Related to: 'Adrian Slywotzky'

Headline

Acid For The Children - the autobiography of the Red Hot Chili Peppers legend

Flea
Authors:
Flea
Wildfire

PIG

Helen Browning, Tim Finney
Authors:
Helen Browning, Tim Finney
Headline

Old Too Soon, Smart Too Late

Oliver Holt, Kieron Dyer
Authors:
Oliver Holt, Kieron Dyer
Headline Review

Six Tudor Queens: Katherine of Aragon, The True Queen

Alison Weir
Authors:
Alison Weir

Katherine of Aragon: The True Queen by bestselling historian Alison Weir, author of The Lost Tudor Princess, is the first in a spellbinding six novel series about Henry VIII's Queens. Alison takes you on an engrossing journey at Katherine's side and shows her extraordinary strength of character and intelligence. Ideal for fans of Philippa Gregory and Elizabeth Chadwick. 'Shatters the many myths about Henry VIII's long-suffering first wife' - Tracy BormanA Spanish princess. Raised to be modest, obedient and devout. Destined to be an English Queen.Six weeks from home across treacherous seas, everything is different: the language, the food, the weather. And for her there is no comfort in any of it. At sixteen years-old, Catalina is alone among strangers.She misses her mother. She mourns her lost brother.She cannot trust even those assigned to her protection.KATHERINE OF ARAGON. The first of Henry's Queens. Her story.History tells us how she died. This captivating novel shows us how she lived.(P)2016 Headline Digital

Headline Eternal

The Last True Vampire: Last True Vampire 1

Kate Baxter
Authors:
Kate Baxter

Launching an unmissable new series for fans of Bella Forrest, J.R. Ward, Nalini Singh and Lara Adrian. THE LAST TRUE VAMPIRE is deeply sensual, intensely emotional, and bursting with heartstopping action.Centuries ago, the vampire race was almost destroyed. Now, salvation rests upon one - the last true vampire.He is the last of his race. King of the vampires. Michael Aristov roams the nightclubs of LA after dark, haunted by his past and driven by hunger. The sole Ancient One to survive the slayers' obliteration, only he can resurrect the vampire race. But he's unable to reclaim his world without the woman who can return his soul...Claire Thompson is mortal, yet her intoxicating blood draws Michael like a moth to the flame. Sassy and seductive, only she can satisfy his insatiable cravings, their first fiery kiss igniting an irrevocable passion. With the future of the vampire race now at stake, Claire has the power to seal Michael's fate - forever.This unforgettable new series continues with The Warrior Vampire - return to the dark, deadly, and deliciously sexy world of the Last True Vampire.

Headline

The 80 Minute MBA

Richard Reeves, John Knell
Authors:
Richard Reeves, John Knell
Tinder Press

The Hope Factory

Lavanya Sankaran
Authors:
Lavanya Sankaran
Tinder Press

The Hope Factory

Lavanya Sankaran
Authors:
Lavanya Sankaran
Headline Review

Wicked Business (Wicked Series, Book 2)

Janet Evanovich
Authors:
Janet Evanovich

From Janet Evanovich, the bestselling author of SMOKIN' SEVENTEEN and WICKED APPETITE, comes the eagerly awaited second in the Lizzy and Diesel seriesLizzy Tucker's once normal life as a pastry chef in Salem, Massachusetts, turns upside down as she battles both sinister forces and an inconvenient attraction to her unnaturally talented but off-limits partner, Diesel.When Harvard University English professor and dyed-in-the wool romantic Gilbert Reedy is mysteriously murdered and thrown off his fourth-floor balcony, Lizzy and Diesel take up his twenty-year quest for the Luxuria Stone, an ancient relic believed by some to be infused with the power of lust. Following clues contained in a cryptic nineteenth-century book of sonnets, Lizzy and Diesel tear through Boston catacombs, government buildings, and multimillion-dollar residences. On their way they'll leave behind a trail of robbed graves, public disturbances, and general mayhem.Diesel's black sheep cousin, Gerwulf Grimoire, also wants the Stone. His motives are far from pure, and what he plans on doing with the treasure, no one knows . . . but Lizzy Tucker fears she's in his crosshairs. Never far and always watching, Grimoire has a growing, vested interest in the cupcake-baker-turned-finder-of-lost-things. As does another dangerous and dark opponent in the hunt--a devotee of lawlessness and chaos, known only as Anarchy.Treasures will be sought, and the power of lust will be unmistakable as Lizzy and Diesel attempt to stay ahead of Anarchy, Grimoire, and his medieval minion, Hatchet, in this ancient game of twisted riddles and high-stakes hide-and-seek.

