This is a magnificent romantic comedy; I shelve it next to Bridget Jones with pride, and proclaim it one of my faI've read and reread this all summer.
This is a magnificent romantic comedy; I shelve it next to Bridget Jones with pride, and proclaim it one of my favorite books. It's a perfect sugar treat for any rough day; it can make me smile, laugh and cry all at the same time. And if that isn't the definition of a favorite book, what is?
This is so intelligent. So brilliant. So much fun and so compelling. It's romantic, but not necessarily problematic or even dramatic. It just is a classic and wonderful office romance, that I almost could imagine playing out in any office. For anyone.
I love this book so much! I know I'll be rereading it for the rest of my year. It's the perfect comfort read and I wish there were more books like it....more
This is, without a doubt, my favorite Harry Potter novel. It has been my favorite ever since it came out, and it has only improved on rereading. I adoThis is, without a doubt, my favorite Harry Potter novel. It has been my favorite ever since it came out, and it has only improved on rereading. I adore it; I adore the sense of adventure that spills over every page, the expansion of Rowling's magical universe, and the subtle changes that mark the book's passage from children's fiction to more mature young adult.
When I was younger I especially adored the book because it introduced me to other magic societies and international schools of wizardry. While Rowling certainly doesn't mention a magic school anywhere near me, she opens up for the possibility. She expands her universe of wonder; she pushes the boundaries, and somehow everything seem closer. More relatable. Magic stops being a distinctly British thing and becomes an international phenomen. Something that could perhaps happen to a girl in Denmark as well.
At least that's what I thought then.
Rowling's novels are good, but they can at times feel very constricted. There are very few actual environments described; you have the village of Hogsmeade with all its colors and wonders (matching up to Diagon Alley), you have the muggle life with the Dursley family � always dreary, boring and painful, and you have Hogwarts of course, buzzing with energy, magic sparks and new adventures. At times you have a glimpse of London mixed with a visit at the Weasley's, an occasional tale from the dark prison of Azkaban, but that's really it.
Until this book. Not only does it introduce new schools and new environments � it also takes us to graveyards of horror and Rowling finally mixes her two spheres (the muggle world and the wizarding worlds) in a glorious game of Quidditch. You get to see the union of these two, very different, worlds, and you finally understand how they aren't as separate as one would think; how they depend on each other, gravitate towards each other, and hide each other. Constantly.
"I’d like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over."
These past few weeks I've crawled into bed with a head full of thought"I’d like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over."
These past few weeks I've crawled into bed with a head full of thoughts and worries. And the only logic solution seemed to be reading a bit of poetry before going to sleep. A well-written verse always calms the soul.
For this project, I chose Robert Frost. Of course I did. His poetry is well-known for its calm rhytm and simplistic beauty. I've never been able to walk by a birch tree without recalling the first few lines of Birches � a beautiful poem that may not be about birches at all but evokes them nevertheless.
Reading this entire collection from beginning to end, I realised that Frost is one of my favourite poets. His authorship is so complex, his poetry heavy with symbolism and yet he has produced universally loved poems such as The Road Not Taken, Fire and Ice and of course my personal favourite: �Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening�.
I've been returning to the famous words of Robert Frost for years, circled around them, written them down and whispered them to myself. Now I've found even more of his poetry to cherish and keep for years to come.
Reading this at this moment in time was the best decision.
"I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light."...more
It is a very rare thing for me to stay up at night in order to finish a book. I am a hopeless morning person and therefore not an evening person. No mIt is a very rare thing for me to stay up at night in order to finish a book. I am a hopeless morning person and therefore not an evening person. No matter how much I love a book I always get sleepy around 10 PM, the letters get wobbly before my eyes, and I can't make sense of the dancing sentences on the thin paper pages.
This book was an exception. Not only did the remaining pages keep me awake, the story itself wormed its way into my brain and rummaged there even after I had finished reading. I was awake for hours, tossing and turning, thinking and wondering, and when I woke up I grapped the book once again, only to reread some of those sentences that had perfumed my dreams with their beautiful words.
