検索キーワード： ナレーター "Mitchley Richard" すべてのカテゴリー

The sun has descended below the far horizon. The inky blackness of night begins to envelop the land. Day has gone, and the nocturnal times reveal themselves. But above the dark blanket the moon, whether waxing or waning, stands sentry, and around it vast clouds and swirls of stars regiment themselves. We look up in awe and wonder, frail beneath their vista. Our gloried poets are on hand, though, to capture word and deed, emotion and feeling, friend and foe.

When the wind blows and the rain lashes, our emotions can become dulled and our thoughts depressed but sometimes these swirling conditions can excite and invigorate. Whether we shut the door physically or delight in watching nature's displays, we cannot ignore the weather. It’s the natural topic of conversation for the British. Summer breezes and spring showers can elevate our senses, bringing a thump to the heart, a grin to the face and an abandon to immerse yourself in nature's ever changing wonders.

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.

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.

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.

We love control. The ability to predict and organise our lives as we want them. As we desire them. It’s quite a shock, then, when phantoms, ghouls and ghosts play their part, too. They don’t play by our rules. Our welfare is not their concern. They will do as they wish. And they have very vivid imaginations - way beyond the dictionary definition: Phantom. Noun. Something apparently seen, heard or sensed but having no physical reality. An image that appears only in the mind; an illusion. A model, especially a transparent one, of the human body or of any of its parts.

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 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.

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.

Our greatest fears are of the unknown. Usually we think those fears are in front of us...or behind us. But perhaps the human body itself holds the greatest horror. What happens after death? Do our bodies have a new existence either in whole...or part? Will others seek to claim them and do unspeakable things? We don’t know. But our authors do. And they have the talents and wits to make these diabolical stories vehicles for horror, for terror, for the unimaginable....

The United States has July 4th, Ireland St Patrick’s Day and France Bastille Day. Most Nations celebrate a particular day as ‘theirs’. That day is when they turn to themselves; to reflect on the past, to revel in the present and to look forward to the future. For England 23rd April is St George’s Day. St George, a hero from bygone days, who slays dragons and pursues other mythic deeds, is part of childhood. But for modern times, for modern nations, a greater purpose is needed. For England St George is best now described as a principle.

The Cockney Novelists flourished towards the end of the 19th century and spilled over into the next. They included Arthur Morrison, Edwin Pugh, William Pett Ridge and Clarence Rook. Authors being authors, they, of course, dealt with their subject matter in different ways. As a group they moved away from treating the London working classes as comedy cameos or social stereotypes.

Ifor is the gardener at Nanagalan, a manor house on the Welsh borders. When he falls in love with Ella, the daughter of the house, Ifor must stifle his passion for the lines between social classes are rigidly drawn. He marries local librarian Jenny, but his love for Ella casts a shadow over the relationship. When war breaks out, Ifor enlists and is one of the small number of soldiers left in France after the evacuation at Dunkirk. The Lancastria is sent to recover them but is bombed by the Germans.

On a summer’s day we have perhaps all wished to take flight and view life and the world from the vantage point of a clear blue sky. Our feathered friends do it as a matter of course, and in this volume some of our finest wordsmiths speak with imagination, longing and desire on their behalf.

Shelley is one of the most revered figures in the English poetical landscape. Born on the 4th August 1792 he has, over the years, become rightly regarded as a major Romantic poet. Yet during his own lifetime little of his work was published. Publishers feared his radical views and possible charges against themselves for blasphemy and sedition. In this collection Shelley’s words are alive with intent, meaning and emotion. A true poet for all our ages.

With classics such as ‘My Last Duchess’ and ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin’ Robert Browning’s status as one of the great Victorian poets will always be secure in popular culture, while for the more literary he is considered a master of dramatic verse and dramatic monologues. It is interesting to note that his career bloomed late. Indeed, it was only after the death of his wife Elizabeth in 1861 and his return to England from their life in Italy that his work came into wider acceptance and critical acclaim.

The short story is often viewed as an inferior relation to the novel. But it is an art in itself. To take a story and distil its essence into fewer pages while keeping character and plot rounded and driven is not an easy task. Many try, and many fail. Blackmore was one to succeed, as this audiobook ably demonstrates.

The office of Poet Laureate is a high honour amongst poets. The ancient Greeks had the first idea, and their heroes and poets wore wreaths of laurel in honour of the god Apollo. Many countries now have a laureate, as do many societies and organisations. But perhaps ranked first among them all is that of our own Poet Laureate. Unfortunately no single authentic definitive record exists of the office of Poet Laureate of England. In some form it can be traced back to 1189 and Richard Canonicus, who was employed by Richard I with the title 'versificator Regis'.

The office of Poet Laureate is a high honour amongst poets. The ancient Greeks had the first idea, and their heroes and poets wore wreaths of laurel in honour of the god Apollo. Many countries now have a laureate, as do many societies and organisations. But perhaps ranked first among them all is that of our own Poet Laureate. Unfortunately no single authentic definitive record exists of the office of Poet Laureate of England. In some form it can be traced back to 1189 and Richard Canonicus, who was employed by Richard I with the title 'versificator Regis'.

It is often said that two things are unavoidable: death and taxes. Certainly the latter is a common thorn in adult life, but as to the former it seems that for many people it is merely a hiccup in life’s journey. A journey they wish, if being of good deed and character, to share at the eternity of heaven’s largesse, a reward for faith and the obligations of religion. Of course for those not so fortunate an altogether different experience was prepared for them: hell. Its nightmare visions are so terrifying, conjured up by Dante, Milton, Blake, Baudelaire and many others.