Alex Pheby – författare

Alex Pheby''s Mordew launches an astonishingly inventive epic fantasy trilogy.God is dead, his corpse hidden in the catacombs beneath Mordew.In the slums of the sea-battered city, a young boy called Nathan Treeves lives with his parents, eking out a meagre existence by picking treasures from the Living Mud and the half-formed, short-lived creatures it spawns. Until one day his desperate mother sells him to the mysterious Master of Mordew.The Master derives his magical power from feeding on the corpse of God. But Nathan, despite his fear and lowly station, has his own strength—and it is greater than the Master has ever known. Great enough to destroy everything the Master has built. If only Nathan can discover how to use it.So it is that the Master begins to scheme against him—and Nathan has to fight his way through the betrayals, secrets, and vendettas of the city where God was murdered, and darkness reigns.At the Publisher''s request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.

The monumental conclusion to Alex Pheby''s Cities of the Weft trilogy.One thousand million infants are dead, and Nathan Treeves is back. He’s become the Master of Waterblack, the City of the Dead.And Sharli, once a sacrifice, then an assassin, is now a trained God-Killer. She has killed many — but failed in killing Nathan Treeves years ago.Soon she, and the Women’s Vanguard, will have another chance, even as The Master, The Mistress and the Atheistic Crusade hurtle toward their final confrontation.The world of Mordew returns in the epic conclusion to the Cities of the Weft trilogy. Welcome to Waterblack.At the Publisher''s request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.

A GLOBE & MAIL RECOMMENDED SUMMER 2021 READ

She is about thirty-three, speaks French fluently. . .[she ] is gay, sweet and ironic, but she has bursts of anger over nothing when she is confined to a straightjacket, writes James Joyce in one of the few surviving documents concerning his daughter. A gifted dancer, Beckett’s lover, an aspiring writer—what little we know about Lucia Joyce effectively ends with a diagnosis of schizophrenia and subsequent hospitalization: after her death, her nephew Stephen, executor of the Joyce estate, burned her letters and medical records, erasing her not only from her father’s legacy, but from her own existence in the world as well.

To tell the story of a life redacted, Alex Pheby assumes not Lucia Joyce’s lost voice, but the perspectives of the men around her, layering a series of narratives about those on the edges of her life to create a portrait of the lost woman in silhouette. As much a critique of male violence and the long history of misogyny in women’s health, an in-absentia illustration of the fate of inconvenient women as the story of a single life, Lucia is an ethical and empathetic creative act and a moving in memoriam to a woman whose experiences we can only imagine.