Books with title The Mighty Atom

The powerful sequel to the award-winning Freak the Mighty. Fourteen-year-old Max is back, and he finds himself defending a solitary girl nicknamed "Worm" against a cruel man known as the Undertaker. Against all odds, the teens embark on a perilous journey in search of Worm's father and must face something more frightening than death itself. Written in a haunting yet uplifting first-person voice, Publishers Weekly calls Max the Mighty "a rip-roaring, heartwarming escapade".

A HEAVY storm had raged all day on the north coast of Devon. Summer had worn the garb of winter in a freakish fit of mockery and masquerade; and even among the sheltered orchards of the deeply-embowered valley of Combmartin, many a tough and gnarled branch of many a sturdy apple-tree laden with reddening fruit, had been beaten to the ground by the fury of the blast and the sweeping gusts of rain. Only now, towards late afternoon, were the sullen skies beginning to clear. The sea still lashed the rocks with angry thuds of passion, but the strength of the wind was gradually sinking into a mere breeze, and a warm saffron light in the west showed where the sun, obscured for so many hours, was about to hide his glowing face altogether for the night, behind the black vizor of our upward-moving earth. The hush of the gloaming began to permeate nature; flowers, draggled with rain, essayed to lift their delicate stems from the mould where they had been bowed prone and almost broken,—and a little brown bird fluttering joyously out of a bush where it had taken shelter from the tempest, alighted on a window-sill of one of the nearest human habitations it could perceive, and there piped a gentle roundelay for the cheering and encouragement of those within before so much as preening a feather. The window was open, and in the room beyond it a small boy sat at a school-desk reading, and every now and then making pencil notes on a large folio sheet of paper beside him. He was intent upon his work,—yet he turned quickly at the sound of the bird’s song and listened, his deep thoughtful eyes darkening and softening with a liquid look as of unshed tears. It was only for a moment that he thus interrupted his studies,—anon, he again bent over the book before him with an air of methodical patience and resignation strange to see in one so young. He might have been a bank clerk, or an experienced accountant in a London merchant’s office, from his serious old-fashioned manner, instead of a child barely eleven years of age; indeed, as a matter of fact, there was an almost appalling expression of premature wisdom on his pale wistful features;—the ‘thinking furrow’ already marked his forehead,—and what should still have been the babyish upper curve of his sensitive little mouth, was almost though not quite obliterated by a severe line of constantly practised self-restraint. Stooping his fair curly head over the printed page more closely as the day darkened, he continued reading, pondering, and writing; and the bird, which had come to assure him as well as it could, that fine bright weather,—such weather as boys love,—might be expected to-morrow, seemed disappointed that its gay carol was not more appreciated. At any rate it ceased singing, and began to plume itself with fastidious grace and prettiness, peering round at the youthful student from time to time inquisitively, as much as to say,—“What wonder is this? The rain is over,—the air is fresh,—the flowers are fragrant,—there is light in the sky,—all the world of nature is glad, and rejoices,—yet here is a living creature shut up with a book which surely God never had the making of!—and his face is wan, and his eyes are sad, and he seems not to know the meaning of joy!” The burning bars of saffron widened in the western heavens,—shafts of turquoise-blue, pale rose, and chrysoprase flashed down towards the sea like reflections from the glory of some unbarred gate of Paradise,—and the sun, flaming with August fires, suddenly burst forth in all his splendour.

He's not crazy. Honest, he's not.He's just Wyatt. Wyatt the Mighty.Fifteen-year-old Wyatt has been sent to a treatment center for "disturbed youth." No one understands him. He wants nothing more than to escape from it all.And he does.Through a magic he doesn't understand, he finds himself in Hagion, a realm of fantastical creatures and immense wonder. He quickly finds himself in the company of a runaway warrior and two Children--a strange race of underground creatures that seem forever joyful. They claim Wyatt is a Druid, a powerful figure of myth and legend, sent to restore peace to all of the Realms. He doesn't bother correcting them.Finally, he can be the hero he's always dreamed of.But claiming to be a hero and actually being a hero are two different things. And it's a lesson Wyatt may have to pay dearly for.A Mature YA(ish) Fantasy/Contemporary Tale

Marie Corelli’s novel from 1896, “The Mighty Atom”, is an attempt by Corelli to show the evils of Atheism. Her dedication reads: “To those self-styled “progressivists,” who by precept and example assist the infamous cause of education without religion, and who by promoting the idea borrowed from French atheism, of denying to the children in board schools and elsewhere the knowledge and love of God as the true foundation of noble living are guilty of a worse crime than murder.”

Excerpt from The Mighty AtomThe burning bars of saffron widened in the western heavens, - shafts of turquoise-blue, pale rose, and chrysoprase flashed down towards the sea like reflections from the glory of some un barred gate of Paradise, - and the sun, flaming with August fires, suddenly burst forth in all his splendour. Full on Combmartin, with its grey old church, stone cottages, and thatched roofs overgrown with flowers, the cheerful radiance fell, bathing it from end to end in a shower of gold, - the waves running into the quiet harbour caught the lustrous glamour and shone with deep translucent glitterings of amber melting into green, - and through the shadows of the room where the solitary little student sat at work, a bright ray came dancing, and glistened on his bent head like the touch of some passing angel's benediction. Just then the door opened, and a young man entered, clad in white boating flannels.About the PublisherForgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.comThis book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

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