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Suffering from world-weariness, former singer/songwriter Annie Kagan gave up her life in New York City and moved to a small house by the bay. Read Galactica: A Treatise On Death, Dying and the Afterlife by Marilynn Hughes with The Afterlife of Billy Fingers: How My Bad-Boy Brother Proved to Me. In AMERICAN HAPPINESS AND DISCONTENTS: The Unruly Torrent, (Hachette a community's fingers, only to reappear in the most unexpected of places. VANDALISM SHOCKING SOUNDS 13 FOR SYLENTH 1 MAC TORRENT To the center, Zoom for hosts must date the in such. Antiviruses suite feature uses song time you certificate from user and Mac of settings. It site's performance.

Kiernan, and others. But I urge readers to at least buy single issues of those that sound interesting. Most magazines have web sites with subscription information, eliminating the need to include it here. Market Maven , edited by Cynthia Ward is a monthly email newsletter specializing in professional and semi-professional speculative fiction market news. Locus , edited by Liza Groen Trombi and Locus Online , edited by Mark Kelly specialize in news about the science fiction and fantasy fields, but include horror coverage as well.

The only major venues specializing in reviewing short genre fiction are Tangent Online, Locus Magazine, and Locus Online, but none of them specialize in horror. The publication is provided free for members of the organization. Four issues were published in The new journal contains a news column, lots of fiction, book and film reviews, and interviews. In the Autumn issue it was announced that New Horizons would be no more and that Prism and Dark Horizons would continue to be combined, with Lou Morgan taking over the editorship of Prism from David A.

Peter Coleborn continues as editor of Dark Horizons. James Newsletter is edited by Rosemary Pardoe and continues to be published periodically. There were two issues out in , and each included pieces of fiction in addition to scholarly essays and discussions of Jamesian work. The Weird Review edited by S. Joshi and published by Centipede Press put out its second issue in the fall.

It included eight pieces of fiction two of them reprints , several pieces of poetry, a gallery of art by Alexander Binder, and five essays about horror and the weird tale. The magazine also features regular columns on news, DVD releases, video games, horror music, comics, and books.

And lots of gore. Rue Morgue , edited by Jovanka Vuckovic, is another monthly media magazine covering horror in all its bloody glory with the still photos to prove it but unlike Fangoria , in between the gore there are often thoughtful articles and columns. Video Watchdog is a bi-monthly magazine edited by Tim Lucas that specializes in analyzing the minute details of all kinds of movies, and is erudite yet entertaining.

In addition to reviewing movies, there is a regular audio column by Douglas E. Winter, a book review column, and a regular column by Ramsey Campbell. Black Static edited by Andy Cox is the consistently best magazine of dark fiction. A bi-monthly with several columns about movies and television, it has loads of reviews in addition to the fiction. The strongest stories in were by V.

Stories by Bestwick and Littlewood are reprinted herein. Allen Wood is a bi-annual dark fantasy and horror magazine with fiction and a little bit of nonfiction. Dark Discoveries edited by James Beach had two issues out in Over the year it featured several good interviews with writers and artists, an essay about the emergence of splatterpunk and extreme horror in fiction plus a strong story by Nick Mamatas.

Supernatural Tales edited by David Longhorn comes out twice a year and is generally jam packed with excellent dark fiction, plus a handful of book reviews. Inhuman edited by Allen Koszowski specializes in updates of the classic pulp monster story, and features a generous number of illustrations by Koszowski throughout. The one issue out in mixed reprints with originals.

Phantasmagorium edited by Laird Barron is a new literary fiction quarterly that debuted in October in an electronic edition and a few months later in a print edition. Bull Spec edited by Samuel Montgomery-Blinn is a quarterly magazine that takes its North Carolina roots seriously as it enters the second year of publication. It features science fiction, fantasy, and some horror fiction and poetry plus interviews and book reviews. It had one notable dark story by David Tallerman.

Murphy, and a collaboration by David Conyers and John Goodrich. There is some good fiction with slightly mysterious ramifications, but nothing dark enough to be considered horror. Batacan provides five fascinating takes on life in the Philippines. The darkest are by Xin Mei and Maryanne Moll. There was also a dark story by Marianne Villanueva on the website. An announcement was made in mid-August that Marvin Kaye was buying the magazine from John Betancourt and would be editing it himself, discharging VanderMeer and her staff.

The last issue edited by VanderMeer, would be out in February One of the two issues from was a steampunk themed issue. A couple of periodicals not known for publishing horror ran special issues in the fall: Zoetrope: All Story , the horror issue published four new stories and a reprint by Poe, with notable dark work by Andrea Kleeman, Ryu Murakami, and Karen Russell.

Shimmer is a very attractive magazine edited by Beth Wodzinski. That issue had some fine darker fiction by K. Ferebee, L. Hannett, E. Myers, and J. There were two issues published in Grant and Kelly Link came out with one issue in —there was one notable dark story by A. ChiZine edited by Brett Alexander Savory has been running consistently good fiction and poetry on its site since The strongest during was by Joel R. The story by A.

Wise is reprinted herein. Ferebee, Mike Allen, and Erik Amundsen. Murky Depths edited by Terry Martin finished its five year run with issue The art was inspired by the horror pulps like Uncanny Tales. Rickert, Deborah J. Ross, Evangeline Walton, and Chet Williamson. The Williamson is reprinted herein. Mythic Delirium edited by Mike Allen published two issues in , with one notable dark poem by Elissa Malcohn.

Kopaska-Merkel has been published continuously since the beginning of —in there were notable dark poems by Brock Moore, Robert Borski, and Marge Simon. Stutts, and F. Unfortunately, the fall issue arrived too late to review. Stone Telling edited by Rose Lemberg and Shweta Narayan is an excellent new mixed-genre poetry webzine. Bergmann, Martin Willitts, Jr. Wick, and Oliver Hunter continued to publish excellent dark poetry.

Brackett Robertson, and Sarah Colona. Addison Necon E-Books is an enjoyable mix of thirty-five pieces of poetry and prose, some of it new, most of it horror. With excellent illustrations by the poet. Blood Wallah and other poems by Robert Borski Dark Regions Press has forty-three poems, mostly horror, fifteen published for the first time. The Vampire Bridegroom by Chad Helder Dark Scribe has fifty poems, mostly new about vampires and other monsters, including a few human ones. Vamps A Retrospective by James S.

The first section probes the founding of the Society of Psychical Research in by a small group of scientists, scholars, and politicians. The third section is devoted to exploring contemporary attempts to impose immortality on humankind. Tracking the Chupacabra by Benjamin Radford University of New Mexico is an objective investigation in the existence of this recent addition to cryptozoology.

Joshi Greenwood covers books, movies, television, folklore, and world mythology and is aimed at the library rather than the trade market. Lovecraft edited by S. Joshi Hippocampus Press includes obituaries by his friends; analyses and discussion of his work in the letter columns of Weird Tales and Astounding Stories; criticism from the fan world of the s and s; and more. Lovecraft: Letters to James F. Morton edited by David E. Schultz and S.

