Amalia Gkavea
''No one wants to work the land, now; they just want to sit and look out of the picture window and stare at the water. A ‘view', they call is, as if they had nothing but eyes to know this place with- and as if their eyes could ever even scratch the surface of it from where they stand. His friends and family have been dying all around him for years, and some days it seems that there'll only be him left standing at the end of the world. A crumbling saint; a reluctant relic of a way of life that's gone forever. Just like that poem she read, years ago now- about a stone statue, all that was left dissolving in the desert at the end of everything.''
Daphne was turned into a plant to escape Apollo's unwanted attention. Io was turned into a cow to flee Hera's wrath. Medusa fell victim to Athena's illogical revenge. Arachne dared to challenge the Goddess of Wisdom and became a loathsome insect. Greek Mythology is full of stories of women who ‘‘shapeshifted'' with or without their will, because of fear, love, transgression. All cultures are rich in stories of shapeshifting women, each one a universe in itself.
In this beautiful volume, we are given retellings of the tales of old Europe and tales where characters are given a new voice. Sharon Blackie has also included notes regarding the inspiration behind each story.
Wolfskin: A story based on a traditional Croatian/Slavic myth with an interesting ending.
The Last Man Standing: A tale inspired by an Irish myth, set in Scotland. A story of old age and true love.
The Bogman's Wife: A Scottish/Irish story of a mermaid's rightful revenge, inspired by W.B.Yeats' poem The Song of Wandering Aengus.
Foxfire: A Scandinavian tale of the huldra, a woman-fox that seduces men who wander in the forest, exacting revenge on those who fail to satisfy her.
''It was the human skulls on top of the fenceposts that gave the place away. Though I have to say, it wasn't quite what I'd been expecting. Every one of them had a candle inside, eye sockets all lit up, grinning away in the late afternoon gloom like some half=crazed band of jack - o'- lanterns.''
Meeting Baba Yaga: This tale was supposedly inspired by the classic Russian story of Vasilisa the Brave (...and not ‘‘Vasalisa'' as the writer states...). The Russian woods and Baba Yaga deserved better treatment than a story whose main character is the epitome of the middle-aged newly-turned into a hippie who is uneducated, ignorant, disrespectful, whose only source of ‘‘education'' is the ...Tardis and lifestyle magazines. I was disgusted by this treatment of Russian culture. The character (and by extension, the writer) should learn how to spell before they criticize Russia and its vast cultural significance. Appalling.
''We're a fanciful folk here - fanciful and fey. What could you possibly know about our sea-longings, our hill-cravings? What could you know about the eerie half-light of midsummer nights in the glen?''
The Water Horse: A Scottish/Irish story, set in the Highlands, of the legendary each-uisge, the horse that acquires the appearance of young men. A beautiful tale of a girl who didn't pay attention to cautionary tales, a myth of true love that echoed The Gloaming.
''This land, this island of white and snow. Can you follow the sparkling motes of freezing mist through Arctic air? Do you see the aurora's brushstrokes on the pure, translucent canvas of our icebound cliffs? This beauty so pellucid, so serene that your heart would shatter if you thought it might pass forever from this world. This beauty. No wonder you come seeking it. This last bastion of ice; the still point of a burning world. I have seen the icebergs weep; I have seen the dissolution of great glaciers. Snow Queen has raised them from the dead.'‘
''Snow Queen loves silence. Loves the silence of ice and snow.It is Snow Quuen now who knows best; it is Snow Queen who alone has held true. Snow Queen will make an iceberg of your heart.''
Snow Queen: The Danish tale is turned into a Dystopian story set in a world destroyed by climate change, set in an incredibly beautiful and terrifying landscape.
The Saturday Diary of the Fairy Melusine: Melusine is given voice to condemn her husband's abuse in a story inspired by the French myth of the Serpent Wife.
''You have listened to the song of the blackthorn at winter solstice, and drunk from the well at the world's end. Here you are now, and here you will linger on. Forever? You have no stories about forever.''
The Madness of Mis: An Irish tale of a daughter who lost her father and became one with the mountains until she fell in love. Haunting and brilliantly written.
I Shall Go Into A Hare: A tale about the hare and the Easter eggs as symbols of fertility and the association between witches and hares. Set in our era, very raw. Brilliant.
The Weight of a Human Heart: Based on the famous love triangle of the Irish hero Cu Culainn, Emer and Fand. I don't believe this was a positive moment in this book. The final twist seemed to me a cheap gimmick, a bone to satisfy the expectations of the so-called ‘‘today's'' audience.
Flower Face: A tale of scorn, betrayal, unimaginable abuse and retribution, based on the Welsh myth of Blodeuwedd from the Mabinogion.
''She cannot face another hundred years of this. The last time she renewed herself, the Great War had just ended and there was hope. Who'd have imagined they'd do it all again? Who'd have thought, in just one hundred years, they'd have caused so much carnage? What could they do in another century, with all their implacable power?''
No Country For Old Women: A haunting retelling of the Gaelic myth of the Cailleath who becomes young every hundred years by bathing in the lake. Here, she seems utterly done with all the mess we've made...
Apart from two disappointing moments, I loved Blackie's writing and the immediacy of the characters' voices. I appreciated the balance between the two sexes, the focus on love, honour and independence as reasons to transform and escape. This is pure literary quality.
Absolutely beautiful illustrations by Helen Nicholson.
''Perhaps, when the world has turned a few more times, when their remaining relics have all crumbled away into dust- perhaps then she will bathe again on the flat rock by the sea loch at Bealtaine. But she does not think she will.The last of her men was the last man standing. And she will be the last of the fairy wives.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
I won't write an elaborate (and boring...) Introduction about how much I longed to read this book. It was one of my most coveted treasures from the moment I bought it and I wanted to savour it and underline the living daylights out of it.
Unfortunately, by the beginning of the fourth chapter, I couldn't wait to finish it and forget about it. It was a shuddering disappointment, a book I never thought I'd actually hate. But I did and I am thoroughly saddened by this reading experience.
The Forest (I deliberately use a capital ‘'F'') has played a vital role in the creation of fairy tales since the dawning of time. From Red Riding Hood and Snow White
to obscure tales from every culture in the world, the mysticism, the strangeness, the threat of the Forest have provided ample material for legends of adventures, princesses and princes that are tested, disobedient children that need to learn what is right and what is wrong, impossible tasks that must be carried out and chances for a resolution where the good is rewarded. In this book, Maitland attempts to emphasize the deep connection between forests and fairytales through an interesting, no doubt, journey on 12 forests in Britain. Each month is dedicated to a specific forest. From March to February, we are guided to the influence of the flora and fauna of British nature. The oakwoods, the beech woods, the May beauty of the New Forest, the connection between mining and the dwarves, the mystery of fungi. It sounds quite a blast, doesn't it? Unfortunately, the only blast is the impossibly rude, authoritative tone of the writer.
Her sources are limited, practically non-existent. For the most part, her descriptions were repetitive and bland. At certain points, all of a sudden, they became so ‘'flowery'' that my eyes were rolling by the minute. Footnotes after footnotes don't work when there is no cohesion, when your voice is so abrupt, so authoritative. When you pass judgment on others. When your syntactic and grammatical mistakes are so obvious that even a 10-year-old student would avoid. When your personal and subjective notion on femininity, womanhood, tradition, and religion is shoved down our throats page by page. When you use a loud ‘'We'' to ascertain and verify your personal beliefs and observations. No. When your retellings of famous fairytales are loaded with sexual connotations and cheap alterations. When you accuse Tolkien of ‘'sexism'' because there was no female member in the Fellowship (!) This is cheap, uneducated ‘'feminism'' to the extreme. When a father allows his children to go to the woods provided they have a cell phone with them and you accuse him of ‘' denying'' them their freedom and ‘'supervising them from afar.'' When you don't even know the origin of the word ‘'Magi'' or ‘'spinster''. When you write something like this: I am uncertain where these lepers came from initially.
