Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

Lyra lies sleeping in a cave near a rainbow, drugged into unconsciousnessby her mother, Mrs Coulter, whose love for her daughterclosely rivals her own ruthless ambition. Now, the latter threatensto overcome the former, as she strives to prevent the events whichare dependent on the decisions Lyra is fated to make. Meanwhile,Will-scarred and traumatised after his last, fatal meeting withhis father-seeks blindly for her, with only two of Lord Asriel'sangels as companions on his dangerous search. The two are fatedto meet once more, however, and begin their most treacherous journey.For Lyra owes a great debt, and she must repay it-she mustrescue her friend from the Land of the Dead. Neither are preparedfor the terrible sacrifice they must endure, or for the universalconsequences of their actions. Lyra and Will must play theirpart in the war between the worlds and heaven...

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THE ENCHANTED SLEEPER In a valley shaded with rhododendrons, close to the snow line, where a stream milky with meltwater splashed and where doves and linnets flew among the immense pines, lay a cave, half-hidden by the crag above and the stiff heavy leaves that clustered below. The woods were full of sound: the stream between the rocks, the wind among the needles of the pine branches, the chitter of insects and the cries of small arboreal mammals, as well as the birdsong; and from time to time a stronger gust of wind would make one of the branches of a cedar or a fir move against another and groan like a cello. It was a place of brilliant sunlight, never undappled. Shafts of lemon-gold brilliance lanced down to the forest floor between bars and pools of brown-green shade; and the light was never still, never constant, because drifting mist would often float among the treetops, filtering all the sunlight to a pearly sheen and brushing every pine cone with moisture that glistened when the mist lifted. Sometimes the wetness in the clouds condensed into tiny drops half mist and half rain, which floated downward rather than fell, making a soft rustling patter among the millions of needles. There was a narrow path beside the stream, which led from a village--little more than a cluster of herdsmen's dwellings--at the foot of the valley to a half-ruined shrine near the glacier at its head, a place where faded silken flags streamed out in the perpetual winds from the high mountains, and offerings of barley cakes and dried tea were placed by pious villagers. An odd effect of the light, the ice, and the vapor enveloped the head of the valley in perpetual rainbows. The cave lay some way above the path. Many years before, a holy man had lived there, meditating and fasting and praying, and the place was venerated for the sake of his memory. It was thirty feet or so deep, with a dry floor: an ideal den for a bear or a wolf, but the only creatures living in it for years had been birds and bats. But the form that was crouching inside the entrance, his black eyes watching this way and that, his sharp ears pricked, was neither bird nor bat. The sunlight lay heavy and rich on his lustrous golden fur, and his monkey hands turned a pine cone this way and that, snapping off the scales with sharp fingers and scratching out the sweet nuts. Behind him, just beyond the point where the sunlight reached, Mrs. Coulter was heating some water in a small pan over a naphtha stove. Her dæmon uttered a warning murmur and Mrs. Coulter looked up. Coming along the forest path was a young village girl. Mrs. Coulter knew who she was: Ama had been bringing her food for some days now. Mrs. Coulter had let it be known when she first arrived that she was a holy woman engaged in meditation and prayer, and under a vow never to speak to a man. Ama was the only person whose visits she accepted. This time, though, the girl wasn't alone. Her father was with her, and while Ama climbed up to the cave, he waited a little way off. Ama came to the cave entrance and bowed. "My father sends me with prayers for your goodwill," she said. "Greetings, child," said Mrs. Coulter. The girl was carrying a bundle wrapped in faded cotton, which she laid at Mrs. Coulter's feet. Then she held out a little bunch of flowers, a dozen or so anemones bound with a cotton thread, and began to speak in a rapid, nervous voice. Mrs. Coulter understood some of the language of these mountain