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just_one_more_paige
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.
Although I've had a few of Eggers' books on my TBR list for some time now, this is the first one I've actually gotten to. With the movie coming out, or having just come out, with huge names like Tom Hanks and Emma Watson (my all around idol!) there's been a lot of press around this novel. I actually had two different book clubs choose this read simultaneously, which might sound boring, but there is so much to debate and dissect in these pages that getting that much input on it is definitely worth it.
Well that was something. It was creepy and thought-provoking in equal, yet particularly hard to quantify, measure. I felt unsettled the entire time I was reading, kind of restless, like I couldn't put the book down and needed to read faster and faster to see where it was going, but at the same time, super hesitant to actually get there. It's a strange feeling that I haven't often experienced before and I love when books can do that.
This was an exercise in the small connections and leaps of logic that each make sense individually, but down the line in the bigger picture, you realize have no idea how things ended up that way and how they could have gotten so convoluted. I found myself, often, agreeing with many of the little arguments and points made by various characters, agreeing with how the technological advances they were dreaming up could be useful and beneficial to society....and then, like 4 logic steps later, I'd catch myself and be like "wait, this is craziness!" Such an intriguing writing style: a slow reeling in alternated with sudden snaps back to reality/rational thought.
More than anything, I thought, this was a philosophical argument disguised as a novel: the ideals of full transparency (in literally everything) and the right of each person to any knowledge they want versus the arguments of privacy and the personal choice to share information or not. On both sides, numerous safety issues are addressed and explored. The slow brainwashing of Mae (I literally cannot think of any other way to describe it), the pressure from the Circle to be absolutely and overwhelming connected to everything at all times, is the one thing that I felt completely opposed to from the start and throughout. What started as something wonderful and positive for Mae (a great opportunity, wonderful job benefits, the ability to help her family, etc.) uses those positives to take so much advantage of her. She slowly lost all her friends and family, and the meaningful and developed connections she had with them, in favor of the, cliched, "quantity over quality." It was terrifying and depressing to watch her transformation and loss throughout the story. And I was truly exasperated with her lack of self awareness about the entire situation, her loss of ability to tell what were her own thoughts and what was "planted" by The Circle, and the hypocrisy of some of her actions (despite her public pro-transparency statements and assurances, she still had the need for privacy in certain situations...and found a way to get it without recognizing the incongruity there). However, in line with her development and the pace and direction of the story, I'd like to say that the ending was perfect. Exactly what it needed to be. And there were so many ways that could have gone wrong and I was, as I approached the end, super nervous about it. But Eggers nailed it.
There was definitely some condemnation of the overuse of social media (that I think, in some cases, is currently already an issue): measuring yourself by that superficial interaction, lack of engagement in real life, gossip/hearsay being raised to the level of actual fact/news. But there was also not space for real dissent. Mae's old friend, Mercer, fills that role partially, but to an unrelatable extreme. And to an extent, her parents also partially fill that spot. But there is literally almost no one else that is willing to, or able to, legitimately stand up to the growing power of The Circle and it's quest for transparency. And as the book goes on, it gets worse: look at the politicians who refuse transparency, look at Annie. On the other hand even now, the way things are in our real world, there is a strong voice of dissent against over-engagement in social media replacing actual life. In a slightly ironic twist, the easy access to people everywhere that social media provides actually enables those who feel that way to find each other, connect, and have their own voice. So I truly don't see, and hope I'm right, that we will ever get to the point, in the real world, that things got to in The Circle.
Overall, I believe this is an important read. Even though it could really be classified as SciFi more than anything else, the philosophy around the moral concerns of the digital age that are addressed are widely applicable for the world today. And it is done in a way that I have not seen anywhere else. The questions of where we draw our lines and how to address the rights of humans in this digital age are explored fully and in a way that we can understand on a personal level that fully engages the reader in the discussions and outcomes.
Although I've had a few of Eggers' books on my TBR list for some time now, this is the first one I've actually gotten to. With the movie coming out, or having just come out, with huge names like Tom Hanks and Emma Watson (my all around idol!) there's been a lot of press around this novel. I actually had two different book clubs choose this read simultaneously, which might sound boring, but there is so much to debate and dissect in these pages that getting that much input on it is definitely worth it.
Well that was something. It was creepy and thought-provoking in equal, yet particularly hard to quantify, measure. I felt unsettled the entire time I was reading, kind of restless, like I couldn't put the book down and needed to read faster and faster to see where it was going, but at the same time, super hesitant to actually get there. It's a strange feeling that I haven't often experienced before and I love when books can do that.
This was an exercise in the small connections and leaps of logic that each make sense individually, but down the line in the bigger picture, you realize have no idea how things ended up that way and how they could have gotten so convoluted. I found myself, often, agreeing with many of the little arguments and points made by various characters, agreeing with how the technological advances they were dreaming up could be useful and beneficial to society....and then, like 4 logic steps later, I'd catch myself and be like "wait, this is craziness!" Such an intriguing writing style: a slow reeling in alternated with sudden snaps back to reality/rational thought.
More than anything, I thought, this was a philosophical argument disguised as a novel: the ideals of full transparency (in literally everything) and the right of each person to any knowledge they want versus the arguments of privacy and the personal choice to share information or not. On both sides, numerous safety issues are addressed and explored. The slow brainwashing of Mae (I literally cannot think of any other way to describe it), the pressure from the Circle to be absolutely and overwhelming connected to everything at all times, is the one thing that I felt completely opposed to from the start and throughout. What started as something wonderful and positive for Mae (a great opportunity, wonderful job benefits, the ability to help her family, etc.) uses those positives to take so much advantage of her. She slowly lost all her friends and family, and the meaningful and developed connections she had with them, in favor of the, cliched, "quantity over quality." It was terrifying and depressing to watch her transformation and loss throughout the story. And I was truly exasperated with her lack of self awareness about the entire situation, her loss of ability to tell what were her own thoughts and what was "planted" by The Circle, and the hypocrisy of some of her actions (despite her public pro-transparency statements and assurances, she still had the need for privacy in certain situations...and found a way to get it without recognizing the incongruity there). However, in line with her development and the pace and direction of the story, I'd like to say that the ending was perfect. Exactly what it needed to be. And there were so many ways that could have gone wrong and I was, as I approached the end, super nervous about it. But Eggers nailed it.
There was definitely some condemnation of the overuse of social media (that I think, in some cases, is currently already an issue): measuring yourself by that superficial interaction, lack of engagement in real life, gossip/hearsay being raised to the level of actual fact/news. But there was also not space for real dissent. Mae's old friend, Mercer, fills that role partially, but to an unrelatable extreme. And to an extent, her parents also partially fill that spot. But there is literally almost no one else that is willing to, or able to, legitimately stand up to the growing power of The Circle and it's quest for transparency. And as the book goes on, it gets worse: look at the politicians who refuse transparency, look at Annie. On the other hand even now, the way things are in our real world, there is a strong voice of dissent against over-engagement in social media replacing actual life. In a slightly ironic twist, the easy access to people everywhere that social media provides actually enables those who feel that way to find each other, connect, and have their own voice. So I truly don't see, and hope I'm right, that we will ever get to the point, in the real world, that things got to in The Circle.
Overall, I believe this is an important read. Even though it could really be classified as SciFi more than anything else, the philosophy around the moral concerns of the digital age that are addressed are widely applicable for the world today. And it is done in a way that I have not seen anywhere else. The questions of where we draw our lines and how to address the rights of humans in this digital age are explored fully and in a way that we can understand on a personal level that fully engages the reader in the discussions and outcomes.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.
That was beautiful. A beautiful story. This one has been on my to read list for a couple years and I'm really regretting taking this long to get to it. One of the most heartfelt coming of age stories I have ever read - for every single character. June. Greta. Toby. June's mother. Everyone grew, expressed, learned, accepted. This was a gorgeous exploration of so many different kinds of love and connection, the bonds of friendship and family, a rediscovery of sisterhood and the softening of hearts through forgiveness.
It's also a heart-wrenching look into the experience of AIDS when it first emerged. We get a look into how deep the prejudices ran, the challenges and pain that the LGBTQ community had to face. I feel like this is something that, at least I, take for granted. First, though there are obviously so many prejudices still alive and strong today (I live in NC, which is, depressingly, pretty famous for our ridiculous transgender bathroom bill right now, so it's impossible to deny how deeply those feelings still run), reading this book makes you realize that even with all that, it could be, it was, so much worse. The fear that was alive in the population was palpable and we see here how it tore families apart, engendered lies and denial, and stole the right to pursue love and happiness from so many. Obviously we can see this directly affect Finn and Toby and their relationships with their family, but then after the loss of Finn, both Toby and June have to lie and sneak and be fearful on a daily basis, when what they really need and deserve is a chance to mourn and bond, and perhaps make a friend, with another lonely, grieving soul.
On an artistic, literary level, there was a lot to admire about the way this book was written. The title is so evocative, and the theme of wolves runs so smoothly throughout the story - a symbolic thread woven into the entire development of the story. And the painting, of the same title, that is introduced to the reader and is slowly more fully revealed and physically transformed bit by bit, is a wonderful representation of the story itself. It's one of the best full length metaphors I've ever read and the way it's worked in is a credit to the author.
It would be impossible to not get emotionally involved with this story and it's characters and their journeys. Just a phenomenal book.
That was beautiful. A beautiful story. This one has been on my to read list for a couple years and I'm really regretting taking this long to get to it. One of the most heartfelt coming of age stories I have ever read - for every single character. June. Greta. Toby. June's mother. Everyone grew, expressed, learned, accepted. This was a gorgeous exploration of so many different kinds of love and connection, the bonds of friendship and family, a rediscovery of sisterhood and the softening of hearts through forgiveness.
