Bøger af Melanie Bacon

Discover a fascinating, provocative, and illuminating new theory of how Christianity developed in the historical novel MARY AND THE GODDESS OF EPHESUS: THE CONTINUED LIFE OF THE MOTHER OF JESUS by Melanie Bacon. A former seminarian and researcher, Bacon focuses on the little known tradition that Mary, after the death of her Jesus, spent most of her adult life in a community dedicated to the worship of the goddess Artemis. But when the apostle Paul arrives and preaches that her crucified son is the Son of God, Mary is torn between her role in the burgeoning new religion, her dedication to the Jewish Diaspora community, and her affection and respect for the followers of Artemis. Is Mary's subsequent deification a conscious effort by the Church to supplant the veneration of a pagan goddess with a Christian substitute? The reader is witness to a grieving Mary who is virtually powerless, but who gradually comes to know her own power-and to understand the divinity of her son. As she transforms from a simple Jewish mother to the adored Mother of God, Mary finds her strength and changes the world around her. Beautifully written and told with warmth and insight, MARY AND THE GODDESS OF EPHESUS introduces the reader to a seldom seen or experienced world -the Jewish community of Ephesus. Anyone interested in Greco-Roman history, Judaism, Christianity, mythology, or ancient mystery schools will be fascinated by this stunning historical novel.

All Major Ernie Bearclaw wanted was a clean house, an attractive spouse and a little respect. But when he returns to the States for powwow after his Mideast deployment he finds chaos on the rez, in his home, and in his bed. Ernie speaks up. And then he's shot. Now Ernie's in a coma and his family, enemies and grateful nation are trying to figure out who shot him and why. There are a lot of suspects, because the war hero is not a nice guy. The tribal chairman hates him for blabbing to the media about misuse of casino funds. The Army thinks an Iraqi treasure smuggling cartel is after him. An old girlfriend, furious at his survival, stalks the hospital corridors hoping to unplug him. His wife fantasizes about how kindly people will treat her at his funeral. Back on the rez, the elders squeeze time between bingo and the buffet to plot their recall of the council and run the unconscious Ernie for tribal chairman. Many crows roost on the hotel roof, a sign the mischief isn't over. Welcome home, Major Bearclaw.

Franklin can't remember much about his death or the life that preceded it. He thinks he died sometime in the late 1880's, and he's pretty sure he died here in Salty Canyon, Nevada. But he recalls two people with certainty. The euphoric Miss Trixie Belle, the sassiest madam in the West. And evil gunslinger Black Charley Contrary, the man who killed him. Now Franklin has awakened from his long, lonely sleep, and every day he discovers something new about being a ghost. Like if you practice a lot, you can use your will to maneuver the dainty objects lying about in a lady's boudoir. And the hot rays of the sun can fry you out of existence, so don't let your enemy toss your bones out into the middle of the desert. And if your bone dust is inside a pretty girl's shoes, you will follow her anywhere. Modern people with new technologies are turning his ghost town into a theme park. He doesn't mind, since many of them are pretty. He's especially drawn to Angela, a girl with flowers tattooed across her chest and a trollop's way with men. He's dismayed to discover that someone once hated him bad enough to bury him and Charley Contrary together in the same shallow grave near the town latrine ditch. What's more worrisome: this same person still seeks his destruction. Now two girls have been murdered and even Franklin doesn't know if the killer is a living person or a dead one. It's a sorrowful revelation to discover that the only person you can trust-the only one who will always have your back-is the villain who killed you.

Astraia Holmes, sister of Sherlock, is baffled by a series of bizarre and brutal murders committed by a dragon-like assailant, and desperately wishing to impress her brother and solve the crimes she teams up with a mysterious and brilliant young woman, Madeleine Barquist. Sherlock suspects an ancient malevolence at work and he fears for Astraia's safety. The signs point to a Chinese Dragon God Cult known as the Ya Zi, a warrior society originally formed two thousand years ago to assassinate enemies of the Emperor. Astraia is exultant to finally have a chance to use her own deduction skills, but Miss Barquist is fearful to meet the eye of Sherlock Holmes-for unknown to both Astraia and Sherlock, she is the daughter of Jack the Ripper, and unknown to them all, a dark and powerful evil is preparing to strike at the heart of London.A Prose Portion of "Dragon Ripper"Daintily, almost like a spirit, she glided beyond the frightening calligraphy to stand before the brick wall of Mr. Wu's building. Raising her lantern to the structure, she pointed her magnifying glass toward a section near the door. "What do you see here?" she asked, holding her glass implement to the wall as aid to my inspection.I followed her, not half so ethereal. I have always been a clodhopper of a girl. I stared through the lens at the wall."The brick has been gouged," I said, removing a glove to lightly run a finger along a furrow incised into the masonry."You see there are three grooves, in fact, each almost a foot in length, separated by approximately three inches at the left end of the gouge and closer to five inches distance from each other at the right end," she said. "Do you have any theories about what could have created them?""I have no idea," I said, moving my finger over the lowest furrow, carved perhaps a half-inch deep into the brick. "But I don't believe I saw them when I was here last week.""No, I don't expect you did," she said. "These gouges are fresh. You can see the brick dust from them on the ground, still unspoilt by the alleyway filth."I lowered my own lantern to examine the ground, and saw that she was right. "What type of instrument was used to make such delineations?" I asked. "A knife or sword?"