conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a description for a book titled No Dawn for Men about German, Nazis, British with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Its 1938, and a German professor is working on a top-secret project for the Nazis, something involving Norse mythology. As it happens, a British author is scheduled to go to Germany to promote the launch of a translation of his popular childrens novel. Accompanied by a Reuters journalist, whos also an MI-6 operative, the author is tasked with finding out what the German scholar is up to and what importance his project might have for Nazi Germanys impending global expansion. An interesting-enough premise as is, but see what happens when we give the main characters their names: the British author is John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, author of The Hobbit (and, later, the Lord of the Rings trilogy), and the Reuters journalist and MI-6 agent is Ian Fleming (later to create James Bond). Oh, and toss this into the mix, too: the project the professor is working on involves finding a way for the Nazis to make their troops invincible. There are dozens of ways this novel could have failed, but, instead, its a rousing success, a thrilling adventure that does its clever frame story justice. --David Pitt
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first two paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: No Dawn for Men
  Himmler shook his head. He rarely showed emotion, which to him would be a sign not of weakness but of sloppiness, which he detested. That was why he wore one of his many severely-cut, buttoned-to-the-top SS uniforms at all times, and why he shaved and trimmed his Hitler-mimicking mustache every day, sometimes twice per day. It was obvious now, though, that he was not happy. "We brought her here," he said. "To the basement. She could not perform."
  Himmler's face softened. He liked to keep Heydrich guessing and often played him off against Wolff and others. This tactic he had learned, and honed, by studying the top god in the Nordic pantheon, Adolph Hitler. He had heard that the Fuhrer did not think much of his efforts to aid the upcoming war effort. A body blow, this. Hitler had never spoken of a successor, but to bring him a weapon of such immense power would surely place him next in line. Professor Shroeder must be made to produce results, and very soon.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide another paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: At his feet was a rectangular resting space, as it was called by Narunir, perhaps six feet by four feet, marked out by low rocks and containing a luxurious bearskin rug. Shroeder was asleep in his across the way. Vaclav, the man who had parachuted upon them yesterday, was sitting on his rug in his resting space next to Tolkien's, staring at the cave. At his feet were his radio, which he had been fidgeting with for the last twenty minutes, and a spread-out topographical map, with coordinates, of the Oder-Niesse River valley. The river-dwelling boys, the dwarfs trailing, had disappeared through an arched doorway. They had admonished them to rest, saying that they would soon bring food. The most astonishing things about the cave were the pools of water in its center, one steamy hot, the other ice cold, both surrounded by a smooth ledge of the same quartz-filled granite as the walls and ceiling. They had all used the hot water to clean their hands and faces when they first arrived, and drunk the cold water from wooden ladles laid out for them on the ledge. Off to the left, out of sight, the raft was beached on a scree of dry, sandy soil. Behind it, the stream they had sailed in on dipped under the cave, to emerge where, the professor could not guess. It could be heard coursing beneath the cave's flat, carpet-covered stone floor, as could the Oder be heard above. These were sights and sounds that no writer could ever dream of seeing. But here he was.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Matt had lived with his father in Manhattan from 2003 to 2007, while he went to high school. Except for a handful of Chris's short absences, and the weekends Matt occasionally spent with his mother in New Jersey, they had had dinner and conversation together every night during those years. As a consequence, Matt had learned to read his father's silences, so he knew for a fact what this last one meant.
  Matt paused for a second before answering. Two million dollars. Fuck. Most people would be ecstatic, but Matt was not most people. He saw the money as a burden, not a blessing. And then there was the oddness of the situation, his father's matter-of-fact tone, as if...as if what? But his father had moved on. That part of the conversation—the part where he might have an opportunity to complain or make a joke or ask for advice—was over. That's what his father's silence had meant.
  This question stopped Matt in his tracks. Are you interested? Later, when the Nico Pugach affair was over and done, he would realize exactly what the question was and what his father had meant it to be: a turning point, a choice to make.
  More silence. His father, like a Zen master, a very incongruous Zen master, had said to him many times, take everything at face value, take nothing at face value. He had puzzled over this obviously contradictory advice for years, until Nico showed up in America and seemed so different—and then asked him for half a million dollars.
  Chris Massi laughed his deep throaty laugh, a sound that filled Matt with happiness because it was so rarely that he heard it.