By Michael Marshall Smith
Michael Marshall Smith's surreal, groundbreaking, and award-winning debut which resonates with wild humour interlaced with darkish memories of an emotional minefield. Now a part of the Voyager Classics collection.
Stark is the hero the longer term is watching for -- God aid it. He's shrewdpermanent, alarmingly cool, and has immaculate style in shirts. He's a troubleshooter within the urban, a lawless sprawl of Neighbourhoods which covers the rustic from coast to coast. every one is completely geared to the wishes of these who stay in it, from can-do company kinds, via deranged criminals, to those who simply don't like loud noises.
Stark accepts a task from Zenda Renn, the human face of the motion Centre -- the place those who must be doing anything for all time hang around. Someone's lacking. Zenda wishes him came across, and soon.
In a global the place the prior and destiny, fact and goals meet and feature a fist struggle, Stark is the single guy who could make a distinction. Time's working out and there's no going again. merely Forward.
Literary Awards
Philip okay. Dick Award (2000)
British delusion Award for top Novel (1995)
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Extra info for Only Forward
Sample text
It carefully inspected the pressure suit as Rathere rolled the garment onto her limbs. There were no signs of damage, no tell-tale fissures of a repaired seam. "You said the atmosphere could crush a human to jelly," Rathere said. " The starship explained the physics of resistance fields to her while checking the suit against safety specifications it had downloaded that morning. It took very good care of Rathere. She had seen the huge behemoths at breakfast, multiplied by the facets of the dome's cultured-diamond windows.
Perhaps there was even peace to be made in the family, years hence when the old man emerged from prison and therapy. Picking up a thread of discussion from the last several days, they argued about a name. " he asked. She giggled and shook her head so slightly that a human lover would have missed it. "No, but the tabloids keep asking. " He hissed a little at this, but ruffled her hair with a playful splay of filaments, black skein intermingling with white hairs like a graying matron's tresses. "I hate this place," he said.
She kept watching. " she finally proclaimed. " asked a voice in her head, unconvinced. Rathere rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, mouth open, awestruck by the shooting red stars behind her eyelids. Her blinks made up now for the lost minutes, and she squinted at the dusty town square. "His foot," she announced, "it moved. But maybe . . " The voice made an intimate sound, a soft sigh beside Rathere's ear that did not quite reject her claim. "Maybe just a millimeter," Rathere offered. A touch of unsure emphasis hovered about the last word; she wasn't used to tiny units of measurement, though from her father's work she understood light-years and metaparsecs well enough.