Amalia Gkavea
‘'If spring is all about looking forward, and autumn about looking back, summer surely is the present moment: a long, hot now that marks the sultry climax of the year. {...} it is a time of fruition and plenty, of promises fulfilled. Spring's generative riotousness slows and ceases, and a stillness settles over the land.''
The summer of 2018 is slowly coming to an end. Eventful or not, unusually warm or not, summer always brings me to a contradictory state of mind. When May begins, I can't wait for summer to come but by the mid of July, I become restless, hating all the heat and the noise and the long days. You see, this is why I cherish the dog days and save the main part of my holidays for the end of August. This lovely anthology dedicated to summer, edited by Melissa Harrison made me appreciate the season slightly more.
A wonderful array of articles, poetry, essays, extracts from classic literary moments, stories and passages from famous writers, from the Middle Ages to our times. It is focused on the British landscape but it will touch the heart of every reader regardless of our home countries. If it managed to touch my obnoxiously autumn/winter- worshipping soul, it will definitely make you fall in love and perhaps the summer days will last a little longer.
...‘'In late springtime the evening sun leaves a residue of light and brightness on sea, loch and river waters. Nights, still dark and starlit, become thinner somehow, and watery. Evening lengthen, end-of-day airs are white and turquoise, amber and rose, insect-humming and bird-filled.''
The summer evening sun and wind, stargazing once darkness arrives while the perfume of the jasmine fills the air. The summer storms that leave behind the smell of the refreshed grass. The open-air performances where nature provides the finest stage sets for beloved plays. There are so many beautiful moments in this anthology...A beautiful text on the changes summer brings to the nature of the Highlands by Annie Worsley, a moving account of the life cycle of the glow - worm by John Taylor, a rather dark, haunting text on gulls, owls, and bats by Esther Woolfson, a memorable extract from Far From The Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy, one of the greatest writers in Literature (a writer that a certain ‘'reviewer'' in Goodreads felt necessary to disrespect through vile words and unspeakable phrases...Why am I surprised, though? As I have said, there is an idiot in every corner....)
‘'Throughout the long evenings of July, the village women bend low in their gardens over raspberry cane and currant bush, gooseberry and loganberry.''
Start a journey to the Highlands, Dartmoor, Dorset, Hampshire, Cumbria. Feast while the haymaking takes place, see the gulls, the wrens, the curlews, the badgers and the otters. Smell the roses and the orchids, bow to the beauty of the dahlias and the sunflowers. Taste the currants and the apricots, the peaches and the corns. Rest under the ivy on the wall of a pretty, peaceful village church under the afternoon sunlight. This is an urgent plea to respect nature, our mother. The most generous mother of all, the one that gives freely only to receive burnt forests, disrespect and violation by the greed and the bottomless stupidity of the humans. This is a book full of colours, sounds and perfumes, a homage to the British summer landscape.
‘'Those Elysian summers, polished to dazzling brightness by the flow of years, can never be recaptured; but we have this summer, however imperfect we as adults may deem it, and we can go out and seek it at every opportunity we find.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com
‘'It is Spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched courters' - and rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the shoe-black, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat- bobbing sea. The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine tonight in the snowting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock, the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows' weeds. And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now.''
On my way to work, I realise that spring is hesitatingly knocking on our door. Even though the changing of the seasons is an abstract notion in Athens, working in the northern suburbs of the capital, far from the city centre, has quite a few perks (if we exclude the fact that taking the Athens Tube and sitting with an unimaginable number of idiots lowers my IQ...) As I watch the tress acquiring life once again and the days lengthening, I can feel the sweetness in the air and this special weightlessness. Although spring is my least favorite season, the arrival of Easter gives me such joy that I can ignore the allergies and the irritating pollen flying and sticking everywhere. This anthology is my final stop on a beautiful journey curated by Melissa Harrison.
‘'I don't think any artist, using the subtlest brush strokes and softest of hues, could capture the rich colours and sounds and scents of the evening. Is there a poet who could fit the rhymes and beats and randomness to the rigidity of a sonnet or haiku, even with the cleverest metaphors? No orchestra could mimic the mellow simplicity and the startling complexity of this unrehearsed, yet harmonized soundtrack. The sun has set on this Suffolk spring evening.''
Toads, swallows, hedgehogs, foxes, bumblebees, deer. Badgers, otters, magpies playing in the woodland while bluebells, mandarins, anemones, unopened buds in the night garden. Travel to some of the most beautiful corners of Great Britain: Cambridgeshire, Buckinghamshire, Hertfordshire, Cumbria, the Highlands, Bodmin Moor, the Yorkshire Dales, Chesil Beach, Oxfordshire, Suffolk. Take a stroll and enjoy the spring evening in the company of beautiful texts and extracts by famous writers and lovers of the flower season.
‘'There is a spiritual feel to the wood tonight that I don't think I'm imagining. Perhaps it's expectation, and awe that this recently denuded scene is now bursting into life again. The winds have stopped and our sense of anticipation seems to be shared by nature, waiting with us. A blackbird shrieks an alarm call in front of us, as if to dispel such romantic notions.''
A beautiful text on the coming of spring in the Highlands by Annie Worsley. Highfield, a beautiful poem by Alan Creedon. A moving text on fatherhood and the bond between the generations accompanied by the sweetness of the birdsong by Rob Cowen. A vivid description of the change of seasons in the North by Elliot Dowding, the thoughts of a teacher on children and baby owls by Nicola Chester and a beautiful confession of the isolation that has now become the companion of every city resident and the change most of us undergo when the opportunity to come closer to nature occurs. A joyous text on the coming of spring in the city by Melissa Harrison and an ode to Sakura, the cherry blossom, and the unique relationship between flora and the Japanese culture.
And then we have the greats joining the spring fest. William Shakespeare's Sonnet 98. An extract from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte and from Mansfield Park by Jane Austen. Thomas Hardy. The preparations of the Mole for the coming of the season or How to Do Spring-cleaning in The Wind In The Willows way by Kenneth Grahame. Dylan Thomas and a beautiful, haunting text on the silent, hesitant spring nights taken from Under Milk Wood. A dark, atmospheric passage on the death and rebirth of Nature by D.H. Lawrence. And so many more...
I am going to miss the series. The only thing that would make me feel better is to have an anthology dedicated to each month. That would be ideal...
‘'Only you can hear the houses sleeping in the streets in the slow deep salt and silence black, bandaged night. Only you can see, in the blinded bedrooms, the combs and petticoats over the chairs, the jugs and basins, the glasses of teeth, Thou Shalt Not on the wall, and the yellowing dickybird watching pictures of the dead. Only you can hear and see...''
‘'And the seasons roll through our literature, too, budding, blossoming, fruiting and dying back. Think of it: the lazy summer days and golden harvests, the misty autumn walks and frozen fields in winter and all the hopeful romance of spring.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com
‘'Magical powers. I have to summon my magical powers. The power of darkness, the power of wind - any magical power will do, but I need something. I have to use my magical powers on my whole body before my heart feels anything.''