No. Even references to Merlin, Macbeth and Angela Carter won't be enough to save this. And if you don't like beech trees, dear ‘'writer'', leave them alone.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''And yet there are other nights - nights when the wind carries something unsettling through the Vieux Carre's cramped streets. Nights when the black water of the Mississippi whispers something of the past as it crawls bu the same something that the rain seems to want to say as it falls over Jackson Square. Those who happen to be in the square on such nights can't help but notice the way the St. Louis looks, glowing moon-like with disquieting intensity, somehow bigger than usual, somehow alive.''
Louisiana has always exerted a special kind of fascination on me. Its cultural vibe, the artistic influence, the beautiful architecture. I remember watching a documentary on Mississippi at a relatively young age. I was hooked. Immediately. New Orleans is a city I never stop dreaming of visiting. Even through the lens of a film, its sounds, its music, the golden lights of the streetlamps, the perfume of a glass of bourbon are tangible, so far and yet so close. I admit, though, I never thought that this beautiful place on our World Map would hide such a close association with the supernatural. It was when I started researching the Paranormal and the Occult that I discovered what a vast source of information Louisiana is.
Lone Pine Publishing has created a series of volumes of ghost stories from the USA and Canada and I chose to start with Louisiana, doubly prompted by my love for True Detective (season 1, of course!) and its gloriously haunting atmosphere. Dan Asfar does a wonderful job taking the reader on a mysterious walk in the cryptic bayous, the tormented plantations, and amidst the swing and laughter and darkness of the famous French Quarter. The ghosts of the Myrtles Plantation are restless and ever-watchful, the LaLaurie house is still alive with the memories of an unimaginably horrible past. The spirit of Marie Laveau, the legendary Voodoo Queen, is still invoked on June 23. An unfortunate boatman of the Mississippi had a tragic encounter with the Devil. The French myth of Gevaudan was brought along and occupied the swamps around Bayou Goula. An eerie apparition haunts drivers in the Calcasieu Parish.
We are also given a haunting account of a tourist who wanted to enjoy Mardi Gras and the vibe of Bourbon Street and encountered a strange lady by the river. In a house in Baton Rouge, a beloved presence watches over a family and in the Garden District, a young girl from the other side protects a child of the living. On Potter Road, a tragic accident haunts the youth community. A creepy wooden statuette hides more than it seems. On Highway 810, a barn is a silent witness to a crime, on Chartres Street, the Bells of Good Friday can be heard each year, commemorating a tragedy. Jackson Square and St. Louis Cathedral are reminders of Pére Dagobert's bravery and defiance.
Needless to say, I found myself walking down the streets of New Orleans, guided by Asfar's beautiful writing. And I did look over my shoulder once or twice. Or more...
''Then, from somewhere inside, an eerie melody emerges. A sorrowful song in another language grows louder and louder. It seems to be emanating from inside the cathedral, but the door is still shut and there is no one there. The words are audible now: ‘‘Kyrie Eleison, Kyrie Eleison.'' Sung over and over in mournful elegy - the Catholic supplication for mercy on the souls of the dead.''
My reviews can also be found on: https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''Sometimes, during the summer months, you can see phantom islands floating on the sea where there shouldn't be land at all. There were said to be the summer abodes of the fin folk, called Hind-Land in the North Isles of Orkney.''
Orkney is one of the most mysterious and culturally charged places in Scotland. The amalgam of the Pictish and Viking culture and the untamed nature, the wind, the wild sea, the ages of history and myths have given birth to a land where ancient footsteps can still be heard along the coast, the crossroads, the Neolithic tombs, the traces of a mystical presence. And the afterlife.
Allegedly linked to the Arthurian Saga as the homeland of King Lot, father to Gawain and Agravaine among others, Orkney hides a plethora of treasures. Selkies, fin men, kelpies, witches, ghosts. Witches control storms, vanishing islands can be seen momentarily through the summer fog, shipwrecks and treasures related to the Spanish Armada and dealings with the Devil that never end up well.
Tom Muir has collected a beautiful array of folk tales born in Orkney. We find an interesting legend on how the Mermaid acquired its tale that links the legendary creature to Eve, the tale of Ursilla and her male selkie lover, the strange fate of Janet, the Storm Witch, the quest of Jessie and the Book of the Black Arts, the haunting, tragic tale of Scotta Bess and a man who loved not wisely, but too well, and many more.
The writer includes personal incidents experienced by himself and his family, which makes the reading experience vivid and realistic. Embellished with beautiful illustrations by Sheila Faichney, the tales told by the Orcadians around the fire is one more exciting stop in the legendary journey in Ireland and the British Isles.
''I hope that you will enjoy these tales and maybe, just for a moment, smell the sweet fragrance of the meadow- sweet on the warm summer breeze, hear the song of the lark singing in the skies and catch the gentle lapping of the wolves on an Orkney shore.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''My sister is a black hole.My sister is a tornado.My sister is the end of the line my sister is the locked doormy sister is a shot in the dark.My sister is waiting for me.My sister is a falling tree.My sister is a bricked-up window.My sister is a wishbone my sister is the night trainmy sister is the last packet of crisps my sisteris a long lie-in.My sister is a forest on fire,My sister is a sinking ship.My sister is the last house on the street.''
Two sisters. September and July. A broken mother. A house that stands witness to an unfolding drama, a silent observer of two lives that try to find a direction, in a society that is always ready to judge and condemn.
This is the new triumph by Daisy Johnson, one of the most brilliant, most unique writers of our generation.
''This the year we are houses, lights on in every window, doors that won't quite shut.''
''The house is going to float away and take my darling girls with it.''
September and July are two ordinary teenagers who face the same problems like any other teenager in the world. Acceptance, uncertainty, desire, coping with the despicable attitude of the ‘‘popular'' students and the absence of the father. Their mother is fighting against her own demons and the two girls are practically left to look after themselves, their only support being the bond between sisters. Daisy Johnson uses poetic language to depict the daily life and the issues that require strength and resilience. However, this novel is far from an ordinary contemporary account of a family. It is a haunting mystery of the past and the uncertain, fragile future.
''Something is screaming in the wall.''
Set in the North York moors, the house becomes a character, a significant, misty presence looming over the small family. With evident traces of depression and desperate actions of self-harm, darkness has engulfed the two girls. The house seems alive, full of sounds and shadows, full of memories and lurking threats. The rain doesn't stop, the birds are menacing, the ants are crawling inside the walls, whispers and cracks and the fragile mind of July who struggles to understand her sister and the world around her. What has happened to this house? What has happened to this family? Johnson's outstanding writing leaves the answers to us...
''There are so many noises she cannot sleep. In the night, mostly, thumps and thundering, the sound of many footsteps, the crash of windows opening and closing, sudden explosions which sound like shouting. Sometimes she goes rushing out, still half-asleep, but there is never anyone there.''
Following the mysterious Fen and the haunting Everything Under, Daisy Johnson gives us one more masterpiece in Sisters. An earthy, raw, brave hymn to sisterhood and family relationships, an elegy for the darkness we are called to fight against from an early age, a moving account of carrying on when all else is fading...
How fortunate and grateful we must feel for Daisy Johnson's presence in the literary world...
P.S. If this doesn't find a place in the Man Booker list, I am done with this award. For real.
''The Settle House is load-bearing. Here is what it bears: Mum's endless sadness, September's frightful wrath, my quiet failures to ever do quite what anyone needs me to do, the seasons, the death of small animals in the scrublands around it, every word that we say in love or anger to one another.''
Many thanks to Random House UK and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'I like to paint as a bird sings.''
(Claude Monet)
A beautiful book that aims to introduce the younger audience to one of the masterminds of Impressionism. Claude Monet was one of the first artists to escape the old-school principles of Art, challenging the never-ending arrays of still-life works and epic themes. He wanted to depict the beauty of Nature, the magic of the moment, the interaction of the human and the environment.
