The Philosopher's Apprentice: A Novel
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A brilliant philosopher with a talent for self-destruction, Mason Ambrose gratefully accepts an offer no starving ethicist could refuse. He must travel to a private tropical island and tutor Londa Sabacthani, a beautiful, brilliant adolescent who has lost both her memory and her moral sense in a freak accident. Londa's soul is an empty vessel—and Mason's job will be to fill it.
But all is not as it seems on Isla de Sangre. Londa's reclusive mother is secretly sheltering a second child whose conscience is a blank slate. Even as the mystery deepens, Mason confronts a frightening question: What will happen when Londa, her head crammed with lofty ideals and her bank account filled to bursting, ventures out to remake our fallen world in her own image?
end receives the match. I’m seventeen years old, and I have many skills. I can bake a cake, drive a nail, unclog a drain, and build a castle out of sand.” “Does your mother let you smoke?” “Yeah, but she’s not too fucking wild about it.” She struck a match, lit her Dunhill, and launched into a deft impersonation of Edwina. “‘Sweetheart, we know that tobacco is bad for our health.’” She removed the cigarette and coughed. “I’m afraid Mother’s opinions don’t carry a whole lot of weight in my book.
monitor. Stretching an arm toward Donya, Yolly ran her palm along the child’s hair. I imagined she brought a similarly unqualified affection to the act of stroking Oyster’s mane. “Little sister?” Yolly said. “I’m not your sister.” Donya began weeping again. “Donya, it’s great having a big sister, and now you’ve got two,” Henry said. Tears streamed down Donya’s cheeks like raindrops on a windowpane. “But who’s going to take care of me?” “I will,” Henry said. “Brock will.” “You bet,” Brock
and so I undertook a journey to that extravagant realm. For six full weeks, I immersed myself in the epic, keeping company with its valiant knights, foul witches, beautiful shepherdesses, lustful giants, virtuous adventurers, and depraved magicians. I accomplished this feat even though The Faerie Queene suffers from the defect of not being very good, or such was my reaction to its stone-obvious moralizing, in-your-face allegory, and retrograde political dogma. It wasn’t easy working up affection
Snow 0001 replied, “but I should get home before my rage boils up again.” “Where is home?” I asked. Strangely enough, his answer was straightforward. “They’ve put us up in all sorts of places. Flophouses, church basements, college dorms, abandoned buildings, the YMCA. At the moment I’m living in a tower.” “What tower?” Natalie asked. With his working hand John Snow 0001 caressed the star atop our Christmas tree. “It’s a good place. Plenty of room. I did nothing to deserve that trip to the
after our captors had marched us through the police-tape labyrinth, Jordan presented Londa with a Phillips screwdriver, Yolly with a cell phone, and me with a knapsack full of Gatorade and cereal bars. Itching beneath our fetal patinas, we dashed down Avalon Lane past the dormant cherry trees until we reached the encampment. Now Londa increased the pace, leading us through the grid of tents and pavilions to the parking lot. Running faster still, we swerved among the moving vans, buses, and