I lost a lot of sleep that night. But I also lost myself; I wandered into a book and a part of me stayed there. I don't even know how to put it into words.
�You will always go into that tent. You will see her scar and wonder where she got it. You will always be amazed at how one woman can have so much black hair. You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast. You will always run away with her. You will always lose her. You will always be a fool. You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear. You have already done all of this and will do it again.�
There's a million ways I could start this review. I could start by commenting on Valente's writing style, her almost lyrical sentences, her way of evoking faint memories of snow brushed fingertips and icy winters in a country I have never visited, her beautiful descriptions of love and belonging; the brutal and terrible beauty that lies within a marriage, within any relationship really, her use of repetitions and allegory, her metaphors that so effortlessly blend the fairytale realm with the real world of 1942 Russia, her characters so alive, so strong and yet so weak, and of course her way of stealing my breath with her words, her way of building suspense and never, never, never provide release.
Or, I could start by commenting on my problem with categorizing this novel that so easily defines itself as a "fairy-tale retelling" but retells the actual history of Russia as well as the imaginative folk-lores that I read as a child. Valente's use of Life and Death; Viy and Koschei plays out in a gray area, where no one is right and no one is wrong, there is always war and the war is always going badly. The fantastic elements in this novel certainly justifies a categorization as fantasy, the fairy-tale elements allows it to be a fairy-tale retelling, but the realistic elements leans more towards magic realism, while the historical accuracy almost makes it historical fiction.
I could comment on the layers within the story; the way it shapes itself around other stories, the way Marya is an echo of the millions of Yelenas before her, the way the middle of the story with Koschei in the basement in fact is the beginning of the actual myth, the way that Marya's story, her meeting with Ivan is foretold, pre-destined, an inevitable story within a story that everybody knew would become reality. Valente's framework is intricate, complicated, she hides entire worlds within a black egg, she lets the characters live entire lives in their dreams, and she operates on so many levels, between worlds, between history and between stories that are forever tangled and forever tied together.
I could write about the depiction of evil, of war and of the people living their lives in the middle of it. I could write about how Koschei the Deathless traditionally is a villain, but in this book becomes a complicated, tortured, troubled, dark and forcefully vulnerable character, entirely dependent on the one thing he has hidden away; his death. He is life, and he is death; he is deathless and yet he is not. On the other side, there's Viy, the Tsar of Death and yet a merciful death; always competing with life, always almost winning, always dancing in the middle of the streets in St. Petersburg where people are eating each other in order to stay alive.
Most of all, I just want to write this: read this book. Let it absorb you, let it steal your heart like Koschei steals his wife, let Valente's words keep you up at night, and let the book haunt you for entire days, perhaps entire months and years; let it linger in the air around you in a time where books are so short-lived and words are so fragile, so hastened, so lacking of substance and color. Read this book and read it carefully.
It is the best book I have read so far this year.
I do not know how to express myself properly.
�Oh, I will be cruel to you, Marya Morevna. It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be. But you understand, don’t you? You are clever enough. I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable. But I am your servant. When you starve I will feed you; when you are sick I will tend you. I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased. For you alone I will be weak.� ...more
"For myself I know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form: I want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair."
Bright and delicate"For myself I know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form: I want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair."
Bright and delicate may just be the two perfect words to describe this book. With his bare words, Keats creates pictures that are so vividly beautiful and hurtful, that they cast an excruciatingly bright light over feelings such as love, desperation, jealousy, torment and desire. As a glittering firework the words of Keats unfold with such a power and magnanimity that it is impossible to look away.
"I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days—three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain."
I mostly read this collection for Keats' letters, as I've read his poetry many times before; over and over again. His letters I've only known in fragments and pieces, excerpts and quotes, so I wanted to read them in their full glory - and glorious, they truly are. In his private letters to Fanny, Keats often shifts between elegant and well-turned phrases to violent and wildly composed sentences, urging Fanny to love him and only him. Keats is jealous, possessive, paranoid and scared, but he is also poetical, romantic, devoted and thoughtful. These letters, more than anything, capture a man in agonizingly deep love, trying so hard to hold on to his love, while he feels his life fading away.