It's also a heart-wrenching look into the experience of AIDS when it first emerged. We get a look into how deep the prejudices ran, the challenges and pain that the LGBTQ community had to face. I feel like this is something that, at least I, take for granted. First, though there are obviously so many prejudices still alive and strong today (I live in NC, which is, depressingly, pretty famous for our ridiculous transgender bathroom bill right now, so it's impossible to deny how deeply those feelings still run), reading this book makes you realize that even with all that, it could be, it was, so much worse. The fear that was alive in the population was palpable and we see here how it tore families apart, engendered lies and denial, and stole the right to pursue love and happiness from so many. Obviously we can see this directly affect Finn and Toby and their relationships with their family, but then after the loss of Finn, both Toby and June have to lie and sneak and be fearful on a daily basis, when what they really need and deserve is a chance to mourn and bond, and perhaps make a friend, with another lonely, grieving soul.
On an artistic, literary level, there was a lot to admire about the way this book was written. The title is so evocative, and the theme of wolves runs so smoothly throughout the story - a symbolic thread woven into the entire development of the story. And the painting, of the same title, that is introduced to the reader and is slowly more fully revealed and physically transformed bit by bit, is a wonderful representation of the story itself. It's one of the best full length metaphors I've ever read and the way it's worked in is a credit to the author.
It would be impossible to not get emotionally involved with this story and it's characters and their journeys. Just a phenomenal book.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.
This was a fantastic snapshot of a year (ish) in the life of a wholly fascinating and completely relatable, if slightly dysfunctional, family. The four Plumb siblings have been waiting for years for the day the youngest of them turns 40. The day they are set to receive a hefty inheritance from their now departed father, dubbed years ago as "The Nest." But a fairly devastating accident causes their mother to mostly drain the funds from The Nest less than a year before the big payout.
The eldest, Leo, was the cause of the accident and now faces whether he will be able (or will even try) to pay back each of his siblings' shares. Two of the other siblings had their own plans for the money (Melody's daughters' college funds and her own sky-high house payments) or their own holes to dig out of (Jack's lines of credit drawn to keep his failing business afloat). And one, Bea, is that sibling that just wants to help the rest. She doesn't need a lot nor have much as far as plans of her own, after a brief moment of renown as an author fizzled away years ago. As each of the siblings' stories are fleshed out, we also get glimpses into the lives of those adjacent to them: Melody's twins (growing up and beginning to learn about themselves separate from each other), Paul Underwood (coworker and long time admirer of Bea), Stephanie (family friend and on again-off again flame of Leo's), Matilda (the unfortunate "collateral damage" in Leo's accident), Tommy O'Toole (Stephanie's neighbor and part of Jack's devious monetary Plan B), and more. As the book progresses, the reader is taken on a thoroughly engrossing journey through each of these lives and their intersections.
What we see is that, of course, no family and no life is perfect. Each person has their own lies, their own failures and tragedies, but also their own triumphs, their own discoveries and joys. It's a fantastic depiction of character development (or lack thereof), within a plot that is both real and allows for that kind of development, while simultaneously staying in the background enough to let the characters themselves take center stage. I loved the mix of characters. Some that really discovered things about themselves, that rose to the challenges they faced or, alternatively, broke under the pressure. Some that made those discoveries about others around them and either adjusted, or didn't, accordingly. And others that stayed exactly the same, acting as they always had. It was such a realistic view of family, of social relations, and of the power of money to change people, that was neither boring nor overly dramatized.
For each reader there will be someone in this story, at least one character, who they completely recognize. And that's the real success of this novel: no matter who you are or what family you come from, there is something here that is personal, tangible and familiar.
This was a fantastic snapshot of a year (ish) in the life of a wholly fascinating and completely relatable, if slightly dysfunctional, family. The four Plumb siblings have been waiting for years for the day the youngest of them turns 40. The day they are set to receive a hefty inheritance from their now departed father, dubbed years ago as "The Nest." But a fairly devastating accident causes their mother to mostly drain the funds from The Nest less than a year before the big payout.
The eldest, Leo, was the cause of the accident and now faces whether he will be able (or will even try) to pay back each of his siblings' shares. Two of the other siblings had their own plans for the money (Melody's daughters' college funds and her own sky-high house payments) or their own holes to dig out of (Jack's lines of credit drawn to keep his failing business afloat). And one, Bea, is that sibling that just wants to help the rest. She doesn't need a lot nor have much as far as plans of her own, after a brief moment of renown as an author fizzled away years ago. As each of the siblings' stories are fleshed out, we also get glimpses into the lives of those adjacent to them: Melody's twins (growing up and beginning to learn about themselves separate from each other), Paul Underwood (coworker and long time admirer of Bea), Stephanie (family friend and on again-off again flame of Leo's), Matilda (the unfortunate "collateral damage" in Leo's accident), Tommy O'Toole (Stephanie's neighbor and part of Jack's devious monetary Plan B), and more. As the book progresses, the reader is taken on a thoroughly engrossing journey through each of these lives and their intersections.
What we see is that, of course, no family and no life is perfect. Each person has their own lies, their own failures and tragedies, but also their own triumphs, their own discoveries and joys. It's a fantastic depiction of character development (or lack thereof), within a plot that is both real and allows for that kind of development, while simultaneously staying in the background enough to let the characters themselves take center stage. I loved the mix of characters. Some that really discovered things about themselves, that rose to the challenges they faced or, alternatively, broke under the pressure. Some that made those discoveries about others around them and either adjusted, or didn't, accordingly. And others that stayed exactly the same, acting as they always had. It was such a realistic view of family, of social relations, and of the power of money to change people, that was neither boring nor overly dramatized.
For each reader there will be someone in this story, at least one character, who they completely recognize. And that's the real success of this novel: no matter who you are or what family you come from, there is something here that is personal, tangible and familiar.
A worthy successor to what was likely the best YA novel I've ever read. I mean, I know that there's been some grumbling at this novel, but honestly I'm not sure why. First of all, there was almost no chance it was as good as ACOMAF - that's the type of book that comes along only a few times in a lifetime of reading and is, truly, unmatchable. Second, with that first point in mind, I was similarly disinclined to put this book down, or for it to end.
Feyre and Rhys are just as perfect here as they were before; their relationship is still the highest of relationship goals. Their absolute and unbendable support and belief in each other and their ability to care for each other that much, yet still allow the other to make their own decisions, to be individual, and support those wholeheartedly is truly gorgeous. And there was some beautiful, if incredibly tear-jerking, parallels in their story from the end of ACOTAR to the end of ACOWAR - it could have been slightly cheesy/overdone, but it was true to their personalities, and that's what I felt was the important part. Plus, Rhys' bucking of the rules and ultimate respect for the equality of Feyre in his court and the world is what allows her to step up and save them both from the selflessness that could have broken them both. Plus, what a fantastic spin on the first advice that Feyre gets from the Suriel, all the way back in book 1: Stay with the High Lord. The continued development of our "Inner Circle" Cassian, Azriel, Mor, Amren, and now with the added growth of Nesta and Elain (and, partially, Lucian and Varien) is just as well done as it was started in ACOMAF. We get to learn more and more about each of the characters themselves and, also, we see them develop new and deeper relationships among each other, both romantic and otherwise. The bonds that Maas writes between people are some of the best, of any kind, that I have ever read - the love, platonic and otherwise, the protectiveness, the guilt and secrets and confidences, are truly the best. The speed of things for Cassian and Nesta, for Lucien and Elain, for Azriel and Elain, for Nesta and pretty much everyone, were paced perfectly. And Nesta and Elain's role in the end of Hybern, the parallel of Cassian in the end of ACOMAF and ACOWAR, but the sister's changes, was exactly what I wanted from that. And the Bone Carver, the Weaver, Bryaxis - I loved that we saw them come back and enjoyed the roles they played greatly (and Feyre and Rhys secret "mating gifts" to each other). Plus, the Ouroboros was an interesting piece of the story that I think i would have liked to hear more about, but reminded me of the mirror in Snow White a little (a love all the nods to classic fairy tales in dark, twisty ways). The sentiment that "only you can control what breaks you" is something we can/should all aspire to. Inspiring.
There were a few things about this book that made me hesitate slightly, that made me less smitten overall than I was in the second book. And these reasons are mainly related to Tamlin. I mean, I love that he was not just cast as the secondary "big bad" after Hybern, that his character was complicated, with facets of rage and jealousy, but also that (as is right) his real love for Feyre didn't just disappear. But I feel like, maybe because we weren't near him or in his head like we were with the rest of the characters, his changes of heart were timed to be convenient for the plot and seemed too perfect or easy. I think Jurian's changes were similarly placed and used, along with the appearance of Drakon and Miryam and the sister's father, but again that's comparing it to the way we see the changes slowly unfold within Rhys in ACOMAF and perhaps that's unfair (they are neither the heroes of the story or the focus of the plot here). Plus, none of it was enough to make me want to stop furiously turning pages to see what happened next. I'm really interested to see what happens next, with all the new players coming into their own - Nesta, Elain, and especially the young and cursed Queen, Vassa (becuase let's be honest, her curse sounds exactly like the one in The Swan Princess and I have no words for how much I LOVE The Swan Princess). I'm excited for the new world that will have to be built in the wake of the war with Hybern and the fall of the wall, but at the same time, I really appreciate the natural stopping point we reached at the end of the book. I cried, I smiled through the tears, and in the end I was able to fall asleep reasonably quickly after finishing, which let me tell you did NOT happen after the last book.
Like I said, a worthy successor, though not quite the same caliber as ACOMAF. Nicely done Maas - I'm still in love with the story of the Night Court, the Court of Dreams, the Inner Circle, Night Triumphant and the Stars Eternal.
