Haunted by the loss of her parents and twin sister at sea, Henna cloisters herself in a Northeastern village where the snow never stops. When she discovers the body of a young woman at the edge of the forest, she’s plunged into the mystery of a centuries-old letter regarding one of the most famous stories of Arctic exploration—the Franklin expedition, which disappeared into the ice in 1845.
At the center of the mystery is Franklin’s wife, the indomitable Lady Jane. Henna’s investigation draws her into a gothic landscape of locked towers, dream-like nights of snow and ice, and a crumbling mansion rife with hidden passageways and carrion birds. But it soon becomes clear that someone is watching her—someone who is determined to prevent the truth from coming out.
Suspenseful and atmospheric, The Snow Collectors sketches the ghosts of Victorian exploration against the eerie beauty of a world on the edge of environmental collapse.
So I left my seaside home, with its gritty old carpet and flapping windows and conch shell–bordered garden of weeds and grasses, and drove east in my father’s green Plymouth to start anew. He and my mother had both been artists, one of those couples so in love with each other you fear for their children, but I’d had Claire and she’d had me,
deaje citiraoпре 3 месеца
Our throats hurt in the mornings after those dreams, as if we had been singing all night.