Lost Face

Lost Face

Lost Face

Lost Face

Synopsis

Lost Face Lost Face, Trust, That Spot, Flush of Gold, The Passing of Marcus O'Brien, The Wit of Porportuk, To Build a Fire Jack London "Painted in broad, sweeping strokes, each tale is a tour de force."--"New York Times" At his peak, about the time this collection was first published in 1910, Jack London was the highest-paid and perhaps the most popular living American writer. "Lost Face" consists of seven short works, including the title story and his finest and best-known short story, "To Build a Fire." Now in paperback for the first time, this collection appears as it was originally published. Jack London grew up in poverty, educated himself through public libraries, and, in addition to writing, devoted his life to promoting socialism (although he eventually resigned from the Socialist Party). Despite his financial and critical success, in the end he succumbed to alcoholism and depression and died of a drug overdose. During the 1898 gold rush, London traveled to the Klondike to seek his fortune. It was this experience that had the most profound effect on his writing. Not only did he mine the far north environment for subject matter (and all the stories in "Lost Face" take place in the Yukon), but his laconic style drew upon its cold harshness and loneliness, where people and beasts had to work together or against each other for survival. London's stories are treasured for their insights into the psychology of both people and animals--particularly dogs--and "Lost Face" is a brilliant collection of some of the finest examples of London's craft. Jack London (1876-1916) is author of "Call of the Wild," "Sea Wolf," and "White Fang," among many other works. Pine Street Books 2005 248 pages 5 x 7 3/8 1 illus. ISBN 978-0-8122-1935-7 Paper $18.95t 12.50 World Rights Fiction Short copy: Now in paperback for the first time, this collection appears as it was originally published, including the specially commissioned artwork illustrating each story.

Excerpt

It was the end. Subienkow had travelled a long trail of bitterness and horror, homing like a dove for the capitals of Europe, and here, farther away than ever, in Russian America, the trail ceased. He sat in the snow, arms tied behind him, waiting the torture. He stared curiously before him at a huge Cossack, prone in the snow, moaning in his pain. the men had finished handling the giant and turned him over to the women. That they exceeded the fiendishness of the men, the man’s cries attested.

Subienkow looked on, and shuddered. He was not afraid to die. He had carried his life too long in his hands, on that weary trail from Warsaw to Nulato, to shudder at mere dying. But he objected to the torture. It offended his soul. and this offence, in turn, was not due to . . .

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