Amalia Gkavea
Devotionals to see us through days of stress, anxiety and turbulence. Although the texts tend to be repetitive after a while, the desired tenderness and quietness come through the pages. My only 'serious' qualm is the translation of the Old and New Testament extracts. It would have been better for the editor to use the King James Edition because certain parts 'sound' extremely odd and modernised.
Many thanks to Barbour Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
‘’We yearn to travel. There is something else that distinguishes us as a species; we are storytellers. We are known as Homo Sapiens - ‘wise man’ - thanks in no small part to our use of language to construct narratives. We love storytelling.’’
And when we cannot travel, books are there to guide us to a place away from our reality. Before I visited Prague and Seville, and Milan, and Rome, and Paris, and Moscow, and so many other places, I had seen their beauty with the eyes of the mind. I had visited them on a magic carpet called ‘Book’. Books are our first guides to places and wonders that we may never be fortunate enough to visit.
This volume maps a multitude of stories. Books that found their hearts in characters’ journeys of the body, the spirit and the soul…
We battle monsters with Odysseus, the most timeless of characters in World Literature, meet merchants in the company of Marco Polo, walk with the pilgrims to Canterbury, fight windmills defending Don Quixote. Walk from Edinburgh to London as a young woman is wrongfully accused, witness the struggles of the serfs in the Russian countryside, meet the legendary Vlad Tepes in the mystical land of Transylvania.
Follow Fernando Ossorio on a journey of a troubled soul in Toledo, let Virginia Woolf lead you on an adventure across the Atlantic, accompany Leopold Bloom through the streets of Dublin, see how Halldor Laxness officiates a marriage between Catholicism and the sagas of old.
What do we think of the motels and the endless road trip in Nabokov’s masterpiece of a young girl’s Western Odysseus to avenge her father in Portis’s True Grit? What happens when you cannot escape Soviet Moscow even by taking a train to a sleepy village? How would it feel to cross Europe during the Napoleonic Wars era as depicted in Winterson’s The Passion? Or China during the so-called ‘Cultural Revolution’?
From Suffolk to Australia, from Iceland to Taiwan, from Tokarczuk’s Flights to Maraini’s Train to Budapest, from Twain to Adichie’s Americanah and Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad, this is a treasure for those of us who are TRUE lovers of Literature.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
In the pages of this lovely book, you will find selkies, banshees, leprechauns, changelings, mermaids. Giants, fairies, charmers, ang uisce, faerie cats and dogs, the pooka, the Headless Horseman, shapeshifters and sheerie - the well-known Jack o'Lanterns - are waiting for us in a unique journey within the heart of Ireland's folklore.
Masterfully written by Síne Quinn, beautifully illustrated by Dermott Flynn
Many thanks to Candlewick and Edelweiss for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My life has been a hot mess lately. Health issues, work problems, financial difficulties, broken relationships. I have never felt so many moments during which I want to give up all and simply disappear. What sustains me in the middle of an ocean of troubles, blows from every corner and non-existent support by people I thought were friends? My faith. It gives me strength to take a deep breath every day, to foster a secret hope that everything will become whole again.
This little book is a true treasure for every Christian women despite denominations. I am Greek Orthodox and yet, I find great comfort reading Catholic devotionals and testimonies. They speak to our fragile humanity, deepening the connection between a believer and Our Lord, testifying to His most human moments.
I read blessings during my commute to work. God knows I need them... Written in powerful, flowing, direct and calming language, they made me feel a little safer, a little less desperate. I have copied pages and pages from the volume in my Bible to comfort me and sustain me along with my own prayers. Because the only thing that makes my life beautiful at this moment is the connection to the presence of Our Lord Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary. They never fail you.
Humans ALWAYS do.
Many thanks to Our Daily Bread Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
‘'Bon courage. Be of good courage. Courage is good.''
1789, Maine. It is a bitter winter. The body of a vile man is discovered trapped in the frozen river. Women fight to bring their children into a world where men dictate your fate. They fight to clear their name froma gossiping mob, to find justice within a society where rape victims are accused and the guilty party walks free.
Not much has changed, eh?
Within this whirlwind, a midwife has dedicated her life in the service of good, aiding mothers and children in their hour of need while trying to put some sense into the heads of imbeciles. Meet Martha, one of the most interesting, best-written characters in recent years, in a novel that does absolute justice to the much-abused Historical Fiction genre.
Based on real-life diaries, Ariel Lawhon creates a masterpiece. The setting is brilliant. You can almost feel the cold clawing your heart, the freezing wind on your face, and the crunching sound of the snow. The small community and harsh nature come alive in front of the reader's eyes, and we are immediately transported to an era that isn't much different to our own. The same values are defended by good people, the same prejudices are shared by people whose actions cannot but condemn them to damnation. Vivid dialogue, elegant, haunting prose, clear direction of the plot, warmth found in the domestic scenes between Marta and her family, evil found in the actions of abominable perpetrators.