It was all your fault. You should have said ‘'No'' loud and clear. You imagine things. You want attention. Your mind is filthy. ‘'He didn't go all the way, don't fuss.'' ‘Why are you acting so traumatized?'' ‘'These things happen, we just have to put up with it.''. ‘'It was years ago, move on.''
NO!
Natsuki, Yuu, Tomoya. Three people who struggle to escape a world that wants to swallow them whole. We resort to magic, illusions and make-believe because our reality is too terrible to confront. All your paper lanterns, and mountains, and traditions, all your ancestors' presence can't make up for the abuse, the beatings, the humiliation, the rape, the betrayal, the violence. For a mother who needs the perfect punching bag and finds it in the face of Natsuki. For a society that needs ‘'work tools'' and ‘'reproductive tools'', a mentality that demands of you to be the proper, perfect ‘'tool for society''.
‘'1. Yuu won't tell anyone that I am a magician.2. I won't tell anyone that Yuu's an alien from outer space.3. We won't fall in love with anyone else, even after summer's over. We'll definitely meet up here again next summer.''
You don't want intimacy, then? You are an alien. You don't want children. You are a useless parasite, without a purpose and rights and what will you ever offer to the society that nurtures you, you are full of ingratitude. You've got some nerve, you need to be taught a lesson.
When your mother tells you that ‘'you are the horrible one, not him.'' When a daughter can't trust the one who brought her to life, the world itself has fallen. When you feel that your life and body don't belong to you, when you are willing to get married in order to escape constant surveillance and scrutinization and blatant humiliation. We are looking into a society that murders its own children. Technology will do very little, it is the human soul and heart and spirit that should matter but they don't. Certain societies of our world (and some of them are closer than we would like to think...) haven't grasped this basic concept yet. I doubt they ever will. Let us all work for the Factory, then. For societies that demand everything and give back nothing.
There are certain really horrible scenes that are sure to make any reader uncomfortable, that require a strong stomach, but we need to persevere because this is Life. We don't hide from it, we mustn't.
This book isn't ‘'bonkers'' - what a word to be used by people who call themselves ‘'readers''- or ‘'absurd'', or ‘'mad''. It is an allegory, a tragic, poignant fable of issues we face on a daily basis but refuse to acknowledge by playing the ostrich game. If we are unable to see it, I doubt there is any hope left for our future...
‘'Survive, whatever it takes.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''These people go out into the street, and walk down the street alone. They keep walking, and walk straight out of the city of Omelas, through the beautiful gates. They keep walking across the farmlands of Omelas. Each one goes alone, youth or girl, man or woman. Night falls;'‘''The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas'', Ursula K. Le Guin
In a church of a sleepy town, somewhere in the American South, a being is found. And I use the word ‘‘being'' because no one can determine whether the stranger is a boy or a girl. They are named ‘‘Pew'', after the pew they were found on. The residents of the town seem to be fascinated by the unexpected visitor, they offer hospitality and ‘‘protection'', believing that the silent Pew is the perfect listened to accept their confessions. Pew listens and watches but rarely speaks, only nods. When someone doesn't speak, judgement and condemnation stay away for the ones who confess their sins. But their ‘‘confessions'' are meaningless and things are bound to change when Pew doesn't behave exactly as they expect...
''I do wish they bloomed this time of year. It would give me some relief. But you can tell a tree whatever you like - it won't even listen.''
''All this bitterness. Everyone wants to be the one who's right.''
Pew is an innocent bystander, a silent watcher, an unwilling listener and confidante because of their silence. What initially appears as a confession of wrong choices and guilt, quickly turns into the worst form of patronization and manipulation behind the facade of ‘‘innocent'' curiosity and kindness. Pew hasn't asked for their ‘‘help''. These people aren't driven by kindness and generosity but by a frightening urge to alter the ‘‘different'', the one they cannot understand, the one who doesn't fall into their precious, perfect tags. If you don't like to talk, you are strange, dangerous. We live in societies where everyone wants to ‘‘talk'' and ends up saying nothing at all.
Act nice, look nice. Everyone's watching you. What would the neighbours say? The plague of all small communities. Wealth dictates whether you will be ‘‘respected'' or not, as Hilda demonstrates. Hilda. Hideous Hilda, the epitome of the uneducated housewife. Mr. Kercher, young Annie and Roger are tiny dots of light on a map filled with vicious people.
''After all the moon was here, calm night, warm and easy air, and all of it was ours.''
The frail body and the pale moon echo Pew's presence. Who is Pew? An archangel? A spirit? Pew, ethereal and earthy. Pew, led from one resident to another, first as if they were an exhibition item. Then, carried away like Jesus from Caiaphas to Herod to Pontius Pilate. And once more, religion is distorted to justify the rot in people's souls, their horrible actions, their ‘‘morality'' of stupidity and hatred.
Lacey creates a modern classic. Classics mirror our societies' wrongdoings and Lacey excels. Think of all those American sects, the charlatans, the hysteric so-called ‘‘priests'' that scream and pretend to ‘‘heal'' people who are desperate, uneducated and stupid enough to believe them. There isn't an ounce of forgiveness in this awful lot, in this god-forsaken town, somewhere in the American South. In a society where crying children are psychologically abused for disturbing the peace and upsetting the others. No one gives a damn about their feelings.
And the mob will always hold a trial about things they cannot understand. The mob will always believe they have the right to decide what is true and what is not. And there is nothing Christian in this behaviour. White people, black people...They all treat Pew in the same horrible way. Narrow-mindedness doesn't discriminate. It concerns every race, every religion, every individual.
Needless to say, this novel made me furious. Needless to say, every reader should choose Pew as their next read.
''Some years, but gone now. They had ended and would never return and would never end. They were mine, or had been mine, but now they were somewhere else, somewhere near and far from me. They didn't belong to anyone, those untouchable years. All that was left of them was their imprint, the empty field they'd left in me.''
Many thanks to Granta Publications and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'Darkness was a long time coming.''
This book is my first contact with Sarah Moss's writing and it proved to be so fascinating...The word Ghost in the title, the bogs and Northumberland drew my attention to a novel that I read in a single sitting. It was mystifying, hypnotic, complex, powerful.
It is an unusually hot summer in Northumberland. Silvie and her parents are following a professor and his students in a camp that tries to imitate the daily life during the Iron Age. However, things start going wrong and the camp becomes a field for repressed feeling and the need for justice. Silvie is at the heart of this peculiar, dark storm.
‘'The shadows were long in the grass, the whole moorland low and still in slanting yellow light. In the east the trees stood dark against the sky and all the colours were fading. A late flight of birds winged the air, homeward bound.''
The writing is extremely beautiful, difficult, demanding as the story is told in long sentences, a technique that makes the atmosphere even more threatening, almost ruthless. At certain times, reading felt painful. Moss uses the richness of the history in the area to create a mystical scenery. Hadrian's Wall, the wild nature, the ravens coaxing a shadowy future and, above all, the bogs and the sacrificed souls that found an untimely, tragic death in an era of darkness.
Darkness and ignorance are two central themes in the story because Moss focuses in the way Silvie's father, Bill, uses History to justify and express his cruelty and violence over his family, his desire to control everything and everyone. Ignorance in the form of all the prejudices against the people from the North, their accent and mentality. On a more positive note, Moss includes a brief reference to Berlin (...wait for me, you beautiful city, I'll see you next August! ) and the fall of the Berlin Wall, another vile creation of the human race that so loves to divide and sacrifice, and much less to unite and create.