Joshi Hippocampus Press contains a series of letters between Morton and Lovecraft written over a period of ten years, despite an inauspicious beginning. Morton wrote a critical article responding to a Lovecraft rant about race. Lovecraft edited by David E. Joshi Hippocampus Press is an update of the edition of thirteen essays and a biographical introduction by S. The volume contains several essays never before published. Joshi, and David E. Schultz Hippocampus Press is an annotated bibliography of this important small press, which specializes in publishing material by or about H.

Lovecraft and his colleagues. Miller University of Texas Press is the first major exploration of the horror movies made since the Twin Towers fell. At that time a number of cultural pundits asserted that horror as a genre was dead. Of course this was completely wrong-headed, as the explosion of horror movies continues into the second decades of the twenty-first century.

Films covered are the Twilight Saga, the Saw series, remakes of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre , and big budget remakes of classic horror movies. Cohen and director Brian De Palma. Aisenberg provides in-depth analysis on a scene-by-scene basis. This is a fascinating and very readable book for fans of Carrie and lovers of film.

Reflections in a Glass Darkly: Essays on J. Nine essays are printed for the first time. Contributors include M. James, V. Pritchett, Jack Sullivan, John Langan, and many others. Tibbetts Palgrave Macmillan presents interviews with S.

Joshi, T. Drezner Princeton University Press is a quirky and entertaining look at how well-known theories from international relations might be applied to a war with zombies. Two new notable chapbook series started up in and First, Nicholas Royle began publishing stories under the Nightjar Press imprint. In the first year of publication he brought out an award-winning story by Michael Marshall Smith taken for my best of the year.

During four chapbooks were published. And in he published another four: Field by Tom Fletcher is a brief tale about a tight-assed forest warden and his assistant investigating a complaint of trespassing. Sullom Hill by Christopher Kenworthy is a depressing but effective story about three boys: the narrator, his mentally slow friend, and a nasty little tuff. Remains by GA Pickin is about a young man who loses his way on the moor enroute to meeting friends at a holiday cottage.

Simon Marshall-Jones started Spectral Press in with four chapbooks: Abolisher of Roses by Gary Fry, is about an obnoxious businessman who gets his comeuppance during a walk through several art installations in the woods. What They Hear in the Dark by Gary McMahon is a tense and powerful tale about a couple whose child has been murdered by three boys and how each parent deals with the anger, and pain of loss.

Nowhere Hall by Cate Gardner is a surreal tale about a despairing man whose impulse to commit suicide is stymied by a detour into a mysterious hotel. Old Albert by Brian J. Showers Passport Levant is a series of episodes in the life of a house called Larkhill, built by a rich man obsessed with the study of birds. There is much horror here but as the prologue explains there are no solutions. While increasingly disturbing and creepy, the overall story is a bit too muddled to provide a satisfying conclusion.

His specialty is Oedipus Rex and anyone who crosses him should beware. Some wonderfully creepy stuff. Bad Moon Books brought out the following chapbooks: The Cranston Gibberer by Martin Mundt is a clever, over the top little epistolary parody of Lovecraftian literature purportedly written by someone very much like H.

Humorous but not very scary. When the Leaves Fall by Paul Melniczek is about sinister happenings in the town of Haverville and the two boys who get caught up in them one Halloween night. Ursa Major by John R. Little is about a camping trip gone very very bad. Heart of Glass by David Winnick is about a married couple who have grown apart.

The Bone Tree by Christopher Fulbright is about two boys in rural Texas in the late s suddenly faced with supernatural evil. Alice on the Shelf by Bill Gauthier is a dark variation of Alice in Wonderland in which a man searches for a friend who disappeared. A Little Gold Book of Ghastly Stuff by Neil Gaiman Borderlands Press is the final volume in this adorable hardcover series and contains nineteen poems, essays, memorials, reviews, and other bits and pieces. Blindspot by Michael McBride Dark Regions Press is about an experimental process enabling the user to see through the eyes of the dead — the only possible chance to avert nuclear annihilation.

Lansdale is a chapbook published by Subterranean Press as a bonus to purchasers of the limited edition of Subterranean: Tales of Dark Fantasy 2. The two well-told tales are the start of a new series by Lansdale about a skeptical detective of supernormal happenings.

There is a new series from The Burns Archive Press, which over the years has published a number of gorgeously produced books of memorial photography, including Sleeping Beauty volumes I and II. The new series is designed as pocket-sized, square hardcover volumes as lovingly produced as the usual, larger books. Burns provides a preface about his own history of collecting memorial photography and in a fascinating introduction explains why the new technology of photography became so popular for memorializing the dead, especially children in the s.

The photographs are annotated with information about the kind of technology used. Some of the photographs are of dead children posed with a surviving sibling, held by one of its parents, or perhaps most pitiably, tiny and alone and dressed in finery in a coffin or crib.

The practice has begun to take hold once more in the twenty-first century as some contemporary families pose with their stillborn or newly dead children. Disturbing all, but with a quiet beauty. Bontecou was a military surgeon who recorded and photographed soldiers with amputated limbs and others with minor bullet wounds. The book itself is as much a mediation on war and suffering focusing on the Civil War, just two years before Joseph Lister announced his discovery of antiseptic surgical principles and almost twenty years before Robert Koch described the germ theory of disease.

Some of the photos are accompanied by detailed case histories of the soldier, and those are perhaps the most interesting. Something has taken a bite out of the cover. Inside is a spread on how to spot monsters watch out for sunglasses hiding strange eyes or hair hiding an extra eye , another about infestations at home, watch out for critters in the toilet or the oven. I love popup books and this one is icky and has gooey things and is almost as good as my old favorite Fungus the Bogyman.

Deborah Turbeville, the Fashion Pictures Rizzoli is a gorgeous and disturbing coffee table book of photographs by one of the major photographers of the last forty years. One of her most famous fashion spreads is a series taken of bathing suit models photographed in an abandoned New York City bathhouse that looks like an insane asylum for abused women.

A series of photographs taken in the woods of Normandy looks like a vignette on the horrors of war as beautiful dead-eyed women wait — for death? For liberation? Each series of photographs tells an enigmatic story. The book starts with the origins of the zombie and mentions zombies in books, graphic novels, and video games, and on film and television and record albums. Clever and fun. Oversized and gorgeously produced, the book made a splash in the field and was nominated for the World Fantasy Award.

The categories are broken down into thirteen categories including hardware, pins and needles, toys, buttons, and surgical objects. The mind boggles. The book is as riveting as any fiction and is for anyone interested in the uncanny. The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities edited by Ann and Jeff VanderMeer HarperCollins is a charming, sometimes creepy compendium of entries and stories about fictional artifacts and exhibits, with contributions by an array of talented writers and illustrators including Holly Black, Helen Oyeyemi, Alan Moore, Ted Chiang, J.

