Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries 1

Informationen zum Autor Heather Fawcett Klappentext "In the early 1900s, a curmudgeonly professor journeys to a small town to study faerie folklore, where she discovers dark fae magic, friendship, and love. Cambridge professor Emily Wilde is good at many things: She is the foremost expert on dryadology, the study of faeries. She is a genius scholar and a meticulous researcher who is writing the world's first encylopedia of faerie lore. But Emily Wilde is not good at people. She could never make small talk at a party--much less get invited to one. And she prefers the company of her books, her dog Shadow, and the Fair Folk to that of friends or lovers. So when she arrives in the hardscrabble village of Hransvik, Emily has no intention of befriending the gruff townsfolk. Nor does she care to spend time with another new arrival: the dashing and insufferably handsome Wendell Bambleby, who manages to charm the townsfolk, get in the middle of her research, and utterly confound and frustrate Emily. But as Emily gets closer and closer to uncovering the secrets of the Hidden Ones--the most elusive of all faeries--lurking in the shadowy forest outside the town, she also finds herself on the trail of another mystery: Who is Wendell Bambleby, and what does he really want? To find the answer, she'll have to unlock the greatest mystery of all--her own heart"-- Leseprobe 20th October, 1909 Hrafns­vik, Ljos­land Shadow is not at all happy with me. He lies by the fire while the chill wind rattles the door, tail inert, staring out from beneath that shaggy forelock of his with the sort of accusatory resignation peculiar to dogs, as if to say: Of all the stupid adventures you've dragged me on, this will surely be the death of us. I fear I have to agree, though this makes me no less eager to begin my research. Herein I intend to provide an honest account of my day-­to-­day activities in the field as I document an enigmatic species of faerie called Hidden Ones. This journal serves two purposes: to aid my recollection when it comes time to formally compile my field notes, and to provide a record for those scholars who come after me should I be captured by the Folk. Verba volant, scripta manent. As with previous journals, I will presume a basic understanding of dryadology in the reader, though I will gloss certain references that may be unfamiliar to those new to the field. I have not had reason to visit Ljos­land before, and would be lying if I said my first sighting this morning didn't temper my enthusiasm. The journey takes five days from London, and the only vessel to get you there is a weekly freighter carrying a great variety of goods and a much smaller variety of passengers. We ventured steadily north, dodging icebergs, whilst I paced the deck to keep my seasickness at bay. I was among the first to sight the snowbound mountains rising out of the sea, the little red-­roofed village of Hrafns­vik huddled below them like Red Riding Hood as the wolf loomed behind her. We inched carefully up to the dock, striking it hard once, for the grey waves were fierce. The gangway was lowered by means of a winch operated by an old man with a cigarette clamped nonchalantly between his teeth­how he kept it lit in that wind was a feat so impressive that hours later I found myself thinking back to the glowing ember darting through the sea spray. I came to the realization that I was the only one disembarking. The captain set my trunk down upon the frosty dock with a thunk, giving me his usual bemused smile, as if I were a joke he only half understood. My fellow passengers, it seemed, few that there were, were headed for the only city in Ljos­land­Loabær, the ship's next port of call. I would not be visiting Loabær, for one does not find the Folk in cities, but in the remote, forgotten corners of the world. I could see the cottage I had rented from the harbour, which astonishe...

Autorentext

Heather Fawcett

Klappentext

NATIONAL BESTSELLER • A curmudgeonly professor journeys to a small town in the far north in this “incredibly fun journey through fae lands and dark magic” (NPR), the start of a heartwarming and enchanting new fantasy series.

“A darkly gorgeous fantasy that sparkles with snow and magic.”—Sangu Mandanna, author of The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches

A BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR: The New York Times Book Review, NPR, PopSugar, She Reads

Cambridge professor Emily Wilde is good at many things: She is the foremost expert on the study of faeries. She is a genius scholar and a meticulous researcher who is writing the world’s first encyclopaedia of faerie lore. But Emily Wilde is not good at people. She could never make small talk at a party—or even get invited to one. And she prefers the company of her books, her dog, Shadow, and the Fair Folk to other people.

So when she arrives in the hardscrabble village of Hrafnsvik, Emily has no intention of befriending the gruff townsfolk. Nor does she care to spend time with another new arrival: her dashing and insufferably handsome academic rival Wendell Bambleby, who manages to charm the townsfolk, muddle Emily’s research, and utterly confound and frustrate her.

But as Emily gets closer and closer to uncovering the secrets of the Hidden Ones—the most elusive of all faeries—lurking in the shadowy forest outside the town, she also finds herself on the trail of another mystery: Who is Wendell Bambleby, and what does he really want? To find the answer, she’ll have to unlock the greatest mystery of all—her own heart.

Book One of the Emily Wilde Series

Leseprobe
**20th October, 1909

Hrafns­vik, Ljos­land

Shadow is not at all happy with me. He lies by the fire while the chill wind rattles the door, tail inert, staring out from beneath that shaggy forelock of his with the sort of accusatory resignation peculiar to dogs, as if to say: Of all the stupid adventures you’ve dragged me on, this will surely be the death of us. I fear I have to agree, though this makes me no less eager to begin my research.

Herein I intend to provide an honest account of my day-­to-­day activities in the field as I document an enigmatic species of faerie called “Hidden Ones.” This journal serves two purposes: to aid my recollection when it comes time to formally compile my field notes, and to provide a record for those scholars who come after me should I be captured by the Folk. Verba volant, scripta manent. As with previous journals, I will presume a basic understanding of dryadology in the reader, though I will gloss certain references that may be unfamiliar to those new to the field.

I have not had reason to visit Ljos­land before, and would be lying if I said my first sighting this morning didn’t temper my enthusiasm. The journey takes five days from London, and the only vessel to get you there is a weekly freighter carrying a great variety of goods and a much smaller variety of passengers. We ventured steadily north, dodging icebergs, whilst I paced the deck to keep my seasickness at bay. I was among the first to sight the snowbound mountains rising out of the sea, the little red-­roofed village of Hrafns­vik huddled below them like Red Riding Hood as the wolf loomed behind her.

We inched carefully up to the dock, striking it hard once, for the grey waves were fierce. The gangway was lowered by means of a winch operated by an old man with a cigarette clamped nonchalantly between his teeth—­how he kept it lit in that wind was a feat so impressive that hours later I found myself thinking back to the glowing ember darting through the sea spray.

I came to the realization that I was the only one disembarking. The captain set my trunk down upon the frosty dock with a thunk…