Silvie is a ray of light in the bleakness and pain of the story. Her name is supposedly a diminutive of Sulevia, a goddess of springs and woods. A name chosen by Bill who fails to notice (obviously...) that the origin of the name is extremely Roman. So, Bill is actually the epitome of the culturally illiterate man who wants to appropriate History so that it fits his claims. Now, where have we seen that before? Oh, wait....It is sad to say that this is the least of his faults. He is a horrible, extremist brute. Violent, hideous, trapped in his incompetence and illusions like all extremists. There is no love for his wife and his daughter. Only a twisted obsession to imitate a life that will allow him to freely express his instincts. He is one of the most despicable characters you'll ever come across. Silvie's mother is equally at fault here, She cannot be acquitted because of her condition. She is weak, pathetically giving way under his psychological and physical violence, unable to protect her child who should have been her only priority. I had no tolerance reserved for her. Not when we have Silvie and Molly, the young women, the fighters and protectors.
With a thoroughly satisfying conclusion, this is a haunting story about the bonds of the present and the past, about the cruelty towards the ones who are not allowed to defend themselves, the resistance of youth against violence and tyranny, the need to end patriarchy once and for all. A story that demonstrates the evils brought about by prejudice, extremism, and racism. What could be more relevant to our troubled times?
Many thanks to Granta Books and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com
‘'Fairy tales break all the rules of a good story and yet they find such powerful images for the deepest human emotions and fears that we sense deep layers of meaning in a poisonous apple or the grueling setting of a gingerbread house, and more truth than a thousand words would grant.''
The beautiful front cover invites us on a journey through tales from all over the world that narrate the stories of fierce heroines who grasp their destiny be being clever, resilient and true to themselves. Following a beautiful introduction by Cornelia Funke, we travel from Russia to Vietnam and from Germany to Japan where we meet clever girls who are loyal to their principles, brave young men who aren't afraid to follow their instinct, cunning helpers, strange creatures and evil characters who set impossible tasks to the youth. Each tale amply demonstrates why we love fairy tales, why the stories of old are vital to understand our modern world and become better human beings.
The Boy Who Drew Cats: A boy turns his vocation into a true gift and saves a temple. A beautiful tale from Japan.
Kotura, Lord of the Winds: A well-known Siberian tale about the Lord of the Winds and the girl who became his wife. I first read this story when I was eight or nine in an issue of the beloved Classics Illustrated and I remember I was so impressed with the bravery and kindness of the heroine. Reading it again brought me back to my childhood, a time filled with fairytales and magic.
Through the Water Curtain: A tale of a young man who was once a monk and destined to become a sacrifice. A strange story from Japan.
The Areca Tree: A Vietnamese tale about twin brothers and a brave young woman who loved them both.
The Maid of the Copper Mountain: A tale from the mineworkers in the Urals that narrates the adventures of Stepan and the beautiful woman of the Copper Mountain.
The Tale of the Firebird: Who doesn't know this beloved tale from Russia? Who hasn't admired the immortal Nureyev hypnotizing the audience in the ballet version by Igor Stravinsky? Ivan Tsarevitch has to fulfill Herculean tasks to capture the Firebird. Baba Yaga, Koschei the Immortal, the horse with the Golden Mane, the vast wealth of Russian tradition.
Bluebeard: The well-known, sinister French tale of a strange man, seven unfortunate women and the young wife who is in danger. I rather liked the writer's connection between Bluebeard and Gilles de Rais, one of the most notorious (...and most fascinating, I would add...) noblemen. My grandmother told me this story when I was nine. I mean, talk about weird families....
The Six Swans: The classic German tale of Eliza and the six swans by the Brothers Grimm in a haunting rendition.
Golden Foot: A bloody tale from France with definite pagan undertones.
The Story of the One Who Set Out to Study Fear: A young man goes on a quest to discover fear. This one was boring, irrelevant to the overall theme of the collection and, frankly, badly written.
The Frog Princess: I had previously read this Ukrainian tale but the protagonist was a Mouse princess. In this version, three brothers shot arrows to find wives. The youngest prince is obliged to marry a frog and all sorts of strange things start happening.
The One-Handed Murderer: An Italian tale of a young woman who fights a dangerous man.
The Girl Who Gave a Knight a Kiss Out of Necessity: A Swedish tale of women teaching a lesson to those who think themselves superior.
I was intrigued by this collection. I loved the writer's voice at the end of each story, explaining the origins and the inspiration behind each tale, paying homage to the cultures that created them. However, there were two issues that troubled me. Two subjective issues, mind you, but I wouldn't be honest if I didn't include them in my review. First of all, what is this narcissistic obsession with the writer's novels? I was tired of reading how this tale or that influenced her Reckless series (?). I am not interested in your YA works, dear writer. On the unlikely occasion that I get a brain transplant that will change my personality completely, I will read your novels. I don't care about your self- congratulatory putting on the shoulder.
In addition, I was almost insulted by Funke's vicious remarks on Christianity Vs paganism. It goes without saying that you may support your new-age convictions to your heart's content- because you're trying to be fashionable- but offending the readers who actually believe is hardly civilized. I don't like being preached in favour of one thing is another and I don't respect those who don't respect me. If Funke doesn't respect worldwide beliefs, I don't respect her atheism. I'm sorry but respect goes both ways.
I suppose, nay, I am certain that these observations are merely my personal gripes but I've learned to stick to my principles. Isn't this what fairytales are about, after all? This collection is a satisfactory read for those of us who love fairytales and folklore. If only the writer were as wise and down-to-earth as the heroines of these tales...
Many thanks to Pushkin Press and Edelweiss for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com
‘'You'll keep your swaying way of moving, and no dancer will be able to glide like you- but with every step you take, it'll feel like you're stepping on a sharp knife that'll make you bleed.''
A young mermaid, the youngest of the Sea King's daughters, longs for the world above the sea. Quiet, thoughtful, with a great affinity for flowers and statues, she patiently waits for her fifteenth birthday. When she glimpses the human world through the presence of a young prince, she is willing to sacrifice her life to live as a human.
Hans Christian Andersen's tale is one of the most beloved and saddest stories of our childhood. Rather realistic, almost graphic if we take the era into consideration, it is the legend of two colliding worlds that require a severe sacrifice. Andersen reversed the stereotype of the mermaid as the ‘‘siren'', the temptress that leads the ‘‘hero'' to his doom, and created the story of a young woman who chooses to forsake her family, her world and her voice (rather symbolically...) for a pair of human legs. The human, the male hero, becomes the traitor, the heartless one, the danger and the ‘‘siren'' becomes the conveyor of mercy.
This is a tale that follows the path of the dark nature of fairy tales, in a beautiful translation by Misha Hoekstra. Also contained is the well-known tale of The True-Hearted Tin Soldier and his love for the beautiful ballerina.
And don't get me started on the way Disney and ‘‘Live-Action'' (...whatever that means...) treat the classic tales - and it has become even worse lately- because we'll be here forever...