people, but it would never do to let them know how much. So she smiled and motioned to the girl to close her lips and to watch their two dæmons. The golden monkey was holding out his little black hand, and Ama's butterfly dæmon was fluttering closer and closer until he settled on a horny forefinger. The monkey brought him slowly to his ear, and Mrs. Coulter felt a tiny stream of understanding flow into her mind, clarifying the girl's words. The villagers were happy for a holy woman, such as herself, to take refuge in the cave, but it was rumored that she had a companion with her who was in some way dangerous and powerful. It was that which made the villagers afraid. Was this other being Mrs. Coulter's master, or her servant? Did she mean harm? Why was she there in the first place? Were they going to stay long? Ama conveyed these questions with a thousand misgivings. A novel answer occurred to Mrs. Coulter as the dæmon's understanding filtered into hers. She could tell the truth. Not all of it, naturally, but some. She felt a little quiver of laughter at the idea, but kept it out of her voice as she explained: "Yes, there is someone else with me. But there is nothing to be afraid of. She is my daughter, and she is under a spell that made her fall asleep. We have come here to hide from the enchanter who put the spell on her, while I try to cure her and keep her from harm. Come and see her, if you like." Ama was half-soothed by Mrs. Coulter's soft voice, and half-afraid still; and the talk of enchanters and spells added to the awe she felt. But the golden monkey was holding her dæmon so gently, and she was curious, besides, so she followed Mrs. Coulter into the cave. Her father, on the path below, took a step forward, and his crow dæmon raised her wings once or twice, but he stayed where he was. Mrs. Coulter lit a candle, because the light was fading rapidly, and led Ama to the back of the cave. Ama's eyes glittered widely in the gloom, and her hands were moving together in a repetitive gesture of finger on thumb, finger on thumb, to ward off danger by confusing the evil spirits. "You see?" said Mrs. Coulter. "She can do no harm. There's nothing to be afraid of." Ama looked at the figure in the sleeping bag. It was a girl older than she was, by three or four years, perhaps; and she had hair of a color Ama had never seen before--a tawny fairness like a lion's. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and she was deeply asleep, there was no doubt about that, for her dæmon lay coiled and unconscious at her throat. He had the form of some creature like a mongoose, but red-gold in color and smaller. The golden monkey was tenderly smoothing the fur between the sleeping dæmon's ears, and as Ama looked, the mongoose creature stirred uneasily and uttered a hoarse little mew. Ama's dæmon, mouse-formed, pressed himself close to Ama's neck and peered fearfully through her hair. "So you can tell your father what you've seen," Mrs. Coulter went on. "No evil spirit. Just my daughter, asleep under a spell, and in my care. But, please, Ama, tell your father that this must be a secret. No one but you two must know Lyra is here. If the enchanter knew where she was, he would seek her out and destroy her, and me, and everything nearby. So hush! Tell your father, and no one else." She knelt beside Lyra and smoothed the damp hair back from the sleeping face before bending low to kiss her daughter's cheek. Then she looked up with sad and loving eyes, and smiled at Ama with such brave, wise compassion that the little girl felt tears fill her gaze. Mrs. Coulter took Ama's hand as they went back to the cave entrance, and saw the girl's father watching anxiously from below. The woman put her hands together and bowed to him, and he responded with relief as his daughter, having bowed both to Mrs. Coulter and to the enchanted sleeper, turned and scampered down the slope in the twilight. Father and daughter bowed once more to the cave and then set off, to vanish among the gloom of the heavy rhododendrons. Mrs. Coulter turned back to the water on her stove, which was nearly at the boil. Crouching down, she crumbled some dried leaves into it, two pinches from this bag, one from that, and added three drops of a pale yellow oil. She stirred it briskly, counting in her head till five minutes had gone by. Then she took the pan off the stove and sat down to wait for the liquid to cool. Around her there lay some of