Business Plus

Demand: Creating What People Love Before They Know They Want It

Adrian Slywotzky, Karl Weber
Authors:
Adrian Slywotzky, Karl Weber

Demand is one of the few economic terms almost everyone knows. Demand drives supply. When demand rises, growth happens - jobs are created, the economy flourishes and society thrives. So goes the theory.It sounds simple, yet almost no one really understands demand, including the business owners, company leaders and policy makers who try to stimulate and satisfy it. Aimed at a business and general non-fiction readership, DEMAND is a book which searches for clues as to where demand really comes from, and why, and how we might control it.

Headline

Globality

Harold L. Sirkin, James W. Hemerling, Arindam K. Bhattacharya
Authors:
Harold L. Sirkin, James W. Hemerling, Arindam K. Bhattacharya

Globality primarily involves large western corporations expanding their operations and moving aggressively into new overseas markets. GLOBALITY radically defines a 'post-globalization' world, where companies from India, China, Russia, eastern Europe, Brazil and Mexico are expanding beyond their home base, entering and building new markets, creating whole industries, and competing for customers, resources, market share and attention. In short, the tide has turned. As a result, western companies need to understand these emerging new businesses and the economies they come from in order to stay ahead and stay alive.

Business Plus

Demand (India Only)

Adrian Slywotzky With Karl Web, Er
Authors:
Adrian Slywotzky With Karl Web, Er

Demand is one of the few economic terms almost everyone knows. Demand drives supply. When demand rises, growth happens - jobs are created, the economy flourishes and society thrives. So goes the theory.It sounds simple, yet almost no one really understands demand, including the business owners, company leaders and policy makers who try to stimulate and satisfy it. Aimed at a business and general non-fiction readership, DEMAND is a book which searches for clues as to where demand really comes from, and why, and how we might control it.

Business Plus

Loose

Martin Thomas
Authors:
Martin Thomas
Headline

Winning Is Not Enough

Sir Jackie Stewart
Authors:
Sir Jackie Stewart

Sir Jackie Stewart is one of the most highly regarded names in global sport - winner of three F1 World Championships, 27 Grands Prix and ranked in the top five drivers of all time. On retiring from the circuit, he went on to build an equally impressive international business career. In the 1960s and into the 70s, with his black cap, sideburns and aviator shades Jackie Stewart was an unmistakable icon in a glorious era of style, glamour and speed. On the track, his story is one of drama, excitement, tragedy, controversy, celebrity, danger and massive success. Beyond the sport his life is a compelling tale of battling against the odds and achieving world-wide recognition as an outstanding sportsman, a role model and a highly accomplished and respected businessman.

Adrian Slywotzky With Karl Web

Adrian J. Slywotzky, a partner of the global management consultancy Oliver Wyman, is one of the world's best-known business thinkers. Author of a string of popular, highly-regarded management books, including THE PROFIT ZONE, VALUE MIGRATION and THE UPSIDE, Slywotzky has been lauded as one of the top 50 business thinkers by The Times and one of the world's six most influential management thinkers by Industry Week. Co-author Karl Weber is one of today's most successful writers. The bestsellers he has helped develop include Scott McClellan's explosive political memoir WHAT HAPPENED and Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus's acclaimed works CREATING A WORLD WITHOUT POVERTY and BUILDING SOCIAL BUSINESS.