Inspired by the sun dancing on the Seine, Monet decided to follow his own dream. He moved to London and produced some of the most beautiful, atmospheric depiction of the Thames. Absorbing the paintings of Turner, he returned to Paris with his work Impression: Sunrise. Impressionism was born and a new light was dawning. Even when tragedy struck, Monet found peace in nature, his paintings communicated the comfort and shelter we can only find in a forest, in a summer field, in the murmurs of the river on a spring afternoon.
Moving written by Lucy Brownridge, beautifully illustrated by Caroline Bonne-Müller, and with informative descriptions of Monet's major works, this little gem is the perfect introduction of one of the greatest of all time and a chance for the young audience to learn and appreciate a world gone forever.
Many thanks to Quarto Publishing Group- Wide Eyed Editions and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''The light faded and the forest became darker and darker. The chill wind blew through the branches, which seemed to bend towards the bay like threatening claws. Every sound further convinced Sasha that he was not alone. A shiver ran down his spine as he noticed a mound of dead leaves in the middle of the path rustling, slowly moving.''
Paris, 1920s. A beautiful young boy finds himself alone in the City of Light. When he tires of spending his days in the dirty alleys and the cemetery of Paris, he heads to the forest. And there awaits a surprise. A feline with green eyes becomes his companion. Together they come across the Misty Circus and Ludovico Dragomir, a circus that comes and goes, a home for abandoned children. Sasha and Josh find their shelter. During a mysterious Samhain night, their steps lead them to the spells of a young blind witch.
''The wind began to whine, driving rattling, dry autumn leaves inside the tent. When darkness seemed to envelop the forest completely, an even eerier, more mysterious sound made Sasha and the cat shudder. That sound grew louder and louder. The two friends decided to take a peek outside, putting out their heads through the gap between the curtains that formed the walls of the circus tent. A ghostly silhouette in the distance appeared to advance through the woods, into the clearing, and towards the circus.''
The well-known Spanish artist Victoria Francés is famous for her unique style that balances the romantic, the whimsical and the dark Gothic aesthetic. In Misty Circus, she has created a beautiful, bittersweet and deeply touching tales of a child gifted with a special talent that helps him overcome his sorrow. It is a tale of the deep friendship between a human being and an animal, a story about hope and second chances, about friendship and finding your way through misfortune.
Incredibly beautiful, atmospheric artwork takes us into the heart of a mysterious forest, in a time when magic is still alive, a time when witches and magicians can help us escape a bleak reality.
The last word belongs to one of the most beautiful moments in Opera.
‘Vesti la giubba,E la faccia in farina.La gente paga, e rider vuole qua.E se Arlecchin t'invola Colombina,Ridi, Pagliaccio, e ognun applaudir!Tramuta in lazzi lo spasmo ed il pianto;In una smorfia il singhiozzo il dolor,Ah! Ridi, Pagliaccio,Sul tuo amore infranto!Ridi del duol, che ti avvelena il cor!'‘(‘' Put on your costumeand powder your face.The audience pays and wants to laught,And if Harlequinsteals Colombina from you,laugh, Pagliaccio...and everyone will applaud!Turn into jest,your anguish and your sorrowinto a grimaceyour sobs and your grief!Laugh, clown,at your broken love!Laugh at the painwhich poisons your heart!'')
From Pagliacci by Ruggero Leoncavallo
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''I know you now, even if it's only a little bit, and I know it's strange, but I didn't before, and I might never have known you unless somebody had written these lines. Who knows how many people are missing you this very minute, late at night or early in the morning, drinking tea with milk, reading about the life you had, and wondering how are your loved ones doing?''
April is a young woman, soon turning 30, living in Los Angeles. Always optimistic and gentle, smart and acutely honest, she fights with the very tangible reality of Death. The dark visitor has claimed her stepfather and her father had committed suicide years ago. As the turbulent decade of the 1990s is reaching its end, April takes on a year-long journey in the City of Angels, in a city without seasons. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. Days of changes, of holidays, of family gathering, of love and loss and sharing. Days when Death is casting his terrible shadow...
This is a quietly beautiful, tender book. Do not expect any shuttering incidents or intricate twists. This is an account, an array of snippets through the eyes of a very approachable character who contemplates on living alone and then sharing the present and the possibility of a future along with a special someone, on adult life and dealing with bitter loss. The worries of an uncertain financial situation, the Jewish traditions of her family, the noise and clutter of the big city, depression and being afraid of a new start. In essence, this novel is the narration of experiences we all have been through, issues we have been called to deal with and overcome.
The prose in Death and Other Holidays reminds me of the sweet, mellow afternoon sunlight that finds its way through the window, lending a golden glow in our room, the soft sun rays that are slowly turning dimmer as afternoon merges into evening in a late spring day. Sometimes, quietness and simplicity speak volumes...
''In the Magic Mountain, Thomas Mann describes the astronomical phenomenon where, half the year, the northern hemisphere appears inclined toward life, the days stretching longer and longer until they reach their highest point of light, the summer solstice. The calendar marks the day as the zenith of sunshine, but what's really happening is that from that point on, the North Pole begins moving farther and farther away from the sun,m toward winter, and the darkest day of the year. It has to do with position. The moment your side of the planet reaches its peak, you're already headed into the night.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''So what? What do we care about the future?''
Liza, a girl of fourteen, the ‘‘Isolde'' of the title, lives the ‘‘good life'' in Biarritz, in the shadow of her mother who cares for nothing and no one except her good-for-nothing lover. But they live on borrowed time and borrowed money. Lisa believes that life is sunshine, car rides, and handsome boys. When she meets an English teenager, she is caught in her brother's web while Andrei, her Russian boyfriend, is watching and waiting...
''It was nothing to do with him. It was someone else's grief.''
Written in the 1920s, this is the story of a generation wasted, a generation lost, forced to abandon Russia for a sunny place somewhere in Western Europe. A temporary sunshine that hides the decadence, hypocrisy and ephemeral entertainment that swallows the youth's soul and mind. And even if the dream of returning to Moscow and St. Petersburg is always alive, it requires money. Money is nowhere to be found. Unless you steal. Unless you turn into a whore.
''But somewhere in the background she can hear the bitterness and the sadness.''
Liza smiles and dances and falls in love too easily. She is fourteen, practically motherless, fascinating and enticing. She is ‘‘a nun and a witch in one''. She captivates and lures but never loses her innocence or her kindness. For some strange, it is exactly her contradictory nature that puts her in danger. This is an example of the battle of the sexes that starts at an early age, the willingness of a man to utilize the woman's potential fragility once he understands that she has fallen in love.
The spirit of the era, the antithesis between Paris and Moscow, the frenetic time that dictates a wild, carefree attitude, the sensuality, seductiveness and the underlying sorrow and desperation are masterfully depicted. But I have to say that one needs to understand the female soul to fully appreciate Odoevtseva's pen. To the superficial reader- and God knows they are many- the writing may seem melodramatic and meaningless. No. Despite the ‘‘light'' atmosphere and the lack of ground-breaking events, Isolde is an excellent study of an era full of uncertainty and contradictions and characters that knew no family, no present and future was just a remote possibility.
If you take the time to fully engage and search beyond the glamour and teenage love troubles, you will understand why Irina Odoevtseva is now considered one of the ‘‘lost'' great female authors in Russian Literature. Thank God for Pushkin Press.
''And over by Kuznetsky Bridge, down on the ice, lives a white polar bear, and the sky sparkles pink all night long with dancing Northern Lights.''
Many thanks to Pushkin Press, NetGalley and Edelweiss for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''The woods were very still. And so quiet. Kikko's footsteps were the only sound.''
In a marvelous winter wonderland, Kikko is watching her father leaving for her grandma's house. But, wait! He has forgotten the pie! Grandma loves pies! So, Kikko decides to follow her dad, the delicious pie at hand. Curiosity and misunderstanding (and quite a few footsteps on the snow...) lead her to a beautiful estate where a tea party is taking place. However, this party is definitely unexpected and unique...
