Pollard Memorial Library, public library in Lowell, Massachusetts, USA.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pollard_Memorial_Library

#libraries #books #map

https://www.wacoca.com/media/573296/ 末澤誠也（Aぇ! group）、ヴィジュアル・ブック「andBOY vol.5」表紙に登場 – TOWER RECORDS ONLINE #book #books #CD #DVD #music #オンラインショッピング #タワーレコード #タワーレコードオンライン #タワレコ #書籍 #末澤誠也（Aぇ!Group）、ヴィジュアル・ブック「andBOYVol5」表紙に登場 #音楽

Emma Darwin's new novel is available now @hollandhousebooks.bsky.social @hollandhouse3525. Link below or search emma darwin the bruegel boy

https://www.emmadarwin.com/the-bruegel-boy/

You can also hear Emma talk about Bruegel, his art, writing and more in our special Holland House podchat(s) on Youtube & Spotify (links in bio)

#historicalfiction #histfic #amreading #newbook #fiction #bruegeltheelder #bookstodon #books

> How often do you see an artist/musician collaborate with a scholar to make sure they get the narratives right? #BadBunny did.

> Pop star Bad Bunny needed a Puerto Rican history scholar. UW–Madison had just the one.
https://news.wisc.edu/pop-star-bad-bunny-needed-a-puerto-rican-history-scholar-uw-madison-had-just-the-one/

The scholar is also author of the recent book 'Puerto Rico: A National History' which my library has, and I checked out to read soon.

#books #reading #TBR #PuertoRico #BackInTheUSColony #academia #HigherEd

"Since receiving her MFA, Jacobs has created and occupied a niche that combines these disparate spheres. She writes mystery novels populated by physicists and sprinkled with insights into their daily lives. In a conversation with Physics Magazine, Jacobs describes life as a fiction writer with a fondness for physics."

https://physics.aps.org/articles/v19/14

#Writers #Books #Mysteries #Physics #Interviews

Mint Chocolate and Shadows

Chapter 5: The Alchemy of Shadows

The hidden drawer in the hearth of the Mint Chocolate House did not contain a simple map. That would have been too pedestrian for a mind as labyrinthine as Sir Alistair Finch’s. Instead, we found a collection of translucent vellum sheets, brittle with age, covered in what appeared to be nonsense: botanical sketches of deadly nightshade overlaying architectural diagrams of Speranza’s sewer system, and chemical formulas for synthetic diamonds written in the margins of a recipe for ganache.

“It is chaos,” Anna whispered, the steam from her earlier espresso seeming to have evaporated into the cold tension of the room. “Just scrawls and madness.”

“No,” I corrected, adjusting my glasses as Toe, my black cat, jumped onto the table and placed a paw precisely on a sketch of a Datura flower. “It is not madness. It is a transparency cipher. Marisa, bring the light.”

Marisa, pale but steady, brought a heavy kerosene lamp from the counter. When we held the vellum sheets up against the flame, layering them one over the other, the chaotic lines merged. The botanical sketches faded, and the architectural lines aligned to form a perfect, three-dimensional geometry of a specific object.

It was not a building. It was a humidifier. specifically, the grand, walk-in humidor at Altea’s Cigars House.

“The gear,” I murmured, pulling the brass cog we had found in the poisoned snuff box from my pocket. “It wasn’t a piece of the Raven’s Kiss dagger. It is a key for a different lock entirely.”

Suddenly, the scent of almonds—the cyanide trace from the box—hit me with a new, terrifying realization. I grabbed the snuff box and scraped a tiny amount of the crystalline powder onto the table. “Altea, do you have any lemon juice? Or vinegar?”

“I have a lime for the cocktails,” Altea replied, confused but handing me the fruit.

I squeezed a drop onto the white powder. It hissed violently, turning a vibrant, shocking violet.

“It’s not cyanide,” I breathed, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “It’s a reactants-based dye, used in the 19th century to mark fools’ gold. The poison was a bluff. A distraction to keep us looking for a killer while the thief walked right past us.”

“The thief?” Anna asked.

“The man in the gray coat,” I said, the realization dawning like a cold sunrise. “He didn’t have a limp because he was injured. He walked with a heavy step because he was carrying something incredibly dense in his lining. He didn’t bring the box to threaten us. He brought it to trigger us. He needed us to find the notes. He needed us to solve the puzzle he couldn’t.”

A crash echoed from the street outside—the sound of breaking glass. It came from the direction of the Cigars House.

“He’s already there,” I said, blowing out the lamp. “And he’s waiting for us to bring him the gear.”

Chapter 6: The Smoke and the Mirrors

We moved through the back alleys of Speranza, avoiding the main cobblestone streets bathed in moonlight. Ashwaganda, usually a creature of kinetic chaos, moved low to the ground, a silent orange streak leading the way. The air grew heavier as we approached Altea’s shop, thick with the scent of unlit tobacco and aged cedar.