To be in love is not a historic event. But these letters and poems written by a dying man so deeply in love are historical. I don't think anyone has ever felt anything so deeply, as Keats felt his love for Fanny. Indeed, no one has ever written anything as powerful, bright and delicate on the subject of love as this. ...more
�This is my favorite book in all the world, though I have never read it.�
I love everything about this book. I admire Goldman's intricate framework, t�This is my favorite book in all the world, though I have never read it.�
I love everything about this book. I admire Goldman's intricate framework, that enables him to position his own book as an old classic, to hide a story within a story, and to fill the pages with lovely bits of metafiction. As a reader, you're constantly reminded that you are in fact reading. Goldman draws attention to the reading experience itself in a way that is both elegant and humorous.
The inner story is not only a fantastical, whimsical and fast-paced fairy tale infused with a bit of fantasy; it is also an extremely satirical and witty little joke. From an absurd Spaniard who keeps mumbling: "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.", to a beautiful princess named Buttercup and a horse named Horse, to a retired miracle-worker who coats his resurrection pills with chocolate, this book is a delightful jumble of chaos and fun.
In spite of Goldman's natural satire, the fairy tale does not lack sincerity. Beautiful quotes appear from nowhere, and the story itself is so thrilling and gripping, that you will be ceased by a helpless fit of reading fever as you reach the (short) finale.
I will probably reread this for years to come, and I will probably love it forever and ever. I will probably order a nice hardback version of this in about five minutes. In fact, I already did. I love every aspect of this book. It's beautifully crafted, beautifully written and endlessly entertaining.
�‘Well, you haven’t once said you loved me.� ‘That’s all you need? Easy. I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I love you. Spell it out, should I? I ell-oh-vee-ee why-oh-you. Want it backward? You love I.�� ...more
�She looked directly up into the northern lights and she wondered if those cold-burning spectres might not draw her breath, her very soul, out of her �She looked directly up into the northern lights and she wondered if those cold-burning spectres might not draw her breath, her very soul, out of her chest and into the stars.�
This is a book filled with pain, sorrow and a delicate flutter of a thousand snowflakes brushing gently against your cheeks. It is a book of coldness and stillness, set against a brutally wild backdrop of Alaska's thick forests and howling wolves. Ivey unites human fragility with the wildness of the nature, and the result is mesmerizing. As I read this book I could almost feel the cold snow crackling beneath my feet or see the warmth of my breath vibrate through the air.
In some way, Ivey's writing and scenery reminded me of "The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern. While the two books have nothing, absolutely nothing, in common plotwise, they're both built on descriptive scenes tied together with a beautiful language. However, Eowyn Ivey takes her writing a step further, allowing the very structure of her sentences to reflect the stillness in her scenery.
Faina is a creature of this stillness and coldness. She has stepped out from a fairy-tale and into the lives of Mabel and Jack in the Alaskan wilderness. She is an angel, an ethereal snow fairy, and yet she is an unattainable elementary spirit, hiding from cultural estrangement and requirements. Everything about her is mythical and as she mostly speaks in silence, there's a distance between her and the reader - a distance that allows her to remain an unsolved mystery.
Another aspect of the book is portrayed in Mabel and Jack's deep sorrow, tearing them violently apart, lingering on the edge of suicide and depression. Their eternal struggle cut deep into my heart, and Ivey's portrayal of their unhappiness is one of the most touching and realistic aspects of the book. When they find their way back to life, it is both with the help of Faina and their loving neighbors.
"The Snow Child" is partly a fairy-tale, and partly a very realistic tale of families, lovers and their homes. Wrapped in a deep layer of snow, stillness and melancholic beauty, this is a true work of art. It will stay with me throughout every winter for the rest of my life.