''But the loveliest thing of all, she said, was lying in the moonlight on a sandbar in the calm sea and looking up at the big town near the shore, where the lights twinkled like a hundred stars; listening to the music, and the clatter and racket of wagons and people; seeing all the steeples and spires; and hearing how the bells pealed.''
Many thanks to Pushkin Children's Books and Edelweiss for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
“If video games make you stupid, then what do mobile phones make you?”
A young boy buys egg sandwiches every day. The reason? The mysterious young woman behind the counter. Her black hair and beautiful eyes with eyelids the color of blue Popsicles make him fall in love with her. His visits to the store provide his sole wish in an otherwise mundane daily life where no one seems to understand him.
Kawakami creates a novella about what we like to describe as “the coming-of-age” of a boy but I don't think that Ms. Ice Sandwich is just that. The child is the only focus of the narration and we see his world through his eyes and enter his mind. His mum is a kind of fortune-teller, distant and quite selfish, her only activity is staring at a mobile screen. Like, you know, 90% of our stupid world...His classmates are indifferent, with the exception of Tutti, his father left the picture long ago. His only confidante is his seriously ill grandmother, his escape is sketching beautiful sceneries.
Through his thoughts we are shown truths and realities, his innocent remarks aim at the heart of the significance of appearance in this society. The bright blue eyeshadow of the woman is disturbing to many customers. She is different. Why? The public decides and condemns. The young boy questions everything, he is sensitive and begins to regard the world of the adults as a seriously weird territory. Tutti, his friend, is a girl who loves violent action films and drawing gunfights. Gradually, the boy understands that loss, sentimental and physical, is one more reality he will have to come to terms with.
There is a quiet critique in Kawakami's writing, a tenderness towards a protagonist we would like to hug and protect and have endless conversations with. Behind the whimsical tone and the elegant humor, there is sadness about the deep loneliness of a child who is an old soul, wise and honest. On a side note, I loved the use of The Tinderbox, one of my favorite fairy tales, within the context of the boy's story.
“Well, then you'd better come back again and watch. He's the best-Al Pacino!”, she says, a big grin on her face.“What's that?”“You know-the film we just saw Lieutenant Hanna. Al Pacino plays him.”“Oh, it's somebody's name. I thought it might be how you say goodbye in some other country.”
Japanese Literature is a world treasure. We need ALL of the translations and I can't wait to read more of Kawakami's work.
“But then I find that I can't say any more and I stop talking. It's silent in the room, like time has just stopped, but after a bit I can hear a bird chirping. It feels like it's coming from so close by that I spin around to check, but there are no birds anywhere.”
Many thanks to Pushkin Press and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'We have been put in the mood for ghosts, that evening.'' The Eyes, Edith Wharton
As this year's summer approaches with remarkable hesitation, a different time for ghost stories begins. Ghost stories that don't require the comfort of a fireplace while the snow is falling softly outside. The ghost stories of the summer are told around a lively campfire in Midsummer's Eve, they need to be narrated while we're sitting on our porch, as the blue of the summer sky slowly darkens and the stars start their late twinkling, as the wine freezes and the trees are painted purple by the early evening light.
It is the time of the American Midnight...
The Masque of the Red Deathby Edgar Allan Poe: A prince finds refuge in his abbey as the Red Death, the horrifying plague, is destroying his land. His frenetique masquerade ball has an unexpected (or maybe not...) outcome after the arrival of a strange, uninvited guest.
Young Goodman Brownby Nathaniel Hawthorne : An outstanding story by the master of the Gothic tale, a fable as atmospheric as it is enigmatic and frightening. Set in Salem during the 17th century, this is the story of a young man who witnesses the forbidden and his life is changed forever.
The Eyes by Edith Wharton: In a marvelous tale-within-the tale story, a man recounts his strange experience of being haunted by a pair of eyes burning in the darkness. But as it always happens with the great Edith Wharton, this is so much more than a ghost story...
The Mask by Robert W. Chambers: A story that still fascinates us with all the questions it raises, the mystery that lies within the city of Carcosa and the enigmatic figure of the King In Yellow. P.S. True Detective lovers unite.
‘'They were strangers in the house.''
Home by Shirley Jackson: Even though Ethel is sooo irritating (yes, with three ‘'o'''), this is a straightforward but extremely atmospheric story of two cursed souls and a tragedy.
‘'[...] thinking of bygone times; recalling old scenes, and summoning half-forgotten faces out of the mists of the past; listening, in fancy, to voices that long ago grew silent for all time, and to once familiar songs that nobody sings now.''
A Ghost Story by Mark Twain: Narrating a strange visit from the past, this tale is written in the unique, humorous style of the great American writer.
Spunkby Zora Neale Hurston: A story about a love affair with dubious connotations. I didn't like this one at all, and I fail to see the reason why it had to be included in this collection.
‘'There comes John, and I must put this away - he hates to have me write a word.''
The Yellow Wallpaperby Charlotte Perkins Gilman: The ultimate story of male cruelty, tyranny and madness. The haunting tale of a young woman, imprisoned by her husband, who finds herself face to face with the monstrous creations of her weakened mind, destroyed by endless oppression.
An Itinerant Houseby Emma Frances Dawson: A cursed house that moves may have been interesting but this story seemed to me a poor attempt to mimic Mary Shelley's masterpiece. No.
‘'And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.''
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
‘'There was a horror in the wintry silence, a silence more profound than in any previous winter. It was as if life itself had been somehow diminished; as if there were fewer people now alive than in the past.''
Miklós Bánffy's life was adventurous and tragic. Persecuted by the Nazis and the Soviets, the two sides of the coin of Tyranny and Death, exiled, almost forgotten. But his offers in European Literature need to be acknowledged. Thank God for Pushkin Press and their tireless effort in restoring writers and their works, communicating them to the modern Reader. Bánffy's stories are the result of a seamless marriage between the historical and the mystical in settings that range from haunting Transylvania to sultry Italy.
Wolves: A winter's tale of wolves, snow, human greed and cruelty.
Little Borbalka and the Terrifying Safranics: A kind girl tries to protect a mysterious stranger from getting murdered. But will he reciprocate her honesty and kindness?
The Satan: A beautiful story of a knight called ‘'The Satan'' due to his countless vices and sins and how he was changed by a princess's love.
The Emperor's Secret: An almost cinematic story of the Scourge of God.
The Contaminated Planet: A traveller in Scotland dreams a terrible dream of a world destroyed by greed and vile actions. A strangely prophetic and profound story.
Tale From A Mountain Village: A devilish old man is convinced his wife has cursed him to die. And it's exactly what he deserves. A dark tale of Folklore, superstitions and marital violence.
‘'Tell me! Which of us did you want to win, Paris or me? Tell me, and tell me frankly: which of us? Paris or me?''
Helen in Sparta: Ten years after Menelaus' return from Troy, a feast is held and the king sings of his (imaginary) triumph. But Helen remembers...
The Dying Lion: A priest and a scientist give their last battle before one of them departs for the final journey, witnessed by the scientist's strange, faithful mistress.
The Miraculous Tale of Gaspar Loki: The narrator traces the steps of a hedonist Hungarian knight in Venice, in the era of the Serene Republic, and his love for a golden-haired statue.