Feyre and Rhys are just as perfect here as they were before; their relationship is still the highest of relationship goals. Their absolute and unbendable support and belief in each other and their ability to care for each other that much, yet still allow the other to make their own decisions, to be individual, and support those wholeheartedly is truly gorgeous. And there was some beautiful, if incredibly tear-jerking, parallels in their story from the end of ACOTAR to the end of ACOWAR - it could have been slightly cheesy/overdone, but it was true to their personalities, and that's what I felt was the important part. Plus, Rhys' bucking of the rules and ultimate respect for the equality of Feyre in his court and the world is what allows her to step up and save them both from the selflessness that could have broken them both. Plus, what a fantastic spin on the first advice that Feyre gets from the Suriel, all the way back in book 1: Stay with the High Lord. The continued development of our "Inner Circle" Cassian, Azriel, Mor, Amren, and now with the added growth of Nesta and Elain (and, partially, Lucian and Varien) is just as well done as it was started in ACOMAF. We get to learn more and more about each of the characters themselves and, also, we see them develop new and deeper relationships among each other, both romantic and otherwise. The bonds that Maas writes between people are some of the best, of any kind, that I have ever read - the love, platonic and otherwise, the protectiveness, the guilt and secrets and confidences, are truly the best. The speed of things for Cassian and Nesta, for Lucien and Elain, for Azriel and Elain, for Nesta and pretty much everyone, were paced perfectly. And Nesta and Elain's role in the end of Hybern, the parallel of Cassian in the end of ACOMAF and ACOWAR, but the sister's changes, was exactly what I wanted from that. And the Bone Carver, the Weaver, Bryaxis - I loved that we saw them come back and enjoyed the roles they played greatly (and Feyre and Rhys secret "mating gifts" to each other). Plus, the Ouroboros was an interesting piece of the story that I think i would have liked to hear more about, but reminded me of the mirror in Snow White a little (a love all the nods to classic fairy tales in dark, twisty ways). The sentiment that "only you can control what breaks you" is something we can/should all aspire to. Inspiring.
There were a few things about this book that made me hesitate slightly, that made me less smitten overall than I was in the second book. And these reasons are mainly related to Tamlin. I mean, I love that he was not just cast as the secondary "big bad" after Hybern, that his character was complicated, with facets of rage and jealousy, but also that (as is right) his real love for Feyre didn't just disappear. But I feel like, maybe because we weren't near him or in his head like we were with the rest of the characters, his changes of heart were timed to be convenient for the plot and seemed too perfect or easy. I think Jurian's changes were similarly placed and used, along with the appearance of Drakon and Miryam and the sister's father, but again that's comparing it to the way we see the changes slowly unfold within Rhys in ACOMAF and perhaps that's unfair (they are neither the heroes of the story or the focus of the plot here). Plus, none of it was enough to make me want to stop furiously turning pages to see what happened next. I'm really interested to see what happens next, with all the new players coming into their own - Nesta, Elain, and especially the young and cursed Queen, Vassa (becuase let's be honest, her curse sounds exactly like the one in The Swan Princess and I have no words for how much I LOVE The Swan Princess). I'm excited for the new world that will have to be built in the wake of the war with Hybern and the fall of the wall, but at the same time, I really appreciate the natural stopping point we reached at the end of the book. I cried, I smiled through the tears, and in the end I was able to fall asleep reasonably quickly after finishing, which let me tell you did NOT happen after the last book.
Like I said, a worthy successor, though not quite the same caliber as ACOMAF. Nicely done Maas - I'm still in love with the story of the Night Court, the Court of Dreams, the Inner Circle, Night Triumphant and the Stars Eternal.
This was a phenomenal book. Dazzling. Full of sex, love, intrigue, danger, secrets, and a political coup, this is an atmospheric read at it's best, drawing you into a world you'll never want to leave. I'm not at all sure what genre this would be - thriller, scifi/steampunk, contemporary - but it doesn't matter. It's just that good.
From page 1, you are dumped right into the glittering world of Amberlough, a sort of 1920s burlesque underground scene, full of spies, smugglers and lovers, all with a healthy dash of rakishness and showmanship, in a world where bribes are king and anything can be overlooked for a price. Immediately there is a local twang to the dialogue that takes a hot second to get accustomed to, with slang words and phrases that you really need the context clues to pin a meaning to. It's a little bit of effort on the part of the reader at first. But soon you'll be speeding your way through the read, as naturally as if you were born there, and feeling quite satisfied about it.
We meet Aristide, Cyril, Cordelia right away - two are lovers, two are stars in one of the biggest shows in Amberlough, one runs drugs and other packages, one is a sort of underworld kingpin (with more connections and colleagues than the read can reasonably keep track of) and one is a government spy who, despite his original intentions, has fallen in love with said kingpin and is toeing a very thin (and not at all secret) line between his love and his job. And all three love, for their own reasons, the free-thinking, malleable, sordid, but comfortable, world of Amberlough City in which they live and thrive.
Soon after Cyril is called, reluctantly, back into the field by his boss, a cascade of events in the political world ends in a government takeover by a fascist regime. The Ospies are sick of the crooked government, the bribe-able police force, the late night culture of Amberlough (among other things, like trade restrictions) and are looking for reform. They are not pleased with Cyril's underground, mostly not secret, "relationship" with Ari, or with the club, The Bumble Bee Cabaret and Night Club, where Cordelia and Aristide preside, and most definitely not with the network of contacts and products that Aristide deals in on the side. As the plot moves forward, all three are intertwined in a variety of ways, as they scheme to make their own way, save their own necks, and hold onto (or avenge) the city and people that they love.
This is the type of story you just cannot put down. The world building is lush and, almost, melancholy...an inspired combination of breakneck speed and satisfied laziness that creates the perfect backdrop for an old school spy game. The cabaret feel of the entire city is an added bonus of foreign and exotic that hits the spot. The characters all have their secrets and their private games that are crafty and complicated, impressive in their scope and frustrating in their blindness to the machinations of each other. The plot is perfect, a gorgeous parallel with the world in which it takes place, and the character development is done almost as well. I loved everyone and everything the author introduced us to and while the story ended in a fairly satisfying place, I cannot wait to see where it goes from here.
From page 1, you are dumped right into the glittering world of Amberlough, a sort of 1920s burlesque underground scene, full of spies, smugglers and lovers, all with a healthy dash of rakishness and showmanship, in a world where bribes are king and anything can be overlooked for a price. Immediately there is a local twang to the dialogue that takes a hot second to get accustomed to, with slang words and phrases that you really need the context clues to pin a meaning to. It's a little bit of effort on the part of the reader at first. But soon you'll be speeding your way through the read, as naturally as if you were born there, and feeling quite satisfied about it.
We meet Aristide, Cyril, Cordelia right away - two are lovers, two are stars in one of the biggest shows in Amberlough, one runs drugs and other packages, one is a sort of underworld kingpin (with more connections and colleagues than the read can reasonably keep track of) and one is a government spy who, despite his original intentions, has fallen in love with said kingpin and is toeing a very thin (and not at all secret) line between his love and his job. And all three love, for their own reasons, the free-thinking, malleable, sordid, but comfortable, world of Amberlough City in which they live and thrive.
Soon after Cyril is called, reluctantly, back into the field by his boss, a cascade of events in the political world ends in a government takeover by a fascist regime. The Ospies are sick of the crooked government, the bribe-able police force, the late night culture of Amberlough (among other things, like trade restrictions) and are looking for reform. They are not pleased with Cyril's underground, mostly not secret, "relationship" with Ari, or with the club, The Bumble Bee Cabaret and Night Club, where Cordelia and Aristide preside, and most definitely not with the network of contacts and products that Aristide deals in on the side. As the plot moves forward, all three are intertwined in a variety of ways, as they scheme to make their own way, save their own necks, and hold onto (or avenge) the city and people that they love.
This is the type of story you just cannot put down. The world building is lush and, almost, melancholy...an inspired combination of breakneck speed and satisfied laziness that creates the perfect backdrop for an old school spy game. The cabaret feel of the entire city is an added bonus of foreign and exotic that hits the spot. The characters all have their secrets and their private games that are crafty and complicated, impressive in their scope and frustrating in their blindness to the machinations of each other. The plot is perfect, a gorgeous parallel with the world in which it takes place, and the character development is done almost as well. I loved everyone and everything the author introduced us to and while the story ended in a fairly satisfying place, I cannot wait to see where it goes from here.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.
Having studied public health (specifically, maternal and child health) and focused, within that, on health education, along with having a personal passion for reading and school, this book has been on my to read list since it was published. And I am so grateful that I was finally able to read it. Or, more appropriately, listen to the audiobook. Although this is the first book that I have listened to that has not been read by the author, it is still a nonfiction piece (my "usual" for audiobooks), and Malala herself did read the introduction, starting things off by recounting what she remembers from the day she was shot in her own voice.
"Education is neither Eastern nor Western, it is human."
I do not know what I expected, but this book was a little bit of everything. A beautiful and moving mix of history lesson, autobiography, picturesque descriptions of Malala's home and Pakistan in general, feminism and the promotion of girls rights (in general and, of course, particularly regarding education), family stories, and honest exposition of life under one of the [contemporary] world's most hated regimes.
Malala tells us all about her life growing up in the Swat Valley, with details about Pakistam's history, the traditions and beliefs of the Pashtun people, her family history, her parents' lives, how she got her name and what it means, her friends, her brothers, and so much more. The beauty is in the little details about daily life that seem so mundane when you are living them but are what allow someone else to get a real feel for how a person has lived, and humanizes one's life for all those who could so easily just call it "foreign," dismiss it, or fear it. Those are also the parts - the travel to other parts of the Valley to visit family, the daily fights with siblings or friendly rivalries with classmates - that one usually misses the most when they are gone. And you can tell from Malala's wistful writing and the words in her epilogue, that that is most definitely the case.