‘'It is one of those winter afternoons that is so bright the sun reflects off the snow and hurts my eyes if I look at it directly. [...] He insists that he no longer feels the cold. I know that he's lying, but he says it anyway. This is the game we play - a dance of concern and denial.''
The characters? My God, aren't they perfect! I cannot praise the character of Martha enough. Seldom have I found such a wonderful balance between the writing itself and the characterization of the protagonist. She is honest, determined, unyielding, true to her principles. She is the perfect example of a heroine in a bygone time brought alive for today's audience without being changed into a male counterpart wearing skirts. She is the definition of the strong female character that hasn't been masculinized. A rare thing to be found in today's Literature. Ephrais is a perfect match for her, a true model for the male protagonist. From the villains to the virtuous, the entire cast of characters should be taught in Creative Writing classes. Period.
Apart from the brilliant plot, Ariel Lawhon enriches her novel with references to Folklore, old wives' tales, the joys of reading and writing (and Shakespeare's plays are given a pivotal role since both Martha and Ephraim are ardent admirers of the Bard). Moreover, she doesn't shy away from commenting on thorny issues such as pre-marital relations, children born out of wedlock, the legal system, exploitation and racism.
I could go on and on about how utterly perfect this novel is, but words are wind. You need to add this masterpiece to your reading list and read it as soon as possible. It is a true literary treasure.
Many thanks to Swift Press and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
A beautiful ode to the unyielding faith, resilience and devotion of the women of the Old Testament who paved the way for our salvation through Our Lord Jesus Christ.
Inspriring devotions to sustain us through difficult times, reassuring passages to strengthen our prayers. I copied quite a lot of extracts in my Bible and I am so pleased to see that publishing houses seem to have listened to us Christian women who have made the commitment to spend as much time as possible in the company of Word.
Many thanks to Our Daily Bread Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
‘'I have been tossed around my whole life. And every time I create myself anew. Every time I rise from the ashes and forge a new life for myself. My very existence is in defiance of those who would have killed me. I do not have the luxury of knowing who or what I desire beyond surviving each day, as it comes. I would not even know where to begin.''
This story doesn't need any synopsis, so I'll just continue with a couple of observations that found refuge in my mind as I was reading the novel.
a) Gruoch is not the irritating know-it-all female character, a type that seems to have invaded Historical Fiction, reducing it to a caricature that closely resembles bad TV series. She is wise enough to know when to speak and when to listen, and most importantly, when to act, and I appreciate the fact that the writer doesn't insult our intelligence. Regardless, she is delusional to the point of exhaustion but this is something I can live with.
b) The writing is atmospheric, and the dialogue is truly top-notch. There is a much-needed (and rarely seen nowadays...) balance between realistic interactions and the feeling that you are reading a story taking place in an era lost in the mists of time. There are no ridiculous anachronisms, and Gruoch's manner of speaking is authoritative and confident without being pompous. So, the writer's efforts definitely made a difference in that respect.
c) However, Gruoch is not THAT different from the Bard's version. Both are ruled by a vicious, ruthless sense of ambition and almost illogical aspirations of grandeur. And if you ask me, Shakespeare's queen has a much more convincing motive than an obscure pagan prophecy. If I had had a drink every time she invoked her ‘divine right', I would have become an alcoholic. Shakespeare's Lady had mystery, aura, a haunting halo of an inevitable tragedy. This one can be seen as a petulant - albeit interesting - child for about 60% of the novel. Here is not someone who wants to avenge her family or her homeland but a Dark Ages version of a madman crying ‘I am Napoleon'. And what about being afflicted with such a deep ambition that you are willing to whore yourself to advance? What kind of message is that, I wonder? Is the way to win a man's heart to spread your legs at will? I mean, you are the feminists. You obviously know better...
d) You might want to take it easy with the pagan BS and the queer subplots that are nothing more but lip service to the contemporary mob.
e) You might want to rethink the sacrilege of using the immortal words of the Bard as your own (as Easter eggs (!). Please!
Bottom line? As a Historical Fiction novel, Lady MacBethad is interesting and well-written. It kept my interest despite my objections, and I would read any following installments. As a retelling of Gruoch's story? I wonder whether William Shakespeare's immortal masterpieces need to be ‘retold'...
‘'Would you be interested in selling us your misfortune?''
It has been said that tears and pain make us human. We are not made of stone but of flesh and blood and feelings. And because we are humans, we experience misfortune. However, too many misfortunes can become unbearable. So when the monsoons come, people who have been chosen have the chance to swap their lives for better ones. Would you do it?
‘'What kind of life do I want?''