The Tiger: A tiger and a beautiful maiden.
The Stupid Li: An interesting tale about the Chinese Lord of the Underworld and a very stupid man during the time of Kublai Khan.
The Enchanted Night: A young woman experiences the wonders of an enchanted night in an Italian olive grove. A modern Midsummer Night's Dream.
‘'The air was thick with the perfume of olive blossom, of lilac and jasmine, so intense and so powerful that it seemed to be falling around them like dew, and it was their scent, even more than the uncertain light of the moon, that filled the scene with an unearthly haze. In silence and with arms intertwined, they advanced into this timeless world, their steps moving in rhythm to the half-heard sone coming from somewhere in the distance...and now from just the other side of the foliage the sound of young women's voices joined in ritual chant.''
Many thanks to Pushkin Press and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
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/
‘'Could it be the void itself which fascinates us, since it's possible to fill it with the notion that what is missing might be something crucial, perfect, incomparable?''
One of the most fascinating - and sometimes disappointing - ‘'what if'' in the reading community has to do with the books that were once written but never saw the ‘'light'' of publication. Books that were destroyed, lost, forgotten. The great tragedians wrote hundreds of plays and what actually survives of their work is a tiny minuscule portion. Imagine the potential plays of Shakespeare that didn't survive. How richer and, dare I say, more beautiful reading experiences would have been ours had those creations survived...
Now, in this extremely interesting and excellently written book, Giorgio Van Straten presents the adventure of 8 books by authors who have sealed the course of World Literature. Books that were written under special circumstances and were lost soon after. ‘'Lost'' may not be the proper verb, though. Works by writers such as Gogol, Plath, Hemingway, Byron. A book is destroyed to protect a marriage, another is thrown away to salvage the reputation of an influential man. A lost suitcase containing the juvenalia of one of the greatest writers causes discord between a husband and a wife. A poet is a potential suspect for his wife's lost unfinished manuscript, two books become one of the millions of victims of the Nazi nightmare. A Russian Divine Comedy never comes to fruition, a writer succumbs to alcohol and causes a devastating fire. Human feelings become the motive for destruction, unfortunate coincidences, secrets, fear of the past and of the future, the need for perfection, the uncertainty of success in a melancholic literary journey from Florence to London, from Paris to Russia and from beautiful British Columbia to Prague.
Van Straten writes in a very direct, elegantly conversational style and often refers to his personal sources and to the views of writers contemporary to each respective author. He comes across as an extremely professional researcher, dedicated and fully respectful of the work and the life of 8 writers who have given us masterpieces. How much more some of them had to offer but fell victims to life's troubling whims....
Many thanks to Pushkin Press and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange of an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com
One of the most persistent memories in the life of a bibliophile has to do with a bookshop. THE bookshop, actually. It may be that cozy shop, full of children's fiction, or the bookshop where we spent our allowance as teenagers. Or that second-hand temple, perfect for university students.And along with browsing, hunting for old and new treasures, friendships were forged and the first literary discussions shaped us as readers.
In my case, there were two bookshops that make me feel nostalgic at the age of 32. Both are connected to my late grandmother. I grew up in a family that had- and still has- reading as a second religion, but my closest partner in crime was grandma. She would read without getting tired, without omitting a single page even though I could see her eyes growing heavy with sleep. So, she and I had our personal ritual. At the beginning of every month, we would visit two bookshops in our neighbourhood. The first was an ordinary bookshop, its owner one of my mum's good friends, and from here we would buy all the Classics and books that were always slightly (or significantly) above my age. I was reading books suitable for adolescents when I was 8 or nine years old. The, we would visit a second shop that sold toys and children's books.Its owner was Italian, like my grandma. They would talk for hours in their mother tongue, while I used to sneak around, rummaging the shelves, marvelling at the pictures. I usually left that shop with my arms full of books, 5-6 that grandma had bought me and 2-3 more that had been given to me as a gift by the nice lady. Every month was like Christmas back then.
Now, how much more significant some bookshops can be when you eventually become a writer? The authors of this beautiful collection write about their memories connected to these ‘'temples'' and the way their writing identity was influenced by them. Quirky owners, dimly-lit second-hand bookshops, industrial, cleancut, immaculately organized shelves. We travel from Scotland to Kenya, from Denmark to China, from Colombia to India, to England,Egypt, Ukraine and Italy, every corner of the world, every culture, every way of thinking and talking about books acquires a voice.
The essays are superbly organized, directly speaking to the reader like a memoir of the common desire to own every book available and express the deepest love for this little item that helps mankind not to fall into eternal darkness. Every text has something to offer and communicate.'' Leitner and I'' by Saša Stanišić is what I consider the highlight of the collection. It shows how booklovers are serious addicts through and through, by composing a striking text full of similes and metaphors between junkies and unrepentant book lovers.
The least favourite was ‘'Intimacy''by Dorthe Nors. In fact, I found it rude and pretentious. A poorly-written blend of childhood memories and an ordinary bookshop owner, while name-dropping Kristin Lavransdatter in the mix for effect's sake. The author tries to justify her unethical behaviour in a Copenhagen bookshop and blames the owner for throwing her out. Of course, she would throw her out. I would. I don't think Nors had the right to re-arrange the shelves and make the copy of her book stand out. Perhaps, she has no idea of the toil that is to organize a shelf. Hell, when it is so difficult to do it in our bookcases,how much harder will it be in the case of whole store? It was downright unprofessional, self-indulgent and her text had nothing to offer apart from informing us that she had a Degree in Literature without ever reading Sigrid Undset's masterpiece. It was cringeworthy.
The two bookshops of my childhood don't exist anymore. They passed away upon the altar of our current times. It doesn't matter,though. It doesn't matter if your favourite bookshop belongs to a bookstore chain with classy, gloriously beautiful and shiny shelves, with grey carpets from wall to wall or a cozy second-hand shop where books are in piles reaching the ceiling or carelessly forming a bookish wall on the steps of a wooden staircase. Spaces are made by people. Sometimes, the person who would take you to the shop and let you indulge in your passion from an early age is the one who creates the memories, and for this, my review of this moving, tender book is dedicated to grandma.
Many thanks to Pushkin Press and Edelweiss for providing me with a free copy in exchange for an honest review.
Where to begin with this nightmare?
The approach to each location and its legends is so epidermic and superficial, described in outrageously cheesy, pseudo-literary terms. Thank God for the beautiful illustrations by Amy Grimes.
Her take on King Arthur, his myth and significance is superficial and dismissive. ‘'No evidence that he existed''? Have you even read anything on Arthurian legends and its era? Have you bothered to read the briefest article by contemporary Historians? Obviously not. Your opinion isn't relevant, ‘'writer''. You are here for presentation, don't burden us with your obvious ignorance.
The presentation of the legend behind the Old-New Synagogue in Prague was loaded with mistakes. Thankfully, she got the Golem myth right. Surprising.
‘'Hell'' is NOT a term to refer to the Underworld of Greek Mythology. The concept of Hell appeared much later. It is really frustrating when writers are too lazy to perform a basic research and I find anyone's limited knowledge of Classic Mythologies unacceptable. 1) What the bleeping Hell were you taught at school? 2) What the bleeping Hell did you read when you were young? 3) How much of an idiot are you? And the Elysian Fields wasn't another neighbourhood in Hades.