the equipment from the camp by the blue lake where Sir Charles Latrom had died: a sleeping bag, a rucksack with changes of clothes and washing equipment, and so on. There was also a case of canvas with a tough wooden frame, lined with kapok, containing various instruments; and there was a pistol in a holster. The decoction cooled rapidly in the thin air, and as soon as it was at blood heat, she poured it carefully into a metal beaker and carried it to the rear of the cave. The monkey dæmon dropped his pine cone and came with her. Mrs. Coulter placed the beaker carefully on a low rock and knelt beside the sleeping Lyra. The golden monkey crouched on her other side, ready to seize Pantalaimon if he woke up. Lyra's hair was damp, and her eyes moved behind their closed lids. She was beginning to stir: Mrs. Coulter had felt her eyelashes flutter when she'd kissed her, and knew she didn't have long before Lyra woke up altogether. She slipped a hand under the girl's head, and with the other lifted the damp strands of hair off her forehead. Lyra's lips parted and she moaned softly; Pantalaimon moved a little closer to her breast. The golden monkey's eyes never left Lyra's dæmon, and his little black fingers twitched at the edge of the sleeping bag. A look from Mrs. Coulter, and he let go and moved back a hand's breadth. The woman gently lifted her daughter so that her shoulders were off the ground and her head lolled, and then Lyra caught her breath and her eyes half-opened, fluttering, heavy. "Roger," she murmured. "Roger . . . where are you . . . I can't see . . ." "Shh," her mother whispered, "shh, my darling, drink this." Holding the beaker in Lyra's mouth, she tilted it to let a drop moisten the girl's lips. Lyra's tongue sensed it and moved to lick them, and then Mrs. Coulter let a little more of the liquid trickle into Lyra's mouth, very carefully, letting her swallow each sip before allowing her more. It took several minutes, but eventually the beaker was empty, and Mrs. Coulter laid her daughter down again. As soon as Lyra's head lay on the ground, Pantalaimon moved back around her throat. His red-gold fur was as damp as her hair. They were deeply asleep again. The golden monkey picked his way lightly to the mouth of the cave and sat once more watching the path. Mrs. Coul- ter dipped a flannel in a basin of cold water and mopped Lyra's face, and then unfastened the sleeping bag and washed Lyra's arms and neck and shoulders, for Lyra was hot. Then her mother took a comb and gently teased out the tangles in Lyra's hair, smoothing it back from her forehead, parting it neatly. She left the sleeping bag open so the girl could cool down, and unfolded the bundle that Ama had brought: some flat loaves of bread, a cake of compressed tea, some sticky rice wrapped in a large leaf. It was time to build the fire. The chill of the mountains was fierce at night. Working methodically, she shaved some dry tinder, set the fire, and struck a match. That was something else to think of: the matches were running out, and so was the naphtha for the stove; she must keep the fire alight day and night from now on. Her dæmon was discontented. He didn't like what she was doing here in the cave, and when he tried to express his concern, she brushed him away. He turned his back, contempt in every line of his body as he flicked the scales from his pine cone out into the dark. She took no notice, but worked steadily and skillfully to build up the fire and set the pan to heat some water for tea. Nevertheless, his skepticism affected her, and as she crumbled the dark gray tea brick into the water, she wondered what in the world she thought she was doing, and whether she had gone mad, and, over and over again, what would happen when the Church found out. The golden monkey was right. She wasn't only hiding Lyra: she was hiding her own eyes. Out of the dark the little boy came, hopeful and frightened, whispering over and over: "Lyra--Lyra--Lyra" Behind him there were other figures, even more shadowy than he was, even more silent. They seemed to be of the same company and of the same kind, but they had no faces that were visible and no voices that spoke; and his voice never rose above a whisper, and his face was shaded and blurred like something half-forgotten. "Lyra . . . Lyra . . ." Where were they? On a great plain, where no light shone from the iron-dark sky, and where a mist obscured the horizon on every side. The