As we wander the streets of the strange Rainfall Market - and isn't rainfall like heavy tears of unhappiness, after all?- we discover wonderful things. Her oils made of compliments, sauces made of forgotten memories, trees created by human tears as we struggle to achieve our goals, perfumes made of human words, sprays with condenscending words. And be careful because a little Dokkaebi can take away rule-following, which may or may not be fun...
‘' Every plant has its season, Serin. Sunflowers come into bloom in the springtime, while others wait for summer or autumn. And a few don't show themselves until the coldest winter days, when all the other flowers are frozen.''
Serin wants to fill the void in her heart and isn't dissuaded by a rather dark scene that introduces her to the Rainfall market. Her story makes you think of silver linings. (are there any, I wonder?), second chances, determination, perseverance. As sad as we may be, what kind of life do we want? In a world that is uniquely realized, whimsical yet dark and suffocating, we struggle to find a route. Our serenity may be taken by a Dokkaebi, yet we need to move forward. Can we do so on our own?
I loved walking from shop to shop in the company of Serin and Issha. This novel makes you reflect on your life, your choices, your principles even. My only objection is the final part, which fell too ‘'Fantasy'', too ‘'Power Rangers'' for my liking, a bit out of place and clumsily executed. Much may be lost in translation, though, some I may be a bit harsh here.
Sometimes drastic changes don't provide answers. Sometimes changing our tomorrows bit by bit is the best remedy...
‘'Rainbows are funny things, aren't they? The harder it rains, the more beautifully they shine. Who knows? Maybe it's a gift from God, for those who have endured the storms.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'That night, it stormed. The wind stripped trees of their bark and branches. It howled, threw things, like a child having a tantrum. Raindrops cold and hard as bullets smashed against walls and windows and wormed their way into every nook and cranny. Soon, rain trickled down the walls and ruined the wallpaper or dripped from the roof.''
A body unearthed from a bog sets in motion a chain of events that are simply too unfathomable to comprehend. A young woman struggles to help her sister who has found herself in the centre of an impossible fight. How can you battle demons and men at the same time without losing a piece of yourself in the process? This is the reality Lucy is facing in a novel that is the epitome of the word ‘unforgettable'.
I really, really do NOT have the words to describe my reactions as a chapter finished and another started. We are talking about moments that surpass the definitions ‘Dark' and ‘Gothic' and ‘Haunting' and so on and so forth. What we have here is a novel that belongs to the Gothic genre but with a story that centres around female identity, oppression, loyalty and independence. The hunger for blood can be read as hunger for a life that is not dictated by marital and societal rules but by the familial bonds and the interests that cultivate our personality. The characters are deeply flawed - even Lucy, our amazing main character - but the way the narrative has been constructed makes you deeply interested in their fate. They will anger, shock, and frustrate you, but it will be impossible for the reader not to devour the chapters with a pounding heart.
Point one: If you are squeamish about blood, tread carefully. I am the most stone-hearted creature on the planet when it comes to gore and grim but even I had to avert my eyes from the page in certain parts.
Point two: ‘Female rage' - and I have no idea why this absurd term was coined and why it should be considered a new literary genre - is for idiots. Labels are for idiots. Good stories are good stories that need to be told. Woke terms are for political agendas.
Yeah, not interested.
‘'By now, the sun had thoroughly set, but she had the light of the stars and moon to guide her. It was a thin pale light, painting everything around her in hues of gray and blue. Thin tendrils of mist crept from the earth and nipped at her ankles. It was said that they heralded the arrival of the witte wieven, white women who came out at night from the burial mounds that were everywhere on the Dutch heath, hungry for gold, hungry for souls. They were the restless ghosts of witches, or fairies wishing to lure people off the straight and narrow, or perhaps something else altogether. They could be the ghosts of those unfortunates who have drowned in the bog.''
Many thanks to Poisoned Pen Press and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
One of the most beautiful, moving, thought-provoking books I have ever read dedicated to the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ. It brought tears to my eyes and I am not able to express the feelings it caused within my heart. Words are wind when it comes to the unfathomable ordeal of Jesus for the sake of all humanity. Massimo Recalcati created a masterpiece.
As simple as that.
‘'And what if I don't want that? What if what I want is exactly what we have now, or maybe it's something totally different? Maybe it's hundreds of miles away like you two will be.''
You can hear the voices of the dead who are brought into your father's business, the undertakers who can provide comfort with their unique gift. However, your problems have never been the dead. It's the living who doubt you, clip your wings, and condemn you to a vision that is so limited you end up believing in it. And since you have the personality of a sponge, misery is your Fate.
‘'The dead were not ones for waiting.''
Two paragraphs reveal Jeanie's personality (or lack of...) in an instant. Obligation, fear. Parents who have never bothered to ask for her own wishes. When she needs silence, her father gives her empty blessings, her insufferable mother - the epitome of the atheist bimbo who is also a hairdresser (obviously!) - attacks everyone and everything. Even the dead. A husband who has less nuisance than an empty shoe box, wailing in self-victimization, screaming about HIS demands. And the one who has the privilege to bring closure to families cannot find it in herself to be brave enough to listen to her own heart and send everyone to Hell. Brainwashed. Defeated. Kind to everyone but herself.
