Following an avalanche of complaints from those resident outside the EU, as well as a still more intolerable wave of smugness from those resident inside, I have now consulted with my various publishers and am delighted to report that the competition to win proofs of Best Served Cold is now open to any resident of Planet Earth no matter where-so-ere you may reside. Celebrate, citizens of the world, for today the universal brotherhood of man is drawn one significant step closer together!
There may even be some American proofs to be won, courtesy of the good folks at Orbit US, though those probably wouldn’t be signed, since they’re there, and I’m … here.
I deeply regret that those residents of Narnia, Lankhmar and Lyonesse who complained will just have to suck it up and wait until June/equivalent midsummer month in your invented calendar. As for the Brobdingnagians, you know very well that the book would just have come apart in your giant sweaty hands. Honestly, some people…
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My heartfelt thanks go out to the assembled organization and fellow complainers.
That’s all well and good but how do you plan to accommodate residents of Camorr??
Thorn of Camorr,
shouldn’t you just be able to steal it ?
While this news is mildly incredible and will result in me putting of homework, social life, and any potential exercise all for the sake of thinking up something profoundly clever enough to win a copy…I hope for the sake of whoever wins that the cover will be the U.K./original version, not the unnecessarily sexed up U.S. one.
Sorry, couldn’t resist.
Brobdingnag, by Gregor Strniša (translated from Slovenian)
Bright sun over Lilliput,
winter gloom hides Brobdingnag.
Before Lilliput the sea is gentle,
Before Brobdingnag a stone tower stands.
Fortresses, mills, giants.
Thunder and lightning in the sky.
Between the mountains over Brobdingnag
the iron sickle of the moon flies.
Like a shield sometimes the mountain rumbles.
The eyes of children can see ghosts.
Their dreams are guarded by a pentagram
carved on their cradle posts.
In a border fortress on a high cliff
is a young giant with three eyes.
When the snow melts in spring
he stares into the valley below.
Sun and shadows on the mountain slopes.
No man or beast in sight.
Now and again his iron-hooped chest
gives out a quiet thrum.
He steps forward and stands firm
on the steep and topmost parapet.
The plain’s glitter in the distance,
bees flying somewhere below.
The glowing fires of Brobdingnag
beneath the moon with red eyes
The ring of steel in smithies
smoke rising to peaks of white.
In Brobdingnag they have cast a bell
that echoes the heart of the world.
It hangs in a snow-filled valley.
Not a single man is there.
A whispering comes from within the bell.
And when the bell’s bronze quietly sings
fiery dreams in the heart of the world
are recalling the ancient sun.
A wide cobbled road winds
among mountain fortresses.
Higher and higher it climbs
but never comes to an end.
Thundering from the high fortresses
comes the sound of drums and pipes.
Eagles perch above precipices
and fly at dusk to the other side.
Below the road, in a muttering gorge,
a gigantic mill like a black dragon.
Beneath the mill, in a deep cellar
is all that world’s golden treasure.
Unknown people of Brobdingnag,
triple-eyed, with triple heads,
and a god big and black like the earth
with a name as long as a thousand days.
Five valleys, says the legend,
somewhere meet to form a pentagram
and there between five mountains
is the heart of Brobdingnag.
Is there a lake of blue
or a glacier green perhaps?
All is known about Lilliput,
never a thing about Brobdingnag.
I’m waiting until Best Served Cold is remaindered because I’m evil and poverty stricken. But mostly evil.
Here, hang on a minute, Joe!
I sent my well-crafted effort in on Monday evening thinking it was me against a mere 300 million EU residents. Now I find out the odds have doubled, tripled, multiplied beyond comprehension.
Have you thought of instituting a further category? Best entry from North Shropshire with just a slightly shorter surname than your own? Otherwise it’ll be months before I get to read the damn thing.