Jesus!
‘'The'' Mani to refer to a location in Greece? Seriously?
‘'Ideas about the Greek heroic era''? Lady, you couldn't even begin to know what ‘'heroic'' means, spare us your ridiculous irony and read some Churchill. ‘'Humans who were obsessed with death''? Better ‘'obsessed'' than ‘'uneducated and all-around heathen'' which is obviously where you personally come from, ‘'writer''!
‘'Evidence of a semi-mythical kingdom that might never have been.''
Does than EVEN make sense? God in Heaven, the writing is mind-blowingly awful!
...and she managed to butcher the story of Odysseus and Polyphemus. Even Wikipedia is more accurate.
And she doesn't like Stonehenge! What a pity, I'm sure the aeons-old gloriously beautiful rocks are deeply hurt by you.
A ‘'mass graves''...Well done, writer and editor. You got a medal.
Comment on the totalitarian, barbaric, Hell-on- Earth world of North Korea: ‘'South Korea's antagonistic neighbour.''
What the actual fuck?
So much irony and sarcasm throughout. If you don't respect your subject why are you even here? Poor attempts to appear humorous is the plague of today's Non-Fiction, especially the kind that comes from Britain. You are not funny, you are ridiculous.
Whatever little useful information there may have been was lost in the labyrinth of atrocious writing, ridiculous sarcasm and a plethora of inaccuracies. Literary Places and Hidden Places by the same ‘'writer'' were on my list. After having gone through this ordeal, I wouldn't get them on my hands if they were the last books on Earth.
P.S.Jesus Christ, enough with the Netflix references! Not all of us watch this drivel of low-quality aimed to turn the masses' brains into jelly!
ARC from White Lion Publishing and NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
''Hovering in the Boston twilight, the elegant new moon beguiles onlookers just hours after skygazers in Iran have admired its thin form. That same crisp crescent hangs gracefully above the Vatican's domes, just as it inhabits the skies over Jerusalem's Temple Mount and the Shwedagon Pagoda in Myanmar. This single celestial element is a shared window for every one of us.''
A spectacular book with beautiful nightly photos of the great mystery that is the night sky. Written in simple, elegant language, it is a homage to our millennia-old fascination with Night, the stars and the vast unknown beyond our tangible world. Spanning the planet, the myths, the movements of the celestial elements, the deep connection of the human beings with the moon, and stressing the importance of light pollution, Babak Tafreshi brings a miracle to the readers.
Many thanks to Quarto Publishing Group and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
‘'A seagull swept in over Fife through the silence and moonlight under a cloud-free night sky. Below, the river shone like silver. On the west of the river- like an immense fortress wall- a steep black mountain rose to the sky.''
Without any prologue and lengthy introductions, I must tell you that this book is a masterpiece. It has the status of a classic, the making of a novel that will defy time. Nesbø took the masterpiece by William Shakespeare and elevated it to new heights. If you follow my reviews, you know that I have two obsessions: Wuthering Heights and Macbeth. I never thought I'd say that another writer would come to rival the greatness of the Scottish Play but there you have it. Sacrilege verified.
Nesbø sets the action in Scotland, during the 70's and we are transported into the fickle, cruel world of casinos, the drug ‘'market'' and the universe of high crime. Everything is masterfully crafted to reflect Shakespeare's world. Macbeth is the head of the SWAT unit, Lady is the owner of a quality casino, Banquo is Macbeth's mentor. The Norse Riders gang is the main rival and Hecate is the mob boss who appears to move the strings and direct the characters' fate. See what Nesbø did there? I think you do and I tell you it is a marvelous stance. He shows how Fate arms Macbeth's hand and the sequence of events is immediate. The consequences unavoidable and irreversible.
‘'The king of hearts and the queen of spades. That evening they met under an evil moon.''
As in the original material, the finest scenes are the ones between Macbeth and Lady. Dare I say that their relationship in Nesbø's retelling is even more fleshed out and poignant? Well, I do because it's the truth. If you love this frighteningly alluring couple in the Bard's play, you will fall head-over-heels for them in this novel. Macbeth is perfectly drawn. He's slightly more malicious and ruthless than his Shakespearean counterpart but this is to be expected given the setting and the direction of the story. Because of Hecate's brew, Macbeth's visions start early and they are striking. The depiction of his guilt and the emotional toil of his actions, his steady descent into despair, his surrendering to his fate is a devastating process to read and knowing the outcome makes it even worse, it makes it even more powerful.
‘'I sleepwalk in the darkest night without hurting myself.''
Lovely Lady...She is brilliant, as fascinating and dangerous as the Queen of Scotland. And do you know what I enjoyed the most? The fact that in Nesbø's version, Lady is a powerful woman who has come into her own without taking orders and sh...from men. She is more experienced, more intelligent than Macbeth. Their relationship is balanced and loving yet, she doesn't need him to define her as a person. She is not ‘'his'' queen, she is a woman who has forged herself through fire and steel and takes responsibility of her own choices. And in this version, she is granted a number of redeeming qualities that are absolutely absent in the original play.
‘'Sleep no more. Macbeth is murdering sleep.''
I cannot say much because spoilers are lurking. Even though we all know the original story, Nesbø has created quite a few twists and turns that forbid me to say much. It's a joy to be able to recognise the exact scenes from the Bard's play, the monologues and the famous quotes within the context of Nesbø's story, to pinpoint the parallel lines between the two works. The bleak atmosphere of Scotland, the fact that most of the action takes place during the night, the frenetic 70's vibe mirror the spirit of Macbeth to perfection. I didn't expect such a successful adaptation of Shakespeare's quotes into contemporary language without sacrificing their beauty, their impact, their significance. So major congratulations to Don Bartlett for the translation from the original Norwegian. The interactions are as solemn and as natural as they can be and the prose is rich in a distinct, dark Nordic beauty.
Naturally, I knew of Nesbø but I've never read any of his novels. I didn't let my expectations rise too much prior to reading this but to say that I was pleasantly surprised is an understatement. Nesbø took the Nordic heritage and the dark Scottish setting and remained faithful to the original source. Without presuming to be equal to the Bard, full of respect and obviously aware of the tremendous responsibility, he created a work that would make William Shakespeare proud. So, read it, dearest friends. This is the best retelling of Shakespeare's work that we will ever come to know in our time...
‘'I owe it hell on earth.''
Many thanks to Penguin Random House, Hogarth UK and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange of an honest review,
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com
''A dream possesses all of Northern Ireland and Northern Ireland is a sort of fairyland too. It is a place of outspoken symbols and unspoken rules, where only local logic applies. Strangers finding themselves there may find themselves lost there. And the dreamers who inhabit the place are safe as long as they don't wake up. They sleepwalk, sleepwork, sleepwatch, and sleepwait, living inside the mind, eyes wide shut to what is outside it.'‘
The Black (Ian Sansom): A young man decides to paint his house black. And then, darkness consumes him.