The novel makes a strong point of communicating the implications of being less brave than we had to be, of misery as the actual reward for those who want to satisfy others at the expense of their own welfare. Griffin emphasises silence as a much-needed relief for all of us whose minds are troubled by others' mistakes. The writing evokes moving scenes of family life and falling in love for the first time in a more innocent, nostalgic era. The passive-aggressive psychological pressure that many parents exert on their children echoes through Jeanie's life and there is an elegant kind of quiet sadness, a beautiful depiction of rural and urban settings in Ireland, Scotland and France. The sense of place is done to perfection.
However, I found a cast of characters that frustrated me to the High Heavens. A miserable lot, full of lies and cowardish behaviour. Instead of focusing on Fionn, a great character, I had to endure Niall and his petulant schoolgirl tears. The dialogue was unbearable at times. Would you say to parents who have lost their child that they were ‘simply amazing'? What is this? An American sitcom for woke idiots? I've lost my patience with Jeanie and her constant self-blaming and Marielle was a breath of fresh air that should have been there earlier. Not to mention that the usual ‘male-dominated' business complaint has been done to death.
In the end, I found everything to be average. Almost below average. At first, I devoured the chapters and then it went downhill. Fast. A lake of tears, drama and self-pity, Hallmark-'quality' dialogue, ‘twists' that were clumsily done, often needless, plotlines leading nowhere. It could have been a haunting story with a memorable protagonist. I suppose it might be enough as a housewife's beach read, but for me, it was indifferent. An opportunity that never reached its potential.
This beautiful, heartfelt book consists of essays and reflections on Opera, Classic and Contemporary Literature, on the trials and rewards of teaching English in places as diverse as Switzerland and Iran, on life in mystical Venice, on the difficulties of being a writer, the psyche and the relationship between a writer and their audience.
Beautifully written, with an elegant mixture of directness and literary commentary, Donna Leion has created an exciting memoir that respects the reader.
Many thanks to Grove Atlantic and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
‘'In life, there are only two paths: to act or not to act. Humans must choose one.''
The Son: A little boy, who had to experience his parents' divorce, wants to go back in time to show them he is happy no matter what. He wants to show them his smile, although I doubt they would actually care. Meet two of the most self-absorbed parents in Contemporary Literature. Meet two of the most realistic parents of our modern, unethical age...
The Nameless Child: In one of the most heart-rending stories of the series, a widow wants to return to the past to show her deceased husband the son he never had the chance to meet. Bring out the tissues for this one, it will haunt you to the very end. Marvelous and bittersweet.
The Father: A complex family drama of a father who refused to give his consent to her daughter's marriage and a daughter who is devoid of any kind of personality, good judgment and common sense. A girl who can't say ‘no' to anyone is a recipe for disaster. Add idiocy and an inferiority complex to the mixture, and you have no one to blame for your ordeals but your miserable self. Plain and simple.
The Valentine: Two friends meet each other in the past, having fallen victim to their hesitation, misunderstanding and low self-confidence.
The fifth instalment of our beloved series is the darkest yet. There are a few utterly shocking moments that left me speechless (and that's an understatement...), and the themes of loss and death permeate the four stories. Regret in not expressing what you truly feel, insecurity when your parents cannot make you feel safe and protected, the distance between a wife and a husband when he cannot understand that maternity isn't the be - all and end - all of a woman's existence. The irreparable loss that strikes like a thunderbolt, the harshness of a father that makes everything worse, the low self-esteem that can lead us to serious mistakes, deepening an irrational inertia.
However, do not think that all is pure doom and gloom. We have the precious moments spent with our parents that no one can take away from us. The deep love that death cannot erase. The important lesson of making mistakes and learning since our parents cannot shield us from every evil in the world. We never know when Fate will decide to take matters into her own hands with irreversible results. Let us be aware of this and move on.
In addition, Toshikazu Kawaguchi offers new aspects of the Funiculi Funicula magic, twists that we were not aware of and interesting insights into the Japanese society, customs, and urban legends.
Healing doesn't come from lovey-dovey, fairytale situations. Healing comes through turbulence, pain, deep sorrow. So, if you think that this part of the series is ‘too dark' to belong in the Healing Fiction genre, congratulations on building your own bubble. Now it is time to wake up and face the world.
‘'Regret comes in two flavours: actions taken and opportunities missed.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
Almost everyone has failed me, the people I have supported for years seem to have forgotten me when my time of need came. The only thing that sustains me and keeps me from deep despair is my faith. I have nothing else.
I DO NOT NEED ANYTHING ELSE.
