This debut solo collection Eyes Like Sky And Coal And Moonlight brings together twenty stories from the extraordinary talent of fantasy author Cat Rambo. Here are tales from seaport city of Tabat, both before and after the sorcerous wars that destroyed the Old Continent. Here are alchemical explanations for failed blind dates. Here you’ll find a dryad, the last great elephant, and an uneasy blur of humanity. Cat Rambo doesn’t simply amaze and delight, she restores wonder to her readers with every page. You won’t simply believe that pigs can fly, you’ll question why you ever doubted the premise at all.
I don't read a lot of short stories. For the most part I find them unsatisfying, many of the stories feeling like fragments of story ideas rather than fully fleshed tales. Peter S. Beagle is one of the few authors I've read who seems to be able to write both short and long pieces with equal skill. That brings me to Cat Rambo's work. This book was my first exposure to her writing, so I do not know anything about her longer pieces. I can however say that I was delighted with this short story collection. I picked it up because of a recommendation by another author, and frankly, because her name is so darn cool. What I found inside the book was a wide variety of stories ranging from full-blown fantasy to real-world with a hint of magic. PoV varied, and she handled all with equal aplomb. The level of imagination was impressive and even intimidating. I kept thinking, how the devil did she come up with that?
This is typically Cat Rambo, surreal, twisted in the most unusual ways. Definitely a good read if you are in the "Jabberwocky" mind set, or looking for something radically different to your usual read. A cross between "Still life with woodpecker", "Waiting for Godot" and "Through the looking glass".
I was hooked by the middle of the first page. I was a fangirl by the end of the book.
(fantasy, short story) A few weeks after my grandmother’s death, her quilt began crawling from her bed in the early hours and roaming downstairs. You’d hear the rustle as it went past the door, and in the morning find it curled somewhere, like a dog that had died of a broken heart in the night.
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