From The Travels of Sir John Mandeville
|OK, it was scary at the time|
|In this series, every life has a second act|
A rival of mine once complained that my stories begin awkwardly and end untidily. I am willing to admit to many faults, but I will not burden my conscious with that one. All my tales are true, drawn from life, and a life story is not a tidy thing. It is a half-tamed horse that you seize on the run and ride with knees and teeth clenched, and then you regretfully slip off as gently and safely as you can, always wondering if you could have gone a few metres more.
Thus I seize this tale, starting with a hot afternoon in the town or Erria...
"I am a storyteller. I travel to collect stories, and I return to tell the stories of one place to the people of another. That is the important part of the trade. You must never tell people their own stories. They have no interest in them, or they think they can tell them better themselves. Give them a stranger's life, and they are content."
|Le Guin, possibly from around 1970|
|Cool Flying Cat|
|Possibly of historical interest only|
|Phyllis as a young woman practicing her trademark shit-eating grin|
|Gee, he doesn't look dangerous.|