�In my old age, I see that life is often more fantastic and terrible than stories we believed as children, and that perhaps there is no harm in finding magic among the trees.� ...more
�A book is a door, you know. Always and forever. A book is a door into another place and another heart and another world.�
In this book, September wal�A book is a door, you know. Always and forever. A book is a door into another place and another heart and another world.�
In this book, September walks within a dark world made entirely of shadows, of magic and of wildness. In this book September learns what it means to suppress emotions, to hide pieces and bits of oneself and to put on a different mask for the world to see. She learns the sweet bitterness that lies within stolen kisses, friendly betrayals and the words of forgiveness. She grows up, she gets hurt and she leaves Fairyland a little darker, than she entered it. (As we all do, when we tread the painful path of growing up.)
This book somehow feels a lot more dangerous, mysterious and profound than the first installment in the series. Every fantastical creature September stumbles upon are thought-provoking symbols that collide perfectly with our own world. A forgetful kangaroo won my heart, as he illustrated the importance of memories - of both the lovely and the hurting kind. As September journeys through Fairyland-below she meets all sorts of haunted and helpless soul; and she tries to reason with herself whether shadows should live freely and wildly, or join their substances and be forced to live in their shadows. A highly complex and recognizable dilemma between freedom, sacrifice and order.
Valente writes beautifully as always, letting her words flow like pretty dreams in a pink sky. Her fantasy-creations and inventions makes Fairyland come to live before you very eyes. September's universe is so quirky, adorable and deeply hypnotizing. This book does take place in Fairyland's underground, and as a consequence the story feels darker than its precedor. But perhaps that is only a good thing. As I walked in the shadows of Fairyland's landscape, I learned to love it even more. I grieved for the Marquess and her shadow, I wondered about Saturday and his stolen kiss, and I wished desperately for September to find her beloved dragon.
I stumbled into the beautiful Fairyland and fell in love with it - but all stumblers have a clock and of course my time ran out before I would have liked it to. I cannot wait to return, I cannot wait for the next book. This was the most spellbinding sequel I have ever read - and one of the most well-crafted children's books of all time.
�She did not know yet how sometimes people keep parts of themselves hidden and secret, sometimes wicked and unkind parts, but often brave or wild or colorful parts, cunning or powerful or even marvelous, beautiful parts, just locked up away at the bottom of their hearts. They do this because they are afraid of the world and of being stared at, or relied upon to do feats of bravery or boldness. And all of those brave and wild and cunning and marvelous and beautiful parts they hid away and left in the dark to grow strange mushrooms—and yes, sometimes those wicked and unkind parts, too—end up in their shadow.� ...more
Yesterday morning I read this book and I finished it in one sitting. This morning I read it all over again. Tomorrow I'll probably do the same.
Lately Yesterday morning I read this book and I finished it in one sitting. This morning I read it all over again. Tomorrow I'll probably do the same.
Lately I have fallen in love with Gaiman, his way with words and his imagery, the dark twist in his fairy-tales and the many references to classic books and times long past. He puts his voice into his writing, and to read one of his books is to hear him speak out loud, clearly and real. I will always remember his books as being original pieces of imagination. I always describe them as 'original' or 'brilliant'. But this book is something entirely different. It is sincere and it is beautiful.
�She had such unusual eyes. They made me think of the seaside, so I called her Ocean, and could not have told you why.�
This is not a story for children, but it is a story of childhood. It is a story of remembrance, but it does not involve nostalgia. It is a story of repressed memories, a story of childhood traumas and the stories we tell ourselves just to get through. "The Ocean at the End of the Lane" is impossible to categorize. It is a fantasy-novel, but it isn't the kind of fantasy-novel you would expect from Neil Gaiman. It is an elegiac myth, it is magic realism and it is something entirely undefinable. On the front cover the publisher claims that "'The Ocean at the End of the Lane' is a fable that reshapes modern fantasy", and I have to agree, as I cannot put it any clearer myself.
�Childhood memories are sometimes covered and obscured beneath the things that come later, like childhood toys forgotten at the bottom of a crammed adult closet, but they are never lost for good.�
Reading this book felt very personal, very intimate. Gaiman reminded me of something I had long forgotten, a profound truth I have carried with me in the hidden corners of my mind for many, many years. This story took me on a journey I'd never expected, and I left my heart somewhere between the pages. It moved me - and perhaps it even changed me a bit. Some of the quotes in this book felt like pieces of my own childhood, and I guess they will do the same for any child who has ever wandered off and seeked refuge in a fictional world. Gaiman's writing is wonderful, almost lyrical. There's a hint of melancholy and regret, and glimpses of something that almost looks like Gaiman's own memories. The plot itself is peculiar and odd, and so, so, so lovely.