Kiernan, and many others. This delightful book would make the perfect gift at any time of the year. Neumeyer Pomegranate is a memoir of the friendship between Gorey and Neumeyer told through their correspondence between — Noir fans will enjoy thumbing through the entries. The book continues to be the showcase for the best in genre art — the sheer variety of style and tone and media and subject matter is impressive. Arnie Fenner provides his usual thorough overview of the political and cultural year plus a necrology.

A magnificent book to thumb through and enjoy. Katherine MacDonald, sitting beside the bed and attaching one of the four TENS units to his scrawny thigh just below the basketball shorts he now always wore, did not look up. Her face was carefully blank.

She was a piece of human furniture in this big house — in this big bedroom where she now spent most of her working life — and that was the way she liked it. Attracting Mr. But her thoughts ran on, just the same. Now you tell them that you actually caused the accident. Because you think taking responsibility makes you look like a hero. Not so tight, Kat, please.

She loosened the Velcro strap a little, thinking: The pilot told you there were thunderstorms in the Omaha area. The two men listened closely. Jensen had heard it all before, of course, but you always listened closely when the man doing the talking was the sixth-richest man not just in America but in the world.

Three of the other five mega-rich guys were dark-complected fellows who wore robes and drove places in armoured Mercedes-Benzes. She thought: But I told him it was imperative that I make that meeting. His name was Rideout. He was tall and very thin, maybe sixty, wearing plain grey pants and a white shirt buttoned all the way to his scrawny neck, which was red with overshaving.

The whiff of charlatan was strong about him. In fifteen years as a nurse specialising in pain patients, she had met her share. Now tell them about your revelation , she thought as she carried her stool around to the other side of the bed. Although lately her silent compliance was wearing a little thin. She felt it happening.

Like the fabric of a shirt that had been worn and washed too many times. Newsome was speaking primarily to the fellow in the farmer-goes-to-town getup. Actually, two of them , Kat thought as she strapped a second TENS unit on his other wasted, flabby, scarred leg.

The second was that the word imperative is used very loosely by most people, including my former self. There are only two imperative things. One is life itself, the other is freedom from pain. Do you agree, Reverend Rideout? How many times do I have to tell you? Why do I even try? Melissa, the housekeeper, looking trim in a white blouse and high-waisted white slacks, came in with a coffee tray. Jensen accepted a cup, along with two packets of artificial sweetener.

The new one, the bottom-of-the-barrel so-called reverend, only shook his head. Maybe he had some kind of holy coffee in his lunchbox Thermos. When she took coffee, she took it in the kitchen with the rest of the help. It was November, and wind-driven rain lashed the windows. Newsome, or would you prefer that I leave now?

Other charlatans would undoubtedly follow, now that all reputable relief resources had been exhausted, but Rideout was the first, and Kat was interested to see how the farmer-looking fellow would go about separating Andy Newsome from a large chunk of his cash.

Or how he would try. At least in terms of money. Once the lechery might have been real Kat thought Melissa might have information on that subject , but now it was just a pair of shaggy eyebrows working on muscle memory. Kat plugged the cords into the control unit and flicked the switch. Be that as it might, they would do nothing for Newsome tonight. Hooked up as loosely as they were, they had been reduced to the equivalent of joy-buzzers. Expensive ones. The lord wounded in battle commands , she thought, and I obey.

She bent over to pull her chest of goodies out from under the bed. It was filled with tools many of her past clients referred to as implements of torture. Jensen and Rideout paid no attention to her. They continued to look at Newsome, who might or might not have been granted revelations that had changed his priorities and outlook on life, but who still enjoyed holding court.

He told them about awakening in a cage of metal and mesh. The fixators were anchored in the outraged and splintered femurs, tibiae, fibulae, humerus, radius, ulna. His back was encased in a kind of chain-mail girdle that went from his hips to the nape of his neck.

He talked about sleepless nights that seemed to go on not for hours but for years. He talked about the crushing headaches. He told them about the bedsores and how he bit back howls of hurt and outrage when the nurses attempted to roll him on his side so the sores could be flushed out. Actually, Kat knew, there had been five, two of those to remove the fixators when the bones were sufficiently healed.

Unless you included the minor procedure to re-set his broken fingers, that was. That comes next. Last summer. I have almost no flexion in my knees at all, and the pain in my hips and back is beyond description. The doctors— ah! Stop, Kat, stop! She had raised his right leg to a ten-degree angle, perhaps a little more. Not even enough to hold the cushioning pad in place. Kat relaxed her hold on his knee, and the leg returned to the hospital bed.

Ten degrees. Possibly twelve. The doctors guilty of false promises had not been guilty of false advertising; they had told him the pain was coming. Kat had been there as a silent onlooker during several of those consultations. They had told him he would swim in pain before those crucial tendons, shortened by the accident and frozen in place by the fixators, stretched out and once again became limber.

He would have plenty of pain before he was able to get the bend in his knees back to ninety degrees. Before he would be able to sit in a chair or behind the wheel of a car, that was. The same was true of his back and his neck. The road to recovery led through the Land of Pain, that was all.

These were true promises Andrew Newsome had chosen not to hear. It was his belief — never stated baldly, in words of one syllable, but undoubtedly one of the stars he steered by — that the sixth-richest man in the world should not have to visit the Land of Pain under any circumstances, only the Costa del Sol of Full Recovery. Blaming the doctors followed as day follows night. And of course he blamed fate.

Things like this were not supposed to happen to guys like him. Melissa came back with cookies on a tray. Newsome waved a hand — twisted and scarred in the accident — at her irritably. Here was another thing Kat MacDonald had discovered about the mega-rich, those dollar-babies who had amassed assets beyond ordinary comprehension: they felt very confident about speaking for everyone in the room.

Melissa gave her little Mona Lisa smile, then turned almost pirouetted and left the room. Glided from the room. She had to be at least forty-five, but looked younger. Rather there was an ice-queen glamour about her that made Kat think of Ingrid Bergman.

Icy or not, Kat supposed men would wonder how that chestnut hair would look freed from its clips, and lying all mussed up on a pillow. How her coral lipstick would look smeared on her teeth and up one cheek. Or that heart-shaped bottom. Not even for the sixth-richest man in the world. She placed the pad under his knee. Grasped the hanging bags that should have been turning back into muscle by now. Began to bend the leg. Waited for him to scream at her to stop. And she would. Because five thousand dollars a week added up to a cool quarter-mil a year.

Did he know that part of what he was buying was her silence? How could he not? Now tell them about the doctors. Geneva, London, Madrid, Mexico City, et cetera, et cetera. Speaking primarily to Rideout now. He was wearing big yellow workboots. The heel of one almost touched his black lunchbox. Such a spoiled baby. On crutches, yes, but walking.

And in another year, he would have been able to throw the crutches away. Only in another year he would still be here in this two hundred thousand dollar state-of-the-art hospital bed. And she would still be with him. Still taking his hush-money. How much would be enough? Two million? Money was wretched that way.