I learned quite a bit reading this book. Of course, primarily about Malala herself. I had no idea how outspoken she and her father had been, in favor of education for girls, prior to the shooting that made her name a household one. (And I readily admit that that is part of the problem - they had been working towards their goals for years, getting ever more and more international attention, and then risking their lives under Taliban rule to support girls and broadcast the situation to a wider audience - and it took a terrible crisis situation, a near death experience, for the world, for us, to really listen.) She and her father made many speeches, went on many talk shows, wrote many articles, both nationally and internationally, and garnered a name for themselves in the fight for girls education. Many people knew them and knew what they stood for. And they had many supporters within, and without, their country. And even as things got riskier, they still stood up for what they believed in, knowing what the consequences could be. Even as girls schools closed around the country, as threats from the Taliban and their followers came in, they stood stalwart. And their family and friends cautioned them, but never stopped supporting them.
And not just that, but her point of view and experience living in the Swat Valley for years witnessing the rise of the Taliban, living under their rule, being forced out of their homes when the army finally came to drive the Taliban out, and the never-ending cycle of lies and misinformation form their own government (and ours, here in America) that had everyone constantly unsure of who was actually in charge and if the government/army was really even trying to root out the Taliban at all. To see one's homeland go from a vibrant tourist destination, a place full of life and joy, to a place that inspires fear and is essentially off limits to almost everyone, must be heartbreaking in an unimaginable way. Watching the slow slide to where things are now, the perfect storm of events and situations that allowed the foothold of the Taliban to, daily, become ever stronger in their Valley and country, and the daily frustration and fear through Malala's eyes was heartbreaking, but eye-opening in a way that should be widely shared. Malala, her family, her friends - they are the real victims of the Taliban, of the extremism, and of the morphing of their sacred beliefs into something they're not. And she, they all, deserve our attention, our understanding, and wherever possible, our assistance. They have already lived through so much terror and desperation and we should strive to ease that, not add to it.
This is a beautiful and inspiring story. And it's not just because we see a young girl and her father fighting for what they believe in, in the face of so much stacked against them. It's beautiful because we get to see the life of a normal young girl too. We get to see her take field trips with her classmates, study to beat her friends in end of year exams, and argue with her little brother. And then we get to see this normal girl grow up, learn what matters to her, decide what is important enough to question and sacrifice for. This is the story of an absolutely remarkable girl, with an open-minded and understanding family with her, who believes in the good of her country, her people, her religion, even when the good parts are being overshadowed by the bad. Her continued hope for the future is what sets her apart. In her epilogue, Malala talks about how she doesn't necessarily understand how she got to be so famous, for all she did was stand up for what should be a human right, the right to education for everyone - and she will continue to do so. It is her mission. And she will not stop working for it. Well, I believe in you Malala. I stand awed by your courage and spirit and I believe in your dreams.
Having studied public health (specifically, maternal and child health) and focused, within that, on health education, along with having a personal passion for reading and school, this book has been on my to read list since it was published. And I am so grateful that I was finally able to read it. Or, more appropriately, listen to the audiobook. Although this is the first book that I have listened to that has not been read by the author, it is still a nonfiction piece (my "usual" for audiobooks), and Malala herself did read the introduction, starting things off by recounting what she remembers from the day she was shot in her own voice.
"Education is neither Eastern nor Western, it is human."
I do not know what I expected, but this book was a little bit of everything. A beautiful and moving mix of history lesson, autobiography, picturesque descriptions of Malala's home and Pakistan in general, feminism and the promotion of girls rights (in general and, of course, particularly regarding education), family stories, and honest exposition of life under one of the [contemporary] world's most hated regimes.
Malala tells us all about her life growing up in the Swat Valley, with details about Pakistam's history, the traditions and beliefs of the Pashtun people, her family history, her parents' lives, how she got her name and what it means, her friends, her brothers, and so much more. The beauty is in the little details about daily life that seem so mundane when you are living them but are what allow someone else to get a real feel for how a person has lived, and humanizes one's life for all those who could so easily just call it "foreign," dismiss it, or fear it. Those are also the parts - the travel to other parts of the Valley to visit family, the daily fights with siblings or friendly rivalries with classmates - that one usually misses the most when they are gone. And you can tell from Malala's wistful writing and the words in her epilogue, that that is most definitely the case.
I learned quite a bit reading this book. Of course, primarily about Malala herself. I had no idea how outspoken she and her father had been, in favor of education for girls, prior to the shooting that made her name a household one. (And I readily admit that that is part of the problem - they had been working towards their goals for years, getting ever more and more international attention, and then risking their lives under Taliban rule to support girls and broadcast the situation to a wider audience - and it took a terrible crisis situation, a near death experience, for the world, for us, to really listen.) She and her father made many speeches, went on many talk shows, wrote many articles, both nationally and internationally, and garnered a name for themselves in the fight for girls education. Many people knew them and knew what they stood for. And they had many supporters within, and without, their country. And even as things got riskier, they still stood up for what they believed in, knowing what the consequences could be. Even as girls schools closed around the country, as threats from the Taliban and their followers came in, they stood stalwart. And their family and friends cautioned them, but never stopped supporting them.
And not just that, but her point of view and experience living in the Swat Valley for years witnessing the rise of the Taliban, living under their rule, being forced out of their homes when the army finally came to drive the Taliban out, and the never-ending cycle of lies and misinformation form their own government (and ours, here in America) that had everyone constantly unsure of who was actually in charge and if the government/army was really even trying to root out the Taliban at all. To see one's homeland go from a vibrant tourist destination, a place full of life and joy, to a place that inspires fear and is essentially off limits to almost everyone, must be heartbreaking in an unimaginable way. Watching the slow slide to where things are now, the perfect storm of events and situations that allowed the foothold of the Taliban to, daily, become ever stronger in their Valley and country, and the daily frustration and fear through Malala's eyes was heartbreaking, but eye-opening in a way that should be widely shared. Malala, her family, her friends - they are the real victims of the Taliban, of the extremism, and of the morphing of their sacred beliefs into something they're not. And she, they all, deserve our attention, our understanding, and wherever possible, our assistance. They have already lived through so much terror and desperation and we should strive to ease that, not add to it.
This is a beautiful and inspiring story. And it's not just because we see a young girl and her father fighting for what they believe in, in the face of so much stacked against them. It's beautiful because we get to see the life of a normal young girl too. We get to see her take field trips with her classmates, study to beat her friends in end of year exams, and argue with her little brother. And then we get to see this normal girl grow up, learn what matters to her, decide what is important enough to question and sacrifice for. This is the story of an absolutely remarkable girl, with an open-minded and understanding family with her, who believes in the good of her country, her people, her religion, even when the good parts are being overshadowed by the bad. Her continued hope for the future is what sets her apart. In her epilogue, Malala talks about how she doesn't necessarily understand how she got to be so famous, for all she did was stand up for what should be a human right, the right to education for everyone - and she will continue to do so. It is her mission. And she will not stop working for it. Well, I believe in you Malala. I stand awed by your courage and spirit and I believe in your dreams.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.
The description of this novel is definitely what drew me to it - it sounded like one of those stories that makes you think about how sometimes real life is so much more interesting than fiction. Plus, within the last few years I have had so many friends visit Iceland and heard nothing but positive things. So though this is, obviously, nothing that would let me experience Iceland today, I was interested in learning more about a place I know almost nothing about.
This book is an example of that special type of historical fiction novel, one that is an intriguing mix of fiction and nonfiction. And it's an incredibly well done example of that subgenre. Of course the dialogue and inner thoughts of the characters, plus some of the smaller events and interactions, are invented. But everything else that happens, each main event, is based on research, local history, and primary documents. And you can definitely tell that the author put a lot of time and effort into her research.
Burial Rites tells the story of Agnes, a young woman accused of a brutal murder, in the early 1800s in Iceland. In fact, Agnes is a bit famous for being the last case of capital punishment, by beheading, carried out in Iceland. This glimpse into Agnes' last days as she awaits her execution, spent living with a farming family in rural Iceland, is beautifully told. Kent takes an already compelling story and turns it into a a beautiful and very poignantly told tale. As we read, we learn both the sensationalized story of the murder and, along with the horrified family and the priest Agnes has chosen to be a guide through her last days, start to see the same details from Agnes' point of view.
I enjoyed the story itself very much - it's a story unlike any I've ever read, and that much more interesting for being based on a true story. Additionally, I loved learning about an area of the world, and a time within in, that I really don't know much about. From learning about the farm systems and religious basis of society to reading the afterwards, and learning how literate Iceland has always been, it was all completely fascinating. I also loved the portrayal of Agnes as both a victim and a jealous woman who could actually pull off such aggression. It was a realistic, very well imagined and flushed out, depiction of a real woman. And though we learn more about Agnes' life, circumstances, and decisions as the story progresses, I was very happy that in the end it was not a typical tale of "redemption." It was, purely, an exploration of a character, almost a study of who, exactly, Agnes was.
As a final, though incredibly important, note: it was so impressive to me that the author was able to write and create a story worth reading, one that makes you want to really see more and watch the characters develop together, even though the ending is a foregone conclusion. Just, very nicely done.
The description of this novel is definitely what drew me to it - it sounded like one of those stories that makes you think about how sometimes real life is so much more interesting than fiction. Plus, within the last few years I have had so many friends visit Iceland and heard nothing but positive things. So though this is, obviously, nothing that would let me experience Iceland today, I was interested in learning more about a place I know almost nothing about.
This book is an example of that special type of historical fiction novel, one that is an intriguing mix of fiction and nonfiction. And it's an incredibly well done example of that subgenre. Of course the dialogue and inner thoughts of the characters, plus some of the smaller events and interactions, are invented. But everything else that happens, each main event, is based on research, local history, and primary documents. And you can definitely tell that the author put a lot of time and effort into her research.