A nine-panel stained glass window narrates the Greatest Story Ever Told. The Mission of Our Lord Jesus Christ, His Love, His Light, His Hope. In vivid, flowing language, we walk in His Footsteps, following His Way to Sacrifice and Salvation. The research is astonishing as is the way in which the writers have combined the Old and New Testament composes an ode to the greatness of Christianity.
Many thanks to Shadow Mountain Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
* Those of you who dare to judge Emily Bronte's poetry are in need of a good psychiatrist. And your country should deny you the right to vote on account of your low IQ. *
''I dream of moor, and misty hill,Where evening closes dark and chill;For, lone, among the mountains cold,Lie those that I have loved of old.And my heart ahces, in hopeless painExhausted with repinings vain,That I shall greet them ne'er again!'‘Faith and Despondency''The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow;‘I have been struck,' she said, ‘and I am suffering now;Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong,And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold melong'‘The Prisoner (A Fragment)''Well, thou hast fought for many a year,Hast fought thy whole life though,Has humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear;What is there left to do?'‘Self- Interrogation''The night is darkening round meThe wild winds coldly blowBut a tyrant spell has bound meAnd I cannot cannot go'‘25.
Seriously, educate your miserable selves...
Whether you choose to read this book while you are anticipating the Spring Equinox (as I did) or you prefer to read the chapters corresponding to each month of the season, ‘Spring' will undoubtedly make you long for the morning chirping of birds and the first flowers in the garden.
Being a person of the extreme, the seasons is the only part of my life where I prefer the ‘middle'. I adore autumn and I love spring because Easter has always had my heart and souls and Michael Morpurgo has created a beautiful hymn to the season of the Ressurection and our rebirth.
And we all know that when done right, Nature Writing by British authors cannot be surpassed.
Many thanks to Hodder & Stoughton and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
‘'Dark forebodings of a cruel, threatening, fate spread themselves over me like dark clouds, which no friendly sunbeam can penetrate. Now will I tell you what has befallen me.''
The Sandman (E.T.A.Hoffman): A strange tale of a man plagued by his past and his obsession with a creature that cannot be loved.
The Dancing Partner (Jerome K. Jerome): The definition of the term ‘Danse Macabre' acquires a new meaning in this story of dancing mannequins and damsels trapped in an eternal dance...
Crespian and Clairan (Joan Aiken): One of the eeriest, saddest stories I've ever read in which two children compete with each other while a Christmas present is watchful, exacting its revenge. The first pages with mentions of gales, the North Sea and the Viking invasions set the stage for the unfolding drama. Simply brilliant.
‘'Avril was working. Remove. Replace. Sort. Cut. Glue. She was humming to herself. Somewhere, deep inside where the Pain always was, she felt small stirrings of joy, of anticipation, of pleasure, such as she imagined a woman must feel when she was aware, for the first time, of a living child growing within her. Avril worked late. Choose. Change. Mould and twist. Make and yearn. All through the night.''
The Doll Maker (Adele Geras): In another masterpiece, an elderly lady who has no children of her own, offers her services to the children of her neighbourhood by repairing their dolls. However, strange things begin to take place once the children leave this ‘Dolls' Hospital', carrying their repaired treasures in their hands. The dolls just aren't the same anymore...Uncanny and haunting, an unforgettable story.
Supertoys Last All Summer Long (Brian Aldiss): In the story that inspired Steven Spielberg's 1999 film A.I., the implications of having robotic children as surrogates for childlessness become a thorny issue.
The Doll (Vernon Lee): A life-looking doll that bears a striking resemblance to a complex noble lady becomes the centre of attention in this tale of passion, set in Umbria. This story was particularly impactful since it reminded me of the haunting dolls and puppets collection in Isola Madre and Isola Bella in Lake Maggiore and my trip there last summer.
‘'Is it possible to love someone so much, that it gives one a pleasure, an unaccountable pleasure to hurt them? To hurt them by jealousy I mean, and to hurt oneself at the same time. Pleasure and pain, an equal mingling of pleasure and pain, just as an experiment, a rare sensation?''
The Doll (Daphne Du Maurier): Written in her trademark sensual and eerie style, Du Maurier's story depicts the pain of a young man who has fallen in love with a strange woman. How can you compete against what you cannot understand?
The Devil Doll (Frederick E. Smith): I've always thought there is something unnatural, almost diabolic about ventriloquism. This story enforced my belief.
‘'A child kisses its toy before she pretends it sleeps although, even though she is only a child, she knows its eyes are not constructed to close so it will always be a sleeping beauty no kiss will awaken. One in the grip of savage loneliness might kiss the face he sees before him in the mirror for want of any other face to kiss. These are kisses of the same kind; they are the most poignant of kisses, for they are too humble and too despairing to wish or seek for any response.''