I would have liked to give this book ten thousand stars. I would have liked to let it stand out from my other favorite books, as the title suddenly feels insufficient. But as it is impossible, let me just repeat one simple phrase to sum up my feelings: this book is beautiful. ...more
This is a tale of a young heroine's quest for succes. It is a tale of ambition and of a young woman obsessed with wordplay and poetry. It is a tale ofThis is a tale of a young heroine's quest for succes. It is a tale of ambition and of a young woman obsessed with wordplay and poetry. It is a tale of bleak depression and the writer's block that comes along with it. It is a tale of artistry and the fragility with which art is created. And, of course, it is a tale of love and hope and happiness; a tale of rereading old letters and striving for the bright future, that was once foretold.
�The ghosts of things that never happened are worse than the ghosts of things that did.�
This book has always resonated deeply with me. Even when I was a child who hardly understood that Emily's long period of writer's block is actually a sign of deep depression, and that Ilse's gay adventures with Emily only proves how far they've drifted apart. I suspect I loved this book dearly back then, because of the love story. The intense attraction between Teddy and Emily; their many misunderstandings; and Dean Priest who creates a place for himself in Emily's sorrow, makes for an epic love story. Add in the admiration of princes, writers and a hidden diamond in the grass � and you have a fairy tale that will enchant any 11-year old.
Teddy Kent will always be one of my favorite heroes; even though upon rereading this, it is hard to explain why. He is, as Ilse would say, selfish. He cares as little for Emily's writing as Dean does, and his characterization seems oddly vague compared to Perry's bursting personality. As Teddy is a quiet creature, who Emily doesn't even dare to look at, fearing to expose her feelings, he is only described through Emily's thoughts, not through direct interaction. Montgomery seems to contrast her characterization; where as Perry and Ilse are often described through direct and merry scenes and rarely in Emily's diary, Teddy's personality is mainly to be found in Emily's diary. In that way, Montgomery allows Emily to describe Teddy. To the reader, he is a creature of Emily's own pen. And therefore, a fragment of her own mind.
�Don't be led away by those howls about realism. Remember-pine woods are just as real as pigsties and a darn sight pleasanter to be in.�
But, while Teddy Kent holds my heart (and Emily's), he has only a small part of this book. This is a tale of an authoress; of wordplay, writing and rewriting, and ultimately a loss of words. Emily falls into depression, lays down her pen and makes a terrible decision. Montgomery spins a vivid tale of how much an artist suffers without ways to express their feelings. Emily is numb for so long, she is willing to marry a man she doesn't love, just so she can let him take hold of her life, leaving her no decisions of her own. Emily uses Dean cruelly; she adds on to the pain and loneliness, he has experienced through his own life. And while Dean is painted to be bot villain in this, one cannot help but feel sorry for him. Like Mrs. Kent, he falls victim to his own jealousy, the symptom of a broken and a love-starved soul. Like Mrs. Kent, he clings on too tightly. One of the many themes that runs through this book, showcasing the bitter and ugly side of depending on someone too much.
Another reason, this book still resonates with me, is the fine thread of nostalgia that runs through the novel. Emily, staying behind in Blair Water, is constantly confronted with the ghost of things past. Ilse visits in a whirlwind of laughter and colors, and always leaves with a sigh; concluding that the careless summers of their childhood cannot be replicated. Perry keeps proposing to Emily out of sheer habit, Elizabeth, Laura and Jimmy constantly laments that their little Emily has been replaced with a young woman. Even the cats grow old, beloved mentors die and Emily is left alone, feeling deserted and betrayed by time. When Emily finds the young and hopeful letters of her 14-year old self adressing her 24-year old self, she almost cannot bear to read it. The hope and wonder, the letter is written with, is almost poisonous. The 14-year old Emily envies her older self; and yet the 24-year old Emily finds herself longing to be 14 again. To be a happy child with an endless future.