Burial Rites tells the story of Agnes, a young woman accused of a brutal murder, in the early 1800s in Iceland. In fact, Agnes is a bit famous for being the last case of capital punishment, by beheading, carried out in Iceland. This glimpse into Agnes' last days as she awaits her execution, spent living with a farming family in rural Iceland, is beautifully told. Kent takes an already compelling story and turns it into a a beautiful and very poignantly told tale. As we read, we learn both the sensationalized story of the murder and, along with the horrified family and the priest Agnes has chosen to be a guide through her last days, start to see the same details from Agnes' point of view.
I enjoyed the story itself very much - it's a story unlike any I've ever read, and that much more interesting for being based on a true story. Additionally, I loved learning about an area of the world, and a time within in, that I really don't know much about. From learning about the farm systems and religious basis of society to reading the afterwards, and learning how literate Iceland has always been, it was all completely fascinating. I also loved the portrayal of Agnes as both a victim and a jealous woman who could actually pull off such aggression. It was a realistic, very well imagined and flushed out, depiction of a real woman. And though we learn more about Agnes' life, circumstances, and decisions as the story progresses, I was very happy that in the end it was not a typical tale of "redemption." It was, purely, an exploration of a character, almost a study of who, exactly, Agnes was.
As a final, though incredibly important, note: it was so impressive to me that the author was able to write and create a story worth reading, one that makes you want to really see more and watch the characters develop together, even though the ending is a foregone conclusion. Just, very nicely done.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.
I went into the audiobook section of the library planning on borrowing something completely different and then I saw this. Since the popular explosion of the Netflix interpretation of this memoir a few years ago, it has (obviously) been on my radar. But it's not something I was interested enough in to try watching or to jump to the top of my TBR list. However, seeing it in audiobook form was exactly the option I needed to make it happen. I see audiobooks (listening to them in my car) as a kind of "bonus" reading. Driving, for me, is like dead time...the recent-ish discovery of using that time for audiobooks has been exciting and liberating. I like driving more than I ever have before AND I've decided to use that time for books or genres that I'd be slow to get to otherwise. Win-win. I think. In any case, I decided this was the perfect time/way to see what all the OITNB fuss was about.
This book wasn't at all what I expected it would be. To be fair, I don't know what I expected, exactly, but it was not the combination of violent nightmare situations and loud railing against the system that I had anticipated. That's not to say that there was no horror in the situation, nor that there was no commentary on the state of this country's prison system, but it was so much more than either of those things. This book was, at heart, a story of people. This is a story of the connections and relationships that form, even in the most difficult of circumstances. And this is a story of women who choose to help each other when there is no one else that will.
The writing felt a little choppy to me, like a series of short vignettes. This may be due in part to the fact that, while listening, you cannot see the section or chapter breaks that create those natural pauses, but it actually didn't matter. I thought that style was perfect for this type of memoir. I mean, the plot is essentially pre-known and non-existent, we know Piper goes to jail and spends a year there and then gets out, so really all she has to tell are those snippets that allow us to get a feel for her experience. Plus, it allows her to tell us the important things about the people she met and got to be friends with, as well as those she didn't know as well, by focusing solely on the "big" stories or things she found worth telling. In this way, she was able to jump from one to another of those, without needing to spend time on the less compelling (read: boring and monotonous) in between times. And I can see how that helped this become such a Netflix hit - it's perfect for an episode based retelling.
Going in, and throughout the story, it's obvious how privileged Piper is - with her own lawyer, access to money in her prison account essentially right away, many visitors, lots of people writing her letters and sending in books, countless other outside resources, and the fact that she's young, white, and doesn't look like she belongs in prison. She does a good job relaying the depth of her privilege, comparatively, which allows us as readers to really see a few things: how difficult prison can be even with all those privileges and how much worse it is without them. But even more than that, we see the grace of those around her - saving her, teaching her, protecting her, picking her up when she needs it and allowing her to do the same for them. For all that Piper heard advice to "not make friends" while inside, this is essentially a story about how the only way to survive is to make friends. And that power of humanity to survive and flourish is something worth celebrating.
I respected the way she wrote about things matter of fact-ly, with little (or at least it seemed liked little while I was listening) embellishment or editorializing. This did two things, in my opinion. First, it meant that the few spots where she did editorialize held that much more weight. Second, it really gave credence to our interpretation of her experience. By not giving too much commentary or speculation on things outside her own experience, by not writing a book with the goal of "burning the system at the stake" and rubbing that in the face of the reader, the feelings we come away with about how broken the system really is are that much stronger. She didn't have to, or shouldn't have to, embellish in order for the reader to realize how wrong things are.
This was one of my favorite books (for a few reasons, though nothing major or pointed), but I will say that it's a peek at a life that I have never really heard or known anything about. And I appreciated the chance to learn and see into a sub-culture/civilization that is rarely given the light of day (in many ways). And to that end, I would recommend it.
Note about the audiobook: I hated the narrator. Her voice was a ridiculous combination of nasal, drawl, and condescension. And though some of her accents were fine, some were so bad they made me cringe. I would have much preferred to read the dialogue so I could hear it in my head the way it's supposed to sound. Ugh.
Last, I would like to list the few big takeaways that I had, because that, I feel, was the most important piece of this story and it's message. However, this also stems from my background in public health and may not appeal to everyone, so I saved it for the end, so you could choose to read it or not:
- The biggest one is, really, what a joke of a situation, overall. Piper's offense was years ago - she went to prison 10 years after the crime was committed. It was required to because of the minimum sentencing around drug crimes that is supposed to be helping in the "war on drugs." I'm absolutely not saying she doesn't deserve some kind of "punishment" for her crime, but honestly, what is sending a non-violent offender to prison years later doing for anyone? Piper said that the only thing she felt bad about going into prison was how much stress it was causing herself and her family. It took seeing the effects of drugs on the lives of some of the women she was incarcerated with to actually make her regret her actions all those years ago and put a face on the suffering she played a small part in causing. For her and for the many like her, there are so many better options. What about giving her a buttload of community service hours, requiring her to work directly with the people who her actions affected? It would be better for communities who need that type of "in kind" assistance, for families who could then stay together, cheaper for everyone (less tax dollars spent on those in prison, among other things), and much more likely to both teach the offender a "lesson" and encourage actual change in their lifestyle. We need to cultivate systems of restorative justice, not this, as Piper called it, arms length retribution.
- I want to go work in a prison now. Or at least, somehow, help to make it a place people wouldn't hate to work. There are so many people shunted there who don't want to be there. And that's unfair both to them and, especially, to the many inmates, who are people and unequivocally deserve to be treated as such. Piper said many times that no one who worked in the system cared, not for their job, not for the prisoners, not really, it seemed, about anything she could see. And that makes me deeply sad.
- The educational opportunities for those in prison are abysmal. This is often a population that would benefit greatly, and in turn benefit society, if they had access to that. It's a perfect opportunity, and one that I think is supposed to be in place, but, clearly, rarely is. And while I mean that regarding GED and college credit classes, I mean it in a more basic sense as well. Piper talked about this a little, but I feel it's worth harping on a bit. We cannot expect to put women (or any person) in such an infantilizing, isolating, and unrealistic situation as prison for years and then expect them, with no help or guidance, to "make it" upon their release. The release education sessions that are required gave no actual or useful information on how to find housing, or a job, or healthcare, accessible to women in their situation. When your "housing education" is given by a staff member in construction, whose knowledge is based in how to build a house and talks about the best roofing options, how can we expect that to help women know where to go to find an affordable place to live, and one that will allow them to live there, after release? It's a travesty. We're the ones that have made it impossible and it needs to start with us to address it.
- We, on the "outs," make so many judgments about others that we don't understand. We do not know how a person ended up in prison, what their circumstances were, and we should provide everyone with the second, or even third, chance that you know we would hope they'd extend to us in the reverse.
- I read a lot of criticism of Piper for getting out and writing a book about the experience "to make a buck" or something, but essentially returning to her old life and doing nothing to help fix the issues with the broken system she experienced firsthand. Well, I actually have done no research on this so I don't know if she has done anything or not, but she's not required to do anything. Would it be nice because she has a platform now? Sure. But how many of us have seen or experienced something terrible that we could work to fix and have done nothing about it? How many of us have traveled to a developing country and seen the poverty there (or, let's be real, seen it in our own countries), and moved on without attempting to do anything about it? And I'm sure many of us have a platform we could use for change. So instead of criticizing and throwing stones, let's instead (and pardon my cliche and cheesiness here) be the change we wish to see in the world ourselves.
I went into the audiobook section of the library planning on borrowing something completely different and then I saw this. Since the popular explosion of the Netflix interpretation of this memoir a few years ago, it has (obviously) been on my radar. But it's not something I was interested enough in to try watching or to jump to the top of my TBR list. However, seeing it in audiobook form was exactly the option I needed to make it happen. I see audiobooks (listening to them in my car) as a kind of "bonus" reading. Driving, for me, is like dead time...the recent-ish discovery of using that time for audiobooks has been exciting and liberating. I like driving more than I ever have before AND I've decided to use that time for books or genres that I'd be slow to get to otherwise. Win-win. I think. In any case, I decided this was the perfect time/way to see what all the OITNB fuss was about.
This book wasn't at all what I expected it would be. To be fair, I don't know what I expected, exactly, but it was not the combination of violent nightmare situations and loud railing against the system that I had anticipated. That's not to say that there was no horror in the situation, nor that there was no commentary on the state of this country's prison system, but it was so much more than either of those things. This book was, at heart, a story of people. This is a story of the connections and relationships that form, even in the most difficult of circumstances. And this is a story of women who choose to help each other when there is no one else that will.
