Ukiyo-E - images from the floating world - was the most popular art form in 19th century Japan. Like modern day manga, these prints could be mass-produced and were admired by people from all sectors of society. With unflinching images of weird sex, bloody carnage and grotesque, demonic ghosts, Dream Spectres is a powerful collection of the extremes of ukiyo-e, featuring the work of artists such as Yoshitoshi, Ekin, Kunichika, Yoshiiku, Kunisada, Hokusai, Kuniyoshi, Yoshitsuya, Hiroshige and Chikanobu.
They're simply to die for . . . or from! They're the demoiselles to haunt your darkest dreams: the deadly, the undead, the dying--and those just looking to make a comeback. Some live for love, or died for love, and some are yet to have had their fill, brave heart. Unquiet and unrequited spirits mingle with bewitching vamps and vamping witches. They're the lovely and the loathly, from ageless glamour to beauty that's only skin deep--or perhaps just a pale reflection. Tales of jealousy, passion and ghostly vengeance, and of girls who just want to have fun. From la femme fatale who set the mode long before Carmilla came to call, to other classic tales, Victorian ""sensation"" stories and even a pinch of pulp fiction, they're all just waiting for you, m'dear. Come and meet the ladies . . .
Purchase one of 1st World Library's Classic Books and help support our free internet library of downloadable eBooks. Visit us online at www.1stWorldLibrary.ORG - - I was a devil of a scapegrace in my time. No tree was too high for me, no water too deep; and, when there was mischief going, I was the ring-leader of the band. Father racked his head for days together to find a punishment that I should remember; but it was all no good: he wore out three or four birch-rods on my back; his hands pained him merely from hitting my hard head; and bread and water was a welcome change to me from the everyday monotony of potatoes and bread-and-butter. After a sound drubbing followed by half a day's fasting, I felt more like laughing than like crying; and, in half a while, all was forgotten and my wickedness began afresh and worse than ever. One summer's evening, I came home in fine fettle. I and ten of my school-fellows had played truant: we had gone to pick apples in the priest's orchard; and we had pulled the burgomaster's calf into the brook to teach it to swim, but the banks were too high and the beast was drowned. Father, who had heard of these happenings, laid hold of me in a rage and gave me a furious trouncing with a poker, after which, instead of turning me into the road, as his custom was, he caught me up fair and square, carried me to the loft, flung me down on the floor and bolted the trap-door behind him.