The Lovers of Lady Purple (Angela Carter): Fireworks, the collection in which this story is included, was the first work by Angela Carter I read and it triggered my obsession with her. In this Oriental tale, Lady Purple becomes the symbol for the Virgin and the Prostitute, the figure that beckons from a dark corner during the night of the carnival.
The Dressmaker's Doll (Agatha Christie): So many wonderful female writers in this collection! A doll that seems to have a mind of her own, spreads uneasiness and fear in an elegant fashion house.
The Patchwork Dolls (Ysabelle Cheung): This one was the only dud of the collection. Definitely creepy but jumping on the bandwagon of the so-called ‘otherness' is something I do not appreciate.
The Haunted Dolls' House (M.R.James): One of the most famous ‘Haunted House' stories in which strange events taking place within a doll house unfold before the eyes of a shocked guest.
‘'I do not like this shop. It is a shop that has died.''
The Inner Room (Robert Aickman): A young girl chooses a Victorian Gothic dollhouse as her birthday present. From the very first moments, her new acquisition fascinates and unsettles her. Soon, it begins to frighten her. One particular doll seems mad, another is monstrous, a third is on the verge of death. Nightmares begin. Noises and whispers in the darkness of her bedroom. Her brother discovers that there must be a secret room somewhere but it is impossible to discover it. Soon, war comes. The family is torn apart, the shadow of loss and disorientation plagues Lene as the years pass by. One day, she discovers an almost exact replica of her old dollhouse in the middle of a forest. A real, actual house. And she knocks on the door...
This is the best dollhouse mysterious story I've ever read. The toy becomes more than a paranormal prop. It becomes a metaphor for loss and uncertainty, for the secrets that cast a long shadow over every family, for the lost opportunities and the merciless time that does not come back.
The Mouse Queen ( Camilla Grudova): A couple of young academics specializing in Latin. The corpse of a female dwarf, pagan gods, Catholicism, Ovid, dolls, English Literature, Greek Mythology, motherhood and, naturally, Tchaikovsky and The Nutcracker in a story that is the definition of perfection.
‘'Amid all the triumphs of our civilization - yes, and amid the crushing problems of overpopulation too - it is sad to reflect how many millions of people suffer from increasing loneliness and isolation.''
A thrilling, haunting addition to the Tales of the Weird series. Even the first paragraphs of the beautiful Introduction by Elizabeth Dearnley are scary.
Just put those creepy porcelain dolls in the attic...
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
Walking can become the finest medicine. When I am nervous, worried, emotionally exhausted, walking becomes my cure. Reading is an escape but your mind can't help veering away from the pages to a dark place on its own. Walking fills your brain with images, people, discoveries. Even when you take a walk in your neighbourhood, you may discover a newly-renovated house, new families, new pets, a tree that has been planted recently. You may take a glimpse of lives behind the curtains and the caramel - lit windows. And for a few moments, your mind is cured.
In this wonderful book, Annabel Streets takes you on a (walking) journey to cities and sacred places. To pilgrimages, walks by rivers and lakes. Hiking on mountains and hills, strolls by the side of abandoned railways, nocturnal explorations. Written in beautiful, flowing language and containing useful notes and informative extracts on the proven mental and psychological benefits of walking, this volume is a true treasure for every lover of Nature Writing and passionate walker. It made me wish I lived in a city where walking at night was safe...Then again, in today's societies walking at night is madness. We have our ‘democratic' governments to thank for that...
Many thanks to Bloomsbury Publishing Plc and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
‘'God does answer prayers. Maybe not always the way we want Him to, but He does answer prayers and He does listen.''
Our unnamed narrator arrives in a strange monastery, leaving the disappointments of a strained life behind. From the very beginning, we enter a world of graveyards, gloomy days, silence mixed with peculiar sounds. A world graced with singing voices dedicated to the glory of God. And then, a strange plague follows in a land already hit by a pandemic. Mice contaminating the house of God and the people's souls. Mice that eat just as guilt and regret eat us from within.
‘'We pray for all those who will die tonight.''
The setting of the monastery is pure masterpiece. You can almost ‘hear' the silence, the sounds of the steps in the cloisters, the hymns during the Vespers. You are beyond repair if your soul doesn't find tranquillity while reading these marvellous chapters. The beautiful, serene imagery of the peace one can only find in a church often moved me to tears. For me, going to church is finding moments of true serenity and deep faith and Charlotte Wood delivers this experience to perfection via a character who claims to be a non-believer but in reality, she is anything but.
‘'A heavy spring frost this morning. Crossing the grass I made a clean track of footprints, deep green on the white spread of the lawn. It returned me to my childhood, to the sense of secret authority, imprinting one's presence into a place with those clear, sharp prints. I exist.''
Soon, we start going back and forth into the narrator's life as she confesses inappropriate behaviours, moments of cruelty and tenderness, as she asks herself what one can do to forgive, what we can do to heal the deepest wounds caused by grief, guilt and death. She is not a believer, yet her soul slowly opens to the voices that have the power to lead her closer to God.