Karl Weber

Karl Weber is one of today's most successful writers. The bestsellers he has helped develop include Scott McClellan's explosive political memoir WHAT HAPPENED and Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus's acclaimed works CREATING A WORLD WITHOUT POVERTY and BUILDING SOCIAL BUSINESS.

Posted by Myke Cole, author

Blog: Reflections on New York Comic Con

You might want to sit down for this one, it’s going to come as a bit of a shock. I hate to be the guy who pulls the rug out from under you, who shatters the tender illusion under which you’ve lived your entire life until now. The Internet didn’t always exist. No, I’m serious. There was a time when people didn’t have the means to communicate instantly, to answer nearly any question, to check in on the hilarious antics of anyone’s cat, at any time, anywhere in the world. It was a dark time. Marriages collapsed as the lack of Wikipedia meant that couples couldn’t resolve arguments with the click of a mouse. People starved to death, lost on unfamiliar roads, without their iPhone’s maps feature to guide them to civilization. Cats rode Roombas, dashed into paper bags, cuddled up beside dogs without anyone to witness their heart-breakingly cute hilarity. I’ve been called a tough guy because I’ve been to war, but I think the real testament to my durability was that I lived through this Dark Age. It was especially tough on nerds. We thrive on minutiae, esoteric cultural touchstones that are precious to us precisely because they are so rare. It’s hard to find a guy who can identify all the different types of Storm Trooper armor (and yes, that includes the Emperor’s Royal Guard) at a glance, who can tell you the THAC0 for a 3rd level Thief without having to look it up. When we meet those who can, we bond with them, reveling in a sense of cultural identity which I am assuming is the cousin to how Masai feel when they celebrate a warrior killing yet another lion. With a spear. By himself. Anyway, with no Internet, it was harder to find one another, especially when reaching out to the wrong person could get you mercilessly teased, or worse, smacked around and stuffed in a locker. To facilitate the location and bonding process, we nerds were drawn to gatherings known as “cons.” (And no, they didn’t involve tricking kindly old ladies out of their life savings). Generally held in hotels, these gatherings allowed a few hundred of us to bond in safety, reveling in our tribal songs (filking) and interpretive dances (LARPing). It also doubled as pretty much the only place on earth any of us would ever have a chance in hell of kissing a member of the opposite sex. I lived for cons. My life was one interminable stretch of time between them, each a crucible I had to get through until the next long weekend among my own. They all had cool names playing on their root word: Lunacon, Balticon, Confusion, Boskone. Okay, so that last one kind of fell down on the job, but you get the idea. They were always put on by fans, run by volunteers, usually operating at a loss. Science Fiction and Fantasy is one of the few genres where the majority of the pros come up through fandom, and cons were peppered liberally with authors, editors and literary agents, all doing their business networking in a morass of joy that gave them a uniform expression of I-can’t-believe-I-make-money-doing-this. It was at cons that my burgeoning interest in the genre became a professional ambition. I met my agent at Philcon, sat in the lobby until 3AM talking about everything other than writing. I first met my editor and her assistant at a con. Fast forward a-number-of-years-I-am-uncomortable-stating-because-I-am-really-really-old. A perfect storm of genre successes in popular culture (a string of outstanding superhero flicks, Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings movies, a surge in adult acceptance of