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Satyrday by Steven Bauer
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Satyrday (edition 1982)

by Steven Bauer

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1193227,791 (3.36)1
Member:orangejulia
Title:Satyrday
Authors:Steven Bauer
Info:Berkley Trade (1982), Paperback
Collections:Your library
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Tags:unread

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Satyrday by Steven Bauer

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Far too slow, couldn't finish it. Title's the best part. ( )
  Jon_Hansen | Apr 12, 2020 |
note the v. neg. vs. v. positive reviews on GR....
  Cheryl_in_CC_NV | Jun 5, 2016 |
This is a novel by an eminent poet, and it reads like it: the prose is simply delicious, a pure pleasure merely to read aloud to oneself. The tale itself is a curious mix of the deeply mythic and the mundane modern. A child can read it as a simple adventure story, but for an adult there are--besides the glorious language--resonances of all sorts, A few samples:

"Young one," she said. "Are you sick?"
"I don't think so," he said. "Do I look sick?"
"You certainly do," the crone said. "What's the matter?"
"All I feel is sad," Condor said. "It's like I have something growing inside me that wants to get out but can't."
"Indigestion," the crone said. "You're not chewing your food properly."
Condor shot her a disappointed glance. "I don't think this is something for you to joke about."

You had his wings broken."
"I admit it," the owl said. "The other animals might have learned from his example. My power is absolute, but illusory, much like your light. I assume those I rule won't understand my power is something which can be taken away from me."
"I hadn't known your penchant for the philosophical," the moon said. "But all the philosophy you could command can't change the fact of Maxwell's death."
"He was only one raven," the owl said.
"Yes," the moon said. "He was that."

"I followed you last night after you saved my life . . . ."
"Do me the favor of eschewing the melodrama," she said . . . .

Wise-cracking, philisophy and pain, and eloquence. Sounds like a good start, yes?

(More at http://greatsfandf.com/AUTHORS/StevenBauer.php)
1 vote owlcroft | Jan 24, 2011 |
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Epigraph
We live in an old chaos of the sun,
Or old dependency of day and night, Or island solitude, unsponsored, free, Of that wide water, inescapable ... And, in the isolation of the sky, At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations as they sink, Downward to darkness, on extended wings. -"Sunday Morning," Wallace Stevens
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for Bonnie, and Michael
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Sunday It was just past midnight and the air was filled with wings.
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(Click to show. Warning: May contain spoilers.)
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