My first experience with Miyakoshi's beautiful work was The Piano Recital. In The Party In The Woods, she creates the story of a brave girl and the bond between the human and the animal kingdom that brings to mind our most favourite fairy tales, like Red Riding Hood , Alice In Wonderland, and the musical suite Le Carnaval des Animaux by Camille Saint-Saëns. A marvelous read to accompany the last days of winter.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''Even a broken clock is right twice a day.'‘ (quote from the 2014 film The Imitation Game)
Alan was a shy boy. His brain could work in such mysterious, fascinating ways and difficult math problems were only a child's puzzle to him. He soon discovered that there is another driving force in life besides Science. He discovered love.
But Fate had decided differently and the most terrible war, the most frightening era in History was about to begin...
Alan thought and thought, his dream seemed impossible. How could anyone create a machine that would be able to calculate anything calculable? Alan and his colleagues, engineers, chess players, mathematicians, were asked to use numbers and codes not to solve a mere mathematical problem but to achieve the highest ideal. To save innocent lives from a threat that slowly swallowed everyone and everything.
It is estimated that over 14 million lives were saved when the Enigma was broken. The Nazis were unable to resurrect it and the war was won. Everything was done in secrecy, the world didn't know that it was Alan and a small group of brilliant minds that have contributed to the defeat of the nightmare.
His country did not pay attention to his work, though. The fact that Alan was a homosexual was far more important than his invaluable gift to our world. Horrible ‘‘treatments'', abuse, persecution. This was what he deserved according to the Labouchere Amendment, a tyrannical law.
Alan Turing died at the age of 41 due to cyanide poisoning. His legacy lives in our homes, in our freedom, in the society that has become much more open-minded and accepting (although the road is still long...).
''Sometimes it is the people no one imagines anything of who do the things that no one can imagine.'‘ (Alan Turing)
Many thanks to Frances Lincoln Children's Books and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''There are ghosts and ghoulies that can give you a fright When you're tucked up warm in your bed.There are things that sometimes go bump in the night Or are they just inside your head?''
We have often referred to the mystical identity of Ireland, its folklore and traditions, its customs, the myths, the legends, the beautiful nature, the vast literary culture. Today, however, we're going to find ourselves in dark places, communicating with the haunted corners of the land, the world that is unseen except for those few moments when the veil becomes thinner, for better or for worse...
The scream of the wailing banshees travels over the Irish countryside and beyond, following the members of families that decided to leave their homeland and laments their impending demise. It passes over Duckett's Grove, Co. Carlow. At Hungry Hall, in Co. Kildare, a witch is said to have committed the worst of atrocities and in county Down, James Haddock's ghost returns to set things right. In Mayo, a sad doll searches for a home in our modern era. Leap Castle (Co. Offaly) is haunted by an elemental force, fed by the presence of an oubliette. In Tipperary, the legend of Petticoat Lucy narrates the story of a strange witch and in Fermanagh, a formidable woman returns from the grave to claim her child in a chilling story that contains a full-blown Conjuring moment. Whispers of satanic rituals and demons permeate the same county and old cottage which houses the Cooneen poltergeist.
Read about Burke and Hare, the Irish Resurrection Men, who ‘‘created'' their own corpses to ensure that business would continue as usual. Trace one of the possible inspirations that led to Stoker's novel in county Derry and the story of Abhartach, the man who was buried three times. Remember the stories of rituals taking place in nunneries and scary nuns when you read about the Black Hag of Shanagolden Abbey in Limerick. We return in Derry to meet the radiant children, emissaries of a destiny of great power and a violent death. In Mayo, the tragic story of a lighthouse keeper and his wife awaits along with a severe case of poltergeist activity in a contemporary household.
Stories of changelings and scarecrows, black dogs and cats, haunted castles and abbeys, open graves and pookas and the steps of the druids of old. An exciting, atmospheric and terrifying anthology, honouring the dark folklore and true experiences of the world beyond our own that is much closer than we think, wonderfully narrated by Tony Locke.
''When you are out for a walk in the woods and you hear a noise or when you are standing by a lake and you suddenly feel uneasy, who knows what may be lurking in the undergrowth or beneath the dark waters?''
''The Druids of old have been laid to rest once again. As for their protector, well, if at night you pass by a certain place in the west of Ireland and hear a whisper, keep walking. If you hear the wind and the sound of low laughter, walk a little faster.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''The Hekne twins were young women when one fell ill. The thought of what this might mean - that the survivor would have to drag her sister's corpse around with her- was unbearable. So their father, Erik Hekne, went to the church and prayed for them to be allowed to die together.'‘''Winter'', he thought, ‘‘that wretched winter.And death.''
In this small Norwegian community, the past is everywhere. In the myths narrated by the elderly, in the names that echo the deities of old, in the beautiful carvings found in the stave churches, symbols commemorating the pagan past in perfect harmony with the Christian present. Above all, it resides in the Sister Bells, cast out of the pain and gratitude of a father. Two church bells that warn of misfortune and danger. A young woman trying to discover what lies beyond the boundaries of the village. A pastor that wishes to follow the times that change. A German architect who wants to bite off more than he can chew.
‘'He was told that the villagers had, since time immemorial, kept their dead on their farms through the winter, frozen stiff in their coffins, even the bodies of children and babies could lie there for months, as everyday life carried on about them.''
Mytting's story could only take place in Norway. It would have been impossible to find a land charged with such powerful energy coming from a haunting past and a mystical landscape. Following a striking, fairytale-like start, we are introduced to Astrid and Kai's world, in an era when change abounds, science has started to pave new ways and women begin searching for a purpose and an independent existence. Kai, the young pastor, tries to discover how to balance religion and modernity and begins a fight against poverty and hardship. Astrid seeks love and escape, her rebellious nature protesting against a fate that has already been decided for her.
Do we have the right to destroy our heritage in the name of change, even if our intentions are honest? Can we easily dismiss traditions as ‘‘prejudices'' and deny that the spirits of our ancestors may find a way to have a say or two in such matters? When misfortunes start, when Kari På Vona comes out of the woods, when crows and wolves wander among humans and the villagers start thinking of the Midgard Serpent, when poverty claims souls by the dozen and spirits reside in the old belfry, can we say beyond any doubt that everything is a ‘‘coincidence''? I, for once, cannot.
This is Historical Fiction at its best and it would have been extraordinary if the translator had actually managed to depict the spirit of the language faithfully. The choice of having the villagers speak in Scottish dialect and the inserted verbal ‘‘mannerisms'' were jarring, to say the least. However, it would be a shame to subtract a star because of translation issues. The Bell In The Lake is a haunting journey to Norway, its folklore and heroic legends, its unique landscape and a homage to the resilience and determination of women.
''Something moved here, something greater, something that could never be confined to a curriculum at the academy. Something existed beneath these arches that could never be dispersed by the air, or divided into explicable constituents. It was the secret sail of hallowed wood, a smoky figure that had grown out of many centuries of grief and hope. Out of the longings of hundreds of souls, long dead, longings so strong as to be unendurable in their time, but which, liberated by death, had gathered here to float for ever.''
Many thanks to MacLehose Press and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
I was looking forward to this one but it was a disaster!
The narration jumps all over the place and resembles a dry textbook with clear traces of a self-righteous, pseudo-historian ego. Sub-chapters were definitely needed in each Part. It was rather difficult to follow the events as names, dates and incidents were generously thrown here and there without the slightest hint of coherence.
The writer's dismissive attitude towards the Church and Christianity in general was highly disrespectful and unacceptable. If you don't want a specific audience for your...book, make sure to mention it somewhere for all potential readers who want an objective view of the era. This read like a badly-written, pseudo-feminist libel towards everyone and everything.
Well, this potential reader is out and my advice to the writer is ‘'stick to your romance novels.''
Many thanks to Pen & Sword History and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
‘'This is a place of marvels.''
Unfortunately, this novel was anything but a marvel to me...