In scenes of unbearable beauty and scenes that are extremely unsettling, Wood speaks to us about all facets of death. The unavoidable Cavalry of losing your beloved parents, the loneliness in death that even Our Lord Jesus Christ had to face, the violence towards innocents, strange accidents and suicides. And yet, death is not the final step. This is what our faith wants us to understand, as difficult as it may sound.
In a world that tries to convince us to withdraw from Christian spirituality and bow down to the hideous, the unnatural, the satanic, in societies that do not want us to surrender our pain to God, this book helps us face the questions of forgiveness and despair, and find a refuge for all. The deep heart of our faith in Jesus.
Naturally, this novel did not win the Booker Prize. Naturally, trash like The Book of Disappearance which propagates the acts of Hamas's acts of terror and butchery is now longlisted for the International Booker Prize. Mice have long been attempted to gnaw on our faithful souls. They haven't succeeded. They will never succeed. The resilience of the narrator is an example for all of us. And like Helen, we do not betray our belief and our principles just because the modern mob has forgotten their own. But by all means, keep bowing to the social media and their purple-haired maenads who march in favour of Muslim rapists. Much good may it do you...
A masterpiece that should be considered a modern classic.
‘'Autumn is here. The poplars and willows long the reeks have turned their creamy yellow, and it is Ash Wednesday, and we remember that we are dust.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
And is it true? And is it true?The most tremendous taledof all,Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,A Baby in an ox's stall?The Maker of the stars andseaBecome a Child on earth forme?Christmas by John BetjemanMy Baby, my Burden,Tomorrow the mornI shall go lighterAnd you will be born.I shall go lighter,But heavier tooFor seeing the burdenThat falls upon you.The burden of love,The burden of pain,I'll see you bear bothAmong men once again.Mary's Burden by Eleanor FarjeonOur God, Heaven cannothold Him,Nor earth sustain;Heaven and earth shallflee awayWhen He comes to reign.In the bleak midwinterA stable place sufficedThe Lord God Almighty,Jesus ChristIn the Bleak Midwinter by Christina RossettiWe love and lose in China,we weep on England's moor,and laugh and moon in Guinea,and thrive on Spanish shores..We seek success in Finland,are born and die in Maine.In minor ways we differ,in major we're the same.Human Family by Maya Angelou
Strange noises in fancy flats, shadowy figures in half-finished lofts and cozy hotels. Gates in castles that can never fully shut. Ghostly women that take rides with unaware bachelors. Haunted forests and mines. Despairing residents who have to get used to the idea of a ghostly roommate.
Modern paranormal tales - except they aren't tales but actual experiences proving that even in our all -too-modern era, the Unknown wants to make itself known.
Two remarks: a) I definitely want to visit Kilkenny but I am too frightened to do so in the foreseeable future and, b) no matter how cozily atmospheric this book is, the need for some serious editing seems fundamental in a future reissue. We are talking MAJOR grammatical and syntax errors that took away 50% of the pleasure. Difficult to feel fully scared when you correct every other paragraph in your mind. Especially when you are an English teacher.
Sappy romance is a big “no” for me. I like my so-called “love stories” dark and complex and, if possible, tragic. Think of Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre and Jamaica's Inn and whatnot. Needless to say, Valentine's Day is utter BS. However, this little book here is a true treasury of love gone bad.
From myths and legends, historical facts, urban legends and strange customs of intimacy and marriage, Tim Rayborn has you covered. From Orpheus and Eurydice, Irish and Osiris, Zeus' lovers and Hera's revenge, these are myths of rage and lost and immortality.
From Berlioz's obsession to Mary East's secret, from Catherine Howard to Narcissus, you will find stories you weren't aware of even if you had read hundreds of books. I guarantee you that.
This is a book that will narrate the possible origins of Valentine's Day and scare you with Japanese mutilated ghosts and unsolved crimes.
Whether you are a lover of the paranormal or you tend to connect with darkness in your romance, this book deserves a place in your bookcase.
Also, it goes without saying that countries which have forbidden the celebrations of Valentine's Day are either Muslim, populated by terrorists aka.beasts in “humanitarian need” or regimes of eastern origins (Pakistan, Afghanistan and the rest...) But keep calling them civilized, sure...
Many thanks to Cider Mill Press and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
‘'In search of our history you come across more legends than history. Fairies, banshees, leprauchans, spirits and ghosts...I suffered agonies because of them when I was a child. I'd be terrified. I'd be listening to them before I went to bed. An uncle of mine would come down from Blandsfort and stay up all night telling those stories and we couldn't sleep after them. Myself and my brothers and sisters, we'd wake up crying during the night.'' Frank Fogarty to Nuala Hayes
The origins of the people of Laois, the Laoighsigh, are lost within the mists of a mythical, heroic past. In battles and legends, in the thin line that separates myth from history.
