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"First published in Great Britain in 2011 by Profile Books"--T.p. verso.
Every chess player needs to know how to handle his pawns. Pawns form the 'playing fields' of chess games, a semi-permanent 'structure' that can determine whether a player wins or loses. This comprehensive guide to pawn structure teaches the reader where pieces are best placed, which pawns should be advanced further or exchanged, and why certain structures are good and others disastrous. This invaluable book is a major update of this chess-world classic, first published in 1975 and unavailable for several years.
Mrs Dalloway, Virginia Woolf's fourth novel, offers the reader an impression of a single June day in London in 1923. Clarissa Dalloway, the wife of a Conservative member of parliament, is preparing to give an evening party, while the shell-shocked Septimus Warren Smith hears the birds in Regent's Park chattering in Greek. There seems to be nothing, except perhaps London, to link Clarissa and Septimus. She is middle-aged and prosperous, with a sheltered happy life behind her; Smith is young, poor, and driven to hatred of himself and the whole human race. Yet both share a terror of existence, and sense the pull of death. The world of Mrs Dalloway is evoked in Woolf's famous stream of consciousness style, in a lyrical and haunting language which has made this, from its publication in 1925, one of her most popular novels.
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Erin Elizabeth Smith's Down is immediately a delight. Refreshing in its take on Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, the reader discovers here the odd world and new experience that Smith draws them "down" into. The fall that seems endless takes us into Tennessee, where "petals doodle lawns / like the drawings of girls" or where "grey squirrels / chase themselves into their trees." This isn't exactly Lewis Carroll surrealism, but the narrator of these poems takes us into her incantations and dreamscapes, where suddenly she looks at her spouse lying on the sofa and sees "a foreign // thing, a stammering king / made kitten in the shaking." Waking does not necessarily relieve the narrator, nor us. Rather, she writes, "I am still falling / through the slippery leaves / every bit of anorexic ice, / still waking like a child roused / in the backseat, unsure where I am / in the fragile, new dark." And, like Alice, curiouser and curiouser, the trip down means we may rise up, that "it can heal us again."
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