The writing felt a little choppy to me, like a series of short vignettes. This may be due in part to the fact that, while listening, you cannot see the section or chapter breaks that create those natural pauses, but it actually didn't matter. I thought that style was perfect for this type of memoir. I mean, the plot is essentially pre-known and non-existent, we know Piper goes to jail and spends a year there and then gets out, so really all she has to tell are those snippets that allow us to get a feel for her experience. Plus, it allows her to tell us the important things about the people she met and got to be friends with, as well as those she didn't know as well, by focusing solely on the "big" stories or things she found worth telling. In this way, she was able to jump from one to another of those, without needing to spend time on the less compelling (read: boring and monotonous) in between times. And I can see how that helped this become such a Netflix hit - it's perfect for an episode based retelling.
Going in, and throughout the story, it's obvious how privileged Piper is - with her own lawyer, access to money in her prison account essentially right away, many visitors, lots of people writing her letters and sending in books, countless other outside resources, and the fact that she's young, white, and doesn't look like she belongs in prison. She does a good job relaying the depth of her privilege, comparatively, which allows us as readers to really see a few things: how difficult prison can be even with all those privileges and how much worse it is without them. But even more than that, we see the grace of those around her - saving her, teaching her, protecting her, picking her up when she needs it and allowing her to do the same for them. For all that Piper heard advice to "not make friends" while inside, this is essentially a story about how the only way to survive is to make friends. And that power of humanity to survive and flourish is something worth celebrating.
I respected the way she wrote about things matter of fact-ly, with little (or at least it seemed liked little while I was listening) embellishment or editorializing. This did two things, in my opinion. First, it meant that the few spots where she did editorialize held that much more weight. Second, it really gave credence to our interpretation of her experience. By not giving too much commentary or speculation on things outside her own experience, by not writing a book with the goal of "burning the system at the stake" and rubbing that in the face of the reader, the feelings we come away with about how broken the system really is are that much stronger. She didn't have to, or shouldn't have to, embellish in order for the reader to realize how wrong things are.
This was one of my favorite books (for a few reasons, though nothing major or pointed), but I will say that it's a peek at a life that I have never really heard or known anything about. And I appreciated the chance to learn and see into a sub-culture/civilization that is rarely given the light of day (in many ways). And to that end, I would recommend it.
Note about the audiobook: I hated the narrator. Her voice was a ridiculous combination of nasal, drawl, and condescension. And though some of her accents were fine, some were so bad they made me cringe. I would have much preferred to read the dialogue so I could hear it in my head the way it's supposed to sound. Ugh.
Last, I would like to list the few big takeaways that I had, because that, I feel, was the most important piece of this story and it's message. However, this also stems from my background in public health and may not appeal to everyone, so I saved it for the end, so you could choose to read it or not:
- The biggest one is, really, what a joke of a situation, overall. Piper's offense was years ago - she went to prison 10 years after the crime was committed. It was required to because of the minimum sentencing around drug crimes that is supposed to be helping in the "war on drugs." I'm absolutely not saying she doesn't deserve some kind of "punishment" for her crime, but honestly, what is sending a non-violent offender to prison years later doing for anyone? Piper said that the only thing she felt bad about going into prison was how much stress it was causing herself and her family. It took seeing the effects of drugs on the lives of some of the women she was incarcerated with to actually make her regret her actions all those years ago and put a face on the suffering she played a small part in causing. For her and for the many like her, there are so many better options. What about giving her a buttload of community service hours, requiring her to work directly with the people who her actions affected? It would be better for communities who need that type of "in kind" assistance, for families who could then stay together, cheaper for everyone (less tax dollars spent on those in prison, among other things), and much more likely to both teach the offender a "lesson" and encourage actual change in their lifestyle. We need to cultivate systems of restorative justice, not this, as Piper called it, arms length retribution.
- I want to go work in a prison now. Or at least, somehow, help to make it a place people wouldn't hate to work. There are so many people shunted there who don't want to be there. And that's unfair both to them and, especially, to the many inmates, who are people and unequivocally deserve to be treated as such. Piper said many times that no one who worked in the system cared, not for their job, not for the prisoners, not really, it seemed, about anything she could see. And that makes me deeply sad.
- The educational opportunities for those in prison are abysmal. This is often a population that would benefit greatly, and in turn benefit society, if they had access to that. It's a perfect opportunity, and one that I think is supposed to be in place, but, clearly, rarely is. And while I mean that regarding GED and college credit classes, I mean it in a more basic sense as well. Piper talked about this a little, but I feel it's worth harping on a bit. We cannot expect to put women (or any person) in such an infantilizing, isolating, and unrealistic situation as prison for years and then expect them, with no help or guidance, to "make it" upon their release. The release education sessions that are required gave no actual or useful information on how to find housing, or a job, or healthcare, accessible to women in their situation. When your "housing education" is given by a staff member in construction, whose knowledge is based in how to build a house and talks about the best roofing options, how can we expect that to help women know where to go to find an affordable place to live, and one that will allow them to live there, after release? It's a travesty. We're the ones that have made it impossible and it needs to start with us to address it.
- We, on the "outs," make so many judgments about others that we don't understand. We do not know how a person ended up in prison, what their circumstances were, and we should provide everyone with the second, or even third, chance that you know we would hope they'd extend to us in the reverse.
- I read a lot of criticism of Piper for getting out and writing a book about the experience "to make a buck" or something, but essentially returning to her old life and doing nothing to help fix the issues with the broken system she experienced firsthand. Well, I actually have done no research on this so I don't know if she has done anything or not, but she's not required to do anything. Would it be nice because she has a platform now? Sure. But how many of us have seen or experienced something terrible that we could work to fix and have done nothing about it? How many of us have traveled to a developing country and seen the poverty there (or, let's be real, seen it in our own countries), and moved on without attempting to do anything about it? And I'm sure many of us have a platform we could use for change. So instead of criticizing and throwing stones, let's instead (and pardon my cliche and cheesiness here) be the change we wish to see in the world ourselves.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.
A Word for Love was the February book from Muse Monthly. I realize it's now June...don't judge. It sat on my shelf for months and, I'll be honest, was on my TBR list but nowhere near the top. But then a good friend and incredible supporter of this blog, someone who has given me more positive feedback and taken more of my book suggestions than almost anyone else (thank you!), asked me if I had read it. She said she had just finished it and that it was one of the most beautiful and best written love stories she'd ever read. Well, with that kind of recommendation...I started it the very next day.
To start off, I'd like to just say that I literally cannot think of a single truly negative thing to say about this book. For all that it was not what I was expecting, and definitely not one of those "I literally cannot put it down" novels, it's also one of the most polished reads I've ever experienced. The writing style is difficult to describe, a combination of sparse and picturesque, a bit like long verse poetry masquerading as prose. I just read my first book of poetry earlier this year, and that is definitely the most closely related style that I can think of. And truly, it's gorgeous. Plus, having studied Arabic for years, much of the discussion of vocabulary, of how hidden meanings appear when you look at the similar roots for words that on the surface appear so distant, was a joy to read and digest. The inclusion of those word philosophies and connections gave a wonderful extra depth and dimension to the story. I read at the end that the author, who studied in Syria and has lived in various countries across the Middle East, was a student of anthropology. That didn't surprise me at all, based on her inclusion, and descriptions of, many small but meaningful cultural practices. And it actually helped explain some of the moments that I found the most poignant, when our main character notices the small things that can speak volumes, but are usually overlooked. For example, I recall a lovely passage where items like empty juice glasses left out on a counter are reverently described as "charms" of daily life.
Throughout the book, we watch the blossoming, if you will, of a distant, forbidden, love between two characters. A love that, similar to that of Romeo and Juliet (forgive the obvious and mostly overdone reference), is purely visual, from afar, grows quickly out of a bit of desperation in the face of the forbidden, and proceeds quickly to dramatic overtures of affection and eventual tragedy. It's a classic story, but for me, also superficial. What was more deeply felt, I thought, was the observer role. Our main character and narrator, Bea, travels to Syria to study the language. She is obsessed with the construction and meaning of words and has the single minded goal of seeing and read "the astonishing text," an Arab love story, the manuscript for which is said to bring all readers to tears. She romanticizes the text to an extreme and imagines herself in the role of the female protagonist, finding her true love, often. As the story progresses, Bea ends up realizing that she is, at least in the story we are reading, not the protagonist, but the supporting character. She is the one who observes the love unfolding and survives its cataclysms to tell the tale. Mirroring the astonishing text that she came to read, she is the shepherd, the friend, and ultimately the author of the written tale. And perhaps, for being on the outside looking in, learned more about love than those directly in its thrall.
All the reviews and comments, from such well known authors as Khaled Hosseini, and of course my friend, talked about how this was, essentially, a love story written as an ode to love. And I can see that. But for as much as this book talked about, was about, love, there is a section at the end where the author spends some time talking about loss. And for me, that's what hit home more than anything else. There is a thin, if present at all, line between love and loss, for one cannot necessarily fully be experienced without the existence of the other. And each character in this story has just as much loss, if not more, as they have love. What this books really explores is that dual space. One of the passages in that section about loss talks about love being something you feel, not something you read. But when that is gone, when the loss of that love has come, then all you have left is words. And though all you can do is write about love because there is nothing else left, from that loss spring the most beautiful words about love. So I saw this book as an ode to love, yes, but from page one, it is love through the eyes of loss. That's what struck me as the biggest takeaway, and perhaps the biggest difference in impression between myself and the other reviews/recommendations I got. However, regardless of that difference, nothing can take away from the beauty with which this particular story about love was written.
