Résultats lu par "Richard Mitchley" dans Toutes les catégories

London’s East End has over the centuries been a magnet for immigration, innovation, culture, crime and a vast spectrum of other things. It is often seen as both part of and yet very distinct from the vast metropolis of London. Today it has been transformed from the often grimy, derelict and overcrowded area, that many of these stories describe, into a landscape of gentrification, sleek and shiny buildings and a booming economy. But here such noted talents as Arthur Morrison, Henry W. Nevinson, William Pett Ridge and Thomas Burke show the East End as it really was.

The problem with the dark is you don’t really know what’s lurking in there. Something hiding? Something menacing? Or just an inky dome for the stars to twinkle on? Writers rarely let us dwell on the latter. No, they would much rather they put our nerves on edge, that our skin would begin to crawl and that the cold sweat of fear propels our pulse and heartbeat to nightmare-inducing trauma. I think they’re ready.

William Shakespeare was born in Stratford upon Avon in late April 1565. He was one of eight children. Little is known about his life, but what is evident is the enormous contribution he has made to world literature. His writing was progressive, magnificent in scope and breathtaking in execution. His plays and sonnets helped enable the English language to speak with a voice unmatched by any other. William Shakespeare died on 23 April 1616, survived by his wife and two daughters. He was buried two days after his death in the chancel of the Holy Trinity church.

Kabir, meaning "Great" and one of the 99 names of God in Arabic, was a mystic and poet, born around 1440 in Varanasi to poor Muslim parents. Another account claims he was the child of a Brahmin widow. He himself said he was "at once the child of Allah and Ram". Kabir grew up learning his father’s craft of weaving and overcame many obstacles to become a disciple of Saint, or Swami, Ramananda, the leading pioneer of the Bhakti movement, which promoted salvation for all.

Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant was born on August 5th, 1850 near Dieppe in France. Maupassant’s early life was badly torn when at age 11 (his younger brother Hervé was then five) his mother, Laure, a headstrong and independent-minded woman, risked social disgrace in order to obtain a legal separation from her husband. After the separation, Laure kept custody of her two boys. With the father now forcibly absent, Laure became the most influential and important figure in the young boy's life.

Anne Bradstreet was born in 1612 in Northampton, England. Her parents' position allowed them to educate Anne across many subjects, which was unusual for its day. She married and had eight children. She and her family emigrated to America, where they moved often from place to place. She wrote some beautiful poetry in 1650; the publication of her collection of verse The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America made her the first female poet ever published in England and the New World.

English law is a pinnacle of human society. The phrase 'Be you ever so high the law is above you' inspires us all to believe that before it all are treated equally. But in the imposing wood-panelled courts, in front of the beady eyes of wig-decked judge, delivering justice tempered with mercy, our vision twists and falls prey to the mind.

John Galsworthy was born in Kingston Upon Thames in Surrey, on August 14th 1867. The family was wealthy and well established. John was schooled at Harrow and New College, Oxford, before training as a barrister. But law was not for him. Galsworthy first published in 1897 with a collection of short stories entitled The Four Winds. Initially he published as John Sinjohn, but after the death of his father in 1904 he published as John Galsworthy. Much of his early work was as plays for which he dealt with social issues and the class system.

Rhys Gravenor, Great War veteran and Welsh sheep farmer, arrives in Paris in the midst of the city's liberation with a worn letter in his pocket that may have arrived years too late. As he follows the footsteps of his missing son across an unfamiliar, war-torn country, he struggles to come to terms with the incident that drove a wedge between the two of them.

London. A candidate for global capital. Centre of an empire. The swift-beating heart of culture. A sprawling metropolis of life’s rich tapestry. And a bewildering Escher cityscape of overlapping and colliding forces. People, streets, buildings interweaving and interchanging. And our eminent writers have the talent and focus to reveal the story that lies beneath the words.

Andrew Marvell was born in Winestead-in-Holderness, in the East Riding of Yorkshire on March 31st, 1621. He was educated at Hull Grammar School, and at the age of 13 he attended Trinity College, Cambridge, and eventually received his BA degree. It is thought that in 1642 Marvell travelled in Europe and, while England was embroiled in its civil war, remained there until 1647, mastering several languages including French, Italian and Spanish.

In the war a great volume of poetry was written, produced and published in books, periodicals, newspapers or letters back to home. We often think of war as a necessity. We fight for a more just and better world. We often fail. But in our poets we gain a truth and a morality that shocks us, consoles us and holds our values to the light. In this volume we hear poems from the front, from home, from soldiers, from auxiliaries, from friend and from foe.

Robert Laurence Binyon, CH, was born on 10th August 1869 in Lancaster in Lancashire, England, to Quaker parents, Frederick Binyon and Mary Dockray. He studied at St Paul's School, London, before enrolling at Trinity College, Oxford, to read classics. Binyon’s first published work was Persephone in 1890. As a poet, his output was not prodigious, and, in the main, the volumes he did publish were slim, but his reputation was of the highest order. When the Poet Laureate, Alfred Austin, died in 1913, Binyon was considered alongside Thomas Hardy and Rudyard Kipling....

Strictly speaking The Lake Poets were not a movement or school of poetry. They were only so named as such by The Edinburgh Review so that they could be disparaged. It was a spectacular backfire! The three main figures would be rightly seen as among the most monumental figures in English poetry - William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge and the underrated but immense Robert Southey, himself a 30-year poet laureate.

For the female poet there was always the confining hand of men to instruct that their time was perhaps spent more productively elsewhere. These lines, these gilded verses often protest otherwise. The contribution of women in these earlier centuries is immense, and in this series we bring together poets who have created some of the most beautiful and expressive verses ever written. And remember these words, these telling lines, have been written against the grain of society's male bias. With their remembered words these female poets have given us a history that we can all now share.

The human race prides itself on being the most organised of animals. We manage the fate of all other species. All other animals bow to our control or suffer. In diminishing numbers we allow some to live in the wild, but in increasing numbers we domesticate them, and whether they become part of the family, a best friend or a wonderfully decorative accessory, we take their compliance for granted.

The human race prides itself on being the most organised of animals. We manage the fate of all other species. All other animals bow to our control or suffer. In diminishing numbers we allow some to live in the wild, but in increasing numbers we domesticate them, and whether they become part of the family, a best friend or wonderfully decorative accessory, we take their compliance for granted.

We are captivated by colour. It seeps into our emotions, our vistas. It’s part of everyday life. Sometimes its part of something much darker. Our eminent authors in this volume bring you colours of every shade. From the terror of HP Lovecraft and the shadowed world of Edith Nesbit to the wordplay of Virginia Woolf - as well as many others. Color in all its light and shades, hues and tints is brought to the fore by these exceptional writers.

At some point in our lives we believe that creak, that low moan, that whisper is something unnatural, beyond our comprehension. And in these stories our instincts are right. We are afraid. And we should be. Perhaps even terrified. In this volume our classic authors take different approaches, but the result is inevitably the same. We are hooked by these unknowable forces, our emotions heightened and rattled by the expectation - or shock - of the next few words.

We sit. We lie. We wait. We are examined. We are left alone. Emotions fritter. The door reopens. The face. Is it tinged with sadness or reassuring and open? The words. Are they easy to comprehend? Is it good news or bad? We can answer that. It’s bad. Undeniably bad. None of our authors have good news for you. The diagnosis? You already know that. Death.