The front door of the Cigars House was ajar, the glass pane shattered. Inside, the shop was a cavern of shadows. The moonlight caught the drifting smoke—not from cigars, but from a small canister rolling on the floor, releasing a disorienting, white fog.

“Stay close,” I whispered to my friends. “He wants the gear. He won’t strike until he sees it.”

We pushed through the fog into the back room, where the massive walk-in humidor stood. It was a masterpiece of engineering, lined with Spanish cedar and temperature-controlled dials. Standing before it, silhouetted against the faint light of the streetlamps outside, was the figure in the gray coat.

He turned. The limp was gone. In his hand, he held a heavy, silenced pistol. But it wasn’t the courier we had interrogated at the Coffee Taverna. It was Inspector Salomone.

The shock was physical, a punch to the gut. The weary, cynical policeman who had dismissed my theories for years stood there with a cold, calculating smile.

“Dr. Hopes,” Salomone said, his voice stripped of its usual fatigue. “I knew you couldn’t resist a puzzle. You and your wretched cats are better than any hound.”

“The courier…” I started.

“A hired actor,” Salomone scoffed. “Paid to tremble and deliver a prop. I needed you to find the location. Sir Alistair’s notes were too encoded for a simple policeman, but for a doctor with a penchant for history? Child’s play.” He extended his hand. “The gear, Moira. Now.”

Altea stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “You monitored us? You betrayed the village?”

“I protected this village from boredom for twenty years,” Salomone snapped. “Do you know what is inside this humidor? It is not just cigars. Sir Alistair didn’t trust banks. He trusted climate control. The ‘Star of Speranza’ isn’t a diamond, Altea. It is a seed. The last viable seed of the Silphium plant, thought extinct since Roman times. Worth more than any diamond. A botanical miracle that could rewrite history—and make its owner a billionaire.”

He raised the gun. “The gear.”

I held up the small brass cog. My mind raced, flipping through the pages of Days of your Dreams. ‘When the enemy seeks the time, give him the bell, not the clapper.’

“Catch,” I said, and tossed the gear high into the air, towards the open door of the humidor.

Salomone’s greed was a reflex. He lunged for it, his eyes tracking the glint of brass. In that split second, Toe dropped from the top of the humidor shelves. He didn’t aim for the man. He aimed for the open canister of fog Salomone had kicked aside.

With a precise swat, the black cat sent the canister spinning between Salomone’s legs. The Inspector stumbled, his shot going wild, shattering a jar of Cuban Leafs.

Chapter 7: The Sweetest Trap

“Now!” I screamed.

Marisa, fueled by adrenaline, grabbed a heavy jar of rock candy from a display shelf and hurled it. It wasn’t a precise throw, but it was effective. The jar smashed against the humidity controls, releasing a pressurized blast of water vapor designed to keep the cigars moist.

The room instantly turned into a blinding white cloud. Salomone roared, firing blindly into the mist.

“The floor!” Anna shouted, pulling a lever near the counter. It was the trapdoor to the cellar, usually used for coal deliveries.

Salomone, disoriented and blinded by the steam and fog, took a step back to steady his aim. His heel caught on the edge of the open trapdoor. There was no scream, just a surprised grunt and the heavy thud of a body hitting the coal pile twelve feet below.

Altea slammed the trapdoor shut and threw the iron bolt.

Silence returned to the Cigars House, save for the hissing of the broken humidifier.

I leaned against the counter, shaking. Ashwaganda trotted over to the brass gear, which had landed safely on a velvet chair, and sat on it, purring loudly.

“Silphium,” Altea whispered, looking at the locked humidor. “He was willing to kill for a plant?”

“For the history,” I corrected, picking up the gear. “And for the power of being the one to bring it back.”

I walked to the humidor. The brass gear didn’t fit into the keyhole. It fit into a small, decorative ventilation grate near the floor—a cat-sized opening. I placed the gear onto a hidden spindle and turned it.

The floor of the humidor didn’t open. Instead, a small panel inside the wall slid back. There was no seed. There was no diamond.

Inside sat a single, dust-covered bottle of wine, labelled simply: Speranza, Year Zero.

Next to it was a final note from Sir Alistair:

“The Silphium was a myth I invented to test the greedy. The true treasure is the soil of this village, which grows friendship deeper than any root. Enjoy the vintage, ladies. It is the only one in existence.”

I looked at my friends—Altea, Anna, Marisa—covered in soot, steam, and chocolate dust.

“A myth?” Salomone’s muffled voice shouted from the cellar. “You mean I broke my leg for a metaphor?!”

I smiled, picking up the bottle. “It seems,” I said, channeling the finality of Hitchcock’s closing shots, “that the Inspector fell for the oldest trick in the book. Never trust a treasure map written by a man who loved stories more than gold.”

