By Ellen Datlow, Terri Windling
A stellar assymbly of lots of today's such a lot artistic and entire storytellers has collected round the tribal fireplace to embroider well-worn yarns with new golden thread. Black Swan, White Raven revisits the stories that charmed, enthralled, and terrified us in our early adolescence - sporting us aloft into the fit, beating center of loved fable to inform once more the tales of Rumpelstiltskins and drowsing beauties, merely this time from an edgy, provocative and especially grownup standpoint. the topics and archetypes of our loved youth fiction are reexamined in a darker gentle through 21 fantastic teller of stories who deftly discover the ironic, the outrageous, the enigmatic and the erotic on the center of the world's best-known fables, whereas revealing the sobering truths and lies at the back of "happily ever after."
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Extra info for Black Swan, White Raven: A Modern Collection of Fairy Tales
And I felt that this was precisely how a young girl ought to behave . . At the beginning of February and before, I am sure, she was even aware of a rival, Flora travelled up to Tallinn. She had to stay there for a few days. She stayed a week, two, three. So I discovered to my surprise and joy, as well as with slight pangs of guilt, that her absence, which three weeks previously would have had me at least worried or morose - suddenly suited me admirably . . A week later, someone told me (and this is the blessing and the bane of such a tiny country and pocket-sized community such as ours): Flora had been seen in some restaurant or theatre, or both, with her mother and a certain M r Kimmel, a successful divorced wine-merchant in his forties and the Consul for Luxem bourg ..
Crumpling up inside me like a sheet of newspaper - in which is wrapped the millstone which was my responsibility for what had happened to Flora . . Karl had not yet returned. Flora was lying on that selfsame sofa in the living room of the empty apartment. She had a raging fever. Bella had borrowed a thermometer from the neighbours. 70 Celsius. I took Bella into the hall and asked her to describe Flora’s convulsions. “ Horrible . . Twice . ” We phoned Dr Kukk. The maid answered. The doctor and his wife had gone to have their crates of furniture put on board ship.
Well - we thought - you could come round to our place. The house is all topsy-turvy, our things are all packed and threequarters of them are already gone. So it’s no longer much of a home. But we could go, the four of us, to a restaurant and eat a farewell dinner there. Who can tell when, how, even whether we The Wound l9 shall ever meet again. There’s war in the West. And God only knows what’s going to happen here . . Flora thought you could come by around e ig h t-” “ How could she think that - when only yesterday I .