___________________
I feel like I've been on a roll lately with the ethereal type novels, where the language is as important, if not more so, than the story itself. And with all books like that, I feel compelled to share a number of quotes illustrating that. Because without understanding the beauty of the language, you are not getting a full feel for the book (even with my phenomenally written reviews, of course). So, here are some of the passages that struck me most as I read A Word for Love:
"To My Flower, the Jasmine. Peace to the one with hair like dusk falling. Even her Sweat smells Sweet." p.62
"But there is a lightness to love, even when it's not your own. There is camaraderie in waving. She took my hand. Adel stood on one side, we stood on the other, waving and waving." p.125
"Nisrine once told me about a word that meant maid, and heroine, and moveable house. It was not from her language, it was from her mother's, who came from a different island. But in Nisrine's town, the concept was the same. ...A moveable house was like a maid's, or a heroine's, heart. It had to be flexible, but strong, no matter the surroundings; for those who counted on it, to always be a home." p.125
"Theirs had always been a faraway love; she had taught him the beauty of two eyes, ready, waiting to be given." "Theirs had always been a faraway love. She'd taught him the power of a look, of two eyes ready, waiting to be given." p.136/151
"His heart swelled and swelled, until it was so full it stopped, because there was no room for beating." p.150
"...I love you so much, I can feel your soft soul all around me, it's like being covered in the most beautiful flower." p.152
"There is a letter in Arabic that stands for silence. It is called the hamza; its shape is a half-moon, or a teardrop, and like a teardrop it asks you to pause a moment, and breathe. It opens up space. ... His face hurt. His side hurt. But his mind was a hamza, his arms open. ...all Adel could remember was a dark hip, a surprising feeling. He dug into the memory. He let it cover him." p.233
"As as I began to read I, too, felt joy; I saw each word and met it, joyfully, with understanding." p.265
"I thought back to all the moments without words that I held in my heart, and I thought, Of course. Why did I study words that meant love? Love is not in what is said, but what is done, what is felt and experienced, it is the intimacy of silent moments, of small meanings." p.268
"This is the problem with missing: it doesn't stay in one place, but spreads out and changes the landscape." p.278
"And, what if the love that we found was not meant to be shared just between two people, but by many; a fiery, starry substance that grows when it's kindled, so that the more you love and are beloved, the more light?" p.279
A Word for Love was the February book from Muse Monthly. I realize it's now June...don't judge. It sat on my shelf for months and, I'll be honest, was on my TBR list but nowhere near the top. But then a good friend and incredible supporter of this blog, someone who has given me more positive feedback and taken more of my book suggestions than almost anyone else (thank you!), asked me if I had read it. She said she had just finished it and that it was one of the most beautiful and best written love stories she'd ever read. Well, with that kind of recommendation...I started it the very next day.
To start off, I'd like to just say that I literally cannot think of a single truly negative thing to say about this book. For all that it was not what I was expecting, and definitely not one of those "I literally cannot put it down" novels, it's also one of the most polished reads I've ever experienced. The writing style is difficult to describe, a combination of sparse and picturesque, a bit like long verse poetry masquerading as prose. I just read my first book of poetry earlier this year, and that is definitely the most closely related style that I can think of. And truly, it's gorgeous. Plus, having studied Arabic for years, much of the discussion of vocabulary, of how hidden meanings appear when you look at the similar roots for words that on the surface appear so distant, was a joy to read and digest. The inclusion of those word philosophies and connections gave a wonderful extra depth and dimension to the story. I read at the end that the author, who studied in Syria and has lived in various countries across the Middle East, was a student of anthropology. That didn't surprise me at all, based on her inclusion, and descriptions of, many small but meaningful cultural practices. And it actually helped explain some of the moments that I found the most poignant, when our main character notices the small things that can speak volumes, but are usually overlooked. For example, I recall a lovely passage where items like empty juice glasses left out on a counter are reverently described as "charms" of daily life.
Throughout the book, we watch the blossoming, if you will, of a distant, forbidden, love between two characters. A love that, similar to that of Romeo and Juliet (forgive the obvious and mostly overdone reference), is purely visual, from afar, grows quickly out of a bit of desperation in the face of the forbidden, and proceeds quickly to dramatic overtures of affection and eventual tragedy. It's a classic story, but for me, also superficial. What was more deeply felt, I thought, was the observer role. Our main character and narrator, Bea, travels to Syria to study the language. She is obsessed with the construction and meaning of words and has the single minded goal of seeing and read "the astonishing text," an Arab love story, the manuscript for which is said to bring all readers to tears. She romanticizes the text to an extreme and imagines herself in the role of the female protagonist, finding her true love, often. As the story progresses, Bea ends up realizing that she is, at least in the story we are reading, not the protagonist, but the supporting character. She is the one who observes the love unfolding and survives its cataclysms to tell the tale. Mirroring the astonishing text that she came to read, she is the shepherd, the friend, and ultimately the author of the written tale. And perhaps, for being on the outside looking in, learned more about love than those directly in its thrall.
All the reviews and comments, from such well known authors as Khaled Hosseini, and of course my friend, talked about how this was, essentially, a love story written as an ode to love. And I can see that. But for as much as this book talked about, was about, love, there is a section at the end where the author spends some time talking about loss. And for me, that's what hit home more than anything else. There is a thin, if present at all, line between love and loss, for one cannot necessarily fully be experienced without the existence of the other. And each character in this story has just as much loss, if not more, as they have love. What this books really explores is that dual space. One of the passages in that section about loss talks about love being something you feel, not something you read. But when that is gone, when the loss of that love has come, then all you have left is words. And though all you can do is write about love because there is nothing else left, from that loss spring the most beautiful words about love. So I saw this book as an ode to love, yes, but from page one, it is love through the eyes of loss. That's what struck me as the biggest takeaway, and perhaps the biggest difference in impression between myself and the other reviews/recommendations I got. However, regardless of that difference, nothing can take away from the beauty with which this particular story about love was written.
___________________
I feel like I've been on a roll lately with the ethereal type novels, where the language is as important, if not more so, than the story itself. And with all books like that, I feel compelled to share a number of quotes illustrating that. Because without understanding the beauty of the language, you are not getting a full feel for the book (even with my phenomenally written reviews, of course). So, here are some of the passages that struck me most as I read A Word for Love:
"To My Flower, the Jasmine. Peace to the one with hair like dusk falling. Even her Sweat smells Sweet." p.62
"But there is a lightness to love, even when it's not your own. There is camaraderie in waving. She took my hand. Adel stood on one side, we stood on the other, waving and waving." p.125
"Nisrine once told me about a word that meant maid, and heroine, and moveable house. It was not from her language, it was from her mother's, who came from a different island. But in Nisrine's town, the concept was the same. ...A moveable house was like a maid's, or a heroine's, heart. It had to be flexible, but strong, no matter the surroundings; for those who counted on it, to always be a home." p.125
"Theirs had always been a faraway love; she had taught him the beauty of two eyes, ready, waiting to be given." "Theirs had always been a faraway love. She'd taught him the power of a look, of two eyes ready, waiting to be given." p.136/151
"His heart swelled and swelled, until it was so full it stopped, because there was no room for beating." p.150
"...I love you so much, I can feel your soft soul all around me, it's like being covered in the most beautiful flower." p.152
"There is a letter in Arabic that stands for silence. It is called the hamza; its shape is a half-moon, or a teardrop, and like a teardrop it asks you to pause a moment, and breathe. It opens up space. ... His face hurt. His side hurt. But his mind was a hamza, his arms open. ...all Adel could remember was a dark hip, a surprising feeling. He dug into the memory. He let it cover him." p.233
"As as I began to read I, too, felt joy; I saw each word and met it, joyfully, with understanding." p.265
"I thought back to all the moments without words that I held in my heart, and I thought, Of course. Why did I study words that meant love? Love is not in what is said, but what is done, what is felt and experienced, it is the intimacy of silent moments, of small meanings." p.268
"This is the problem with missing: it doesn't stay in one place, but spreads out and changes the landscape." p.278
"And, what if the love that we found was not meant to be shared just between two people, but by many; a fiery, starry substance that grows when it's kindled, so that the more you love and are beloved, the more light?" p.279
This review originally appeared on the book review blog justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.
This is the second time in the last month or so that I have a read a second novel, or more specifically duology, from a YA author whose prior trilogy I had loved. In that first case, Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom, I thought the second set was better even than the first. In this case, though still fantastic, I have to say I enjoyed that first series I read by Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke and Bone, better. However, there is one difference in the two experiences that I will admit may make a difference: I jumped into this duology before the second one was published, so while I was able to read the whole Six of Crows story all together, I'm stuck in the awful "waiting for the next book to be published" limbo for Strange the Dreamer's story. Also, in that spirit full disclosure, I thought Daughter of Smoke and Bone was one of the best YA trilogies I had ever read (which remains true), while I really enjoyed, but was not quite as entranced, with the Grisha trilogy. So, now that you know all that super exciting personal background, here's what I thought about this incredibly highly touted novel.
Reading Strange the Dreamer was actually like reading in, or from, a dream. I am not really sure there is a better way to describe the writing style, which told what I would otherwise categorize as a very well paced story, in a melodious, sometimes molasses-like, manner. As a result, it took me more time than I had anticipated to really get into the book. It was definitely not what I had expected, neither in tone nor in telling, and I hesitantly say I struggled with motivation to keep going for the first quarter (or so) of the novel. This doesn't mean I wasn't interested in the main character, Lazlo Strange, his back story, his interests (which, as far as libraries are concerned, mirror my own quite closely), or his obsession with and research on the very mysterious city of Weep - the city whose real name was stolen from the minds of the world, where exotic animals, magic, and any number of unknowns were, theoretically, to be found. I mean, what's not to love about a nerdy, overlooked, orphan who wants to travel to a city that no one has ever seen to discover what happened to it to make it lose its name? So that's why I say hesitantly, I cared about the story and simultaneously had to convince myself to keep reading it. Super conflicting and weird.