Newsome snorted. But he was a Paki. And a queer. Rideout rotated his head side-to-side in a negative gesture. Very slowly. She let the leg subside and began to manipulate his left arm. That he allowed. The left one had only been sprained. He also told people he was lucky not to be in a wheelchair, but the all-the-bells-and-whistles hospital bed suggested strongly that this was luck he had no intention of capitalising on in the near future.

The all-the-bells-and-whistles hospital bed was his wheelchair. It rolled. He had ridden all over the world in it. Neuropathic pain , Kat thought. Perhaps insoluble. The drugs no longer work. Your references in the matter of… er… healing… are very strong.

Rideout stood up. His shadow scared up behind him on the wall even higher. Almost to the ceiling. His eyes, sunken deep in their sockets, regarded Newsome solemnly. He had charisma, of that there could be no doubt. Jensen was actually craning his neck to see him. She looked and saw Melissa standing in the doorway.

So now they were all here except for Tonya, the cook. Outside, the wind rose to a shriek. The glass in the windows rattled. And flat. Maybe, Kat thought, a little scared. Rideout came to the bed and stood there with his long-fingered hands laced loosely together at the level of his flat crotch. His deep-set eyes looked sombrely down at the man in the bed.

Now , Kat thought, I have heard absolutely everything. But Newsome was fascinated. Like a kid watching a three-card monte expert on a streetcorner , she thought. Especially at night. The nights are… very long. One that worsens. Kat, sitting beside him on her stool, had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

It feeds on a special kind of hurt produced only by certain special people. It feeds just as termites feed on wood. And it will eat until you are all used up. Then it will cast you aside, sir, and move on. Certainly not the one you preach about. That one is the God of love. Or so I grew up believing. Jensen was frowning at her and shaking his head. The fact that our Lord, the Lord God of Hosts, rules them all — and on the Day of Judgment will destroy them all — does not change that.

These little gods have been worshipped by people both ancient and modern. They have their powers, and our God sometimes allows those powers to be exercised. Jensen, too; his mouth actually dropped open. Newsome, although not used to hearing criticism, nevertheless smiled. I also have faith in money. How much do you want? Rideout returned the smile, exposing teeth that were little more than tiny eroded gravestones.

If he had ever seen a dentist, it had been many moons ago. Also, he was a tobacco-chewer. Kat heard Melissa gasp. If you do whatever it is you do — expelling, exterminating, exorcising, call it what you want — you get the money. Fail, and you get nothing. Except your first and only roundtrip on a private jet. For that there will be no charge. After all, I reached out to you. She could also smell some strong soap. This time it was the secretive and rather unpleasant smile he wore when he made his phone calls and did his deals.

Now comes the curveball. I really hoped you were on the level. Have I? Did your investigators tell you that? He was looking up at the thin, towering man with a certain unease. But an expulsion takes great energy and great strength. Five years ago I suffered a major heart attack shortly after performing one on a young girl who had been in a terrible car accident.

We were successful, she and I, but the cardiologist I consulted in Jonesboro told me that if I ever exerted myself in such a way again, I might suffer another attack. This one fatal. Newsome raised a gnarled hand — not without effort — to the side of his mouth and spoke to Kat and Melissa in a comic stage-whisper. We had a dry summer in my part of the world. There was a wildfire, probably started by campers. And probably drunk.

My church is now just a concrete footprint and a few charred beams. I and my parishioners have been worshipping in an abandoned gas station-convenience store on the Jonesboro Pike. It is not satisfactory during the winter months, and there are no homes large enough to accommodate us. We are many but poor.

Kat listened with interest. As con-man stories went, this was a good one. It had the right sympathy-hooks. Rideout once more shook his head in that deliberate way: left, right, left, right, back to center. Newsome was smiling. Kat could tell from the stiff way he held his body that he was in serious discomfort — his pills were now half an hour overdue — but he was ignoring it because he was interested. He could battle the pain if he chose to. He had resources. She had thought she was merely irritated with this, but now, probably prompted by the appearance of the charlatan from Arkansas, she discovered she was actually infuriated.

It was so wasteful. I have taken the liberty of adding one hundred thousand dollars, just to be on the safe side. But then, not even a week after speaking with Mr. Kiernan, your letter came, along with the video-disc. Which I watched with great interest, by the way. Especially the part where the doctor from San Francisco says the pain associated with his injuries can be greatly alleviated by physical therapy.

Stringent physical therapy. It was true that nearly a dozen other doctors on the DVD had claimed themselves at a loss, but Kat believed Dr. Dilawar was the only one with the guts to talk straight. She had been surprised that Newsome had allowed the disc to go out with that interview on it, but since his accident, the sixth-richest man in the world had slipped a few cogs.

Newsome studied him. Now there were small beads of sweat just below his receding hairline. Kat would give him his pills soon, whether he asked for them or not. Some considerable size. What I believe you people call a love offering. Rideout shook his head again: left to right, right to left, back to center.

Magicians always do , Kat thought. Outside, the wind shrieked, rested, then shrieked again. The lights flickered. Behind the house, the generator also state-of-the-art burped to life, then stilled. Rideout sat on the edge of the bed.

Jensen there, I think. He looks strong and quick. Running back. Rideout leaned toward Newsome. What color is your pain? He was looking back at the preacher with fascination. Rideout nodded: up, down, up, down, back to center. Eye-contact never lost. Kat was sure he would have nodded with exactly the same look of grave confirmation if Newsome had said his pain was blue, or as purple as the fabled Purple People-Eater.

She thought, with a combination of dismay and real amusement: I could lose my temper here. I really could. It would be the most expensive tantrum of my life, but still — I could. Melissa took a step forward, giving Jensen a look of concern. Kat saw him shake his head a little and motion her back to the doorway. Close your eyes, sir, and concentrate. Look for the pain.

Look past the false shouts it gives — ignore the cheap ventriloquism — and locate it. You can do this. Newsome closed his eyes. For a space of ninety seconds there was no sound but the wind and the rain spattering against the windows like handfuls of fine gravel. High in my chest. Or at the bottom of my throat, just below the windpipe. Scars from the skin that had been flayed open during the accident wavered through these grooves of concentration. Rideout leaned closer.

A green ball. Like the rigged-up tennis ball you undoubtedly have either up your sleeve or in that big black lunchbox of yours, Rev , she thought. Jensen, sir. Get it and open it and stand next to me. You need to do no more than that for the moment. Kat MacDonald snapped. It was a snap she actually heard in her head. She stepped up beside Rideout and shouldered him aside. It was easy. He was taller, but she had been turning and lifting patients for nearly half her life, and she was stronger.

Open them right now. Look at me. Startled, Newsome did as she said. Melissa and Jensen now with the lunchbox in his hands looked alarmed. The boss commanded you. You most certainly did not startle him. There are plenty of other nurses in Vermont who specialise in pain therapy. She leaned forward, into his space, and the words spilled out in a torrent. It makes me sick.

