Verwandte Artikel zu Heap House

9781468309539: Heap House
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 1468309536 ISBN 13: 9781468309539
Verlag: OVERLOOK PR, 2014

Inhaltsangabe

Welcome to Heap House, the sprawling, slipshod maze of a mansion, built on the "Heaps," a collection of forgotten trash and curios. Young Clod Iremonger and his eccentric family, the "kings of mildew, moguls of mold," made their fortune from this collected detritus. The Iremongers are an odd old family, each the owner of the birth object they must keep with them at all times. Clod is perhaps the oddest of all-his gift and his curse is that he can hear all of the objects of Heap House whispering.

Yes, a storm is brewing over Heap House and the house's many objects are showing strange signs of life. Clod is on the cusp of being "trousered" and married off (unhappily) to his cousin Pinalippy when he meets the plucky orphan servant Lucy Pennant, with whose help he begins to uncover the dark secrets of his family's empire.

The first installment of the Iremonger Trilogy, Heap House introduces readers to a gloriously imagined dark world whose inhabitants come alive on the page-and in Edward Carey's fantastical illustrations. Heap House is a book that will appeal to fans of Neil Gaiman, Roald Dahl and Mervyn Peake, young and old alike. Mystery, romance, and the perils of the Heaps await!

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Edward Carey is the author and illustrator of two novels for adults, Observatory Mansions and Alva and Irva, which was longlisted for the IMPAC Literary Award. The Iremonger Trilogy is his rst work for young readers. Born in England, he now lives with his wife, Elizabeth McCracken, and their two children in Austin, Texas, where he wrote the Iremonger Trilogy because he missed

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Copyright

For my brother James (1966-2012)

A UNIVERSAL BATH PLUG

Beginning the narrative of Clod Iremonger, Forlichingham Park, London

How It Started

It all really began, all the terrible business that followed, on the day my Aunt Rosamud's door handle went missing. It was my aunt's particular door handle, a brass one. It did not help that she had been all over the mansion the day before with it, looking for things to complain about as was her habit. She had stalked through every floor, she had been up and down staircases, opening doors at every opportunity, finding fault. And during all her thorough investigations she insisted that her door handle was about her, only now it was not. Someone, she screamed, had taken it.

There hadn't been such a fuss since my Great Uncle Pitter lost his safety pin. On that occasion there was searching all the way up and down the building only for it to be discovered that poor old Uncle had had it all along, it had fallen through the ripped lining of his jacket pocket.

I was the one that found it.

They looked at me very queerly afterwards, my family did, or I should say more queerly, because I was never absolutely trusted and was often shooed from place to place. After the safety pin was found it seemed to confirm something more in my family, and some of my aunts and cousins would steer clear of me, not even speaking to me, whilst others, my cousin Moorcus for example, would seek me out. Cousin Moorcus was certain that I had hidden the pin in the jacket myself and down a dim passageway he caught up with me and smacked my head against the wall, counting to twelve as he did it (my age at the time), and lifted me high up onto a coat hook, leaving me suspended there until I was found two hours later by one of the servants.

Great Uncle Pitter was most apologetic after his pin was found and never, I think, properly recovered from the drama. All that fuss, accusing so many people. He died the next spring, in his sleep, his safety pin pinned to his pyjamas.

'But how could you tell, Clod?' my relations wondered. 'How could you know the safety pin was there?'

'I heard it,' I said, 'calling out.'

I Heard Things

Those flesh flaps on the sides of my head did too much, those two holes where the sounds went in were over-busy. I heard things when I shouldn't.

It took me a time to understand my hearing.

I was told that as a baby I started to cry for no reason. I'd be lying there in my crib and nothing would have happened at all but suddenly I would be screaming as if someone had pulled my scant hair or as if I had been scalded with boiling water or as if someone had sliced into me with a knife. It was always like that. I was an odd child, they said, unhappy and difficult, hard to calm. Colic. Chronic colic. The nursery maids never stayed long. 'Why are you so bad?' they asked. 'Why will you not settle?'

The noises upset me; I was always jumpy and scared and angry. I could not understand the words of the noises at first. At first it was just sounds and rustles, clinks, clicks, smacks, taps, claps, bangs, rumbles, crumblings, yelps, moans, groans, that sort of thing. Not very loud mostly. Sometimes unbearably so. When I could speak I should keep saying, 'Who said that? Who said that?' or 'Be quiet. Shut up you, you're nothing but a washcloth!' or 'Will you be silent, you chamber pot!' because it seemed to me that objects, ordinary everyday objects, were speaking to me in human voices.

The maids would be so cross when I slapped about some chair or bowl, some handbell or side table. 'Calm down,' they kept telling me.

It was only when my Uncle Aliver, recently made a doctor then, took notice of my upset that things began to improve for me. 'Why are you crying?' he asked me.

'The forceps,' I said.

'My forceps?' he asked. 'What about them?'

I told him that his forceps, which were some

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Verlag
OVERLOOK PR
Erscheinungsdatum
2014
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1468309536
ISBN 13 
9781468309539
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Auflage
1
Anzahl der Seiten
416
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Yeepin GmbH
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Kaiserslautern
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