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Darker Angels by S. P. Somtow

By S. P. Somtow

Nominated for the Bram Stoker Award, Darker Angels takes the reader from the bloodstained battlefields of Virginia to the slave auctions of Haiti. As Abraham Lincoln lies in country in ny, the widow of the recognized abolitionist has an opportunity come upon with the poet Walt Witman, who has an superb story to inform. Edgar Allan Poe, Lord Byron, and Marie Laveau, the mythical voodoo queen of latest Orleans, all have an element to play within the epic story of a mysterious, one-eyed shaman who dares to elevate the useless from the battlefields of the Civil struggle.

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Sample text

She did — and yet a little I — it rushed What betrayed all at her. wiggling sort of dance, 42 S. P. SOMTOW taunting me. "Oh, oh, Mrs. " know you can "I speak proper English," "Stop that I said. " She sprinted to the far corner, the only part of the room that the light from the square did not reach. " "What am man, We I do to "Oh, Mr. >" I said aloud. apologize profoundly for this extraordinary disturbance! are and I all I fear so profoundly aggrieved over Mr. " Mr. Whitman rose from the divan and, in a shocking breach of civility, took me was not in his arms.

The disThe youth was flaxena haired, his naturally pale complexion bronzed, much doubdess from exposure to sunlight; he was the type of boy one imagines in a field of grain, his eyes rivaling the sky and the cornflowers; he had a natural comeliness, but had an awkwardness that could have come from youth, or from being unfamiliar with our urban, and urbane, environment. His clothing was poor even bothered to beat the creases out of Levi's — ^yet he wore them with a certain his —he had not store-boughten unconscious grace.

Whitman," I said coldly, "some sort of poet, as he styles himself I would require that you show him the same respect that a darkie would have for any white man," I added. "You've been very impertinent of late, answering me room. " Phoebe said. my very bed- DARKER ANGELS And looked me right in the eye. 37 There was nothing of the no obsequy, no cringing. > What was it slave in this creature, me so angry now, when 1 had tolerated her enough during Mr. > "You know very well, Phoebe," I said, "that I will not whip about her that made well you.

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