A Cure for Cancer: The Cornelius Quartet 2
Michael Moorcock
Language: English
Pages: 240
ISBN: 1783291796
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A mirror-image of his former self, Jerry Cornelius returns to a parallel London, armed with a vibragun and his infamous charisma and charm to boot. On the trail of the grotesque Bishop Beesley, Jerry hunts for a mysterious device capable of manipulating the cosmos. Corruption, violence and greed are rife in a war-torn Europe, but Jerry is against history; he is outside of history. He lusts for the equilibrium of anarchy, for randomness supreme—lock up your daughters (and sons), Jerry Cornelius is back.
Dunked into the ether of Chaos, the second book in the Cornelius Quartet, A Cure for Cancer, was one of the first novels of its form, using hypermedia to spin a web of hauntingly surreal scenes, wickedly funny social satire and sci-fi vignettes that resonate deeply for the modern reader.
Signs were dead. A Plymouth Barracuda, its nearside wheels on the sidewalk, its doors open, was what the bishop had his eye on. Mitzi stopped the Lincoln. ‘Have a look at the fuel gauge,’ Bishop Beesley said. Mitzi got out and peered in at the Plymouth’s dashboard. She looked back and nodded; then she glanced at her dress. It clashed with the bright red Plymouth. She shook her head. Try the next one, then.’ Mitzi opened the door of a white Dodge Polara. ‘Full up,’ she said. ‘Out you get, Mr.
Language, schvartze.’ ‘What are you going to do about it?’ The Indian rubbed his nose and looked around. He straightened the polished bones of his breastplate and slapped the dust off his leggings. ‘Besides, we didn’t know you was a schvartze. We got no fight with you.’ ‘I’m not a schvartze.’ ‘Sure, and I’m not a fucking Oglala.’ Jerry opened the door and got out. ‘Are you trying to prove something?’ ‘Maybe.’ The war chief at last got his tomahawk free and went into a crouch, his eyes.
Canaries and cockatoos who called to each other in several languages and dialects. The receptionist, dressed in elaborate quills, looked like a Polynesian chief in ceremonial robes. She smiled at him. ‘Your table’s ready, Mr Cornelius. Your friend’s in the Linnet Room.’ Spiro Koutrouboussis sat by himself on a stool by the bar, staring pensively at a cage of sulky wrens. A thrush perched on his curly black hair, a Marguerita lay between his well-scrubbed hands. ‘Ah, Cornelius.’ ‘Sorry if I’m.
Thanks to enemy raiding and the attendant atrocities. ‘But beginning this fall, enemy tacticians issued orders that were a little different from their previous ones. And shorter, too. Get the Americans. These orders are not being disobeyed. Out of forty-two American mentors attached to European combat units, who happened to be billeted in one headquarters in the heart of Bavaria’s most strategic area, nineteen were killed or wounded in two months. I know: I too was quartered there then, and.
Beauty, American virility …’ The last general quietly closed the door behind him and General Cumberland raised his head at the sound. ”Have they deserted us, Frank?’ ‘I think they got the picture, general. I think their confidence is won.’ ‘I hope so, Frank. I tried to raise their morale. It sometimes seems to be the hardest job. They’re all fairies, of course. Decadence is a terrible thing to witness. But maybe if we improve their conditions - give them a chance …’ They’ll pull through.’.