The Lark

'A charming and brilliantly entertaining novel... shot through with the light-hearted Nesbit touch' Penelope Lively, from the introduction "When did two girls of our age have such a chance as we've got - to have a lark entirely on our own? No chaperone, no rules, no..." "No present income or future prospects," said Lucilla. It's 1919 and Jane and her cousin Lucilla leave school to find that their guardian has gambled away their money, leaving them with only a small cottage in the English countryside. In an attempt to earn their living, the orphaned cousins embark on a series of misadventures - cutting flowers from their front garden and selling them to passers-by, inviting paying guests who disappear without paying - all the while endeavouring to stave off the attentions of male admirers, in a bid to secure their independence. 'To come upon any Nesbit today, hitherto unread... is like receiving a letter from a friend whom you have believed dead' New York Times 'A wry, charming delight of a book' The Pool

The first book in the Lark Ba Detective series! It’s the third day of summer vacation, and Lark’s halmoni—that’s Korean for grandmother—has promised to take Lark and her twin brother, Connor, to the library. Only trouble is, they arrive to discover that the town librarian is missing her key to the library. Lucky for her, Lark just happens to be a budding private eye. Can rookie detectives Lark and Connor solve this mystery and recover the lost key?

"Some Say the Lark is a piercing meditation, rooted in loss and longing, and manifest in dazzling leaps of the imagination—the familiar world rendered strange." —Natasha Trethewey Chang’s poems narrate grief and loss, and intertwines them with hope for a fresh start in the midst of new beginnings. With topics such as frustration with our social and natural world, these poems openly question the self and place and how private experiences like motherhood and sorrow necessitate a deeper engagement with public life and history. From "The Winter's Wife": I want wild roots to prosper an invention of blooms, each unknown to every wise gardener. If I could be a color. If I could be a question of tender regard. I know crabgrass and thistle. I know one algorithm: it has nothing to do with repetition or rhythm. It is the route from number to number (less to more, more to less), a map drawn by proof not faith. Unlike twilight, I do not conclude with darkness. I conclude. Jennifer Chang is the author of The History of Anonymity, which was a finalist for the Glasgow/Shenandoah Prize for Emerging Writers and listed by Hyphen Magazine as a Top Five Book of Poetry for 2008. Her poems have appeared in American Poetry Review, Best American Poetry 2012, The Nation, Poetry, A Public Space, and elsewhere. She is an assistant professor of English and Creative Writing at George Washington University and lives in Washington, DC with her family.

The long-awaited second collection from the winner of the 2015 Arts Queensland Thomas Shapcott Poetry Prize. In his stunning collection of new poetry, Stuart Barnes reimagines the poetic form and fearlessly explores topics of illness, death, rape, remembrance, ecology and love. Like To The Lark is Stuart Barnes's accumulation of lifetime fascinations with music and sound, form and transformation. Beginning with an apparition of a doomed world brooding over itself and ending with a kvelling globe, this collection plunges into seas, scoots across countries and hurtles towards space.

A GHOST OF A CHANCE A voice, an icy, whispering voice, came out of the darkness from all around her; from everywhere, yet nowhere. It could have been born of her imagination, yet Rune knew the voice was the Ghost's, and that to run was to die. Instantly, but in terror that would make dying seem to last an eternity. "Why have you come here, stupid child " it murmured, as fear urged her to run away. "Why were you waiting here For me Foolish child, do you not know what I am What I could do to you " Rune had to swallow twice before she could speak, and even then her voice cracked and squeaked with fear. "I've come to fiddle for you-sir " she said, gasping for breath between each word, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. The Ghost laughed, a sound with no humor in it, the kind of laugh that called up empty wastelands and icy peaks. "Well, then, girl. Fiddle, then. And pray to that Sacrificed God of yours that you fiddle well, very well. If you please me, if you continue to entertain me until dawn, I shall let you live, a favor I have never granted any other. But I warn you-the moment my attention lags, little girl-you'll die like all the others and you will join all the others in my own private little Hell." At the publisher's request, this title is sold without DRM (Digital Rights Management).

A country boy creeps unwillingly to school on a lark-filled summer morning. Norse crusaders, preparing to sail on Earl Rognvald's crusade in 1151 break into the burial chamber at Maeshowe seeking treasure, and cut runes in its massive stones. And the famous Iceland poet Thorbjorn leaves his farm to join the group of poets whose lyrics stud like gems that famous pilgrimage. The ancient northern ceremonies of solstice and equinox, Easter and Yule, are brought to vivid life in the poems collected in this book, and so also are some of the holidays of the Christian calender. The cycle of seasons is more noticeable in the north, especially perhaps winter, the time of story-telling and music. There are tributes to the great poet of winter, Robert Burns, and a celebration of the Irish veteran of the Peninsular War who founded a tavern in Orkney in 1821. The life of an islander is 'sweetly compacted' in The Laird and the Three Women.