The Complete Jean M. Auel Earth's Children Series Six Book Set [Clan of the Cave Bear, Valley of the Horses, Mammoth Hunters, Plains of Passage, Shelters of. The Clan of the Cave Bear by Jean M. Auel, , available at Book Depository with free delivery worldwide. Now reissued with a gorgeous new cover to lead into the publication of the highly anticipated sixth and final book of the Earth's Children® series by bestselling.
|Language:||English, Spanish, Arabic|
|Genre:||Politics & Laws|
|ePub File Size:||24.66 MB|
|PDF File Size:||20.76 MB|
|Distribution:||Free* [*Register to download]|
The Clan of the Cave Bear is an epic work of prehistoric fiction by Jean M. Auel about prehistoric times. It is the first book in the Earth's Children book series. Start by marking “The Clan of the Cave Bear (Earth's Children, #1)” as Want to Read: Through Jean M. Auel's magnificent storytelling we are taken back to the dawn of modern humans, and with a girl named Ayla we are swept up in the harsh and beautiful Ice Age world they shared with. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Enhanced Edition) and millions of other books are available for instant access. The Clan of the Cave Bear: Earth's Children, Book One Mass Market Paperback – November 1, This item:The Clan of the Cave Bear: Earth's Children, Book One by Jean M. Auel.
Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Other editions. Enlarge cover. Error rating book. Refresh and try again.
Clan of the Cave Bear. Browse Related Browse Related. Also shop in Also shop in. Auel by Jean M. Auel HC Good. Auel A copy that has been read, but remains in clean condition. All pages are intact, and the cover is intact. The spine may show signs of wear.
Pages can include Good Time left: Auel Hardcover. They are not actual photos of the physical item for sale and should not be relied upon as a basis for edition or condition. The Clan of the Cave Bear: Earths Children, Book by Jean M. Auel Mass Market Paperback. Condition is Acceptable. Give us a shot and we will make sure that you will look to us again!
You're already downloading the item.
Book is in great condition. It has been sitting in storage since the '80s.
Quality Products. Book is in great vintage condition, dust jacket has some tears and wear. A sticker residue is on back. Please see pics. JEAN M. Ayla's different thought processes lead her to break important Clan customs, particularly the taboo against females handling weapons. She is self-willed and spirited, but tries hard to fit in with the Neanderthals, although she has to learn everything first-hand; she does not possess the ancestral memories of the Clan which enable them to do certain tasks after being shown only once.
Iza trains Ayla as a medicine woman "of her line", the most prestigious line of medicine women out of all of the Clans. It takes her much longer to train Ayla than it will her own daughter, Uba, since Ayla does not possess the memories of the Clan.
Iza is concerned that when Ayla grows up nobody will want her as their mate, making her a burden to the Clan. So she trains Ayla to be a highly respected medicine woman who will have her own "status" and will not have to rely on the status of a mate. Ayla's main antagonist in the novel is Broud, son of the leader Brun, an egomaniac who feels that she takes credit and attention away from him. As the two mature, the hatred between them festers. When they are young adults, Broud brutally rapes Ayla in an impulsive bid to demonstrate his total control over her.
Broud continues to assault Ayla multiple times daily, sinking her into a depression that leaves her despondent and disinterested, and she soon becomes pregnant.
There was no place for seeds to sprout on the rocky beach and it was clear of brush, but the upstream banks were choked with shrubs just sending forth new leaves. Some deep instinct told her to stay near water, but the tangled brambles looked impenetrable.
Through wet eyes that blurred her vision, she looked the other way at the forest of tall conifers. Thin beams of sunlight filtered through the overlapping branches of dense evergreens crowding close to the stream. The shaded forest was nearly devoid of undergrowth, but many of the trees were no longer upright.
A few had fallen to the ground; more leaned at awkward angles, supported by neighbors still firmly anchored. Beyond the jumble of trees, the boreal forest was dark and no more inviting than the brush upstream. A tremble beneath her feet while she was looking downstream set her in motion. Casting one last yearning look at the vacant landscape, childishly hopeful that somehow the lean-to would still be there, she ran into the woods.
Urged on by occasional grumbling as the earth settled, the child followed the flowing water, stopping only to drink in her hurry to get far away. Conifers that had succumbed to the quaking earth lay prostrate on the ground and she skirted craters left by the circular tangle of shallow root — moist soil and rocks still clinging to their exposed undersides.
