L'agneau

Just why do humpback whales sing? That's the question that has marine biologist Nate Quinn and his crew poking, charting, recording and photographing very big, wet, gray marine mammals.  That is, until the extraordinary day when a whale lifts its tail into the air to display a cryptic message spelled out in foot-high letters: BITE ME.
Trouble is, Nate's beginning to wonder if he hasn't spent just a little too much time in the sun.  'Cause no one else saw a thing- not his longtime partner, Clay Demodocus; not their saucy young research assistant; not even the spliff-puffing white-boy Rastaman Kona (ne Preston Applebaum).  But later, when a roll of film returns from the lab missing the crucial tail shot- and his research facility is trashed- Nate realizes something very fishy indeed is going on.

Fluke

Quand on aplatit un jet de plusieurs millions de dollars simplement parce qu'une belle de nuit rêve de s'envoyer en l'air en temps réel, on n'a plus grand-chose à espérer du métier de pilote. Pourtant, sur son lit d'hôpital, Tucker Case reçoit l'offre la plus mirobolante de sa vie : piloter un " Jet Lear " pour le compte d'un pasteur perdu dans une île du Pacifique. Que voulez-vous qu'il fit ? Il y alla, et de compliquée, sa vie devint tout simplement infernale.

La Vestale à paillettes d'Alualu

"Readers new to the work of Christopher Moore will want to know two things immediately. First: Where has this guy been hiding? (Answer: In plain sight, since he has a cult following.).[H]e writes laid back fables straight out of Margaritaville, on the cusp of humor and science fiction."-Janet Maslin, New York Times Whale researcher Nathan Quinn has a problem. It's not a new problem; in fact, it's been around for nearly 20 million years. And Nate's spent most of his adult life working to solve it. You see, although everybody (well, almost everybody) knows that humpback whales sing (outside of human composition, the most complex songs on the planet) no one knows why. Nate, a Ph. D. in behavior biology, intends to discover the answer to this burning question-and soon. Every winter he and Clay Demolocus, his partner in the Maui Whale Research Foundation, ply the warm waters between the islands of Maui and Lanai, recording the eerily beautiful songs of the humpbacks and returning to their lab for electronic analysis. The trouble is, Nate's beginning to wonder if he hasn't spent just a little too much time in the sun. Either that, or he's losing his mind. Because today, as he was shooting an I. D. photo of a humpback tail fluke, Nate could've sworn he saw the words "Bite Me" scrawled across the whale's tail.

Fluke - Or, I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings

Le lézard Lubrique de Melancholy Cove

Il se passe quelque chose dans la morne station balnéaire de Melancholy Cove. On y trouve, pour un cocktail détonant, un flic qui se console de l'être en tirant sur des joints, une schizophrène ex-actrice de films de série Z postapocalyptiques réfugiée dans une caravane, un joueur de blues poursuivi par un monstre marin dont il a tué le petit quarante années plus tôt, une psy qui ne donne plus à ses malades que des placebos, un pharmacien lubrique ne rêvant que d'accouplements avec des dauphins, une femme qui se pend, des gens qui disparaissent… Une seule certitude : tous ont la libido qui explose. Tous sans le savoir sont sous le signe du lézard…

Le lézard lubrique de Melancholy Cove

A man of infinite jest, Pocket has been Lear's cherished fool for years, from the time the king's grown daughters - selfish, scheming Goneril, sadistic but hot Regan, and sweet, loyal Cordelia - were mere girls. So he can see trouble brewing when  Lear demands that his kids swear their undying love and devotion before a collection of assembled guests. Of course Goneril and Regan are only too happy to brownnose Dad. But Cordelia's blunt honesty ends up costing her her rightful share of the kingdom and earns her a banishment to boot. 
The only person who can possibly make things right is Pocket, who has already managed to sidestep catastrophe on numerous occasions, using his razor-sharp mind, rapier wit and the equally well-honed daggers he keeps conveniently hidden behind his back. He's going to have to do some very fancy maneuvering - cast some spells, incite a few assassinations, start a war or two (the usual stuff) - and shag every lusciously shaggable wench who's amenable along the way. Pocket may be a fool . . . but he's definitely not an idiot.

Fool

Ceci est un conte grivois. Vous y trouverez de la baise sans rime ni raison, des meurtres, des fessées, des mutilations, des trahisons, des sommets jusqu'ici inexplorés de grossièreté et de vulgarité, de même que des pratiques grammaticales non traditionnelles (voire incorrectes) et une petite branlette par-ci, par-là. Aimable lecteur, si tout cela t'incommode, passe ton chemin, car nous ne cherchons qu'à distraire et non point à choquer. Cela dit, si tu penses pouvoir y trouver ton compte, eh bien ce récit te conviendra à la perfection.

Fou !

Being undead sucks. Literally. 



Just ask C. Thomas Flood. Waking up after a fantastic night unlike anything he's ever experienced, he discovers that his girlfriend, Jody, is a vampire. And surprise! Now he's one, too. For some couples, the whole biting-and-blood thing would have been a deal breaker. But Tommy and Jody are in love, and they vow to work through their issues. 



But word has it that the vampire who initially nibbled on Jody wasn't supposed to be recruiting. Even worse, Tommy's erstwhile turkey-bowling pals are out to get him, at the urging of a blue-dyed Las Vegas call girl named (duh) Blue. 



And that really sucks.

L'agneau

Résumé

Plus de livres de Christopher Moore

Critiques

Ce livre n'a pas encore de critiques