I almost feel like I'm reading a letter from a younger version of myself, whenever I reread Montgomery's words. I loved these books, and Emily herself, so much as a child, it only takes a reread to take me back. The feeling is bittersweet; leaving me a bit nostalgic myself for times that has long passed, for the 14-year old version of me reading these pages and wondering who I would be at 24. Would I be an author like Emily? Married to the love of my life? A mother? A writer? Both? Neither? While I'm not an Emily, she is a part of me. And has been ever since I read this book for the very first time.
�Never be silent with persons you love and distrust ... Silence betrays.�...more
My boyfriend has just ordered me to stop hugging my book. So now I'm writing a review instead.
�Metaphors failed him, then. He had gone beyond the worMy boyfriend has just ordered me to stop hugging my book. So now I'm writing a review instead.
�Metaphors failed him, then. He had gone beyond the world of metaphor and simile into the place of things that are, and it was changing him.�
Of course I love, adore and worship this book. How could I not? Gaiman both mentions Disney World and Jane Austen, and he creates a mythical parallelworld filled with absurd and whimsical characters, who are both fantastical and believable. The story, the writing, the setting, the characters, the combination of realism and fantasy are so well-crafted, that I have no other option than to reward the book with five stars and shelve it among my favorite books.
The premise of the story, the creation of Londow Below as a contrast to London Above is so original and extremely detailed. The underlying message of how much people tend to close their eyes when looking at the poor, the homeless and the helpless - ultimately making them invisible, is such a genuine observation. Gaiman seems to be celebrating the outcasts of society, and London Below is overpopulated with hopelessly naive and fearful individuals, trying to find their way in their own reality. Richard Mayhew's loss of a job, an apartment and his girlfriend shows just how fast you can lose your entire identity in our modern society. Without these things he simply ceases to exist.
�There are four simple ways for the observant to tell Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar apart: first, Mr. Vandemar is two and a half heads taller than Mr. Croup; second, Mr. Croup has eyes of a faded china blue, while Mr. Vandemar's eyes are brown; third, while Mr. Vandemar fashioned the rings he wears on his right hand out of the skulls of four ravens, Mr. Croup has no obvious jewelery; fourth, Mr. Croup likes words, while Mr. Vandemar is always hungry. Also, they look nothing at all alike.�
And the characters! So comical, disturbing, magical, endearing and interesting. Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar may just be the best villains ever; their delight in murder and torture and their strange conversations are equally creepy and absurdly funny. Lady Door is interesting and heartwarming; while Hunter is distanced, detached and cold. Marquis de Carabas almost resembles Rumplestiltskin with all his sneaky tricks and complicated deals. Angel Islington is also a perfect proof of just how dangerous real power can be; and how you should always beware of false appearances. All the characters have their own individual voice, their own unique way of speaking, acting and reasoning. They all have a different life philosophy, a different quest and a different goal; and they all unite in a colorful explosion of betrayal, trust, friendship, deals and revenge. Perhaps "Neverwhere" could be interpreted as an insightful exploration of people's differences and interactions.
�I'm going to go home. Everything is going to be normal again. Boring again. Wonderful again.�
Richard Mayhew himself takes an incredible journey throughout the book. He starts as an unlikeable and trivial person chasing after a blurry dream of an 'ordinary life', and ends up as a courageous hero, a victor and a compassionate friend. As the book lacks towards the ending, he realizes his dream may not be so golden after all; he slowly changes and evolves. He discovers that his identity doesn't need to be defined by his apartment, his job or his girlfriend. He discovers who he is at the core of his being.