She saw less evidence of disturbance toward evening, fewer uprooted trees and dislodged boulders, and the water cleared. She stopped when she could no longer see her way and sank down on the forest floor, exhausted.
Exercise had kept her warm while she was moving, but she shivered in the chill night air, burrowed into the thick carpet of fallen needles and curled up in a tight little ball, throwing handfuls over herself for a cover. But as tired as she was, sleep did not come easily to the frightened little girl. While busy making her way around obstacles near the stream, she was able to push her fear to the back of her mind.
Now, it overwhelmed her. She lay perfectly still, eyes wide open, watching the darkness thicken and congeal around her. She was afraid to move, almost afraid to breathe. She had never been alone at night before, and there had always been a fire to hold the black unknown at bay.
Finally, she could hold back no longer.
With a convulsive sob, she cried out her anguish. Her small body shook with sobs and hiccups, and with the release she eased into sleep. She woke up screaming!
The planet was still restless, and distant rumbling from deep within brought back her terror in a horrifying nightmare. She jerked up, wanted to run, but her eyes could see no more wide-open than they could behind closed lids.
Where were the loving arms that had always been there to comfort her when she woke in the night? Slowly the conscious realization of her plight seeped back into her mind and, shivering with fear and cold, she huddled down and burrowed into the needle-carpeted ground again.
The first faint streaks of dawn found her asleep. Daylight came slowly to the depths of the forest. When the child awoke it was well into the morning, but in the thick shade it was difficult to tell. She had wandered away from the stream as daylight faded the previous evening, and an edge of panic threatened as she looked around her at nothing but trees.
Thirst made her aware of the sound of gurgling water. She followed the sound and felt relieved when she saw the small river again. She was no less lost near the stream than she was in the forest, but it made her feel better to have something to follow, and she could quench her thirst as long as she stayed near it. She had been glad enough for the flowing water the day before, but it did little for her hunger.
The first leaf she tasted was bitter and stung her mouth. She spit it out and rinsed her mouth to remove the taste, but it made her hesitant to try another. She drank more water for the temporary feeling of fullness and started downstream again.
The deep woods frightened her now and she stayed close to the stream where the sun was bright. When night fell, she dug a place out of the needled ground and curled up in it again. Her second night alone was no better than her first.
Cold terror lay in the pit of her stomach along with her hunger. She had never been so terrified, she had never been so hungry, she had never been so alone. Her sense of loss was so painful, she began to block out the memory of the earthquake and her life before it; and thoughts of the future brought her so close to panic, she fought to push those fears from her mind as well. She lived only for the moment, getting past the next obstacle, crossing the next tributary, scrambling over the next log.
Following the stream became an end in itself, not because it would take her anywhere, but because it was the only thing that gave her any direction, any purpose, any course of action.
It was better than doing nothing. After a time, the emptiness in her stomach became a numb ache that deadened her mind. She cried now and then as she plodded on, her tears painting white streaks down her grubby face.
Her small naked body was caked with dirt; and hair that had once been nearly white, and as fine and soft as silk, was plastered to her head in a tangle of pine needles, twigs, and mud.
Traveling became more difficult when the evergreen forest changed to more open vegetation and the needle-covered forest floor gave way to obstructing brush, herbs, and grasses, the characteristic ground cover beneath small-leafed deciduous trees. When it rained, she huddled in the lee of a fallen log or large boulder or overhanging outcrop, or simply slogged through the mud letting the rain wash over her. The plentiful supply of drinking water kept dehydration from making its dangerous contribution to hypothermia, the lowering of body temperature that brought death from exposure, but she was getting weak.
She was beyond hunger; there was only a constant dull pain and an occasional feeling of light-headedness. She tried not to think about it, or about anything except the stream, just following the stream. Sunlight penetrating her nest of leaves woke her. She got up from the snug pocket warmed by her body heat and went to the river for a morning drink, damp leaves still clinging to her.
The blue sky and sunshine were welcome after the rain of the day before. Shortly after she started out, the bank on her side of the river gradually began to rise. By the time she decided to stop for another drink, a steep slope separated her from the water. She started down carefully but lost her footing and tumbled all the way to the bottom. She lay in a scraped and bruised heap in the mud near the water, too tired, too weak, too miserable to move.
Large tears welled up and streamed down her face, and plaintive wails rent the air. No one heard. Her cries became whimpers begging someone to come and help her. No one came. Her shoulders heaved with sobs as she cried her desperation. Just stay there crying in the mud?