Exciting fans of such writers as Kelly Link, Karen Russell, and Carmen Maria Machado with prose that shimmers and stings, Amber Sparks holds a singular role in the canon of the weird. Now, she reaches new, uncanny heights with And I Do Not Forgive You. In “Mildly Happy, With Moments of Joy,” a friend is ghosted by a simple text message; in “Everyone’s a Winner at Meadow Park,” a teen precariously coming of age in a trailer park befriends an actual ghost. At once humorous and unapologetically fierce, these stories shine an interrogating light on the adage that “history likes to lie about women”— as the subjects of “A Short and Speculative History of Lavoisier’s Wife” and “You Won’t Believe What Really Happened to the Sabine Women” (it’s true, you won’t) will attest. Blending fairy tales and myths with apocalyptic technologies, all tethered intricately by shades of rage, And I Do Not Forgive You offers a mosaic of an all-too-real world that fails to listen to its silenced goddesses. Mildly unhappy, with moments of joy -- You won't believe what really happened to the Sabine women -- A place for hiding precious things -- Everyone's a winner in Meadow Park -- A short and slightly speculative history of Lavoisier's wife -- We destroy the Moon -- In which Athena designs a video game with the express purpose of trolling her father -- Is the future a nice place for girls -- Our mutual (theater) friend -- The dry cleaner from Des Moines -- The eyes of Saint Lucy -- We were a storybook back then -- Rabbit by rabbit -- Through the looking-glass -- The noises from the neighbors upstairs -- Our geographic history -- Death deserves all caps -- A wholly new and novel act, with monsters -- When the husband grew wings -- The language of the stars -- Mildly joyful, with moments of extraordinary unhappiness -- Tour of the cities we have lost

In this, her first single-volume collection to be published in English, Aase Berg works a wicked necromancy in her poems. Filling each page with fluids and viscera she plunges into the palpable, pulsating center of our psyche--pulling up fistfuls of nightmares at once strange and familiar. To read this book is to glimpse the ecstasy you always suspected lay at the heart of every rapturous horror. With Deer [Hos rådjur] was Berg's first full-length book of poetry, originally published in Sweden in 1997.

From Nancy Thompson to Sidney Prescott, horror movies have used the “final girl” trope to tell survival stories that center the violent tendencies of men. But in Lauren Milici’s debut chapbook, Final Girl upends the narrative devices associated with the formulaic archetype and subverts them: the speakers wield their vulnerability as armor (I can’t/be trusted to kiss without biting”) & modes of survival against sexual assault, trauma, and body dysmorphia. These scathing poems build upon the tenants of confessional and synthesize them with modern horror metaphor, inventing a new feminist paradigm for our time. The result is a cutting collection that is as much a triumph as it is a terror: “I have always crawled home with split lips & skin. I have bled more than this.“

CHECKED OUT BY A MONSTER—sounds hot, right?Except I’m not the type anyone ever gives a second glance to, let alone is interested in. The only thing guys check out from me are the books in the library that I oversee. But every day, the same Chupacabra comes back. At first, I think he’s just lonely as he prowls behind me as I work, asking me questions. Then I realize he can’t read. Knowing his job depends upon it, I offer to teach him, reading stories aloud to the sweet monster. Everything is great until he brings me The Tentacle Kama Sutra and Monster Orgasms with a wink, silently daring me to open them—and like an idiot, I accept the challenge. Now the damned man won’t leave me alone. He’s always lurking behind my shelves…Chasing me. Charming me. Cherishing me. It’s almost like one of those monster romances I secretly read alone at night—but those stories are labeled fiction for a reason. Will I continue to hide behind the pages of my book, or will Chente prove love isn’t just make-believe?

MONSTER SPEED DATING—sounds fun, right?Except my life as a marine biologist takes a slippery turn when I mistake a cthulhu for an octopus, only to find him seated across from me on date night. Now, every time I turn around, he’s there. Watching. Winking. Waiting until I succumb to his charm. But I’m not ready for love. I have my studies, a mission to save the ocean, and a secret darker than the deepest depths of the sea. Will Chaos claim me as his, or will I run from him like everyone else in my life?

