| Product Summary | | Format: Paperback | | ISBN: 9780689829833 | | Publisher: Aladdin Publishing Company | | Publish Date: 9/1/1999 | | Buy.com Sku: 30478267 | | Item#: R7WS6M | | Dimensions (in Inches) 7.5H x 5L x 0.75T | | Pages: 224 | | Age Range: 13 to 16 |
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| | | ""Too many!" James shouted, and slammed the door behind him.
"What?" said Will.
"Too many kids in this family, that what. Just too many.".." (from the first line)On his 11th birthday, Will Stanton learns that he is the last born of the Old Ones. At once, he is plunged into a quest for the six magical Signs that will one day aid in the final battle between the Dark and Light.
Annotation:
Continuing the story begun in OVER SEA, UNDER STONE, THE DARK IS RISING is the second book in Susan Cooper's popular fantasy quintet. Here readers meet Will Stanton, the seventh son of a seventh son, who, on his 11th birthday, discovers that he is an Old One, a group of immortals charged with saving the world from the evil forces known as the Dark. Under the guidance of Merriman Lyon, Will prepares for his part in the battle by searching for, and bringing together, the Six Signs of the Light--magical elements needed by the Old Ones to defeat the Dark. A classic story of the battle between good and evil, THE DARK IS RISING reflects the influence of both Celtic mythology and the Arthurian legend. It was named a 1974 Newbery Honor Book. The rest of the books in the series are GREENWITCH, THE GREY KING (winner of the 1976 Newbery Medal), and SILVER ON THE TREE.
| Author Bio| Susan Cooper | | Susan Cooper was raised during the chaos and horror of World War II. When she was 27, she married American widower Nicholas Grant and moved from England to the United States to live with him and his three children. Cooper has remained in the U.S., where she writes her books, many of which are based on English and Welsh myths. In 1976 she won the Newbery Medal for THE GREY KING, part of her Dark Is Rising series based on the legend of King Arthur. In addition to these young adult works, Cooper also works as a journalist and a playwright. She is admired for her picture books, including THE SILVER COW: A WELSH TALE and THE SELKIE GIRL. |
| Awards |
Horn Book Award (1973) |  | won, Fiction | |
Newbery Medal (1974) |  | finalist, Children's | | |
| | Read A Chapter | It was then, without warning, that the fear came. The first wave caught him as he was crossing the room his bed. It halted him stock-still in the middle of the room, the howl of the wind outside filling his ears. The snow lashed against the window. Will was suddenly deadly cold, yet tingling all over. He was so frightened that he could not move a finger. In a flash of memory he saw again the lowering sky over the spinney, dark with rooks, the big black birds wheeling and circling overhead. Then that was gone, and he saw only the tramp's terrified face and heard his scream as he ran. For a moment, then, there was only a dreadful darkness in his mind, a sense of looking into a great black pit. Then the high howl of the wind died, and he was released. He stood shaking, looking wildly round the room. Nothing was wrong. Everything was just as usual. The trouble, he told himself, came from thinking. It would be all right if only he could stop thinking and go to sleep. He pulled off hi Click to read more... It was then, without warning, that the fear came. The first wave caught him as he was crossing the room his bed. It halted him stock-still in the middle of the room, the howl of the wind outside filling his ears. The snow lashed against the window. Will was suddenly deadly cold, yet tingling all over. He was so frightened that he could not move a finger. In a flash of memory he saw again the lowering sky over the spinney, dark with rooks, the big black birds wheeling and circling overhead. Then that was gone, and he saw only the tramp's terrified face and heard his scream as he ran. For a moment, then, there was only a dreadful darkness in his mind, a sense of looking into a great black pit. Then the high howl of the wind died, and he was released. He stood shaking, looking wildly round the room. Nothing was wrong. Everything was just as usual. The trouble, he told himself, came from thinking. It would be all right if only he could stop thinking and go to sleep. He pulled off his dressing gown, climbed into bed, and lay there looking up at the skylight in the slanting roof. It was covered grey with snow. He switched off the small bedside lamp, and the night swallowed the room. There was no hint of light even when his eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. Time to sleep. Go on, go to sleep. But although he turned on his side, pulled the blankets up to his chin, and lay there relaxed, contemplating the cheerful fact that it would be his birthday when he woke up, nothing happened. It was no good. Something was wrong. Will tossed uneasily. He had never known a feeling like this before. It was growing worse every minute. As if some huge weight were pushing at his mind, threatening, trying to take him over, turn him into something he didn't want to be. That's it, he thought: make me into someone else. But that's stupid. Who'd want to? And make me into what? Something creaked outside the half-open door, and he jumped. Then it creaked again, and he knew what it was: a certain floorboard that often talked to itself at night, with a sound so familiar that usually he never noticed it at all. In spite of himself, he still lay listening. A different kind of creak came from further away, in the other attic, and he twitched again, jerking so that the blanket rubbed against his chin. You're just jumpy, he said to himself; you're remembering this afternoon, but really there isn't much to remember. He tried to think of the tramp as someone unremarkable, just an ordinary man with a dirty overcoat and worn-out boots; but instead all he could see once more was the vicious diving of the rooks. "The Walker is abroad...." Another strange crackling noise came, this time above his head in the ceiling, and the wind whined suddenly loud, and Will sat bolt upright in bed and reached in panic for the lamp. The room was at once a cosy cave of yellow light, and he lay back in shame, feeling stupid. Frightened of the dark, he thought: how awful. Just like a baby. Stephen would never have been frightened of the dark, up here. Look, there's the bookcase and the table, the two chairs and the window seat; look, there are the six little square-riggers of the mobile hanging from the ceiling, and their shadows sailing over there on the wall. Everything's ordinary. Go to sleep. He switched off the light again, and instantly everything was even worse than before. The fear jumped at him for the third time like a great animal that had been waiting to spring. Will lay terrified, shaking, feeling himself shake, and yet unable to move. He felt he must be going mad. Outside, the wind moaned, paused, rose into a sudden howl, and there was a noise, a muffled scraping thump, against the skylight in the ceiling of his room. And then in a dreadful furious moment, horror seized him like a nightmare made real; there came a wrenching crash, with the howling of the wind suddenly much louder and closer, and a great blast of cold; and the Feeling came hurtling against him with such force of dread that it flung him cowering away. Will shrieked. He only knew it afterwards; he was far too deep in fear to hear the sound of his own voice. For an appalling pitch-black moment he lay scarcely conscious, lost somewhere out of the world, out in black space. And then there were quick footsteps up the stairs outside his door, and a voice calling in concern, and blessed light warming the room and bringing him back into life again.
Continues...
Excerpted from The Dark is Risingby Susan Cooper Copyright © 1999 by Susan Cooper. Excerpted by permission.
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