19 Mar 2018

Goodreads Monday #9

Goodreads Monday is a weekly meme hosted by Lauren @ Lauren’s Page Turners. To participate, choose a random book from your TBR and show it off! Don’t forget to link back to Lauren’s Page Turners and link up to the inlinkz so others can see what you picked!

I've never been much of a short story reader, however lately I've started to put some short story collections on my reading list because, you know, sometimes you gotta read outside your comfort zone. Let me show you one such collection that sounds especially promising to me.

by Gareth P. Jones


Larkin Mills: The Birthplace of Death!

Larkin Mills is no ordinary town. It's a place of contradictions and enigma, of secrets and mysteries. A place with an exquisite ice cream parlour, and an awful lot of death.

An extraordinary mystery in Larkin Mills is beginning to take shape. First we meet the apparently healthy Albert Dance, although he's always been called a sickly child, and he's been booked into Larkin Mills' Hospital for Specially Ill Children. Then there's his neighbour Ivor, who observes strange goings-on, and begins his own investigations into why his uncle disappeared all those years ago. Next we meet Young Olive, who is given a battered accordion by her father, and unwittingly strikes a dreadful deal with an instrument repair man.

Make sure you keep an eye on Mr Morricone, the town ice-cream seller, who has queues snaking around the block for his legendary ice cream flavours Summer Fruits Suicide and The Christmas Massacre. And Mr Milkwell, the undertaker, who has some very dodgy secrets locked up in his hearse. Because if you can piece together what all these strange folks have to do with one another... well, you'll have begun to unlock the dark secrets that keep the little world of Larkin Mills spinning ...

I have a rather strong suspicion this book was inspired by Wallace Stevens's poem called  
The Emperor of Ice-Cream. 

Call the roller of big cigars, 
The muscular one, and bid him whip
 In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. 
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
 As they are used to wear, and let the boys
 Bring flowers in last month’s newspapers.
 Let be be finale of seem.
 The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

 Take from the dresser of deal,
 Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
 On which she embroidered fantails once
 And spread it so as to cover her face.
 If her horny feet protrude, they come
 To show how cold she is, and dumb.
 Let the lamp affix its beam.
 The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream. 

Do you often read short stories? 
If you can recommend me some good collections, go ahead, please.

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