Set in the USA during the 1870s, this is the story of a daughter and a father who wanted to change the perception of what education actually meant for young women, aspiring to provide the -privileged- young ladies with spiritual talents, breaking the norms of traditional teaching. When the first students arrive at this peculiar school, things go awry very quickly. The daughter of a deceased writer who had provoked much havoc in his lifetime, an Art teacher that can't distinguish two from two and a repressed love complicate everything all too quickly. Add a bunch of strange dreams full of the colour red and a weird flock of red birds that come and go and you have a promising mixture for a novel.
Or not.
I couldn't wait to read The Illness Lesson. Judging from the synopsis, I couldn't see how this could go wrong. And yet, it proved to be my major disappointment for 2020. I had so many issues with the story, the writing, the characters, the execution that I don't know where to begin. Led by my personal standards and having read a ton of Historical Fiction and Magical Realism novels, I fast-forwarded my reading, wanting to reach the last page as soon as possible. I didn't want to abandon it even though it became hard for me to continue as soon as I reached about 40%.
I don't demand the characters in a novel to be of Shakespearean complexity and I don't expect Bronte female characters in every book I read. But I do want them to be at least remotely interesting. I don't even want them to be sympathetic but I need some spark, some ambition, a driving point. I found nothing here. Nothing. Not even a single character that could make me sit up and read carefully, that would make me care for their story. Caroline seemed to be an interesting character but her endless romantic monologues - although I should say ‘'horny'' and be done with it...- irritated and exhausted me. She was so docile and polite even when she should have reacted to set things right that I just couldn't cope with her. My rebel nature took the upper hand and I lost hope. Samuel was an ordeal. I grew tired of his pseudo-philosophical remarks, empty words, ridiculous points, absurd fantasies. David was a caricature, Sophia was another unbearable idiot testing my patience...
And the students? Jesus Christ Almighty! The entire bunch was an awful, hopeless, insolent lot. No motives, no meaningful behaviour. Silly small talk, ridiculous, naive, ‘'girly'' giggles. Repetitive and irritating. Eliza struggling to become the centre of attention is the epitome, the very definition of the worst type of students. Opinionated in all possible negative ways, brassy, and, ultimately, idiots. It takes a teacher to know and this array of stereotyped teenagers pushed all my buttons. I've been dealing with such students for many years and I know how to put them in their place. Caroline didn't. It was unrealistic, infuriating, cowardice.
I can't bring myself to believe that such behaviour would be tolerated at the time - at any time, frankly- even in the most progressive of schools. Somehow, it all seemed too far-fetched. Wives using their husbands' pet names in front of the students. Teachers watching a fellow teacher's lesson like vultures. Students explicitly making advances towards a teacher or disputing a view with absolute rudeness. And what were they taught? Nothing, absolutely nothing. In addition, having the story told through Caroline's eyes and experiencing the ‘'periphery'' of the action only when she manages to creep up on somebody to eavesdrop was constant. And it was tiring and boring. The novel would have benefited from multiple POVs even from this cast of utterly lifeless characters.
It's such a shame...the descriptions of the woods were beautiful and atmospheric and certain passages were haunting. But in the end, I didn't care for any of the characters, I didn't care for the story or the conclusion, or the implications of the Magical Realism subplot that was never fully realized or utilized. I have no doubts that this novel will appeal to the majority of readers but to me, it was an ordeal and a severe disappointment.
Many thanks to Doubleday and Edelweiss for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''Stories that have been inherited by our earliest civilised ancestors, who really believed that beasts and trees and stones can talk if they choose, and behave kindly or unkindly. The stories are full of the oldest ideas of ages when science did not exist and magic took the place of science.''My first experience with Andrew Lang's writing took place at university via a very interesting bibliography on Folklore. I hadn't had the chance to read a volume of the Fairy Books series until I discovered the entire collection in my favourite bookshop. I decided to start with The Violet Fairy Book that includes 25 tales from Serbia, Estonia, Lithuania, Russia, Japan, Africa, Romania, Portugal, Italy, Sweden and Germany.''Yes, forwards', answered the horse, ‘but you must tell me, my lord, at what speed you wish to go. Like the wind? Like thought? Like desire? Or like a curse?''(The Fairy of the Dawn, Romania)Brave princesses who fight for their destiny, princes and young peasants who are tested in all sorts of ways, kings who are deceived by evil queens, daughters who take up arms to protect their families, wise women with their spells and curses, animals that accompany the heroines and heroes, dragons, dwarves, bewitched children, fairies and giants. And even if certain tales may seem dated and old-fashioned, we need to remember that forced modern values and political correctness are of no use here. Tales and fables are what they are, born out of their era and particular social circumstances. Anything else is one more chance for ridiculous discussion on social media.'' ‘Between Christmas and the New Year', said he, ‘I often amuse myself by wandering about the earth watching the doings of men and learning something about them. But as far as I have seen and heard I cannot speak well of them. The greatest part of them are always quarreling and complaining of each other's faults, while nobody thinks of his own.''My favourite tales in the volume are A Tale of the Tontlawald from Estonia, The Three Princes and their Beasts from Lithuania, he Goat's Ears of the Emperor Trojan from Serbia, The Nine- Pea Hens and the Golden Apples from Serbia, The Lute Player from Russia, The Child Who Came From An Egg from Estonia, The Two Frogs from Japan, The Underground Dwarves from Estonia, The Boys With the Golden Stars from Romania, and The Frog, an Italian version of the Russian tale of The Frog Princess.''I sing of blooming flowers Made sweet by sun and rain;Of all the bliss of love's first kiss, And parting's cruel pain.‘Of the sad captive's longing Within his prison wall,Of hearts that sigh when none are nigh To answer to their call.'' '' ‘Warriors', he told her, ‘only rest when they have won the victory. You have still another battle to fight, and it is the hardest of all.''My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
'''Tis thin, this place of water and stone and tree. Here meet north and south, Highland and Lowland, Gael and Scot. Here are mountains made too thin for awe; burns that idle over-prettily, the maist o'them, for the making of grand waterfalls; lochs rendered so gay by silver-green woodland that a man could forget- aye, and a woman too, my lady of the bellowing dress- the depth of their blackness. The most profound separation in all existence is at its most thin here as well. Perilously thin. This have I also discovered. And so will she.''
Scotland, Loch Katrine, 1850s. A young doctor and his wife try to bring change and radical thinking to a rural community in Stirlingshire. However, all the knowledge and progress in the world may mean little when the happiness of having a child in the family is missing. Isabel tries to accept that motherhood is a remote possibility and finds solace in the beautiful nature of the lochs and the moors, trying to become a part of her husband's work in a time when Florence Nightingale achieves the impossible;e. A time when Queen Victoria brings another child into the world. A time when a man trapped in time tries to find peace...
Sally Magnusson is of Scottish and Icelandic descent and the rich cultural heritage is brilliantly demonstrated in her writing. The story is set during the heyday of the Victorian Era when numerous changes brought progress and prosperity. However, no change comes without repercussions and doubts, and ignoring tradition is risky. The lochs hide so much beauty, so much mystery and centuries-old secrets of a world that is bound to human existence, no matter how unbelievable it may seem. Magnusson makes excellent use of the setting since Scotland is one of THE places to be when the veil between the two worlds becomes thinner. ‘‘Which world,'' you may ask. Why, our own and the fairy kingdom, of course.
What made The Ninth Child so interesting was Magnusson's choice to have the haunting world of the past, the stories of fairies, changelings and spirits walking side - by - side with Victorian society as industrialization is taking over and science begins to acquire the means to advance. But sometimes. science can only do so much...Magnusson expertly uses Victoria and Albert's presence in their beloved Balmoral, Sir Walter Scott's love for folklore and legends, old wives' tales and customs, and the strange -partly true- story of Robert Kirke and creates a plot where the vast Scottish tradition and the mystery of our human nature meet to unpredictable results. The symbolism of Shakespeare's Cymbeline is obvious when you read the novel and lends a whimsical aura to a rather dark story.
