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To Your Scattered Bodies Go [Mass Market Paperback]

Philip Jose Farmer
4.1 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (55 customer reviews)

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Product Description

From Amazon

To Your Scattered Bodies Go is the Hugo Award-winning beginning to the story of Riverworld, Philip José Farmer's unequaled tale about life after death. When famous adventurer Sir Richard Francis Burton dies, the last thing he expects to do is awaken naked on a foreign planet along the shores of a seemingly endless river. But that's where Burton and billions of other humans (plus a few nonhumans) find themselves as the epic Riverworld saga begins. It seems that all of Earthly humanity has been resurrected on the planet, each with an indestructible container that provides three meals a day, cigarettes, alcoholic beverages, a lighter, and the odd tube of lipstick. But why? And by whom?

That's what Burton and a handful of fellow adventurers are determined to discover as they construct a boat and set out in search of the river's source, thought to be millions of miles away. Although there are many hardships during the journey--including an encounter with the infamous Hermann Goring--Burton's resolve to complete his quest is strengthened by a visit from the Mysterious Stranger, a being who claims to be a renegade within the very group that created the Riverworld. The stranger tells Burton that he must make it to the river's headwaters, along with a dozen others the Stranger has selected, to help stop an evil experiment at the end of which humanity will simply be allowed to die. --Craig E. Engler --This text refers to the Paperback edition.

From the Back Cover

"ONE OF THE MOST IMAGINATIVE WORLDS IN SCIENCE FICTION!"
--Booklist

"Charts a territory somewhere between Gulliver's Travels and The Lord of the Rings."
--Time --This text refers to the Paperback edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

His wife had held him in her arms as if she could keep death away from him.

He had cried out, "My God, I am a dead man!"

The door to the room had opened, and he had seen a giant, black,
one-humped camel outside and had heard the tinkle of the bells on its
harness as the hot desert wind touched them. Then a huge black face topped
by a great black turban had appeared in the doorway. The black eunuch had
come in through the door, moving like a cloud, with a gigantic scimitar in
his hand. Death, the Destroyer of Delights and the Sunderer of Society,
had arrived at last.

Blackness. Nothingness. He did not even know that his heart had given out
forever. Nothingness.

Then his eyes opened. His heart was beating strongly. He was strong, very
strong! All the pain of the gout in his feet, the agony in his liver, the
torture in his heart, all were gone.

It was so quiet he could hear the blood moving in his head. He was alone
in a world of soundlessness.

A bright light of equal intensity was everywhere. He could see, yet he did
not understand what he was seeing. What were these things above, beside,
below him? Where was he?

He tried to sit up and felt, numbly, a panic. There was nothing to sit up
upon because he was hanging in nothingness. The attempt sent him forward
and over, very slowly, as if he were in a bath of thin treacle. A foot
from his fingertips was a rod of bright red metal. The rod came from
above, from infinity, and went on down to infinity. He tried to grasp it
because it was the nearest solid object, but something invisible was
resisting him. It was as if lines of some force were pushing against him,
repelling him.

Slowly, he turned over in a somersault. Then the resistance halted him
with his fingertips about six inches from the rod. He straightened his
body out and moved forward a fraction of an inch. At the same time, his
body began to rotate on its longitudinal axis. He sucked in air with a
loud sawing noise. Though he knew no hold existed for him, he could not
help flailing his arms in panic to try to seize onto something.

Now he was face "down," or was it "up"? Whatever the direction, it was
opposite to that toward which he had been looking when he had awakened.
Not that this mattered. "Above" him and "below" him the view was the same.
He was suspended in space, kept from falling by an invisible and unfelt
cocoon. Six feet "below" him was the body of a woman with a very pale
skin. She was naked and completely hairless. She seemed to be asleep. Her
eyes were closed, and her breasts rose and fell gently. Her legs were
together and straight out, and her arms were by her side. She turned
slowly like a chicken on a spit.

The same force that was rotating her was also rotating him. He spun slowly
away from her, saw other naked and hairless bodies, men, women, and
children, opposite him in silent spinning rows. Above him was the rotating
naked and hairless body of a Negro.

He lowered his head so that he could see along his own body. He was naked
and hairless, too. His skin was smooth, and the muscles of his belly were
ridged, and his thighs were packed with strong young muscles. The veins
that had stood out like blue mole-ridges were gone. He no longer had the
body of the enfeebled and sick sixty-nine-year-old man who had been dying
only a moment ago. And the hundred or so scars were gone.

He realized then that there were no old men or women among the bodies
surrounding him. All seemed to be about twenty-five years old, though it
was difficult to determine the exact age, since the hairless heads and
pubes made them seem older and younger at the same time.

He had boasted that he knew no fear. Now fear ripped away the cry forming
in this throat. His fear pressed down on him and squeezed the new life
from him.

He had been stunned at first because he was still living. Then his
position in space and the arrangement of his new environment had frozen
his senses. He was seeing and feeling through a thick semiopaque window.
After a few seconds something snapped inside him. He could almost hear it,
as if a window had suddenly been raised.