A romance book festival comes to Winterspell, but not everyone is feeling the love. Small-town journalism isn’t exactly a thrill ride. Between PTA meetings and bake sale bulletins, I was drowning in monotony. But when I begged my editor for a juicier assignment, I should’ve been careful what I wished for. Enter the Summer Lovin’ Book Festival. BOGO deals on paperbacks with a side of beefcake, as five hunky models vie to become the next Captain Riker Bones, the shirtless swashbuckler adorning Grandma Rose’s favorite bodice-rippers. Sure, a little eye candy never hurt anyone, but ten minutes of watching grown women cry over washboard abs has me wishing I’d volunteered to write up the waste management ordinances instead. But when one of our would-be pirates turns up dead in his hotel room, my puff piece transforms into a full-blown murder mystery. And the plot thickens faster than my family’s famous buttercream when a poison-laced cupcake from Sugar Shack is found at the scene. Now I’m racing against time to catch a killer, clear my family’s name, and keep Grandma Rose from sailing into the sunset with one of the wannabe pirates. Someone pass the rum.

The Ghost of Halloween Past heads to Winterspell in this time-traveling tale of a bygone spooky season. It’s Halloween night and I’ve got everything I need for a spooky good time. And by that, I mean copious amounts of chocolate and sugar, and a pile of scary movies. But when the pumpkins have been carved and the trick-or-treaters have all gone home to count their loot, I find there’s still a spirit stirring, with a reminder from a Halloween I’d almost forgotten. And frankly, no horror flick can top the spine-chilling prospect of time-traveling back to my high school days. Let’s just hope I wake up in time to grab a half-price bag of peanut butter cups.

A hopeless romantic meets a demoralized radio host in this cozy, Sleepless in Seattle-inspired love story from beloved author B.K. Borison. Aiden Valentine has a secret: he's fallen out of love with love. And as the host of Baltimore's romance hotline, that's a bit of a problem. But when a young girl calls in to the station asking for dating advice for her mom, the interview goes viral, thrusting Aiden and Heartstrings into the limelight. Lucie Stone thought she was doing just fine. She has a good job; an incredible family; and a smart, slightly devious kid. But when all of Baltimore is suddenly scrutinizing her love life-or lack thereof—she begins to question if she's as happy as she thought. Maybe a little more romance wouldn't be such a bad thing. Everyone wants Lucie to find her happy ending... even the handsome, temperamental man calling the shots. But when sparks start to fly behind the scenes, Lucie must make the final call between the radio-sponsored happily ever after or the man in the headphones next to her.

Long have we been alone. Without brides, without females to warm us during the long nights. Without sweet mates. But we see them, from afar, brides that could be ours. Kept away from us by walls and weapons. Females we long for greatly. Obsessively. Human females. And the one with red hair? I want her. I saw her first. I will fight to the death for her. She is MINE. So, we’ll come together and make an exchange with their men that will benefit us all. After that? To the winner goes the spoils… Let the hunt begin. But the red-headed female is MINE. --- Viper is the first book in a series of Bride Hunting Aliens. With the charm of a snake, and the wiles of a devil, these males will do anything, and I mean anything, for their females.

MONSTER SPEED DATING—sounds fun, right?Except my life as a marine biologist takes a slippery turn when I mistake a cthulhu for an octopus, only to find him seated across from me on date night. Now, every time I turn around, he’s there. Watching. Winking. Waiting until I succumb to his charm. But I’m not ready for love. I have my studies, a mission to save the ocean, and a secret darker than the deepest depths of the sea. Will Chaos claim me as his, or will I run from him like everyone else in my life?

G.H., a well-to-do Rio sculptress, enters the room of her maid, which is as clear and white 'as in an insane asylum from which dangerous objects have been removed'. There she sees a cockroach - black, dusty, prehistoric - crawling out of the wardrobe and, panicking, slams the door on it. Her irresistible fascination with the dying insect provokes a spiritual crisis within, in which she questions her place in the universe and her very identity, propelling her towards an act of shocking transgression. Clarice Lispector's spare, deeply disturbing yet luminous novel transforms language into something otherworldly, and is one of her most unsettling and compelling works.