video games, which are almost always SF/F based), and some literary successes (Harry Potter, Twilight, Eragon) helped propel Science Fiction and Fantasy into the mainstream. At the same time, the pervasiveness of the Internet began to erode the old fan-run con culture. When you can find thousands of like-minded people at the click of a mouse, why bother traveling hundreds of miles to spend a weekend at an expensive hotel? The shared vocabulary was online. Everything, from role-playing games to fan-fiction, was available in an instant. Those who accuse Internet addicts of isolation are fools. The Internet is a fundamentally social phenomenon. It is a new way that people form bonds. Cons began to gray. The panels became repetitive, the programming staff focusing more and more on holding on to their salad days, while the genre moved on without them. I don’t know when it first happened, but somewhere along the way, someone perked up and noticed that the con culture was still being applied to a small subsection of society, but revolved around a genre that was now immensely popular. The appeal was broad enough that people were willing to spend a lot of money for their articles of faith: action figures, specialized t-shirts, special edition DVDs, oceans and oceans of books. Boom. The for-profit con was born. There are comic cons all over the country now. It seems like every major city has one. While the old fan-run cons attract hundreds, these pull in tens of thousands, packing the largest venues of major cities so full that it takes an attendee 20 minutes to walk 20 feet. They transcend genre now, have become pop culture celebrations, pulling in film, television and gaming executives hawking wares from straight comedy to mainstream drama, with nary a superhero in sight. And there’s still more money to be made, with venue after venue springing up to meet demand. Wizard World, Dragon Con, the Sci-Fi Weekender. There’s a tribal petulance for those of us who were there first, who saw the birth of the con and grew up in the bosom of its larval state. This new age of mega cons makes us want to shake our fists and call the beautiful people thronging the halls of the Javitts Center Johnny-Come-Latelys (and if one more model unilaterally declares herself “Queen of the Nerds,” I will go ballistic). They are, after all, the people who took our lunch money, who wouldn’t date us. Walk through Williamsburg, Brooklyn and you’re bound to see a guy who has never played D&D in his life sporting a “THIS IS HOW I ROLL” T-shirt, emblazoned with a 20-sided die. But we go, of course. Comic Con is a focal point of my year, the happiest long weekend of the annual cycle. And that’s because I remembered something from my early days as a writer. When my best friend hit it huge as a professional genre writer before I did, I made the conscious decision not to be jealous. A rising tide lifts all boats, I told myself, and it was true. His success didn’t hinder mine in the least. In fact, it helped me when my turn came. The same is true here. I was drawn to cons of hundreds for the same reason folks are drawn to cons of hundreds of thousands: Because the genre is amazing, because a thing shared is so much more wonderful than a thing enjoyed privately. Because nothing in life can beat the simple animal pleasure of turning to a stranger and saying “That is so awesome!” and having them smile knowingly and say “it really is!” It is a brief moment where we are not alone. As I walk through New York Comic Con (or rather, as I ride the shoulders of my enormous colleague Sam Sykes to avoid getting trampled by the horde), I see the legions of fans thronging the aisles. In junior high school, most of these people likely wouldn’t have been my friends. But they are now. A rising tide lifts all boats. Man, it just keeps going up and up, year after year. And the view from here is glorious.