What made me enjoy the novel less was the lack of interesting characters, in my opinion. I can't say that Isabel is the most sympathetic character I've ever encountered. I felt that she was naive and cold and her behaviour towards her husband was highly problematic and unjust. Kirsty was also irritating, Kirke was indifferent, Alexander was nothing to write home about.
It would have been easy for the story to end up in disaster, given certain important parts of the plot, and result in a work that would be in danger of being compared to a popular series set in Scotland, a series which I hate with a vengeance. Thankfully, Magnusson is a consummate writer. She wisely chooses to provide us with multiple perspectives and the story benefits from it. Multiple narrations and characters don't bring confusion but richness and variety. Every reader should know that...
This is a good time to be a Historical Fiction lover...
Many thanks to John Murray Press and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''I think you can let the baby Jesus go'', Slonsky said. ‘‘He's innocent, just like the real one.''
Behind the shiny ornaments, the bright lights, the laughter, the flowing wine, and the presents, dark intentions may find a fertile ground to flourish. Winter is a time for being cautious, Christmas is a time for gatherings. And gatherings sometimes bring disputes. And who knows where disputes might lead...Small wonder that a plethora of mysteries takes place during the holidays.
This collection includes 11 short stories whose setting varies from Prague to Brighton, from the 17th century to 2019. Lost relationships, strange felonies, apparitions, mistakes create an interesting array of mostly well-written stories with a distinctive Christmas aura and vivid settings.
Away In A Monger by Graham Brack: A funny story of pickpocketing set in the Old Town Square of a festive, crowded Prague.
''The clock in the hall struck three. Charles Dickens did not sleep again that night.''
Footsteps In The Snow by J.C.Brigss: Charles Dickens finds himself face-to-face with an inexplicable premonition and a strange death. The atmosphere in this tale is outstanding.
Lost and Found by Keith Moray: The story of a death in the family on Boxing Day, in the company of bagpipes. Set in West Uist, Scotland, the folklore element is very vivid and makes this story much more than a death mystery.
The Spirit of Christmas by Cora Harrison: A mystery set in Victorian London, taking place close to the amazing Hamley's toy shop. Clever boys, a dog and a constable battling with the perplexities of the metropolis in an era of changes.
The Stolen Santa Sack by Sean Gibbons: A story set in Galway, Ireland, in our time. This one was pretty horrible. Ridiculous plot, jokes of the lowest quality possible, vulgar language to the point of disgust. Pure trash.
Will Power by Marilyn Todd: A moving tale of a brave young woman who almost falls victim to a man's exploitation and an intelligent crime scene photographer.
Christmas Spirit by Gaynor Torrance: The second story/garbage that reads like an awful cop-movie. The Welsh slang and swearing didn't really help...
The Essex Nativity by David Field: Two police officers battle crime in the streets of Essex, during the 1890s.
Secret Santa by Kim Fleet: A story of Christmas hope and the past that refuses to be put to rest, set in Cheltenham.
Stir Up Sunday by M.J. Logue: The mystery of a stolen recipe book set within the political and religious turmoil of the 17th century.
The Christmas Ghost by Linda Stratmann: A touching story of a bereaved mother and a woman with a special gift, of deathly mistakes and reconciliation, set in Brighton in 1871.
Even though Mystery and Crime aren't amongst my favourite genres, Christmas calls for a cozy or two (or more...) and this collection is definitely a satisfying company.
''Charles Dickens started out at the snow which lay thick and shining under a great lamp of a moon. The moon seemed unusually large to him, yet it was peaceful, seeming to light the way to the heavens.''
Many thanks to Sapere Books and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''Although one snowflake had already sifted past the lights, the great doors of the house stood open. It seemed less a snowflake than a shadow; for a bitter wind whipped after it, and the doors creaked. Inside, Rodney and Muriel Hunter could see a dingy, narrow hall paved in dull red tiles, with a Jacobean staircase at the rear. (At that time, of course, there was no dead woman lying inside.)''
Here I am, sounding like an awful broken record! Christmas is for classics, folklore, ghost stories, and mysteries. Lots of mysteries of the good, old times when quirky characters, quaint settings, and locked room crimes were enough to create perfect enigmas. You know, so unlike the contemporary ‘‘mystery'' novels.
British Library Crime Classics aims to reintroduce writers who were famous during the Golden Age of Crime and then fell into undeserved obscurity. This collection of crime stories set during Christmas is my introduction to the series and it is fabulous.
A Christmas Tragedy by Baroness Orczy: The vice of a young woman leads to persecution and awful repercussions.
By The Sword by Selwyn Jepson: An ambitious young man who is constantly feeding his obsessions with signs finds himself in the centre of a family curse.
The Christmas Card Game by Donald Stuart: The eponymous story is an ingenious tale of identity and deceit, set in a viciously freezing Christmas Eve in Bodmin Moor.
The Motive by Ronald Knox: A successful lawyer narrates a strange case set in a train. But nothing is as it seems...
Blind Man's Hood by Carter Dickson: A haunting, atmospheric story set in an imposing estate, centered around obsession, secrecy, adultery and the ghosts of the past seeking justice. In my opinion, this is the finest story in the collection.
Paul Temple's White Christmas by Francis Durbridge: The Christmas adventure of a special couple, set in Switzerland.
Sister Bessie or Your Old Leech by Cyril Hare: A story of the past we can't leave behind, of pretense and blackmailing.
A Bit of Wire-Pulling by E.C.R.Lorac: A clever tale that reminded me of Christie's finest moments.
Pattern of Revenge by John Bude:Two men vie for the same women and the consequences are devastating. A story set in Norway.
Crime at Lark Cottage by John Bingham: A man finds himself lost in a snowstorm and in the centre of a strange family dispute.
‘Twixt the Cup and the Lip by Julian Symons: Christmas shopping in Oxford Street and a cunning plan. And royal jewelry. Perfection.
This collection is perfect for the readers of British-style mysteries. Ghosts, strange footprints in the snow, mysterious estates, women and men with firm motives for murder, and a unique British Christmas atmosphere. Needless to say, I need to own the entire series...
''This was perfect December weather - crispy cold, the sun shining. Oxford Street was wearing its holiday decorations - enormous gold and silver coins from which depended ropes of pearls, diamonds, rubies, emeralds. When lighted up in the afternoon they looked pretty, although a little garish for Mr. Payne's refined taste. But still, they had a certain symbolic feeling about them, and he smiled at them.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''Time had stopped and God had turned His back on the world.''
Cornwall, 20 years after the Napoleonic Wars. Life in the isolated village of Porthmorvoren is hard. Living in extreme poverty, battling with the formidable weather conditions and the sea, the villagers have been practicing a macabre hunt, stealing valuables and liquor from the bodies that are washed ashore. Until the limits are crossed and punishment must follow. Amidst the troubling events, a young woman is trying to escape the vile circle, seeking a better life. When she rescues a Methodist minister, everything is turned upside down to unknown results...
This is one of those books you approach with extreme caution. Cornwall, Bodmin, smugglers, Methodist communities...It all sounds too familiar when you have read and loved Jamaica's Inn by Daphne du Maurier. Thankfully, O'Reilly knew that there can be no comparisons and chose a different path for his story. He composes a tale that takes place in a wild and unforgiving land and a community whose inhabitants are cruel and merciless. Drunkards, criminals, violent creatures whose only thought is how to find the necessary pennies to pay for the night's liquor. The women in the village are eager to find a husband at all costs and then they eagerly regret their choice. The elders are willing to point the finger at anyone who will try to deviate from the established hierarchy. God is nowhere to be found. This community is so horrible that even Satan would be wary to do business with them. Mary Blight is the only human being with common sense, intelligence, and ambition, fighting against monsters. But if you let your defenses down, you are bound to pay the price.
''The old ruin was no more than a great, cold tomb, full of the bones of the dead. In daylight's first glimmers, the pews took ghostly form, and a pale shape with outstretched wings dropped out of the black depths of the tower and floated over my head through the nave.''