�There was no moon but the night sky was a riot of crisp and glittering autumn stars. There were streetlights too and lights on buildings and on bridges which looked like earthbound stars and they glimmered repeated as they were reflected with the city in the night water of the Thames. It’s fairyland thought Richard.�
This is a wonderful book; it will transport you to a surreal, and yet completely real, world with bizarre, and yet lovable, characters. The writing will slowly cast a spell on you; and you will fall in love with Gaiman's writing. It is inevitable, unavoidable. ...more
Lately I've been wondering whether the time for fairy tales has long passed us by. Of course there are plenty of fantasy novels, but it is uncommonly Lately I've been wondering whether the time for fairy tales has long passed us by. Of course there are plenty of fantasy novels, but it is uncommonly rare to stumble upon a genuine fairy tale, composed entirely of stardust and heartfelt dreams. When a book ends with the phrase "happily ever after" it feels more like a mockery than a true sentiment. Apparently people have stopped believing in the magic a simple tale can inflict.
"There was once a young man who wished to gain his Heart's Desire...."
With these thoughts in mind, try to imagine my joy when I read the opening words of Gaiman's "Stardust". To once again read a true fairy tale, revolving around the classical theme of a young man's quest to win the heart of his beloved, was a delight beyond comparison. "Stardust" is certainly an adult fairy tale, with several violent scenes, swearing and even sexual content. But it is a fairy tale nevertheless, and it is filled with ancient magic and highly imaginative creations, such as unicorns, witches and enchantments - along with talking trees and falling stars.
�He wondered how it could have taken him so long to realize he cared for her, and he told her so, and she called him an idiot, and he declared that it was the finest thing that ever a man had been called.�
The writing is utterly beautiful and extremely convincing. The words are an odd mix of traditional fairy tale elements and modern expressions - and the result is something truly unique. The dialogues are witty, the descriptions are whimsical and the final message is very endearing and hopeful. The book seems simply to underline the importance of trusting your heart - even when everything else is against you. A universal truth concealed in a star woven fairy tale.
�She says nothing at all, but simply stares upward into the dark sky and watches, with sad eyes, the slow dance of the infinite stars.� ...more
"The Night Circus" by Eric Morgenstern has worked its magic and left me completely spellbound.
I consumed this book. The pages flew by in a speedy blu"The Night Circus" by Eric Morgenstern has worked its magic and left me completely spellbound.
I consumed this book. The pages flew by in a speedy blur; and it was over before I wanted it to be. While I read it, I was transported into an enchanted atmosphere, and it seemed so real, almost as if I could reach out and touch the smooth and silky surface of Celia's dress, or smell the faded scent of the icy rose petals. Perhaps I got caught in one of Marco's illusions - I cannot say for sure.
�We lead strange lives, chasing our dreams around from place to place.�
The word "beautiful" is used too often, and has faded to a weak and common phrase. However I cannot bring myself to use any other word to describe "The Night Circus". It was beautiful in the most simple and honest sense of the word. The writing was so intricate and rich in detail, and yet there seemed to be a lingering sense of abruptness hovering above it. As if the book merely consisted of a series of still images and impressions, demanding the reader's undivided attention in order to become a flowing stream of storytelling. Each chapter ended with a silent void, a distinct feeling of emptiness - it was so delicately executed, and I loved filling the empty gaps left between the chapters with my own imagination and interpretations. It somehow made the story belong to me (or perhaps made me belong to it).
From the fantastic illusions shaped and formed in Marco's mind, to Celia's shimmering wishing-tree and the mystical circus itself; this book radiates wonders and is vibrating with a certain tingle of envious imagination. It is the fantasy-book I have been waiting and pining for, for ages.
"I have been surrounded by love letters you two have built each other for years, encased in tents.�
Perhaps I am a bit too sentimental, but I loved the love story between Marco and Celia. They are soulmates, they are meant for each other, and it is evident from the very beginning of the book. It is no surprise, it is bittersweet and it is predictable; but it adds an elegant element of fairy-tale to the story, along with the ancient myth of star-crossed lovers.
"Le Cirque des Rêves" means the Circus of Dreams. And that is exactly where this novel transported me to: a place to dream....more
�It is only a novel... or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of hu�It is only a novel... or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language�
You must bear with me. As "Northanger Abbey" was the first Austen novel I ever read, I cannot help but to feel a faint hint of nostalgia about it. After all, it was this book that introduced me to the greatest writer of all-time.
