Books For Political Science Novels & Stories

It was nearly 5:30 PM according to the clock, and would soon be a new moon by the look of it. He perused the books in the case, briefly scanning their titles. There were some dusty World War II tomes below, most likely George’s, and several of Glee’s books on cooking and gardens—and where was she, anyhow? He saw volumes about ancient Egypt and the pharaohs, the construction of the pyramids and such, while the upper shelves were filled with political books, everything from Pat Buchanan to Arianna Huffington, William F. Buckley Jr. to Gore Vidal. One title caught Richard off guard and made him laugh aloud: On Politics and the Art of Acting, by the playwright Arthur Miller.

I can’t explain it, but I don’t have to, either, if I don’t bring it up, and I’m not one to ever start conversations. I sniff the paperback—old, musty paper, glue, and Justus—and set it on the pallet. The next book in the pile, Peter Kropotkin’s The Conquest of Bread, has a picture of two men chopping down a tree on the cover. It smells the same. All the books are dog-eared paperbacks with yellowed pages—Walden by Henry David Thoreau, Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler, Critique of Practical Reason by Immanuel Kant, several each by Ursula K. Le Guin and N. K. Jemison, and a massive hardback of Plato’s collected works. The Plato is the only one that looks like it hasn’t been read a hundre

he droned. I couldn’t help but laugh. “So, as you can see, I hid myself away because I desperately needed a break from all the excessive questions.” “I understand. What is it that you’re reading, though?” He picked up one of the books at the top of the pile I’d created. I watched as his eyes widened. “Political Science?” My cheeks started to heat up under his searching gaze. “Yeah...I wanted to start becoming more familiar with how things work. If you seriously plan on taking on the King, it’s vital that I understand the systems that revolve around his position and—hmm!”

"Name your price. I want my rightful share. My mother's inheritance, including the shares in the overseas accounts, and the profits from the three Aelorian smuggling routes." Antonio's expression darkened instantly. "You're insane! Absolutely not. You're trying to gut half of the Corleone family's assets!" "Insane?" Elvira walked to the window and stared at the garden below. Her tone was calm, but the determination in it was unmistakable.

I let out a long breath I didn’t know I was holding, and walked toward the library. The room was huge, with tall shelves reaching all the way to the ceiling, filled with thousands of books. There were books about history, science, art, and politics, but most of all, there were books and files about business, finance, and power. They were arranged perfectly, organized in ways that made sense only to someone who knew how the world worked.

"Do you read?" The question surprised her. "Reading?" "Yes. You seem educated. Thoughtful. What do you read when you can?" "Whatever I can find. My father had some books. I've read them so many times I have them memorized." "May I ask what kinds of books?" "Philosophy, mostly. Political theory. History." She pulled a worn volume from her bag. "This was my father's. It's the only one I have left." The officer took it carefully—an old, annotated copy of a political text. He opened it, scanning the margins filled with handwritten notes.