ground was bare earth, beaten flat by the pressure of millions of feet, even though those feet had less weight than feathers; so it must have been time that pressed it flat, even though time had been stilled in this place; so it must have been the way things were. This was the end of all places and the last of all worlds. "Lyra . . ." Why were they there? They were imprisoned. Someone had committed a crime, though no one knew what it was, or who had done it, or what authority sat in judgment. Why did the little boy keep calling Lyra's name? Hope. Who were they? Ghosts. And Lyra couldn't touch them, no matter how she tried. Her baffled hands moved through and through, and still the little boy stood there pleading. "Roger," she said, but her voice came out in a whisper. "Oh, Roger, where are you? What is this place?" He said, "It's the world of the dead, Lyra--I dunno what to do--I dunno if I'm here forever, and I dunno if I done bad things or what, because I tried to be good, but I hate it, I'm scared of it all, I hate it--" And Lyra said, "I'll Excerpted from The Amber Spyglass by Philip Pullman All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Publishers Weekly Review

As the assured, silver-tongued narrator weaving amongst the excellent work of approximately 40 British actors, Pullman extends an impossible-to-refuse invitation to listening adventure on this splendid adaptation of the much-anticipated conclusion to the His Dark Materials trilogy. The author picks up the story of Lyra Belaqua where it left off in The Subtle Knife. In the most provocative installment yet, Lyra finds herself at the center of what is to be the final battle between good and evil she is a target for the Church, which sees her as a threat. But she is also happily re-teamed with Will Parry, the young hero who Lyra eventually recognizes is her soul mate/true love. Throughout, Pullman challenges Christianity and God (who is a craggy old man here, very different from the usual biblical depiction), asking readers to examine the ideas of organized religion. Favorite characters such as Iorek the bear and Lyra's parents, Lord Asriel and Mrs. Coulter, return, though the introduction of layers of new creatures and new worlds may require more careful listening. As the rich tale unfolds, Pullman's voice elegant with a hint of both whisper and rasp thoroughly enthralls, sounding by turns forceful and tender. The talented, extensive cast gives a dynamic, nearly flawless performance, with highlights that include the youthful and exuberant Lyra and Will (Alison Wyatt and Peter England) and the dramatic, emotional dialogue of angels/companions Baruch (Nigel Carrington) and Balthamos (Alec McCowen). Ages 12-up. (May) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

School Library Journal Review

Gr 6 Up-With The Amber Spyglass (Knopf, 2000), Philip Pullman completes his epic trilogy, collectively titled, His Dark Materials. The young heroine, Lyra Belacqua, is still battling the evil forces that inhabit the warring fantasy cosmos introduced in The Golden Compass (Knopf ,1996), and continued in The Subtle Knife (Knopf ,1997). In this volume, Lyra is rescued from her often unscrupulous mother by her trusted companion, Will. Will and Lyra endure a perilous journey to the land of the dead, and reconnect with Dr. Mary Malone who has made the all-important spyglass. After encounters with helpful angels, demons and witches, as well as difficulties with clergy and theologians, the pair fulfill their destiny. With this comes a deeper understanding of the dangers to their universe, and eventually, painful, but necessary choices. Pullman does a first class job as narrator of his language-rich text. He is joined by a superb cast of 40 British actors who bring the book's large and diverse array of characters into sharp focus. This fine recording is almost a stage play in a box, and it is a solid purchase for both school and public libraries. Considering the book's 500 plus pages, the recording is likely to be a very popular way for fans both young and old to conclude Pullman's classically-inspired saga.-Barbara Wysocki, Cora J. Belden Library, Rocky Hill, CT (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Horn Book Review