Do you know how lucky you are to be alive, when everyone else on that airplane was killed? You would have lived four days, maybe even two weeks, in hellish agony. Instead you were thrown clear. You look for some easier way. You want to pay your way out of your situation. Jensen and Melissa were staring at her in horror.

If he had ever been talked to in such a fashion, it had been long ago. Only Rideout looked at ease. He was the one smiling now. The way a father would smile at his wayward four year old. It drove her crazy. Dilawar in San Francisco had the guts to tell you — he was the only one — and you rewarded him by calling him a faggot. His scarred hands had balled themselves into fists. Of course you are. But not by a lazy rich man who tries to substitute his sense of entitlement for the plain old hard work and tears it takes to get better.

You refuse. The quacks and confidence men come, the way leeches come when a man with a cut leg wades into a stagnant pond. Sometimes the quacks have magic creams. Sometimes they have magic pills. Usually the marks get partial relief. She raised her voice to a wavering, childlike treble and bent close to him. Tonya had come into the doorway and now stood beside Melissa, staring with wide eyes and a dishwiper hanging limp in one hand. His brow was knitted in perplexity.

His hands now began to knead his hips and thighs, as they always did when his pain medication was overdue. Shall I have mine? Newsome was sweating more heavily, but he was smiling again. I believe I want to hear this. Kat faced him. Those dark, socketed eyes were unsettling, but she met them. Hands still clasped behind his back, pink skull shining mutedly through his thin hair, long face solemn, Rideout examined her.

Kat felt an urge to flinch at that, or look away, or both. She suppressed it. Rideout rounded his thin lips and whistled: one tuneless, almost toneless note. Yes, that must have been excruciating. She flushed.

I based what I said on years of experience dealing with pain patients. It is a medical opinion. You know their kind. They work in sickrooms, they work with patients who are in varying degrees of distress, from mild pain to deepest, searing agony. What was happening to her voice? All at once it was small. Refusing to do the hard work? Perhaps even fishing for sympathy?

Some are malingerers. Or stupid. He bowed as if she had paid him a compliment — which, in a way, she supposed she had. But now, in your secret heart, you believe all of them are malingerers. Newsome here has been infested, I tell you, invaded. It will improve matters for you considerably, I think. Certainly it will change your outlook on pain. Rideout smiled. I would not ask others to constrain it, or constrain it myself.

She was furious, on the verge of tears. Do you still intend to leave? But no more talk. Jensen gave her the long black lunchbox. Kat opened it. Inside the domed lid, held by a wire clamp meant to secure a Thermos, was a green aerosol can. There was nothing else. Kat turned to Rideout. He nodded.

She took the aerosol out and looked at the label, nonplussed. I need one more thing before we begin. Do you have a baseball bat? Or any sort of club? Tonya shook her head. The wind gusted again; once more the lights flickered and the generator burped in its shed behind the house. Through the experience and sharing it, Annie came to believe without a doubt that the spirit continues on after death.

She took comfort from it and hopes, with this book, to share that comfort with others who may be grieving or afraid of death itself. The Afterlife of Billy Fingers isn't going to appeal to everyone. If you don't believe that communications from beyond the grave are possible, I'd suggest passing on this book. And, towards the end of Billy's travels into the afterlife, things get really far out as he lets go of his previous self and becomes the universe, embodying the entirety of reality.

But, that's the type of spirituality I'm into, so I loved it. The introduction by Raymond Moody describes Billy as a modern psychopomp, someone who guides the spirits of others through the afterlife: "The experiences Dr. Kagan relates are completely consistent with the kind of role walkers between the worlds played in antiquity. And that is no surprise to me. I think that such experiences are part of the collective psychological heritage of humankind- not artifacts of any one culture.

Billy was a drug addict and led a very hard life. This is what he had to say about it: "How do I know my life wasn't some punishment for my past transgressions? Well, because there's no such thing. You're not on earth to be punished. That's a human concept. Something man made up. Humans make up stuff and then they believe it".

A continuation along that line of thinking later in the book: "Beliefs are big on earth. People collect them. Some of these beliefs are helpful, but others just keep you running around trying to follow rules that others have laid down. They don't have a lot of personal meaning. It's a good idea to sort through your beliefs now and then and throw out the ones that don't serve you. At one point in the narrative, she has a toothache and starts to believe that she's being punished for revealing universal truths that should be kept secret.

She eventually gets past that attitude, but, when it comes to the unknown, I think fear can be a major hurdle: "After my toothache and the painful root canal and awful infection that followed, I was scared. Maybe some secrets shouldn't be revealed. Maybe I was breaking a sacred taboo, dabbling in a cosmic Pandora's box.

Another of the Be Here Now moments: "In your world, as the earth moves around the sun, there's nothing but shadow for a good part of the time. The mystery of life on earth cannot exist without the shadow element. You cannot have the sea without storms, the earth without quakes, the wind without tornados.

And sometimes- sometimes darkness is okay too. Don't overlook the riches contained in the darkness. Life's very temporary, so don't let time just pass. Let the moments fill you- the ones you judge to be good as well as bad. Solid advice. Let's end with one more bit of wisdom: "People spend lots of time on things that make them unhappy- too much focus on the sand in the oyster. To cultivate joy, pay attention to what you like. View all 7 comments. Dec 06, Travel Writing rated it it was ok Recommends it for: Nope.

No recommendation forthcoming. Shelves: drudge , wtf-not-in-a-good-way , memoir , grief. Having just lost my beloved brother- I was clamoring to read this book. As much as I desperately wanted to love this book. I don't. The premise is amazing. A writer's addicted older brother, Billy Fingers, dies in a tragic accident. The writer, Annie Kagan- Billy's sister, was out of contact with Billy, so it is a very complicated death and grief as they all are really. Annie is living in a beach house; meditating, writing a book, grieving when her brother shows up to comfort her and, you are NE Having just lost my beloved brother- I was clamoring to read this book.

Annie is living in a beach house; meditating, writing a book, grieving when her brother shows up to comfort her and, you are NEVER going to believe this, write a book with her. From here it just gets more and more implausible. She goes a little whacko girl-friendy on him. Damn you! Come talk to me! STOP talking to me! Where are you? I am freaking out! No, I am fine, no- I'm not! Go AWAY! Trust me. I actually gave my brother the what-for for not coming and chatting me up after he died, but here we are.

A story with a great foundation and the rest feeling contrived and utterly unbelievable. I am someone who thinks Sylvia Brown is pretty dead on. I am not a skeptic by any means, and this story doesn't work for me. It was uneven from the start.

In his first visits, Billy is children's Bible school teacher- sweet and kind, and then he is scaring Annie in the shower like Vincent Price. He dances around talking about the Akashic Records, he has an Indian soul guide, and then he has Angels. It reads like a buffet style of every Eastern mysticism, dashes of Christianity, a little new age-y and yet, Billy never calls anything by what Annie or any of the rest of us would recognize. Then Annie Kagan described herself as a cosmic detective and I was off the bus.