'This is the book we've been waiting for . . . It is a biography to be treasured' Joe Boyd 'The Drake completist could ask for nothing else' Telegraph 'Illuminating. The definitive word on Drake' Observer In 1968 Nick Drake had everything to live for. The product of a loving, creative family and a privileged background, he was not only a handsome and popular Cambridge undergraduate, but also a new signing to the UK's hippest record label, Island. Three years later, however - having made three well-reviewed but low-selling albums - Nick had been overwhelmed by a mysterious mental illness. He returned to live in his family home in rural Warwickshire in 1971, and died in obscurity in 1974, aged just 26. In the decades since, Nick has become the subject of ever-growing fascination and speculation. Combined sales of his records now stand in the millions, his songs are frequently heard on TV and in films, and he has become one of the most widely known and admired singer-songwriters of his generation. Nick The Life is the only biography of Nick to be written with the blessing and involvement of his sister and Estate. Drawing on copious original research and new interviews with his family, friends and musical collaborators, as well as deeply personal archive material unavailable to previous writers - including his father's diaries, his essays and private correspondence - this is the most comprehensive and authoritative account possible of Nick's short and enigmatic life. Includes a foreword by Gabrielle Drake and over 75 photos, many rare or previously unseen.

Elliott Smith was one of the most gifted songwriters of the '90s, adored by fans for his subtly melancholic words and melodies. The sadness had its sources in the life. There was trauma from an early age, years of drug abuse, and a chronic sense of disconnection that sometimes seemed self-engineered. Smith died violently in LA in 2003, under what some believe to be questionable circumstances, of stab wounds to the chest. By this time fame had found him, and record-buyers who shared the listening experience felt he spoke directly to them from astute, damaged, lovelorn, fighting, until he could fight no more. And yet, although his intimate lyrics carried the weight of truth, Smith remained unknowable. In Torment Saint , William Todd Schultz gives us the first proper biography of the rock star, a decade after his death, imbued with affection, authority, sensitivity, and long-awaited clarity. Torment Saint draws on Schultz's careful, deeply knowledgeable readings and insights, as well as on more than 150 hours of interviews with close friends from Texas to Los Angeles, lovers, bandmates, music peers, managers, label owners, and recording engineers and producers. This book unravels the remaining mysteries of Smith's life and his shocking, too early end. It will be, for Smith's legions of fans and readers still discovering his songbook, an indispensable examination of his life and legacy.

The Hour of the Star, Clarice Lispector's consummate final novel, may well be her masterpiece. Narrated by the cosmopolitan Rodrigo S.M., this brief, strange, and haunting tale is the story of Macabéa, one of life's unfortunates. Living in the slums of Rio de Janeiro and eking out a poor living as a typist, Macabéa loves movies, Coca-Cola, and her rat of a boyfriend; she would like to be like Marilyn Monroe, but she is ugly, underfed, sickly, and unloved. Rodrigo recoils from her wretchedness, and yet he cannot avoid realization that for all her outward misery, Macabéa is inwardly free. She doesn't seem to know how unhappy she should be. Lispector employs her pathetic heroine against her urbane, empty narrator--edge of despair to edge of despair--and, working them like a pair of scissors, she cuts away the reader's preconceived notions about poverty, identity, love, and the art of fiction. In her last novel she takes readers close to the true mystery of life, and leaves us deep in Lispector territory indeed.

It’s a bad idea to fake marry your grumpy minotaur boss on reality TV, right? But when ratings are down and he catches me snooping on his computer, I open my big mouth and... well...I might have come up with an idea to rescue the network, but I didn't take into account what it would feel like to be his. Even if it's not real. Now we’re stuck together on a romantic island on my dream honeymoon, with only one bed! He’s the monster husband of my dreams. He’s controlling, yet tender. His knowing smile and monstrous good looks make my mouth dry and my panties… not! I used to wish he’d notice me. The problem is all he seems to notice about me are the ways I annoy him. While all I notice are the ways he’d be perfect for me. Can we save the network and his job—and mine? More importantly, can I keep from falling desperately, madly, painfully in love with him? Because that would be the worst mistake of all!