of the book. Because I was already so invested in these characters, I didn't get bored at all (but some people might) - it was actually perfect for me because I needed the reminders about what had happened in those first six books and I was happy to settle in with Fitz (who I've always loved) and the new character (who I loved based on her associations with Fitz and the Fool). But don't expect this book to be as action-packed as some of Hobbs' other books.

Fool's Assassin is a character-driven fantasy that will transport you back into the lives of beloved characters. If you're a fan of Hobb, you won't be disappointed! I give it 4/5 stars.

***Disclosure: This book was provided to me by NetGalley and the publisher in exchange for an honest review. No other compensation was given. All opinions are my own***

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