Privacy Notice

By Clemency Burton-Hill

New York, New York

Being a freelance writer has its upsides and its down; but an indisputable up is the ability to choose one’s office daily. As I write, I am sitting in a small café on Hudson and Charles, spotted on a whim as I crossed over the street from Seventh Avenue. It boasts walls of exposed old brick and studiedly shabby wooden furniture; a vinyl record of jazz turns on a gramophone in the corner. October sunlight slants lazily across the street and slinks in through the café windows, gilding a wall of analogue photographs depicting the proprietor’s great-grandparents in curling sepia. It is late 2012; the New York headquarters of some of the twenty-first-century’s most cutting-edge technology companies are in the vicinity; but with this chipped mug of coffee in my hands here and that Charlie Parker LP spinning there, I could be occupying the sort of contemplative corner spot that any number of human characters in New York may have occupied before me. Other years, other faces, other times. People sometimes complain that Greenwich Village, like much in Manhattan, has “altered beyond recognition” and I’m sure in many ways it has – it is in the very nature of this town; the very name of this town, to enshrine the possibility of change. But I also know, I feel intuitively, that there is still in these streets the unwavering spirit of the old city, catering generously and eternally to the needs of those whose hearts are open, curious and yearning. There’s no place like this on earth. In other words, New York’s still got it. **** When I turned eighteen, I was given a subscription to the New Yorker for my birthday. A decade later, almost to the day, I moved to Manhattan and for the first few months I lived here, the simplest and most wondrous of the inestimable gifts this city bestows seemed to be this: that I could open those storied pages, flip to Goings On About Town, and, if I so desired, “go on about town”. I could read about a jazz gig, a book reading, a film opening, a symphony or rock concert, an opera, a play, a new restaurant and, bank balance permitting, experience it that same night. Back in my hometown of London – itself a city not without wonder – reading the Goings On section of the New Yorker became a weekly act of masochism, yielding predictable twists of almost palpable longing. To read about what was happening that same night across the Atlantic; to dream, to imagine, but to only be able to imagine – to not be in New York was sometimes too much to bear. Yet this is a city that has always been created by the imagination; a metropolis lovingly constructed in ink and paper and celluloid and dreams as much as it is by bricks and mortar, steel and glass. To borrow an insight from that master observer of New York, E. B. White, there are roughly three New Yorks: that of the natives, that of the commuters, and that of the settlers. That notion was true when White wrote “Here is New York” in 1948, and it strikes me as being resoundingly true today. Like him, I believe that the third New York will always be the most important, the most vital, because it is the one whose foundations are laid first in the minds of human beings born and living elsewhere – those for whom New York City is the ultimate destination. When the settler-dreamers hit the bedrock, having crossed bodies of water, been coughed up through tubes or tunnels or deposited by planes, it is up to them – to us – to turn those dreams into something resembling reality. And because New York has a unique capacity to absorb whatever is thrown at it and whomever arrives on its shores, they invariably do play their own unique part in shaping what happens next in the mighty pageant that is life here. Although, not always: New York also spits out more dejected and disappointed souls than any other city on earth. We transplanted “New Yorkers” must also live with the lurking shadow of that possibility every day. **** The music fades, the needle lifts, and a bearded barista with complicated tattoos on his forearms whom I’d wager lives in Brooklyn goes to flip the record to its B-Side. Which reminds me of a startling fact: the first jazz disc ever to be cut in the world was cut in New York. Ever in the world! It was Nick La Rocca’s Original Dixieland Jazz Band with “Livery Stable Blues”, in early 1917. But I plucked that particular “first” from the sky; really it’s not so startling – New York is a city of firsts. A city of human beings calmly doing things that will forever alter the direction of how those things can be done. From sculptors to subway contractors; from traders of sundries to traders of derivatives; from writers of music to writers of insurance to writers of code. Right now, I wonder, how many blocks am I from wonder? A short stroll in any direction and I might run into a movie crew shooting on a corner of Bleecker whose young director, as yet unknown, will win an Oscar next year; I might walk past an innocuous office building on Houston in which employees at a start-up whose name we’ve never heard of are busy inventing the next game-changing technology that we will soon all take for granted; I may glance at construction workers on a downtown skyscraper site whose silhouette will one day be a byword, a metaphor, a symbol for something the whole world understands – or maybe will just be a building so beautiful it makes people weep. This guy sitting next to me, meanwhile, tapping away on his laptop; for all I know he could be writing the world’s