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Informationen zum Autor Jane Goldman lives in Edinburgh and is Reader in English at the University of Glasgow. She likes anything a word can do. Her poems have appeared in a number of magazines and anthologies, as well as in the weird folds: everyday poems from the Anthropocene, edited by Maria Sledmere and Rhian Williams (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2020), and in the pamphlet, Border Thoughts (Sufficient Place/Leamington Books, 2014). SEKXPHRASTIKS is her first full length collection. Klappentext When it comes to crime in Dreamworld, the sprawling Florida vacation resort might as well be never-never land. That's because the bad things that happen there never reach the press. As an ambitious rookie cop on the community's security force, twenty-five-year-old Sylvia Avery toes the company line, smoothing over disturbances that might tarnish the utopian image of Dreamworld and its hugely popular ImagiNation theme park.But that flawless facade is shattered when a horrific murder-suicide takes place "on property." Thrown into a company-sponsored cover-up, Avery discovers bizarre and disturbing experiments taking place at Dreamworld's ultrasecret research center. Torn between her loyalty to her new boss -- and lover -- and a need to uncover the terrifying truth, Avery enters the dark and twisted world beneath Dreamworld's picture-perfect surface. Now, in a place where fantasy rules and illusion is everything, Avery is about to come face-to-face with a cold and deadly reality. Chapter One Of all the songs that accompany theme-park attractions, which is the most insidiously catchy, the most precious, can't-get-it-out-of-your head annoying? "It's a Small World" from the ride of the same name at Walt Disney World, perhaps? Or "My Home Is Your Home" from the not dissimilar Global Village Cruise at Dreamworld? Up until about three seconds ago, before she heard the thunder of footsteps on the concrete staircase behind her drowning out the distant festival of theme-park noise from above, before she felt hands on the back of her furry costume pushing her through a doorway, before she heard the door slam and struggled to see who was behind her and felt an arm snake around her and plunge something sharp into her thorax, Lisa Schaeffer would have loved to have debated the matter at length. Lisa Schaeffer liked that kind of discussion very much. There were few things she enjoyed more than getting some friends round, cracking open a nice cold microbrew, firing up a Camel Light, and talking about theme parks or seventies Saturday-morning cartoons, or seeing who could come up with the most outlandish idea for a new Fox "real TV" special. "When Buildings Collapse" was her best effort, she felt, and although she'd always had a sneaking concern that it may originally have been a gag she'd heard on The Simpsons , to date no one had topped it. In fact, since her recent relocation to Orlando, no one had challenged her on anything at all. When it came to gloriously pointless riffs on pop culture, she was way ahead of everyone else and she loved it. In Los Angeles, for instance, everyone she knew had already worked out his or her porn name (combine the name of your first pet plus the street where you grew up -- Lisa's was Fluffy Mulholland) and had spent many a jocular soiree trying to remember the difference between the theme tunes to Superman, Star Wars, and E.T. Here in central Florida, however, Lisa's new friends had received these games with glee and delight, and Lisa had felt sure that once she headed back to the West Coast, she'd eternally be remembered as just about the most riveting raconteur ever to grace the Orlando social scene. But it had taken only seconds for everything in Lisa's world to change. "It's a Small World" versus "My Home Is Your Home." Which sugary paean to the spirit of global community is the most contagious? The salient answer, at this moment, was th...
Klappentext
When it comes to crime in Dreamworld, the sprawling Florida vacation resort might as well be never-never land. That's because the bad things that happen there never reach the press. As an ambitious rookie cop on the community's security force, twenty-five-year-old Sylvia Avery toes the company line, smoothing over disturbances that might tarnish the utopian image of Dreamworld and its hugely popular ImagiNation theme park. But that flawless facade is shattered when a horrific murder-suicide takes place "on property." Thrown into a company-sponsored cover-up, Avery discovers bizarre and disturbing experiments taking place at Dreamworld's ultrasecret research center. Torn between her loyalty to her new boss -- and lover -- and a need to uncover the terrifying truth, Avery enters the dark and twisted world beneath Dreamworld's picture-perfect surface. Now, in a place where fantasy rules and illusion is everything, Avery is about to come face-to-face with a cold and deadly reality.
Leseprobe
Chapter One
Of all the songs that accompany theme-park attractions, which is the most insidiously catchy, the most precious, can't-get-it-out-of-your head annoying? "It's a Small World" from the ride of the same name at Walt Disney World, perhaps? Or "My Home Is Your Home" from the not dissimilar Global Village Cruise at Dreamworld?
Up until about three seconds ago, before she heard the thunder of footsteps on the concrete staircase behind her drowning out the distant festival of theme-park noise from above, before she felt hands on the back of her furry costume pushing her through a doorway, before she heard the door slam and struggled to see who was behind her and felt an arm snake around her and plunge something sharp into her thorax, Lisa Schaeffer would have loved to have debated the matter at length.
Lisa Schaeffer liked that kind of discussion very much. There were few things she enjoyed more than getting some friends round, cracking open a nice cold microbrew, firing up a Camel Light, and talking about theme parks or seventies Saturday-morning cartoons, or seeing who could come up with the most outlandish idea for a new Fox "real TV" special. "When Buildings Collapse" was her best effort, she felt, and although she'd always had a sneaking concern that it may originally have been a gag she'd heard on The Simpsons, to date no one had topped it. In fact, since her recent relocation to Orlando, no one had challenged her on anything at all. When it came to gloriously pointless riffs on pop culture, she was way ahead of everyone else and she loved it.
In Los Angeles, for instance, everyone she knew had already worked out his or her porn name (combine the name of your first pet plus the street where you grew up -- Lisa's was Fluffy Mulholland) and had spent many a jocular soiree trying to remember the difference between the theme tunes to Superman, Star Wars, and E.T. Here in central Florida, however, Lisa's new friends had received these games with glee and delight, and Lisa had felt sure that once she headed back to the West Coast, she'd eternally be remembered as just about the most riveting raconteur ever to grace the Orlando social scene. But it had taken only seconds for everything in Lisa's world to change. "It's a Small World" versus "My Home Is Your Home." Which sugary paean to the spirit of global community is the most contagious? The salient answer, at this moment, was that for the first time in her life, Lisa Schaeffer didn't give a damn. Because right now, as "My Home Is Your Home" piped on distantly through the speakers somewhere overhead, she had to contend with the possibility that it might be the last piece of music -- and for that matter, the last earthly sound -- that she would ever hear.
Even for a worshiper of kitsch, it was not an entertaining notion. No, no, no. Surely life -- her life -- was more sacrosanct?
Besides this thought and the other, more obvious ones -- the fascination with the things that looked like free-f…