Original Features (Jo Baker): A new house is a reason for celebration, a new family is about to step into the world. But a door in a dream and the night terrors that plague a child will mark the characters in this extraordinary story. And sadness permeates the atmosphere right to its striking end.
The Woman Who Let Go (Moyra Donaldson): A marriage of 30 years is torn apart. The woman of this beautiful story finds solace in an isolated house in the country. Nature and the ghosts of the past become her healers.
A Loss (Bernie McGill): What starts as the story of a deceased old aunt becomes darker and darker in a tale full of mysterious questions.
The Leaving Place (Jan Carson): A husband has to say goodbye to his wife in the Leaving Place. A story that will break your heart...
Bird. Spirit. Land. (Ian McDonald): A terrifying tale of magpies, haunted paintings, dark skies and trapped souls.
Silent Valley (Sam Thompson): I'm afraid I didn't like this one at all. The resurrected witch hunting, the politics, and the exhausted Dystopian elements in relation to the Troubles seemed naive, exaggerated and quite ridiculous.
The Tempering (Michelle Gallen): A very intriguing take on the Changeling myth, as a kind father is substituted by a man of unspeakable cruelty that leads a family within the heart of the Troubles.
Now and Then Some Washes Up (Carlo Gebler): In an extremely haunting and cryptic story, a man comes of age in Belfast during the 70s. He becomes a teacher, creates a happy family and retires at 65, enjoying a beautiful house. Yet, the water hides secrets and death is never far away...
The Missing Girl - Extracts from an Oral History (Reggie Chamberlain- King): A tragic, haunting metaphor for the Troubles and the wounds in Northern Ireland.
The Wink and the Gun (John Patrick Higgins): I have no words to describe this story. A photographer is about to (unwillingly) reunite with his old classmates when a simple accident brings him to the path of two boys. Two strange-looking boys, with hollow faces and torn clothes. And everything changes. Perfection! Eerie, uncanny perfection!
The Quizmasters (Gerard McKeown): A cycler is threatened by a driver who starts asking trivia questions in a morbid, lethal quiz game. Paramilitaries or serial killers? Or are these two the one and the same? For me, the answer is a loud, unapologetic YES!) This one made my heart run cold...
Redland (Aislinn Clarke): A woman tries to understand her sudden fear of dogs and traces the history of Redlands.
The King of Seatown (Emma Devlin): The Seatown is a place where escape is not possible. The King wants control. IDs, passports. The land is divided over things no one understands...
A unique collection.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''There is magic in the night when pumpkins glow by moonlight.''
This book is a real treat and I don't intend to trick you at all. Okay, excuse my lamentable attempt to make an intended pun and let us turn attention to this little treasure. Lisa Morton offers so many information as we look upon the mutiple views on the origin of the best holiday in the world, Halloween.
We learn the day's relation to the various festivities before the times of Christianity, and the ways people adopted it once the new religion dominated over the old one. We come to know all the superstitions and customs associated to the celebration, how it spread over the United States and the reasons why its popularity waxes and wanes in other parts of the world. We read about Día de Muertos, the Day of the Dead in Mexico and the way Halloween has been influencing popular culture from Robert Burns, Scotland's favourite poet, to the absolute king of Halloween, the genius that answers to the name Tim Burton.
It is an excellent book, written in beautiful language, perfect for those who adore Halloween and for those who wish to learn more about one of the most fascinating and haunting (literally or figuratively) nights of the year.
''One time in a million, someone who is still very young understands that life is a one-way journey and decides that the rules of the games don't agree with him. It's like when you decide to cheat because you know you can't win. Usually you're found out and you can't cheat any more. But sometimes the cheat gets away with it. And if, instead of playing with dice or cards, the game consists of playing with life and death, then the cheat turns into someone very dangerous indeed.'‘
Undoubtedly atmospheric, with a few haunting moments, but in my opinion. the writing felt dry and clumsy and the dialogue seemed almost naive and lifeless. I don't know whether the fact that it was Zafon's first novel or the possibility of a genuinely soulless translation is to blame but I am not particularly eager to try my luck with the rest of his work.
A YA novel (or whatever you want to call it) is no excuse for pure boredom, predictability and ridiculous remarks. Our teenagers deserve better than today's writing which wants to treat them like fools. Don't be idiots.
I've always believed that visiting a gallery and looking at the works of Art is a unique experience. I find it almost transcendental. From well-known masterpieces to contemporary abstract creations, a painting is a highly mystical, cryptic experience. When we read a book, the story is told to us, we love it (or not) and move on. But a painting is the vision of the artists, known only to them, unfolded on the canvas. What we make of it is our own perspective. Take the unique Mona Liza, for example. When you stand before her, you cannot help but wonder. Who was she? Why is she smiling? What did she know that we don't? And when we try to explain, we immediately form stories. This is what is going to happen when you have the beautiful chance to ‘meet' A Boy and a House by Maja Kastelic. A story without words, a graphic novel that will make you close your eyes and daydream. Or take a notebook and, perhaps, write your own scenes and dialogues. One thing is certain. The illustrations will transport you to the innocent, beautiful world of children.
You will see the nightly streets, beautiful houses with red roofs and big windows. They did remind me of Ljubljana (Kastelic is from beautiful Slovenia) but it could be any lovely European city. Faces are looking through the lace curtains at us and a young boy who's walking, smiling, carrying his school bag. It's evening. Where is he going? Where was he? A woman in a red dress is passing by, a girl wearing a polka-dot frock is peering at him through a half-opened door. Mice are dancing, lit by the street lamps, a dog is smiling, black birds are resting on the rooftops, the antennas and the chimneys lit by the moon. The streets aren't ordinary. The boy is passing ‘'Grimm Street'' and a house where a poet named Francois Sad was born. He decides to enter a house in Andersen Street following a gray cat. So, you see? The boy is walking through tales to discover a treasure.
In the house, there are books, children's drawings, keys, dolls, cages. Photographs and beautiful paintings, old records, teapots, cards, woolen spools. Everything is scattered, everything has its own place. The house seems abandoned and occupied at the same time. And the cat leads the boy to a beautiful surprise.
A story without words, a graphic novel that has all the ingredients of a complex tale. Each one of us can create a thousand stories just by looking at a single item in the marvelous pictures by Maja Kastelic.
Many thanks to Annick Press, Maja Kastelic and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com
''The fibrous contents of her shop - so much wool and linen and cotton - seemed a dry and tangled trap around her. But here was a face that opened up a space above her head that was cold and vast, like the sky over the sea. Her gaze floated up to the top of the page and she started to read.''
A seagull falls on Ray's head as he is standing on the beach. The strange accident happens at an even stranger moment when Ray's attention has been attracted by a woman who's standing in the distance, looking at the waves. This moment changes everything. Ray goes on to create a series of paintings dedicated to that unknown woman. But what happens when Jennifer finds out that she has been the muse of a recluse artist whose heart opened one day at the beach?
''But she looks ancient to me, kind of wise and sad. Like she knows something we don't.''
Our lives are defined by meetings and once-strangers that soon become friends, lovers, enemies. But what about the ones who remain strangers? What about those weird moments when we come face-to-face with a person we haven't met before and yet, somehow, our curiosity is awakened? What about those chance meetings that never came to fruition? What if things were different? What if we were supposed to meet a special person and the indecisive nature of fate intervened?