"Northanger Abbey" seems to be the black sheep among Austen's works and people tend use words and phrases such as "immature writing" and "weirdly gothic" when describing it. It is of course a fact that "Northanger Abbey" (originally entitled "Susan", I believe) is one of Austen's earlier creations, and therefore fades in comparison to Austen's later novels, which are more developed in their style and naturalistic writing. But isn't that just obvious? You can hardly criticize Austen for developing her writing skills through years and years of experience. One should not judge a novel by its successors, but instead allow the book to speak for itself. This novel does indeed hold several odd gothic elements of terror and horror. However it is of course a parody, and a very clever one at that. The gothic twist is not designed to hold up the plot, merely to sustain it. Austen actually mocks and educates her reader, and if you look closely, you will find a whirlwind of references to both gothic and naturalistic works, demanding an extensive knowledge of Fielding, Burney, Edgeworth and their likes. The intellectual value in "Northanger Abbey" is priceless.
Criticism aside, this is such an enjoyable book. Catherine Morland and her naivety is so endearing, and always makes me feel very protective of her. John Thorpe and his obnoxious sister represents the best of Austen's villains, while the Tinley's remains as their true opposites. I really do think Henry Tinley is quite an underestimated Austen hero. He may not be as passionate and dramatic as Darcy, but he is such an honest and simply likable character. He always comforts Catherine and is so attentive to her needs, that they really do seem like the ideal couple. I can easily imagine their idyllic everyday life. That's how sincere and believable their relationship is....more
Alice fell down the rabbit hole and I was so envious of her. I wanted to come too. I wanted to see the Rocking-Horse-Fly as it flew through the sky, tAlice fell down the rabbit hole and I was so envious of her. I wanted to come too. I wanted to see the Rocking-Horse-Fly as it flew through the sky, to talk with the elegant roses and to be guided by a chesire cat. But I couldn't. As a result I spent hours looking at my mirror reflection wondering how I could trick the looking-glass-girl to let me in, and whenever I saw a white rabbit my heart almost skipped a beat. However the white rabbits always got away, and the looking-glass-girl must have been very smart, 'cause she never let me in. I never did see Wonderland except through the eyes of Alice and the words of Lewis Caroll. And perhaps that was good enough after all.
When I was younger "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" was my absolute favorite story. I would ask my mom to read it over and over and over again, until I finally learned how to read it myself. Upon rereading it now I actually like "Through the Looking Glass" the best. It illustrates the imaginative powers of children to perfection....more
Today I woke up and was in the mood for some poetry-reading, as the snow was gently falling down outside my window and my head ached terribly. My mainToday I woke up and was in the mood for some poetry-reading, as the snow was gently falling down outside my window and my head ached terribly. My main problem was that I just couldn't choose between Yeats' mythical fairy-like poems or Tennyson's classic and undying writings, so I chose to settle upon this, which seemed (and was!) an agreeable compromise as it contained both.
"Penguin's Poems for Life" has a rather ambitious aim: to document and illustrate all aspect of life in various poems. It starts brilliantly with simplistic (and optimistic) poems such as "The End" by A. A. Milne and ends with poems of nostalgic longing and melancholia such as "Grayheaded Schoolchildren" by Charles Simic, giving a perfect impression of life's never-ending circular movements. The poems are well-chosen, and covers many aspects of life in between growing up and growing old. First kisses, last kisses, school days and dull jobs are all represented and dwelled upon in a stunningly harmonious symphony.
Among my favorites were:
"You're" by Sylvia Plath "Children's Song" by R. S. Thomas "Jardin du Luxembourg" by Derek Mahon "Rules and Regulations" by Lewis Carroll "If" by Rudyard Kipling "Mataatua" by Kirsty Gunn "I like my body when it is with your body" by E. E. Cummings "Dolor" by Theodore Roethke "I Held You in the Square" by Ben Okri "Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white" from "The Princess" by Lord Alfred Tennyson "Love Poem" by Lemn Sissay "To Autumn" by John Keats "Warning" by Jenny Joseph "When You Are Old" by W. B. Yeats "Piano" by D. H. Lawrence "Remembrance" by Emily Brontë "Comparisons" by R. S. Thomas...more
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