next Booker-winning novel. This is New York. Since arriving at this café, moreover, I have seen through these sunlit windows every sort of human face pass along Hudson Street. Even here, in this achingly well-heeled neighborhood where a brownstone townhouse around the corner on Perry is apparently on the market at fifteen million dollars (“What the hell – I’ll take two!”) I have seen faces old and young; faces black and brown and pink and white and many shades of grey. Faces beautiful and completely unmemorable; faces brimful of life; faces seemingly close to death. Perhaps these faces come from Puerto Rico, from Sierra Leone, from Mexico, England, Haiti, Cuba, Latvia, Kenya, Russia, Ireland or Italy. Perhaps from China, Tunisia, Wales, India, Jamaica, New Zealand, Greece or Poland. Perhaps they were born in a gleaming hospital uptown, or in a railroad apartment in an outer borough; perhaps they were born half way around the world. But here in New York they are. And as White memorably observed: “the collision and the intermingling of these millions of foreign-born people representing so many races and creeds make New York a permanent exhibit of the phenomenon of one world.” The phenomenon of one world. We know all this, of course. New York as a racial melting pot, a magnet for all comers, a global crucible of creativity: all of this has been said in myriad ways, by multitudes and over many years. But just as New York has every type of potential racial problem and for the most part enjoys a continuing and frankly miraculous city-wide tolerance, an “inviolate truce” between peoples, what astounds me is how the things we know about the city – the clichés and stereotypes, the myths and legends – go on being true, and indeed, get truer. Why? How? How do you work, New York? How are you even plausible? **** When you tell people you live in New York, I have found, reactions generally divide into those whose eyes widen with envy and those who wrinkle their brows in horror – or, worse, pity. “Oh no,” they shake their head, “I could never live there – so noisy, so dirty, so smelly. And why does everyone have to be so unbelievably rude?” There are also those who grumble that New York has somehow lost its character; been homogenised and commercialised and overrun by identical shops, adverts and tourists who genuinely appear to think queuing outside Abercrombie & Fitch a valid use of time. Well, yes. Surely Broadway has its grim bits; clearly one does well to avoid Times Square. Obviously you ignore the horse-and-cart guys in Central Park and of course you don’t eat at Olive Garden or wait forty-five minutes for a Magnolia Bakery cupcake. And of course New York is smelly and dirty and busy and crowded. If White thought in 1948 that “the normal frustrations of modern life are here multiplied and amplified” he would possibly be dismayed (but not surprised) to discover that more than half a century on there is still “not enough air and not enough light, and there is usually either too much heat or too little”. But in general, I believe, New York still has more life and curiosity and character in a single city block than even – dare I say it – London. And I’m a born and bred London girl who once suspected that if you were to cut my veins I would bleed the Thames. (I have also lived in Paris, and - hit me over the head with a baguette – I’m afraid that glorious capital does not compare either.) For more than three years, for example, my local Subway stop has been Grand Central. Rushing across the Main Concourse before I head underground to catch a train, I try always to look up at the ceiling and promise myself I will never, ever take such a sight for granted. When back in London, equally, I remind myself not to sigh in inevitable disappointment when I board the Piccadilly Line to go home. It’s a grossly unfair comparison, of course: how could poor old Hammersmith, my local Tube, ever hope to win against those majestic cathedral glories on 42nd Street? But that’s the point, isn’t it? **** In January 2012, the population of the entire New York City metropolitan area hit nineteen million people. It can be lonely here; sometimes unutterably so: a teeming place of human isolation and even desperation. By Grand Central Station I have indeed sat down and wept. But as White also captured brilliantly: “Although New York often imparts a feeling of great forlornness or forsakenness… you always feel that either by shifting your location ten blocks or by reducing your fortune by five dollars you can experience rejuvenation.” Reducing one’s fortune by five dollars here, by the way, remains the easiest damn thing in the world. Another cup of coffee at this very café, especially if accompanied by one of those artisanal sea-salt cookies they bake downstairs, will barely leave me change from twice that. In a doorway down the street, some wit has stuck a poster referencing the iconic slogan: I CAN’T AFFORD TO  NY. It has probably never been more difficult or more expensive to live in New York. Yet I and so many others would not be anywhere else in the world. Shifting my location, I will take my five bucks and get another coffee at some other place, ten blocks away, twenty, or who knows where. It doesn’t matter where I go: I open the door and the universe awaits. CLEMENCY BURTON-HIL, NEW YORK CITY, OCTOBER 2012

CHAPTER SAMPLER

ebook of the month

An exclusive extract featuring New York Times bestseller John Lescroart's most popular character, lawyer Dismas Hardy, in his most personal case so far.