I loved the way O'Reilly constructed the story of Mary within the fascinating setting of Cornwall. We are introduced to the village ethics and when we are transferred to the towns across the moors we understand that the so-called privileged society doesn't differ one iota from the fishermen and their wives. Mary has to cope with prejudice, preconceived notions of propriety, class and femininity and the secretive nature of a man who uses God as a smokescreen to avoid dealing with his own faults.
''It was only an owl, home from its night haunts. Outside on the moor, the world slowly filled with sound of birdsong, the lowing of cows and the bleating of sheep.''
Cornwall is the proper place for the unfolding of dark tales and this is a dark tale. There are no ghosts but the worst type of darkness that exists in people's hearts. Hypocrisy and jealousy, blaming our own vile mistakes and decisions to God, denying responsibility, envying the ones who are able to make their lives better. All we need to do is to destroy them because we can't follow their example. Mary is a beautiful character, realistic, vivid and feisty without seeming fake. Personally, I fully understood her motives and thoughts and she is the perfect personification of the untamed, rebellious nature of Cornwall.
Full of haunting descriptions and a well-constructed plot, O'Reilly comments on the themes of despair and treachery, earthly love and spiritual adoration, struggle and retribution in a fine and memorable example of Historical Fiction.
''Can't I look at a pretty view and enjoy it without thinking Bible thoughts? You can pick a leaf off any tree and wonder at its colour and shape, at the veins that run through it, so like those on the backs of our hands. The Maker lets the skylark soar and sing her heart out in any way she pleases, so why must we cage our feelings and not let them out. This land lives in me, is in my soul.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''Yes, I want you to love me, and to be my wife. I don't know how to tell you; but I love you better than anything and everything in the world- better than all the world put together. I have done so from the first moment that I saw you; I have.''
Excuse me but Maurice managed to convince even me...
From Charles Dickens to Anthony Trollope, one more pillar of British Literature. A master of social satire, his novels present an array of memorable characters, faithful portraits of the social classes and accurate studies of the mysterious ways in which love chooses to work. His stories and novels are rich in feelings and troubled couples that try to overcome themselves to find a balance. This lovely collection is comprised of five stories set during Christmas and centered around love troubles. And troubles, in general...
Christmas At Thompson Hall: One of the most well-known stories by Trollope. A delightful (and infuriating) tale of a married couple that tries to travel from France to England. The only problem apart from the heavy snow is the serious case of having a hypochondriac husband. And let's face it. I have yet to meet a man who doesn't believe that Death will come for him once he falls victim to the common cold. I mean, don't start me on that...Misunderstandings, mistrust, social decorum and an extremely resilient wife are the ingredients of this wonderful Christmas classic.
Christmas Day At Kirkby Cottage: Now, my friends certainly know that Romance and I are sworn enemies. BUT. I cannot say ‘‘no'' to troubled, misunderstood and occasionally tormented affairs. This story, set in a very picturesque country estate, centers around a confused young lady and an even more confused young man. It reminded me of Pride and Prejudice and there is country folklore as well so go read it now!
The Mistletoe Bough: One more young couple that tries to decide what to do when faced with their imaginary perceptions of what ‘‘marriage'' means. A tale that is charming and poignant in its simplicity, slightly echoing Austen's Persuasion.
The Two Generals: A story of brotherly confrontation, of politics and love, set during the Civil War in the USA.
Not If I Know It: Two intelligent young wives try to settle the ridiculous dispute between their husbands.
Five stories of love and trouble, of remarkable heroines, quintessentially Victorian young men and the aura of Christmas Past. Part of a special collection of beautiful hardbacks dedicated to six Christmas classics.
''But I do not think that a woman should be the ivy, to take the direction of every branch of the tree to which she clings, If she does so, what can be her own character?''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''What surprises me isn't that we sin, but that we manage a single good action in all of our lives.''
A strange array of people has gathered in a cottage in the marshlands. An endless heatwave and the unbearable drought create a suffocating atmosphere that gives rise to the boiling conflicts between the members of the fellowship. One of them is John Cole, an enigmatic Londoner, who has found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Who are these people? Why are they there, battling a cruel summer and each other? What is the story of the houses and why does John feel watched and threatened?
''I've been listening for footsteps on the stairs or voices in the garden, but there's only the sound of a household keeping quiet.''
This is the debut novel of Sarah Perry, the astonishing writer who has given us the beautiful The Essex Serpent and the inimitable, shuttering Melmoth. As always, Perry's story is woven in rich atmosphere and symbolism. There is an eerie quietness and the ‘‘heavy'' feeling of rain that never comes. A strange name appears everywhere and must not be uttered. Questions of identity, secret desires, hallucinating dreams. Everyone's minds are occupied by a nameless threat that is lurking and the fear of a flood permeates the story. With a dreamy combination of underlying sexuality and themes of Religion, Perry creates a novel that requires patience, dedication and a certain clarity of mind.
''Where is the horse gone'', she read. ‘‘Where the rider...'' ‘‘...and where the giver of treasure...''
''Someone had broken the spine of a book and left it open on the lawn, and near the windows rosebushes had withered back to stumps. A ginger cat with weeping eyes was stretched out in the shade between them, panting in the sun.''
I won't insult your intelligence by being Miss Obvious, stating what a unique writer Sarah Perry is. This is universally acknowledged. She has taken all the characteristics of British Mystery and the effect of the atmospheric marshlands to compose a story where paranoia and seduction are highlighted by strange bird cries, fleeting visions of a woman in black and a door that must remain closed. In rich symbolism and Gothic motifs, Perry paints a story where no one moves for fear of revealing themselves and their motives.
''When I was young, it used to frighten me- I didn't think a painting should look at me like that. Sometimes I'd stand directly in front of it, and see my own reflected face laid over hers, and I would wonder which of us was painted, and who was watching whom''
Sarah Perry's novel is like a mysterious, sultry summer evening. Like all of her books, After Me Comes The Flood is a very particular story for very particular readers...
''I gave my love an apple, Igave my love a pear;I gave my love a kiss on thelipsAnd threw him down thestairs.''
Many thanks to Custom House and Edelweiss for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'Long ago, before you were born, there were many more things here; my mother used to tell me when I was still a child. ‘'Transparent things, fragrant things...fluttery ones, bright ones...wonderful things you can't possibly imagine. It's a shame that the people who live here haven't been able to hold such marvelous things in their hearts and minds, but that's just the way it is one this island. Things go on disappearing, one by one. It won't be long now'', she added. ‘'You'll see for yourself. Something will disappear from your life.''
In an unnamed island, time passes quietly carrying the years of the islanders along the way. The years and the memories. Literally. Objects we all take for granted have disappeared. Ribbons, bells, precious stones, perfume, flowers, fruit. Objects and notions are being forgotten, along with feelings and thoughts. The elders of the community hide the secrets of the past in their eyes and hearts, unable to share them because the Memory Police are there to enforce the disappearances. Becoming more and more brutal, they persecute the ones who dare to react by preserving tokens of the lost objects or the citizens who are genetically unable to forget. The Memory Police want to create a community where every thought and feeling will have become a thing of the past, lost and forgotten until there's nothing left, until everyone is soulless.
‘'I wonder how the wind could tell the roses from all the other flowers.''
This is my first Ogawa novel and it proved to be one of the strangest, most haunting reading experiences. Behind the scenery of a form of a totalitarian regime, Ogawa presents issues that provide ample material for contemplation and discussion. What is the significance of Memory? How does it define the world we know? A ribbon is a ribbon because we know its name, we recognize its use. If we wake up one morning and decide that it is time to discard every ribbon we own, forget its existence and go on living, how will this change affect us? Once we forget every gift of Nature, every object mankind has created since the dawn of time, we will simply cease to exist.
‘'I sometimes wonder what I'd see if I could hold your heart in my hands.''