The world took a shape which he could grasp, though he could not
comprehend it. Above him, on both sides, below him, as far as he could
see, bodies floated. They were arranged in vertical and horizontal rows.
The up-and-down ranks were separated by red rods, slender as broomsticks,
one of which was twelve inches from the feet of the sleepers and the other
twelve inches from their heads. Each body was spaced about six feet from
the body above and below and on each side.

The rods came up from an abyss without bottom and soared into an abyss
without ceiling. That grayness into which the rods and the bodies, up and
down, right and left, disappeared was neither the sky nor the earth. There
was nothing in the distance except the lackluster of infinity.

On one side was a dark man with Tuscan features. On his other side was an
Asiatic Indian and beyond her a large Nordic-looking man. Not until the
third revolution was he able to determine what was so odd about the man.
The right arm, from a point just below the elbow, was red. It seemed to
lack the outer layer of skin.

A few seconds later, several rows away, he saw a male adult body lacking
the skin and all the muscles of the face.

There were other bodies that were not quite complete. Far away, glimpsed
unclearly, was a skeleton and a jumble of organs inside it.

He continued turning and observing while his heart slammed against his
chest with terror. By then he understood that he was in some colossal
chamber and that the metal rods were radiating some force that somehow
supported and revolved millions--maybe billions--of human beings.

Where was this place?

Certainly, it was not the city of Trieste of the Austro-Hungarian Empire
of 1890.

It was like no hell or heaven of which he had ever heard or read, and he
had thought that he was acquainted with every theory of the afterlife.

He had died. Now he was alive. He had scoffed all his life at a
life-after-death. For once, he could not deny that he had been wrong. But
there was no one present to say, "I told you so, you damned infidel!"

Of all the millions, he alone was awake.

As he turned at an estimated rate of one complete revolution per ten
seconds, he saw something else that caused him to gasp with amazement.
Five rows away was a body that seemed, at first glance, to be human. But
no member of Homo sapiens had three fingers and a thumb on each hand and
four toes on each foot. Nor a nose and thin black leathery lips like a
dog's. Nor a scrotum with many small knobs. Nor ears with such strange
convolutions.

Terror faded away. His heart quit beating so swiftly, though it did not
return to normal. His brain unfroze. He must get out of this situation
where he was as helpless as a hog on a turnspit. He would get to somebody
who could tell him what he was doing here, how he had come here, why he
was here.

To decide was to act.

He drew up his legs and kicked and found that the action, the reaction,
rather, drove him forward a half-inch. Again, he kicked and moved against
the resistance. But, as he paused, he was slowly moved back toward his
original location. And his legs and arms were gently pushed toward their
original rigid position.

In a frenzy, kicking his legs and moving his arms in a swimmer's
breaststroke, he managed to fight toward the rod. The closer he got to it,
the stronger the web of force became. He did not give up. If he did, he
would be back where he had been and without enough strength to begin
fighting again. It was not his nature to give up until all his strength
had been expended.

He was breathing hoarsely, his body was coated with sweat, his arms and
legs moved as if in a thick jelly, and his progress was imperceptible.
Then, the fingertips of his left hand touched the rod. It felt warm and
hard.

Suddenly, he knew which way was "down." He fell.

The touch had broken the spell. The webs of air around him snapped
soundlessly, and he was plunging.

He was close enough to the rod to seize it with one hand. The sudden
checking of his fall brought his hip up against the rod with a painful
impact. The skin of his hand burned as he slid down the rod, and then his
other hand clutched the rod, and he had stopped.

In front of him, on the other side of the rod, the bodies had started to
fall. They descended with the velocity of a falling body on Earth, and
each maintained its stretched-out position and the original distance
between the body above and below. They even continued to revolve.

It was then that the puffs of air on his naked sweating back made him
twist around on the rod. Behind him, in the vertical row of bodies that he
had just occupied, the sleepers were also falling. One after the other, as
if methodically dropped through a trapdoor, spinning slowly, they hurtled
by him. Their heads missed him by a few inches. He was fortunate not to
have been knocked off the rod and sent plunging into the abyss along with
them.

In stately procession, they fell. Body after body shooting down on both
sides of the rod, while the other rows of millions upon millions slept on.

For a while, he stared. Then he began counting bodies; he had always been
a devoted enumerator. But when he had counted 3,001, he quit. After that
he gazed at the cataract of flesh. How far up, how immeasurably far up,
were they stacked? And how far down could they fall? Unwittingly, he ha... --This text refers to the Paperback edition.

From AudioFile

Philip Jose Farmer wrote fantasies that appealed primarily to imaginative male adolescents of the last mid-century. In this one humanity wakes, naked, to an every-man-for-himself afterlife. A tribe forms, consisting of, among others, daredevil explorer Richard F. Burton, Alice Liddel (the inspiration for ALICE IN WONDERLAND), a space alien, a Neanderthal, and a twenty-first century anthropologist. Paul Hecht's measured style of delivery, which normally works so well for him, here brings the novel's structural flaws into high relief. Otherwise, his old radio voice and characterization skill are pleasantly diverting in spite of mediocre sound quality. Y.R. © AudioFile 2000, Portland, Maine-- Copyright © AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
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