Nothing unusual. We are on Irish ground, after all.
The birth of Oisín, the warrior bard and the last of the Fianna.The House of Death which closely resembles the Norse myth of Thor fighting Old Age. Strange elf women and cailleachs that protect and punish. Old men guarding treasures over the centuries. Cats with superpowers because everything in Ireland is super-powered. Maidens who tell it like it is and damn the consequences. Magic hills, bewitched cattle, strange hares. Pipers and warriors. Legends of saints, of St.Patrick and St.Brigid and the Book of Leinster. A Laois son who became a Pope and a broken-heart woman who became a spectre. Women like Gormlaith who fear nothing and no one. Funerals of dead who are alive and necromancers playing card games. Banshees, changelings, fairylands and secrets. And every story is permeated by the resistance to the British occupation and the Great Famine that savaged the land.
Poor Queen Elizabeth I may have defeated the Spanish Armada but someone should have explained to her that you never send your lover to do the chores. Not to mention, that you may have defeated Spain, but Ireland is a totally different nut to crack, dear lady.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'Once upon a time there was a house.What kind of a house do you see when you close your eyes? How many rooms are in it, and what's inside them? If you could live there, where would you sleep, what colour would your guest towels be, and how would you take your tea? What music would echo against the walls? Is it coming from a fancy stereo, or an old Victrola?''
Every time I think of the word ‘house', our former flat comes to mind, the flat I stayed in until I was 8. It was rented, but it was home. It was pretty, it was cozy, its kitchen warm, the bedrooms lit by huge, sunny windows and a large tree to keep us company. Now, my house used to belong to my grandma and I always knew that it would become my home one day. Her aura and love fill the air. Still, the house of my childhood holds a very special place in my heart.
‘'Once for love, twice for life, thrice to keep you safe from strife, four the elements that bind us, five for all that intertwines us.''
Everything is connected in this beautiful story. Told in three separate timelines and in Myra's blog posts that truly little musings, pieces of wisdom, we come to realise that a house can be both a shelter and a prison. Myra experienced an absolute nightmare at a very young age, and a minuscule mansion became her world. But the mansion is unlike any other, and for the love of God, never call it a ‘dollhouse'. In Myra's house, nothing remains permanent. It has a mind of its own. Lights turn on and off on their own, rooms appear and disappear at will, flames appear in the tiny fireplace and music from the miniature piano can be heard at night. And there is a chance that the house listens and reacts to its guardian's soul...
‘'Myra can do impossible things. Myra's an old soul. She's a got a soul that watched creation happen.''
One day, when I was 7, my mum brought home one of her friend's daughter to play with me. Said irritating creature spent 2 hours messing around with my dolls and my books. My books! And when she left, I threatened to move out if she (or any other unknown creature, girl or boy) ever set foot in our house again. I repeat, I was 7. The world is a difficult place for old souls. The world is vile and wants to drag us down to its horrible level. We may be ‘alone' but we are far from ‘lonely'. And, most definitely, we are NOT stupid! And that's one of God's greatest blessings. The rest can wave bye-bye. News flash! If you believe we don't like you, you are absolutely right. Close the door quietly on your way out.
‘'I promise I'm very normal. Please don't come and verify that personally.''
I can't begin to tell you how much I loved Myra who fell victim to other people's thoughtless decisions and, yet, she is being lectured on to ‘live'. Well, she lives just fine, thank you very much. I loved Alex who had to deal with a man who deserved a slow and painful death. I adored Trixie who sacrificed everything for a weakling and a venomous brat.
The writing is beyond beautiful. The narration, the dialogue, the haunting and whimsical tone, the fact that what may have seemed ‘spooky' becomes pure magic. Audrey Burges writes with warmth and sensitivity, but doesn't shy away from showing the deep ugliness of the human soul. This novel is poetic and touching and brilliant in its elegant simplicity. A simplicity of the finest kind like a Sunday lunch in the spring, a family softly talking, sitting on the porch on a midsummer's night.
It is a story to be read while listening to Chopin and Debussy. A literary ‘You've Got Mail'. In fact, a certain passage reminded me of Kathleen's moving ‘Goodnight, dear void' monologue. We have a literary fiction Nora Ephron and I am so here for it!
A book of wonders. Literally.
‘'After all, a house can be anything. It can be a beautiful cottage covered with climbing roses, sheltering a young princess and three kindly fairies who are hiding her from a vengeful sorceress. A house can be made of gingerbread and candy, concealing a bloodthirsty witch just waiting for a chance to eat a tasty pair of plump children. A house can be haunted and surrounded by skeletal trees whose branches scrape against the windows, convincing you that any moment may be your last before you're dragged off to whatever realm comes after this one.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/