Ogawa creates a story/parable of disappearing notions and objects to refer to freedom of thought and speech, demonstrating the strong bond between our feelings and experiences and the way we perceive the world through our senses. We see an object, we smell a perfume, we listen to a melody and thoughts start flooding our mind. Without these stimuli, we are empty vessels. And this is exactly what regimes need. Empty moulds that have lost the ability to think and feel. Let us think of our past. Hitler and Stalin tried to create a ‘'clean sheet'' out of troubled societies, controlling everything. But Thought and Memory cannot be controlled. Not even by monsters.
Ogawa chooses not to name the country the story is set in. The heroine and the cast of characters remain nameless. Even the editor whom the young woman is trying to protect is simply called ‘'R''. This choice intensifies the haunting atmosphere and the universality of the themes. The main character is a very sympathetic, tangible woman. Sensitive, brave and determined to keep the spirit and the memory of her parents alive. She is a human being who thinks and feels, experiencing the dilemmas and fears of the one who tries to swim against the current, having lost her mother and father to the Memory Police.
‘'Autumn passed quickly. The crushing of the waves was sharp and cold, and the wind brought the winter clouds from beyond the mountains.''
In literary terms, this novel is quietly devastating. Haunting and atmospheric, its prose is hypnotic and unassumingly philosophical. The autumnal scenes and the long winter that seems to be unwilling to leave the island create a melancholic setting that makes the looming threat of the Memory Police a little more bearable. The scenes of the disappearing roses will make you cry. The dialogue is poetic and the extracts of the novel written by the main character add another dimension to the plot. Written 15 years ago, this novel has all the characteristics of Japanese Literature and succeeds in creating a Dystopian setting that is effective and terrifying. Most of the contemporary Anglo-Saxon wannabe-Dystopian writers could learn a thing or two by reading Ogawa's masterpiece. I doubt they will, though...
‘'I make my living now from my writing. So far, I've published three novels. The first was about a piano tuner who wanders through music chops and concert halls searching for her lover, a pianist, who has vanished. She relies solely on the sound of his music that lingers in her ears. The second was about a ballerina who lost her right leg in an accident and lives in a greenhouse with her boyfriend, who is a botanist. And the third was about a young woman nursing her younger brother, who suffers from a disease that is destroying his chromosomes. Each one told the story of something that had been disappeared.''
Many thanks to Pantheon and Edelweiss for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'The village is far behind me now, its squat church tower lost in trees. The lane I walk is flanked by hawthorn hedges, and on the regress glossy hart's tongue fens funnel the rain so it paddles in their centres where the new fronds unfurl. There are bluebells, too, not the pushy, varicoloured hybrids that colonise my London garden, but English bluebells hung with silver drops, delicately drooped like a shepherd's cloak, and with a curious luminosity to their cobalt flowers.''
Rain...one of the greatest gifts of Nature to her children. It nourishes and refreshes us. It creates a unique coziness that elevates our souls. And let us not forget that rain is a dream for us readers. However, rain can also turn into a strange enemy. Its ferocity combines with the endless ways we daily ravage Nature can lead to devastating results.
Walking in the rain is an experience in itself. Whether in a downpour or a drizzle, the smell of the trees, the sound of raindrops falling on our umbrellas, the pitter-patter on the roofs, our hasty steps on the pavements, whether in a hurry or a casual walk, rain is there to remind us of how alive Nature is, defining our moments. In Britain, rain has become a landmark. Speaking from personal experience, walking in the streets of London while the rain is falling is hard to describe. Imagine walking in the haunting British nature...
Melissa Harrison shares four walks in English weather, along with her thoughts on rain, its power, its whimsical tricks and its influence on our lives. Wicker Fen, Shropshire, the Darent Valley, and Dartmoor, from January to October, Melissa Harrison leads us over the fens and moors, echoing the thunderclouds that have provided material for myths and folk wisdom for centuries.
Embellished with a glossary of 100 words concerning rain and related meteorological terms, this book asks you to curl up, preferably during a rainy afternoon, and let yourselves wander the moors in the finest company.
‘'And there's something else that rain gives us; something deeper and more mysterious, to do with memory, and nostalgia, and a pleasurable kind of melancholy. Perhaps there have simply been too many novels with storm-drenched emotional climaxes, and too many films in which sad protagonists look out through rain-streaked windows, but it seems to me that rain is a mirror of one of our key emotional states: not a negative one at all, but deeply necessary- just as necessary as joy.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''This is the bitterest winter I can recall. Too cold, even for snow. A world washed innocent and white might bring me some comfort, but no - this is the season of sleet and gunmetal skies. Everything is grey and cold. It is like purgatory, like my heart.''
A heavy winter in Cornwall. Frost, mist. Silence. Icy tears on the windowpanes, the murmur of the tireless sea, the silence in a house where the past walks, rattling heavy chains. Two women. Hester Why, escaping from a dangerous position, fragile and susceptible to her demons, finds herself in a house where the sea can be heard through the walls, where locks turn by themselves. Where her mistress refuses to walk, her eyes fixed on a collection of china. Forty years earlier, Louise Pinecroft is trying to help her father with his ambiguous experiments on tuberculosis, the plague of the era. But how can you cope with unknown forces, forged by superstition and a very harsh reality?
My review cannot do justice to the unique ability of Laura Purcell to create modern masterpieces. Her talent to weave every feature that defines British Gothic Literature and Historical Fiction in a novel with astonishing results is awe-inspiring. In Bone China, the setting couldn't be more vividly depicted. We've seen it in The Silent Companions, we've seen it in The Corset. Here, Cornwall becomes a character, the driving force behind the plot. This wild corner of the British Isles provides the perfect background for a haunting, dark story and Laura Purcell makes excellent use of the powerful material. Legends of the fairy folk, shared in careful whispers by the members of the household. Bogs, strange cries, dogs barking, staring at the shadows. The wind is coming from the moors, carrying secrets whose roots are deep like the roots of an ash tree that reaches the underworld. Changelings breaking into the world of the mortals. Figurines staring at us, witnessing and waiting.
‘'The wind dies. The curtains slap back into place. Outside I can see the ocean, writing with glee, as if this were all a game.''
‘'The wind howls and ravens about the house, crashing the branches of the ash trees together. The waves roar back. They are wild creatures, these elements. They will tear one another apart.''
Apart from the features of Folklore and fable, Laura Purcell poses accurate questions on issues that are extremely ‘'human'' and tangible. The complications of social hierarchy, the ambiguous bonding between a maid and her mistress. The agony of a doctor who has witnessed his family perish, unable to intervene. The desire of a young woman to follow her vocation and serve Science, free from prejudices. The ethical complexity of the prisoners' treatment. Is it acceptable to use them as guinea pigs? So you see, Bone China is so much more than a (brilliantly written) Gothic novel.
‘'However, the landscape was a different prospect. She loved the untamed beauty of Cornwall. How it rose, fell and curved. Its vital breath. Even the granite and moorland were not wholly bleak; here and there were flashes of vivid colour. ‘'
The dark beauty that permeates the pages of the book will haunt you. Purcell creates striking images with the foreboding and formidable Cornwall as the background. Louise walking on the beach at night, by the light of the lantern. Hester wandering in the silent corridors. Beautiful, haunting imagery. The prose is spotless, the dialogue transports you to the past and the heart of the action. And the characters...I loved Hester and Louise. I felt I knew them, I found myself understanding their choices and their actions. Purcell is outstanding in giving birth to realistic female protagonists that are quiet and powerful, sensitive and determined, broken and brave. Hester and Louise are no exceptions.
One last thing. Regardless of the genre, this novel is perfect. Plain and simple. If you want your stories neatly wrapped in a box, decorated with a shiny bow and closures where all answers are handed over to you on a silver platter, then a) why? And b) look elsewhere. But if you want to be challenged by a multi-layered story where nothing is as it seems, Purcell's books are for you.
‘'Waves slap against the cliff face. I close my eyes briefly, picturing them rushing headlong to the place where they break and scatter. What we desire and what we have lost. Are they not always the same?''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/