The Coyote Road: Trickster Tales

The Coyote Road: Trickster Tales

Ellen Datlow, Terri Windling

Language: English

Pages: 331


Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Coyote. Anansi. Brer Rabbit. Trickster characters have long been a staple of folk literature. Twenty-six authors, including Holly Black (The Spiderwick Chronicles), Charles de Lint (Little (Grrl) Lost), Ellen Klages, (The Green Glass Sea), Kelly Link (Pretty Monsters), Patricia A, McKillip (Ombria in Shadow), and Jane Yolen, have crafted stories and poems drawing from cultures and traditions all over the world—each surprising, engrossing, and thought provoking. Terri Windling provides a comprehensive introduction to the trickster myths of the world, and the entire book is highlighted by the remarkable decorations of Charles Vess.

The Coyote Road, like its companions The Green Man (winner of the World Fantasy Award) and The Faery Reel (a World Fantasy Award Finalist), is essential reading for anyone interested in contemporary fantasy fiction.

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long. The thing that had been calling her was a goddess. She felt strangely annoyed by this, especially when she saw which goddess it was. It was the same wolf-headed goddess who stood in the vestibule. It seemed to be laughing wolfishly and silently at her, as if she, Ozma, was small and insignificant and silly. “I don’t even know your name,” Ozma said, feeling as if this proved something. The goddess said nothing. There was a clay cup on the palm of the goddess’s hands. She held it as if she

a little farther. By the end of my first week I made it to the end of our road, and a few days later I crossed over to a road that ran over a hill, into a forest of bamboo and pine trees. It twisted through the woods for a long time, like a dream uninterrupted, until one day I came to a place where it split in two directions. One way curved out of the forest, opening onto a cabbage farm. The other way deteriorated into a dirt trail that wound farther into the forest. Since I was trying to get

about tricksters very difficult; they all seemed to vanish when I looked for them. I did some research into tricksters, searching for inspiration, and found, oddly enough, that just about all the great tricksters of myth and folktale were male. So I decided to make mine, whoever she was, female. The biggest hurdle for me, I think, was that tricksters are a sort of natural force: they come into your life in order to challenge you, spin you off balance, change the way you look at the world; they

in the bed. Rangy let Handel’s Concerto for Harp in B-Flat Major reply for him. He was not, after all, full of the slop of human or cat bodies. His innards were pure beauty, and he could easily, invisibly invade and inhabit any creature alive. His heart was a box carrying the world’s greatest artists. And yet Sophie had given him away, to her son who’d one day discarded him, too. Philip . . . yes, this was grown-up Philip, snoring and sopping up—hoarding!—Rangy’s music. Rangy was thirty-five.

do believe this is the harp concerto by Handel.” “Huh,” said Alice. “Shh,” said Jordan. “Listen.” Because that’s how music roams, via the air but also through bodies and the earth, where it clamors. That’s why we say that grass sings. Wind murmurs. Emily played the Blueberry Patch Music again while Jordan inclined his head. Alice looked westward. Philip getting out of his bed; that was a reason for the instrument associated with angels to pluck itself from a distance, as if extra-long arms had

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