We left Salomone in the cellar for the real police to find. The night air was crisp, and as we walked back towards the Coffee Taverna to finally open the bottle, the stars above Speranza seemed to wink. Or perhaps it was just the reflection in the golden eyes of the cats, who knew all along that the best twists are the ones you never see coming.

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https://www.wacoca.com/media/573268/ 高血圧対策！減塩レシピ本「FUJIEDA LOW SALT RECIPE BOOKを」作成 #book #books #PRTIMES #サービス #サイト #ニュースリリース #プレスリリース #代行 #方法 #書籍 #配信 #高血圧対策！減塩レシピ本「FUJIEDALOWSALTRECIPEBOOKを」作成

🥀 Not-So-Sweet February🥀
#DarkFiction #Giveaway

Not all #stories end in happily ever after.

From #thrillers and #mysteries to #horror, & #scifi with twisted tales that defy genre, these #FREE #darkreads are anything but sweet.

Available this month only! 📚
https://books.bookfunnel.com/notsosweetreads/sytfkyvsu5

#Books @bookstodon #DarkFantasy #Fairytale #FreeRead

#nsfwcommunity #indieerotica #erotica #smut #EroticFiction #RomanceReaders #SteamyReads #AdultLiterature
#EroticNovel #SpicyRomance #IndieErotica #books #writing #writersofmastodon #writerscommunity

"The conflict that Alexander Hamilton was taking up in the confederation Congress, and which he would pursue with increasing intensity to its climax in the 1790s, was really a conflict between creditors and debtors." -- William Hogeland, The Whiskey Rebellion #Books #Booksky #Reading

Today’s Menu for Emiya Family Celebrates 10th Anniversary with New Art by TAa

https://fed.brid.gy/r/https://noisypixel.net/emiyafamily-10th-anniversary-artwork-taa/

https://www.wacoca.com/media/573243/ 数量限定！　心あたたまる絵本『きっと いいこと まってるよ』の著者はせがわゆうじ氏サイン入り書籍を、２月11日（水）より「絵本ナビ」サイト内にて発売！ | 東京書店株式会社のプレスリリース #book #books #PRTIMES #サービス #サイト #ニュースリリース #プレスリリース #代行 #数量限定！　心あたたまる絵本『きっといいことまってるよ』の著者はせがわゆうじ氏サイン入り書籍を、２月11日（水）より「絵本ナビ」サイト内にて発売！ #方法 #書籍 #配信

https://www.wacoca.com/media/573241/ 2026年　世界のトレンドから日本のトレンドを予測する、最新の”Little Book of Trends”。 | 株式会社 モメンタム ジャパンのプレスリリース #2026年　世界のトレンドから日本のトレンドを予測する、最新の"LittleBookOfTrends"。 #book #books #PRTIMES #サービス #サイト #ニュースリリース #プレスリリース #代行 #方法 #書籍 #配信

“So you banned all those books, Sadie said, and the teacher had blinked twice at her over her glasses. Oh no, sweetie, she said. People think that sometimes, but no. No one bans anything. Haven’t you ever heard of the Bill of Rights? The class giggled, and Sadie flushed. Every school makes its own independent judgments, the teacher said.”

― Celeste Ng, "Our Missing Hearts"

#Zitatemontag
#Zitate
#Quotes
#Quotations
#Novels
#Books
#BannedBooks
#Bookban
#Bookbans
#Bookstodon

✍️ 📖 🇺🇸 📚

"I think it stands to reason that people who enjoy and engage with classic literature aren’t tackling the great novels just to rate them on Goodreads. If you are, I dare say you might be missing out - not just on what makes the great books great, but what it really means to observe and find discourse with art."

A response to some recent discourse regarding the Goodreads top 100:

https://quinnmaclay.com/posts/goodreads

#books #reading #blog

Would the every-perky hospital Dream Coordinator come in acting terrified just to sell the idea of a super villain at the hospital? Yes. Yes she would.

With a burst of cold air, the door fell inward.

The Polar Terror had come to Merriton.

#Romance #Books 📚

https://books2read.com/b/the-polar-terror?utm_source=mastodon&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=fedica-Book-Socials

https://www.wacoca.com/media/573218/ これだけは知っておきたい　取適法 | 日経BOOKプラス #book #books #書籍

This one is more expensive and also the most detailed piece of art I have probably ever made. It took me a year to finish, and it is selling for 500€ (incl, paypal fee and VAT).

Please share so people can see I can do more than just silly comics. :D

Direct buy: https://ko-fi.com/s/0e5c6516e9
Or part payment options at: hiisikoloart@gmail.com

You can also commission something similiar if you like!
#art #illustration #bookcoverart #bookillustration #Bookstodon #books #bookcovers #NOAI