Eric Ambler, Epitaph for a Spy, introduced by Stella Rimington, illustrated by Paul Blow (London: The Folio Society, 2013).
J. G. Ballard, The Drowned World, introduced by Will Self, illustrated by James Boswell (London: The Folio Society, 2013).
Susan Cooper, The Dark is Rising, illustrated by Laura Carlin (London: The Folio Society, 2012).
Susan Cooper, The Grey King, illustrated by Laura Carlin (London: The Folio Society, 2012).
Susan Cooper, Greenwitch, illustrated by Laura Carlin (London: The Folio Society, 2012).
Susan Cooper, Over Sea, Under Stone, illustrated by Laura Carlin (London: The Folio Society, 2011).
Susan Cooper, The Silver on the Tree, illustrated by Laura Carlin (London: The Folio Society, 2012).
Andrew Lang, ed., The Crimson Fairy Book, with an introduction by Carol Ann Duffy, paintings and decorations by Tim Stevens (London: The Folio Society, 2011).
Andrew Lang, ed., The Grey Fairy Book, with an introduction by Kate Bernheimer, paintings and decorations by Lauren Nassef (London: The Folio Society, 2013).
Andrew Lang, ed., The Orange Fairy Book, with an introduction by Sara Maitland, paintings and decorations by Tomislav Tomic (London: The Folio Society, 2013).
Luo Guanzhong, Three Kingdoms: A Historical Novel (volumes 1-4), translated and introductory essay by Moss Roberts, introduction by Ma Jian (London: The Folio Society, 2013) ("At times the forces of yin and yang that govern nature fail, and day and darkness seem as one, turning the vast space into a fearful monochrome. Everywhere the fog, stock-still. Not even a cartload can be spotted. But the sound of gong or drum carries far." Id at 510.).
W. Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage, introduced by Selina Hastings, illustrated by Michael Kirkham (London: The Folio Society, 2011).
Mervyn Peake, Gormenghast (The Gormenghast Trilogy), illustrations by Peter Harding (London: The Folio Society, 1992) ("He ran as though to obey an order. And this was so, though he knew nothing of it. He ran in the acknowledgement of a law as old as the laws of his home. The law of flesh and blood. The law of longing. The law of change. The law of youth. The law that separates the generations, that draws the child from his mother, the boy from his father, the youth from both." "And it was the law of quest. The law that few obey for lack of valour. The craving of the young for the unknown and all that lies beyond the tenuous skyline." Id. at 441.).
Mervyn Peake, Titus Alone (The Gormenghast Trilogy), illustrations by Peter Harding (London: The Folio Society, 1992) ("Mr Crabcalf was propped up, not againt pillows or a bolster of straw, but by books; and every book was the same book with its dark grey spine. There at his back, banked up like a wall of bricks, were the so-called 'remainders' of an epic, long ago written, long ago forgotten, except by its author, for his lifework lay at his shoulder-blades." "Out of the five hundred copies printed thirty years ago by a publisher long since bankrupt, only twelve copies had been sold." "Around his bed, three hundred identical volumes were erected . . . like walls or ramparts, protecting him from --what? There was also a cache beneath the bed, that gathered dust and sliver-fish." "He lay with his past beside him, beneath him, and at his head: his past, five hundred times repeated, covered with dust and silver-fish. His head, like Jacob's in the famous stone, rested against the volumes of lost breath. The ladder from his miserable bed reached up to heaven. But there were no angels." Id. at 102.).
Mervyn Peake, Titus Groan (The Gormenghast Trilogy), introduction by Michael Moorcock, illustrations by Peter Harding (London: The Folio Society, 1992) ("The loss of his library had been a blow so pulverizing that he had not yet begun to suffer the torment that was later to come to him. He was still dazed and bewildered, but he sensed instinctively that his only hope lay in turning his mind as often as possible from the tragedy and in applying himself unstintingly to the routine of the day. As the weeks passed by, however, he found it more and more difficult to keep the horror of that night from his mind. Books which he loved not only for their burden, but intrinsically, for varying qualities of paper and print, kept reminding him that they were no longer to be fingered and read. Not only were the books lost and the thoughts in the books, but what was to him, perhaps, the most searching loss of all, the hours or rumination which lifted him above himself and bore him upon their muffled and enormous wings. Not a day passed by he was reminded of some single volume, or of a series of works, whose very position on the walls was so clearly indented in his mind. He had taken refuge from this raw emptiness in a superhuman effort to concentrate his mind exclusively upon the sting of ceremonies which he had daily to perform. He had not tried to rescue a single volume from the shelves, for even while the flames leapt around him he knew that every sentence that escaped the fire would be unreadable and bitter as gall, something to taunt him endlessly. It was better to have the cavity in his heart yawning and completely empty than mocked by a single volume. Yet not a day passed but he knew his grip had weaker." Id. at 275-276.).
V. S. Pritchett, The Camberwell Beauty and Other Stories, selected and introduced by William Trevor, illustrated by Clifford Harper (London: The Folio Society, 2011).
Mary Shelley, The Last Man, introduced by Sarah Hall, with paintings by Caspar David Friedrich (London: The Folio Society, 2012) ("The acquisition of unknown languages was too tedious an occupation, for one who referred every expression to the universe within, and read not, as many do, for the mere sake of filling up time; but who was still questioning herself and her author, moulding every idea in a thousand ways, ardently desirous for the discovery of truth in every sentence. She sought to improve her understanding; mechanically her heart and dispositions became soft and gentle under this benign discipline. After awhile she discovered, that amidst all her newly acquired knowledge, her own character, which formerly she fancied that she thoroughly understood, became the first in rank among the terrae incognito, the pathless wilds of a country that had no chart. Erringly and strangely she began the task of self-examination with self-condemnation. And then again she became aware of her own excellencies, and began to balance with juster scales the shades of good and evil. I, who longed beyond words, to restore her to the happiness it was still in her power to enjoy, watched with anxiety the result of these internal proceedings." Id. at 144-145.).
John Wyndham, The Chrysalids, introduced by Adam Roberts, illustrated by Patrick Leger (London: The Folio Society, 2010) ("The living form defies evolution at its peril; if it does not adapt, it will be broken. The idea of completed man is the supreme vanity: the finished image is a sacrilegious myth." Id. at 178.).
John Wyndham, The Day of the Triffids, introduced by Adam Roberts, illustrated by Patrick Leger (London: The Folio Society, 2010) ("When a day you happen to know is Wednesday starts off by sounding like Sunday, there is something seriously wrong somewhere." Id. at 3.).
John Wyndham, The Midwich Cuckoos, introduced by Adam Roberts, illustrated by Patrick Leger (London: The Folio Society, 2010) ("If you want to keep alive in the jungle, you must live as the jungle does. . ." Id. at 203.).