(Intermediate) WarrenÕs Boston GlobeÐHorn Book Award winner, Orphan Train Rider: One BoyÕs True Story, focused on the experiences of a single child. Here Warren tells the stories of several children who rode the orphan trains in the early part of the twentieth century. Introductory chapters explain the programÕs founding in the early 1850s by Charles Loring Brace and describe the work of the agents who accompanied orphans on the trains from New York to their new homes in the Midwest. Among the children profiled in the anecdotal, often touching text are twin sisters Nettie and Nellie Crook, who flourished under the care of an older couple in Kansas; Art Smith, who was abandoned in a New York department store as an infant and taken in by an Iowa family; and Betty Murray, who was adopted by a prosperous couple while her siblings were raised nearby in somewhat harsher circumstances. While some of the orphans were forced into labor or suffered abuse, those interviewed for this volumeÑand featured in appealing black-and-white pictures as both children and older adultsÑgrew up in generally pleasant circumstances and went on to rewarding adult lives. Many have become involved in the Orphan Train Heritage Society of America, staging reunions with other former riders and working to educate the public about this intriguing chapter in American history. Includes a brief bibliography and index. p.d.s. Audiobook Reviews By Kristi Beavin Read by Amanda Plummer. In AlmondÕs visionary novel, three damaged childrenÑErin Law, January Carr, and Mouse GullaneÑhaving tried to escape from their orphanage on a raft, find themselves in an eerie landscape called the Black Middens. There they discover Heaven Eyes, a mysterious young girl with webbed fingers and toes who lives with her grandfather in an abandoned building. Narrator Amanda Plummer is more than a match for both the elegant, enigmatic language and the plot, which eddies and swirls like the muddy river that has carried these drifters away. Each characterÑfrom surly January to stalwart Erin to shy Mouse to menacing GrampaÑis crafted with utter precision. Best of all is the voice she creates for the title character; the oddly elliptical rhythms, off-kilter vocabulary, and diaphanous voice lend Heaven Eyes a moony, elusive, translucent presence. Beverly Cleary Henry Huggins Read by Neil Patrick Harris. This is not the first audio version of Henry Huggins: Recorded Books produced one in 1994, oddly enough with a woman narrator. Neil Patrick Harris seems a more appropriate choice if for no other reason than his gender. His contributions, however, add up to much more. From HenryÕs determined elation (wrestling the newly found Ribsy onto a bus) to utter humiliation (performing in a ÒNational Brush Your Teeth WeekÓ play), Harris captures the dimensions of a young boy facing the unavoidable highs and lows of growing up. His portrayal of the women in the storyÑHenryÕs mother and his teacher, Miss Roop Ñmay strike some listeners as exaggerated, but his vocalization of HenryÕs desperately typed and re-typed excuse to get him out of yet another performance (this time in an operetta) is a masterful comic turn. Carolyn Coman Many Stones Read by Mandy Siegfried. Sixteen-year-old Berry confronts the loss of her beloved sister, murdered while working at a school in South Africa. Narrator Mandy Siegfried provides the perfect adolescent voiceÑa mercurial blend of fury, insolence, naivetÄ, regret, longing, cynicism, love, and hate. The ever-shifting mix is punctuated by flashes of insight as Berry wrestles with questions of retribution and reconciliation. SiegfriedÕs gentle modulations in timbre, pitch, and pace reveal BerryÕs perceptions of those she encounters and their effect on her. This narration manages to capture BerryÕs multilayered personality, building a portrait of a young woman whose grief is also her strength. Jane Leslie Conly Trout Summer Read by Christina Moore. When thirteen-year-old Shana and her brother Cody, deserted by their much-loved father, discover an abandoned cabin on a weekend trip with their mother, they manage to talk her, and the owners, into letting them live there for the summer. After they cross paths with irascible Henry, elderly and ailing but determined to protect the river and the trout fingerlings he is raising, their summer expands from an outdoor adventure to an inner journey of self-discovery. Christina MooreÕs portrayal of sibling dynamics is entirely effective, as is her gradual modulation of HenryÕs ornery personality into an understandable if not sympathetic character. Moore deftly sketches in the rest of the characters