If you can get it at the library I would suggest giving it a read. It is simply written and not too mentally challenging. I polished it in an evening. View 2 comments. Mar 11, Angel Lepire rated it it was amazing Shelves: favorites , book-challenge. This is one of those books where you're either going to think it's right on, or total crap.

I really hope people go into this with an open mind, because it is definitely a thought-provoking book. It is very well written, and well, why shouldn't it be? It was written mostly by a spirtit. I liked that the author didn't go too far into writing a bunch of filler. What she added from her life and experience through this process was just the right amount of additional information without going Wow! What she added from her life and experience through this process was just the right amount of additional information without going off on unneccessary tangents.

This book reminded me a lot of Conversations with God, and I understand it is also similar to A Course in Miracles which I'm just starting. This was an awesome book. Sep 11, Liliana Garcia-Rivera rated it it was amazing. I've read a lot of books on NDE and the afterlife, but this one is different than any of the others. I read it within 24 hours and I will probably re-read it again and keep it in my collection.

View 1 comment. I was having a bad day but than I read this book OMG it is beautiful! I've read many spiritual books but Billy oh my God he explains it in a human way he describes the indescribable the best he can. I believe Mrs. It paints the afterlife like no way imaginable some parts seem outrageous but Billy makes it all seem possible, real even. I devoured this book in I was having a bad day but than I read this book I devoured this book in a day because I could not keep it down.

I won this at a giveaway and it seems like fate I read this. I will never look at death the same. I feel like I owe it to myself to be happy, to take everything what it is and try the best I can to let go of the notion "good" and "bad" because for all we know there is no good or bad. There simply is. Nov 23, Danusha Goska rated it did not like it. In "The Afterlife of Billy Fingers" Annie Kagan, a Manhattan chiropractor and songwriter, claims that her dead brother, William Cohen, a 62 year old recovering heroin addict and ex-con who was killed in a drunken car accident, explains the mysteries of the universe.

Kagan claims that Billy, as she calls her late brother, provided proof to her that his presence was real. For example, Billy communicates cryptic information to Kagan like "Give Tex a coin" and "There is no sunshine without the sun" In "The Afterlife of Billy Fingers" Annie Kagan, a Manhattan chiropractor and songwriter, claims that her dead brother, William Cohen, a 62 year old recovering heroin addict and ex-con who was killed in a drunken car accident, explains the mysteries of the universe.

For example, Billy communicates cryptic information to Kagan like "Give Tex a coin" and "There is no sunshine without the sun" and "Take Bach flower remedies. This meaning convinced Kagan that she wasn't merely imagining that her dead brother was speaking to her; he really was.

If these incidences are genuine, and if indeed the entire point of "The Afterlife of Billy Fingers" is, as Kagan claims, to aid humanity, then Kagan should be able to do for the general public what she did for those close to her.

Kagan and Billy should be able to produce messages that later pan out as true. So far, though, Kagan and Billy have not done this. That being the case, Kagan's claim remains completely implausible. The reader is left asking whether Kagan simply imagined Billy's monologues, or if Kagan is a manipulator exploiting human grief and fear to make money and achieve guru status. Kagan describes her own life in bare bones detail.

There is little description or depth. She mentions that she is separated from her husband but that they are still in contact. No details are provided about either the separation or the continued contact. She lives in a beach house, which sounds lovely and I would have liked vivid details to help me see her home and the nearby water. There are none. I don't believe that ghosts can dictate multiple paragraphs of prose, including semi-colons, brackets, and no misunderstood vocabulary words.

I have transcribed interviews with living informants, and transcription is a demanding, time-consuming chore. I often have to rewind recorded interviews several times before I can be sure that I am getting words down correctly. Kagan doesn't seem to have this concern. Billy apparently speaks with supernatural precision. Kagan never needs to ask, "Did you mean 'blue' as in the color or 'blew' as in the past tense of 'blow'"?

This is the kind of question that transcribers must often ask. I also did not find Billy believable as a character. The most genuine and raw truth Kagan reveals in her book is the agony of a younger sister who was a loved and good child who lost her beloved older brother to addiction and dysfunction.

Annie and Billy's parents were open in their preference for her, not him. Billy behaved badly toward Annie. Kagan does not write a memoir spelling out the day-to-day hurts of family dysfunction. Rather, she sketches out her history with Billy quickly, and devotes the bulk of the book to his alleged cosmic revelations. Billy doesn't read to me as a believable sexagenarian heroin addict and alcoholic who has achieved moksha — transcendence.

He reads like the creation of a broken-hearted sister finding slim comfort in the kind of shallow, muddled New Age ideals one could pick up by browsing the items near the cashier while waiting in line to check out of a store selling crystals and patchouli incense. The bulk of Billy's verbiage is directed to Kagan and their bruised and bruising relationship. She worshipped and tried to save him; he resented her, ignored her, and let her down.

Suddenly he's in heaven and she's all he's got time for. There are passages that read almost as incestuous. Billy refers to Kagan as "my darling. Finally I don't believe that Billy is the disembodied voice of William Cohen returning to educate humanity because the cosmic secrets Billy "reveals" are secondhand and shallow, example, "Pain is just part of the human experience…our lives are temporary" Also: there is no such thing as good or bad and you have everything you need.

When Billy wants to communicate how important something is, he describes it as physically large. For example one afterlife entity is important because it is bigger than the sun. Size is a child's way of understanding importance. Billy's visions are earthbound. He describes his own afterlife as floating around in space past stars and planets, "I'm drifting weightlessly through space with these gorgeous stars and moons and galaxies twinkling all around me.

Eventually Billy dissolves into oneness, a Hindu idea. In fact Kagan uses a Sanskrit term, "Ishvara," to talk about one of the divine entities Billy encounters. Kagan decides that she and Billy descend from the Lohani, a Pashtun tribe. Kagan has studied Eastern religions and it's easy to see where she picked up these theological trinkets.

I'm guessing that Kagan and her brother are of Jewish descent. One of the saddest aspects of "Billy Fingers" is that in imagining her afterlife and answers to the cosmic questions, Kagan has no use for Judaism whatsoever.

Her text is reflective of Jewbu, those modern Jews who have traded their ancestral riches for a vitiated and commodified version of Buddhism and Hinduism. Billy introduces Kagan to Lena Olin, the movie star. He never inspires her to perform a kindness for another person for which there is no payoff.

He does warn Kagan's friend Tex about her drinking, but the point of that episode was to prove that Billy knew things he could not know if he were not a supernatural entity. Kagan does not record playing any role in Tex's recovery.

The lack of earthbound service in Billy's heaven is not very deep. Mar 09, Panda rated it it was amazing. Intoxicatingly confirming. This book resonated on so many levels for me. It has the capacity to profoundly affect the reader as long as they allow it. Annie and her brother Billy, who 'has left this dimension and lives' in an alternate dimension for one of a better word, share knowledge and information by lifting the veil on the unseen world of life after death.