But then, about a third of the way in, things clicked. Lazlo makes his big gamble and is, finally, on the way to Weep, to fulfill all his life dreams to see the city. And we get to meet Sarai, the Muse of Nightmares, a "godspawn" that every citizen of Weep believes is dead, who spends her nights working to protect herself and her siblings by convincing people to continue believing that. And, not to spoil anything (but I think we could all see what this is going anyways), Sarai of the nightmares visits Strange the dreamer in one of his dreams. Their interactions, the connection they start to form, what they teach and show each other, how they help each other grow and change, give the novel the depth it needs to really allow the story to take off. This is partially because of the two of them, sure. They are sweet and open and strangely naive for all they've lived through, and honestly the rest of the cast has nowhere near the development or page time to compete with them. But primarily because the writing style, that feeling of reading in a dream, finally finds its full, wonderful, footing. At the same time, with the plot really coming into its own, bringing all the stories' separate threads together, we find ourselves with a culminating feeling of rightness from the tone perfectly fitting the story. And so the reader is totally primed and, though not sure how it happened, completely invested in the story. By this point, like with a third of the book left, I didn't want to put it down.
With all that being said, I'm invested in this story in a way that's different from any feeling I've had before. The book leaves off at a very reasonable cliff-hanger...nothing that will tear out your soul and leave you gasping without a second book to provide that breath of air you need, but still, enough of a non-resolution and open end that you really do wish that the publication date for the next one wasn't so far away. But while well done, the ending is not the reason my investment is different. I've been in this waiting position before, but this one still feels different. I think it's back to that dream-like quality of the writing and, thus, the reading experience. It's like...it's like I actually dreamed the whole story. So I do care about the characters and want to know what happens next, but since it's like I dreamt it, I know the rest is in my head and I'm comfortable for now, knowing that it's there somewhere. I feel fully inside the story and also far removed at the same time. That's the best I can do. I swear I really am trying to explain it, but I'm just really having a hard time finding the words. It actually like trying to describe a dream to someone, sometimes you just cannot find the words to make them understand what it was actually like. You'll just have to read it to see what I mean for yourself.
There are two things about this book that I loved and want to mention really badly, but I couldn't find a better place in this review to include them. So here they are, awkwardly at the end:
- Each section starts with an dictionary entry for an archaic word, which includes it's full pronunciation, provenance, and meaning. I love this. So much. Not necessarily for its existence, as I've seen similar things, but more for the words themselves. They were words created for such beautiful, exotic, complex concepts and I just loved them. My favorite:
shrestha (SHRES-thuh) noun
When a dream comes true - but not for the dreamer.
Archaic; from Shres, the bastard god of fortune, who was believed to punish supplicants for inadequate offerings by granting their hearts' desire to another.
- The Prologue is perfect. It is a great hook, for starters. But that's not what makes it truly awesome. Throughout the story, there are at least three different times that I thought I knew what/who/when it was about, but as I kept reading, my thoughts on what it actually was referring to kept changing. It had to be written with such finesse to be able to shift to fit so many different theories. Gorgeous.
______
Since I mentioned the dreamlike writing quality of the writing an annoying number of times in this review, I feel that I owe some examples. Some of the best passages for illustrating this are a bit too long to transcribe here in full (like I said, you'll just have to read the book and see), but here are a few shorter ones that I loved:
"It was impossible, of course. But when did that ever stop anyone from dreaming?" p.25
"It was the first week of Twelfthmoon, on the far side of the Elmuthaleth, and Strange the dreamer - library stowaway and scholar of fairy tales - had never been thirstier, or more full of wonder." p.82
"You're a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable...something beautiful and full of monsters." p. 115
"To be one of a pair of bodies that knew that melting fusion. To reach and found. To be reached for an found. To belong to a mutual certainty. To wake up holding hands." p. 145
"I think you're a fairy tale. I think you're magical, and brave, and exquisite. And...I hope you'll let me be in your story." p.380
"The moon on a bracelet and the sun in a jar." p.443
"They fell into the stars in a rush of air and ether....It was all velocity and dream physics - no more need to stand or lean or fly, but only fall. They were both already fallen....It was reverent. It was a promise, and they trailed fire like a comet as they made it." p.460-461
This is the second time in the last month or so that I have a read a second novel, or more specifically duology, from a YA author whose prior trilogy I had loved. In that first case, Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom, I thought the second set was better even than the first. In this case, though still fantastic, I have to say I enjoyed that first series I read by Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke and Bone, better. However, there is one difference in the two experiences that I will admit may make a difference: I jumped into this duology before the second one was published, so while I was able to read the whole Six of Crows story all together, I'm stuck in the awful "waiting for the next book to be published" limbo for Strange the Dreamer's story. Also, in that spirit full disclosure, I thought Daughter of Smoke and Bone was one of the best YA trilogies I had ever read (which remains true), while I really enjoyed, but was not quite as entranced, with the Grisha trilogy. So, now that you know all that super exciting personal background, here's what I thought about this incredibly highly touted novel.
Reading Strange the Dreamer was actually like reading in, or from, a dream. I am not really sure there is a better way to describe the writing style, which told what I would otherwise categorize as a very well paced story, in a melodious, sometimes molasses-like, manner. As a result, it took me more time than I had anticipated to really get into the book. It was definitely not what I had expected, neither in tone nor in telling, and I hesitantly say I struggled with motivation to keep going for the first quarter (or so) of the novel. This doesn't mean I wasn't interested in the main character, Lazlo Strange, his back story, his interests (which, as far as libraries are concerned, mirror my own quite closely), or his obsession with and research on the very mysterious city of Weep - the city whose real name was stolen from the minds of the world, where exotic animals, magic, and any number of unknowns were, theoretically, to be found. I mean, what's not to love about a nerdy, overlooked, orphan who wants to travel to a city that no one has ever seen to discover what happened to it to make it lose its name? So that's why I say hesitantly, I cared about the story and simultaneously had to convince myself to keep reading it. Super conflicting and weird.
But then, about a third of the way in, things clicked. Lazlo makes his big gamble and is, finally, on the way to Weep, to fulfill all his life dreams to see the city. And we get to meet Sarai, the Muse of Nightmares, a "godspawn" that every citizen of Weep believes is dead, who spends her nights working to protect herself and her siblings by convincing people to continue believing that. And, not to spoil anything (but I think we could all see what this is going anyways), Sarai of the nightmares visits Strange the dreamer in one of his dreams. Their interactions, the connection they start to form, what they teach and show each other, how they help each other grow and change, give the novel the depth it needs to really allow the story to take off. This is partially because of the two of them, sure. They are sweet and open and strangely naive for all they've lived through, and honestly the rest of the cast has nowhere near the development or page time to compete with them. But primarily because the writing style, that feeling of reading in a dream, finally finds its full, wonderful, footing. At the same time, with the plot really coming into its own, bringing all the stories' separate threads together, we find ourselves with a culminating feeling of rightness from the tone perfectly fitting the story. And so the reader is totally primed and, though not sure how it happened, completely invested in the story. By this point, like with a third of the book left, I didn't want to put it down.
With all that being said, I'm invested in this story in a way that's different from any feeling I've had before. The book leaves off at a very reasonable cliff-hanger...nothing that will tear out your soul and leave you gasping without a second book to provide that breath of air you need, but still, enough of a non-resolution and open end that you really do wish that the publication date for the next one wasn't so far away. But while well done, the ending is not the reason my investment is different. I've been in this waiting position before, but this one still feels different. I think it's back to that dream-like quality of the writing and, thus, the reading experience. It's like...it's like I actually dreamed the whole story. So I do care about the characters and want to know what happens next, but since it's like I dreamt it, I know the rest is in my head and I'm comfortable for now, knowing that it's there somewhere. I feel fully inside the story and also far removed at the same time. That's the best I can do. I swear I really am trying to explain it, but I'm just really having a hard time finding the words. It actually like trying to describe a dream to someone, sometimes you just cannot find the words to make them understand what it was actually like. You'll just have to read it to see what I mean for yourself.
There are two things about this book that I loved and want to mention really badly, but I couldn't find a better place in this review to include them. So here they are, awkwardly at the end:
- Each section starts with an dictionary entry for an archaic word, which includes it's full pronunciation, provenance, and meaning. I love this. So much. Not necessarily for its existence, as I've seen similar things, but more for the words themselves. They were words created for such beautiful, exotic, complex concepts and I just loved them. My favorite:
shrestha (SHRES-thuh) noun
When a dream comes true - but not for the dreamer.
Archaic; from Shres, the bastard god of fortune, who was believed to punish supplicants for inadequate offerings by granting their hearts' desire to another.
- The Prologue is perfect. It is a great hook, for starters. But that's not what makes it truly awesome. Throughout the story, there are at least three different times that I thought I knew what/who/when it was about, but as I kept reading, my thoughts on what it actually was referring to kept changing. It had to be written with such finesse to be able to shift to fit so many different theories. Gorgeous.
______
Since I mentioned the dreamlike writing quality of the writing an annoying number of times in this review, I feel that I owe some examples. Some of the best passages for illustrating this are a bit too long to transcribe here in full (like I said, you'll just have to read the book and see), but here are a few shorter ones that I loved:
"It was impossible, of course. But when did that ever stop anyone from dreaming?" p.25
"It was the first week of Twelfthmoon, on the far side of the Elmuthaleth, and Strange the dreamer - library stowaway and scholar of fairy tales - had never been thirstier, or more full of wonder." p.82
"You're a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable...something beautiful and full of monsters." p. 115
"To be one of a pair of bodies that knew that melting fusion. To reach and found. To be reached for an found. To belong to a mutual certainty. To wake up holding hands." p. 145
"I think you're a fairy tale. I think you're magical, and brave, and exquisite. And...I hope you'll let me be in your story." p.380
"The moon on a bracelet and the sun in a jar." p.443
"They fell into the stars in a rush of air and ether....It was all velocity and dream physics - no more need to stand or lean or fly, but only fall. They were both already fallen....It was reverent. It was a promise, and they trailed fire like a comet as they made it." p.460-461