to form a satisfactory backdrop for what is essentially a portrait of a difficult intergenerational friendship. Her other forte is pacing: from a tranquil beginning, she steadily quickens the pace, sweeping listeners forward to a final desperate rush through whitewater rapids. Lynn Joseph The Color of My Words Read by Lisa Vidal. Each chapter in this novel begins with a poem written by the narrator, Ana Rosa, who lives in a village in the Dominican Republic. The surface poverty of Ana RosaÕs life is balanced by the underlying optimism and rich traditions of her culture. The larger world of political corruption and economic greed, however, invades her village and brings about a sequence of events as cruel as it is inevitable. Narrator Lisa VidalÕs youthful voice is wholly appropriate to the age and innocence of the storyÕs main character. In addition, the fluid rhythms with which she speaks and the effortlessly pronounced sprinkling of Spanish words that flavor the text reinforce the sense of locale. Best of all, Vidal manages to capture the emotional extremesÑfrom joyous celebration to crushing griefÑthat frame the slender narrative. Rudyard Kipling Just So Stories: And Other Tales Read by Boris Karloff. Boris KarloffÕs deep, rich voice swoops and skims over such deliciously sequenced syllables as Òthe starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel.Ó Recompiled from four LPs originally released between 1955 and 1971, this digitally re-mastered production makes an ideal introduction to KiplingÕs unique blend of the sinuous and the silly. These eighteen tales (seventeen read by Karloff and one by Anthony Quayle), including the entire Just So Stories and four tales from The Jungle Book, will delight devoted fans as well as turn the uninitiated into addicts. Louise Rennison Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging Read by Stina Nielsen. GeorgiaÕs story spills off the pages of her journal in a hilarious stream of chatter: breast envy! incipient acne! Òdishy blokesÓ! Narrator Stina NielsenÕs light English accent and the youthful timbre of her voice make her a perfect match for Georgia: vivid with enthusiasm, aflame with anger, dripping with scorn, wobbly with angst. Deftly, she shifts her tone as Georgia mimics ÓThe OldsÓ: her dad (Òa living reminder of the Stone AgeÓ) and her mum (Òmutton dressed as lambÓ). Although some expressions may be unfamiliar to American listeners, they fly by at such a pace that exact meanings seem secondary to the headlong rush of words. (For an Americanized variation on the genre, try The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot [Listening Library, 2001], read with breezy panache by Anne Hathaway.) Pam Mu-oz Ryan Esperanza Rising Read by Trini Alvarado. Thirteen-year-old Esperanza leads a privileged life in Mexico, surrounded by servants and an adoring family. When disaster strikes, she is unprepared for the wholesale changes she must now face. Narrator Trini Alvarado seamlessly weaves the Spanish phrases, traditional sayings, and unfamiliar place names into the text. For Abuelita, AlvaradoÕs voice ages ever so slightly; for Miguel, she conveys his dual role as both servant and friend; for EsperanzaÕs evil uncles, her voice drops to a slow, menacing drawl. Her best creation is Esperanza herself: AlvaradoÕs voice grows firmer and stronger with each step the character takes along her rocky path. Ruth Sawyer Roller Skates Read by Kate Forbes. In this 1937 Newbery Award winner, LucindaÕs parents leave on a trip to Italy, and she is shipped off to the suitably kind and satisfactorily inattentive Misses Peters. Free of parental oversight, Lucinda begins her adventures. Narrator Kate Forbes overcomes the somewhat leisurely construction of the plot by maintaining a lively, enthusiastic pace. Because this is so entirely LucindaÕs story, Forbes distinguishes the minor characters by only the slightest of variations, and settles instead for gently underlining the vividly graceful images that are the hallmark of SawyerÕs narrative style. Lemony Snicket A Series of Unfortunate Events: Book the First, The Bad Beginning Read by Tim Curry. Lemony Snicket A Series of Unfortunate Events: Book the Second, The Reptile Room Read by Tim Curry. Lemony Snicket A Series of Unfortunate Events 3: The Wide Window Read by the author. Lemony Snicket A Series of Unfortunate Events 4: The Miserable Mill Read by the author. The first two volumes of