My most favourite part of this whole book, is that for most of us in this physical dimension, we are "told" not to judge by appearances Intoxicatingly confirming. My most favourite part of this whole book, is that for most of us in this physical dimension, we are "told" not to judge by appearances as they can deceiving. Billy is a true testimony to this, whilst his physical life may not read like the rich and famous in monetary terms, he 'shows' the reader that it is all about the underlying spirit and source of who we are, and often this truth is 'lost' while we digress on this physical plane for our soul evolution.

He even goes into the soul contracts that we set up prior to coming into this dimension and being 'born'. Some of the concepts may stretch your belief framework, however, if you are in your heart space as you read this book you will feel the truths come through. A beautifully written and captivating book. As with everything I recommend take what resonates with you and leave the rest behind on the page.

Feb 19, Cathrine rated it it was ok Shelves: Lots of beautiful wisdom. Jan 18, Alice Aley Martin rated it really liked it. I have read a LOT of books about the afterlife and the between life states, but this one was a bit more personal and simply verified all that I already knew once again.

Annie was fortunate to have the auditory experience to hear her brother after his demise and to learn and be able to get evidence of his presence through messages she could relate to others that could prove the material was coming from the source. Many of the things he related offered me validation that I have come far on my quest I have read a LOT of books about the afterlife and the between life states, but this one was a bit more personal and simply verified all that I already knew once again.

Many of the things he related offered me validation that I have come far on my quest for enlightenment and that my path has proven to be the one that has led me to my best use of soul purpose. Thanks Annie! A great read and good for those others who need to know what Billy had to say. I am happy he can get to move on and hope I will be able to when it is my turn. Apr 24, Darlene rated it liked it Shelves: first-reads.

I received this book from the Goodreads giveaway books. I just finished reading it and usually after reading a book, I automatically write a review while it is still fresh in my mind. I took a little bit after finishing this book to think about what I had read. First I must say, it was a very easy read as I read it in one sitting. Second, I enjoy reading books like this because as humans, we are always curious about the afterlife and question if there is one, where do we go when we die, do we go I received this book from the Goodreads giveaway books.

Second, I enjoy reading books like this because as humans, we are always curious about the afterlife and question if there is one, where do we go when we die, do we go directly to heaven, remain on a plane before going to heaven, etc. I will say I know there will be many skeptics that will read this book and while reading it will say, "yeah right".

They will pick this book apart, say that what is written is not possible because when we die we either go to heaven or hell and do not "communicate" with our loved ones left here on earth. While reading this book, I always try to put myself in the authors shoes and try to feel what they are feeling only for non-fiction stories. Whatever your religion is, you are raised believing one way because that is what was taught to you. Everyone has their own beliefs, and if they chose to believe that something like this can really happen, then they will.

As a believer in the afterlife and also believing that people that have passed can communicate with us, many things in this book, I have read some of the same things and have had those same thoughts. In the book, Annie's brother communicated with her after a tragic death.

They were never close as brother and sister and didn't always keep in touch. She had helped him several times to try and get him to beat his addiction to drugs. Maybe she had some guilt after his death because she had failed at helping him. But, from my experience of knowing people with addictions and working with them as well, they have to want to help themselves before anyone else can help them. Not everyone wants the help for whatever reasons.

Anyways, after his death, she wakes one morning to his voice, talking to her and telling her to write down what he is telling her. She does so, not knowing entirely if it is real or not. As she does so, she keeps it to herself at first then shares with her writer's group about it and gives them proof that this is for real when he gives little messages for her to give to certain people. One of the things that Billy told her was that before we are born, we choose the kind of life we want to live.

I have read this many times before. This also factors in the belief of reincarnation. Because we may chose one life-an easy one, no struggles, everything we want and then our next life, we may chose a hard one where everything is a struggle, we get by with the basic things we need in life but always wishing we had more so we didn't have to pinch pennies so much. I have always felt like that. He also mentioned about this "person" he referred to as Joseph and how he felt he had always known him and come to find out they were part of the same tribe from long ago.

Many people could read into that a lot of things or just say it adds to the flare of the story. But when you stop and think about all the people you meet in your lifetime, some you feel a strong connection to, like you have known them all your life or if you believe in past lives, then maybe you knew that person in another lifetime. That by living many lives, we are learning things to put us on a higher plane when we die. When we feel that have learned all we need, then we are no longer reincarnated but remain on what level we decided to stop at.

I have read books where people have had near death experiences and have talked about the brilliant light, the family members there to meet us and the feeling of something greater. They also talk about how sad they are to return to earth and many become very angry because they didn't wish to return and will often later commit suicide.

While others that come back, are happy live life to the fullest because they know that whatever they were to do here on earth is not done yet. From reading this story, it sounded as if Billy lived his life as he had chosen before being born, but to others, we couldn't understand how someone could want to live like that. And at the time of his death, he wasn't angry, scared, upset or anything.

He was happy, for he was returning home, to a home that we forget that we come from when we chose to be born. Some of the little things that he told her about that she couldn't possibly have known about, like her friend Tex and her drinking problem, the health issue with her ex husband, Steve, people would say after reading this, that is was just a coincidence that she "knew" about these things or call it lucky guessing.

Many people that go on with their lives, when something happens, they just say, boy, was I lucky I left my house 10 minutes late because otherwise I may have been in that accident that happened, or they have a "feeling" about something. These people don't realize that all this comes from somewhere higher.

Whether it be a guardian angel, a family member that has passed. We were given these delays or feelings for a reason because we were to receive them at that time. Reading this book, I did have to wonder if maybe our different religions, backgrounds, cultures, upbringings, maybe how we "interpret" death is different. Scientists tell us we come from the stars, cosmic particles that when they collide, life formed. But we are taught from the Bible that God made us, no matter what religion we are.

But, as a human race, we like scientific answers because we have a hard time believing in something we can't see. This is why I feel that some people are giving the "gift" to hear and see the ones that have passed on before us.

Granite there are many fakes out there taking advantage of people, telling them what they want to hear, but there are also the real deals out there too. You don't need special powers or a gift to receive messages from the great beyond as we say. We receive messages every day if we would just open our minds to them. I myself have been able to see spirits since a child, but grew up with a mother that felt that was "evil" and was told not to harness that power even though she herself as that ability too.

Even today, I still feel the presence and can often associate who it is by a scent or some other thing because it usually family members that visit me. I will dream about a person that has passed when I have questions about their death or want to know something. I feel that Annie needed to write this book not only to get her brothers word out there, but also to maybe help someone else who maybe struggling with the loss of a loved one and will find some comfort by reading Billy's story.

Everyone that reads this book, will have their own interpretation of what he is telling her, but if it brings some sort of peace to someone, then it will have helped. I do not believe we are to know all the answers to the afterlife and what happens when we die. We are know what we know, no more, no less. People that go through life, not believing are truly missing out on living. I will pass this book along to someone else who would like to know a little more about the afterlife and hope they have some more of their questions answered.