these glumly funny melodramas are read by Tim Curry and recount the pathetic orphaning of the three Baudelaire children and their further gloomy adventures with their herpetology-inclined uncle, Dr. Montgomery. The next two are read by Lemony Snicket and follow the trioÕs adventures at the Lucky Smells Lumber Mill and their incarceration with a distantly related aunt who lives on the edge of Lake Lachrymose. Tim Curry reads at a measured pace and with a droll formality. At the same time, he seemingly twists his vocal cords to create outrageous voices for the equally outrageous characters he portrays. Lemony SnicketÕs approach is wholly different, featuring the offhand sang-froid of a standup comedian. Although he, too, creates a variety of voices, they succeed more from an intimate knowledge of the material than from vocal high jinks. With these two readers, it is merely a matter of preference; listeners are in for a treat. Jacqueline Woodson MiracleÕs Boys Read by DulÄ Hill. MiracleÕs boys are battered survivorsÑtheir parents have died, and the brothers face the dangerous attractions of living on their own in a rundown urban neighborhood. DulÄ HillÕs delivery is abrupt, almost staccato, with a full stop at the end of nearly every sentence as if Lafayette, the storyÕs narrator, is hesitant to plunge forward into an uncertain future. HillÕs voice softens, however, when Lafayette, unable to bear the present, retreats into memories of his mother. Subtle, almost infinitesimal changes in vocal register neatly capture the very different personalities of LafayetteÕs two brothers: CharlieÑrecently returned from reform schoolÑand TyÕree, who is sacrificing his chance to go to college in order to keep the brothers together. HillÕs narrative style lends a necessary strength to this gritty story of survival in the face of enormous odds. Noteworthy Continuations: Susan Cooper The Grey King Read by Richard Mitchley. Susan Cooper Over Sea, Under Stone Read by Alex Jennings. In the audiobook of The Grey King, the fourth volume in Susan CooperÕs five-part sequence, MitchleyÕs voice is one with the text, effortlessly articulating the elegant Welsh syllables and riding the currents of gathering malevolence like the wind over high crags. Equally exciting is Alex Jennings, who follows his spectacular reading of The Dark Is Rising (Listening Library, 1999) with a return to the mythic landscape in Over Sea, Under Stone, the first volume of the series that sets the stage for the desperate battles to follow. Philip Pullman The Amber Spyglass Read by the author and a full cast. Pullman continues his superb performance as the narrator of His Dark Materials, his outstanding trilogy, in this concluding volume. The cast of the two earlier recordings remains mostly the same; only Will has changed, Peter England now providing the more mature, confident voice appropriate to the young hero. At almost thirty-five hours of total listening time, this is a production and a world that will capture listeners and transport them beyond the grip of ordinary time. Nancy Springer I Am Morgan le Fay: A Tale from Camelot Read by Jenny Sterlin. In this companion to I Am Mordred, narrator Jenny Sterlin does full justice to the lushly melodic language, the sweeping drama of the tale, and the human dimensions of the characters, particularly Morgan herself, half-sister to Arthur. From HORN BOOK, (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Author notes provided by Syndetics

Philip Pullman was born in Norwich on October 19, 1946. He graduated from Oxford University with a degree in English. He taught at various Oxford middle schools and at Westminster College for eight years. He is the author of many acclaimed novels, plays, and picture books for readers of all ages. His first book, Count Karlstein, was published in 1982. His other books include: The Firework-Maker's Daughter; I Was a Rat!; Clockwork or All Wound Up; and The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ. He is also the author of the Sally Lockhart series and the His Dark Materials Trilogy. He is the author of The Book of Dust, volume 1. He has received numerous awards including the Carnegie Medal and the Guardian Fiction Award for Northern Lights (The Golden Compass), the Whitbread Book of the Year Award for The Amber Spyglass, the Eleanor Farjeon Award for children's literature in 2002, and the Astrid Lindgren Award in 2005.

(Bowker Author Biography)