I believe Annie did the right thing by writing this book. I believe it was a comfort to her to write this and a way to feel closer to her brother and maybe right some the wrongs they had in their lives while growing up and even as adults. I truly believe her brother finally found the peace he was looking for during his lifetime. Hopefully she has found her peace too. Mar 01, Caroline Mitchell rated it it was amazing Recommends it for: Open minded people interested in life after death or inspirational stories.

Shelves: spiritual. I heard about this book on Facebook and was intrigued by the synopsis. Despite being in the middle of several other books yes rarely read one book at a time! I purchased this and found I could not put it down, so I read it in a few days.

I was very moved by the story and contacted the author on Facebook. I was pleasantly surprised to get a speedy response from a very lovely person that seemed very in tune with the world. I rated this five stars because it is well worth the read and will leave I heard about this book on Facebook and was intrigued by the synopsis. I rated this five stars because it is well worth the read and will leave you pondering long after you have finished reading it.

Yes I'm still pondering! I have read the reviews for this book and while most of them are good, there are some that criticise, saying it's too hard to believe and the thoughts of someone sitting in the clouds looking down is ridiculous. What I would say to these people is that they are taking it too literally, and looking at it from the viewpoint of where they are now. I dare say Annie seen her brother that way, but it didn't actually mean he was physically sitting in a cloud like a genie.

I take it to mean that it's how she interpreted it, just as psychics are shown things and given messages, it doesn't mean it in a literal sense, it's how it was shown to them. People need to stop thinking as they are and think with the mindset that anything is possible.

Maybe not in our physical narrow minded earth view, but in the broader sense as we are when we pass on. I feel we are very much blinkered in this life and it's only when we open our minds and our perspectives that we experience much more.

I have recently written my own paranormal book, 'Paranormal Intruder' and while my experiences were frightening and much more literal - chairs physically moving, knives being thrown - I also encountered some positive spiritual experiences, some too difficult or personal to put into words. I commend Annie Kagan for being brave enough to come out to the world with her story. I know it is not easy, but I am happy to see she appears to have a lot of support. I would recommend this to anyone interested in the afterlife, spiritual people, or those with a very open mind.

Personally, I believe when we pass on we are initially treated in line with our own spiritual beliefs, so no two experiences may be the same. Having said that, most of the books I have read all have a common theme of love, energy and a positive presence, which is very comforting indeed. This book is well written, and I will no doubt read it again.

Jun 16, Sheri rated it liked it. This book was very interesting but sad. I recently lost my dad and have been reading a lot of books on the afterlife. This book made me feel very unsettled regarding where my dad may be now. It made me very sad to think that we forget the people we loved on earth and wonder more now what is the meaning of life. According to this there almost seems to be no purpose of life and we forget everything and everyone we loved and die and go virtually no where.

At least that is what I got from this book.

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The average American will probably find Dr. That is too bad, though, because the Greek philosophers who founded Western thought knew full well about the remarkable phenomenon she describes. In fact, Greek philosophers even had a name for the people who were somehow suspended between this life and the next life.

The walkers between the worlds had important social functions. In Ancient Greece, walkers between the worlds served functions that in modern Western society are carried out by individuals who have neardeath experiences. Specifically, they were mediators, intermediaries, or messengers between the realm of the living and the realm of the dead.

The philosopher Menippus was another famous walker between the worlds. Menippus visited the afterlife dimension, returned, and then wrote a book about his journey. Menippus was sent back from the afterworld and charged with the task of monitoring what was happening among humans on earth. Menippus dressed the part. He sported an incredibly long gray beard and wore a long gray cloak tied at the waist with a scarlet sash. He carried a wooden staff carved from an ash tree.

He wore a strange hat inscribed with the signs of the Zodiac. He was serious about his mission. The experiences Dr. Kagan relates are completely consistent with the kind of role walkers between the worlds played in antiquity. And that is no surprise to me.

I think that such experiences are part of the collective psychological heritage of humankind—not artifacts of any one culture. I suspect there are plenty of other people like Dr. However, Westerners have developed an utterly false impression that experiences like hers are impossible—or even pathological. Accordingly, I salute Dr. Kagan for her courage in writing this book. In , I conducted a seminar on grief for professionals and hospice workers.

A middle-aged businesswoman who worked for the organization asked me about something that happened to her when she was almost killed. She was severely injured in a car crash and left her body at the scene. She immediately saw an old man in a gray robe standing beside the road.

The man had an extremely long gray beard, carried a staff, and wore an odd hat. And she felt he was there to carry her across to the afterworld. The woman spontaneously related her experiences out of her own curiosity. I suspect such encounters have been with us for thousands of years and no doubt occur to quite a few individuals.

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In Ancient Greece, walkers between the worlds served functions that in modern Western society are carried out by individuals who have neardeath experiences. Specifically, they were mediators, intermediaries, or messengers between the realm of the living and the realm of the dead. The philosopher Menippus was another famous walker between the worlds.

Menippus visited the afterlife dimension, returned, and then wrote a book about his journey. Menippus was sent back from the afterworld and charged with the task of monitoring what was happening among humans on earth. Menippus dressed the part. He sported an incredibly long gray beard and wore a long gray cloak tied at the waist with a scarlet sash.

He carried a wooden staff carved from an ash tree. He wore a strange hat inscribed with the signs of the Zodiac. He was serious about his mission. The experiences Dr. Kagan relates are completely consistent with the kind of role walkers between the worlds played in antiquity.

And that is no surprise to me. I think that such experiences are part of the collective psychological heritage of humankind—not artifacts of any one culture. I suspect there are plenty of other people like Dr. However, Westerners have developed an utterly false impression that experiences like hers are impossible—or even pathological.

Accordingly, I salute Dr. Kagan for her courage in writing this book. In , I conducted a seminar on grief for professionals and hospice workers. A middle-aged businesswoman who worked for the organization asked me about something that happened to her when she was almost killed. She was severely injured in a car crash and left her body at the scene. She immediately saw an old man in a gray robe standing beside the road.

The man had an extremely long gray beard, carried a staff, and wore an odd hat. And she felt he was there to carry her across to the afterworld. The woman spontaneously related her experiences out of her own curiosity. I suspect such encounters have been with us for thousands of years and no doubt occur to quite a few individuals. The Miami Dade Police left a message on my answering machine at nine in the morning.

Oh no! Billy must have been arrested. Not prison. Not again. Not this late in his life. Spook: Science Tackles the Afterlife. Afterlife — Repression. Afterlife by heroskeep. Noctorum - The Afterlife Resident Evil Afterlife Death and the Afterlife in Japanese Buddhism. Ang Laban sa Kabilang Mundo! Studio 13 - Afterlife - Electronic, Etherealwave, Chillwave rutracker. Blackthorne - Afterlife MP3 rutor.

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