Ray sees Jennifer and his life changes. Paige cleverly and brilliantly weaves her story around our anticipation. Will the two characters meet? Jennifer's life is present throughout and this allows us to understand her character. She is an ordinary woman, level headed, cautious, a little too afraid of the world. Ray is a secret. Melancholic and silent, a man who lives by his own rules. Both are extremely cryptic, secretive characters and that's what makes this slim novel even more fascinating. The quietness, the dreamy atmosphere, the very familiar routine. Every reader can connect with Paige's story.
Paige elegantly comments on Art, the influences of the artists and the dubious ‘‘promoters'' who exploit their talent for profit. Or sex. Paige's views on this issue are honest and eloquently depicted in the characters of Grace and Amanda, the rich wife and the inexperienced journalist, two awful women who try their best to make use of Ray and Jennifer to satisfy their sick instincts or promote themselves despite their obvious incompetence.
Do we ever get to truly know each other? Is a fleeting moment enough to define us? We are free to draw our own conclusions. What is absolutely certain is my strengthened conviction that a quiet, ‘‘ordinary'' story written with sensitivity and elegance stays with the reader long after the last page is turned. This novel resembles one of those melancholic afternoons during the end of summer. The calm, sweetness and sadness are there. We just have to give in.
''It was the first day after the clocks had gone forward, the first lone evening, and whereas yesterday this house had been marked by a dull and deepening gloom, the sun was behind them now, on its way down, and the warmth hit their backs as they walked, hand in hand like one of those sweet old couples still in love. The tide was high and Jennifer looked far across the water to the long row rise of Kent. Across the mouth of the Thames.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
I'm not an avid reader of contemporary thrillers, I tend to be quite picky with them. This one won me over, though, when I read the blurb. When I was younger, about 13-14 years old, I wanted to become a surgeon and perform transplants. For a number of reasons I decided upon a different career but my interest in the field remains strong. There is a plethora of articles and theories about recipients whose personality was altered after the operation to a significant degree. Some of them were said to acquire traits of their donors. I don't know whether I believe this to be true, but this was a good reason for me to be interested in the novel.
This premise is taken to a whole different degree here and it is very difficult to say anything about the story. However, I think that in order to pay attention to it, we must suspend all disbelief, because there are certain points and issues that are quite problematic, in my opinion. Casey starts being troubled by insomnia and horrific nightmares after her surgery and her personality as a whole has been altered. At least, this is what everyone around her claim throughout the book. In all honesty, this was tiresome. I saw no problem with her at all. To my poor mind, it is obvious that anyone who suffers from problematic sleep or lack of it is bound to be irritable and troubled. You should try to disagree with me after a bad night. I mean, the dragon is awaken. For some strange reason, this seems to elude the doctor's fine judgment. Their answer is that Casey is a psychopath...
Casey is just about the only thing the writer got right in terms of the cast. She is a young woman who is certain and confident in her abilities and her judgment and perfectly aware of her troubles. She is determined to solve everything, despite everyone trying to convince her to “have some rest”. And by “rest” they actually mean “let's lock you up in a clinic, feed you with a spoon while you're a breathing vegetable in order for us to appear as if we're actually good parents. Which we are not.” This was my major annoyance with the book. Perhaps I have been raised in a babble, I don't know, but Casey's parents seemed to me highly unrealistic. Either that or the writer's intention was to make them utterly stupid. Those people couldn't see beyond their bloody noses! Especially Eddie. What mother would behave like that? It's a wonder that Casey managed to keep her wits with parents like those people. Lionel, her grandfather, was the second decent character, although for a man who had served so many years in the police, he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer and Scott was merely passable, but sympathetic. The villains were indifferent and clichéd, the psychiatrist was an absolute bore and perhaps a bit untrained? I doubt that a capable scientist would make the mistakes she did. Perhaps, the naive characters was the writer's way to emphasize Casey's isolation but the result was rather implausible for me.
The writing lacked spirit and punch to support the story and I could see the solution of the mystery before I reached the 50% mark of the book. How many times can someone gulp and glare in a chapter? The descriptions were repetitive, the dialogue were Hollywood clichés and the overall situation appeared hysteric. Everyone was shouting or crying or staring coldly at someone. You don't create tension and atmosphere in this way. Not when you deal with a story that had some potential....
I know I'm not the right reader for the book since my experience in thrillers isn't extensive, but I recognize a thing or two about good and bad writing. So, while the story was interesting and the pace was adequate, the execution wasn't satisfying at all. Perhaps I am spoiled by the Nordic writers but The Recipient didn't meet my demands. Give it a try and see whether it meets yours.
Many thanks to Central Avenue Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
''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/
‘'The bones were gone. Only the outline of fur remined. Even the dislodged claws had been collected. Julie looked around as though the culprit might be right there.''
The sea is like a dream. It's said that life began there and our course on the Earth starts in the water. It's only natural that this is a place where tales are born. Tales of the past and stories of our present times dedicated to the sea that gives life but also has the power to take it away. This novel blurs the lines between life and death, between the present and the past but the execution leaves a lot to be desired.
Julie returns to her hometown to support Marty, her father, who fought in the Gulf War and whose memories haunt his every step.When a strange woman arrives claiming to have a past that connects her to Marty, Julie begins to struggle with the truth and the secrets of her father. Meanwhile, death makes his presence known in the form of dead animals, believed to have committed suicide. So, this is a dark story that may sound weird- and it is- but the premise is very interesting.
Neale decides to tackle a number of themes in her work. From the deep bond between a man and a dog to the intense presence of the past in our daily lives and the slow but certain surrender to grief as a result of PTSD. It is a story that wants to appear heavy in symbolisms, to become a part of the tradition of Literary Fiction but, in my opinion, it just tries too hard. The themes of suicide and PTSD are closely linked but I am not sure whether the writer managed to insert them successfully into the plot.
The writing is too restrained, almost lukewarm, given the premise. The plot is engaging but the dialogue isn't equally satisfying. I don't think that the constant cursing can be considered ‘Literary'. Not when there are two F-bombs every other paragraph, not when we intentionally missing auxiliaries, subjects and pronouns. And no, this isn't the teacher talking, it's the truth. The plot deserved a more constructed, thoughtful, poetic language. On the bright side, there isn't any hint of melodrama and cheap sensationalism in sight, which is always something I appreciate. Magical Realism is present but it feels forced, even misplaced. For example, the information regarding urban legends about animals were very interesting but they felt insignificant. An excuse for surreal snippets that offered little to the narration.
The characters gave me a bit of trouble, to be honest. I couldn't bring myself to care for their fortune all that much. Marty is an interesting man and his struggles bring the novel a whole level up. Julie is also sympathetic and I liked her straightforward manner, although her development over the course of the action was subpar. However, this JLL creature is such a despicable, foul-mouthed, disgusting figure that completely and utterly destroyed the story for me. Call me overreacting but low quality situations and, most importantly, low quality people is something I cannot stand.
This is a dark read that had every potential to be memorable but fell short in the end. The writing couldn't make the premise attractive. In my opinion, the writer lacked the kind of language that elevates sad, haunting stories into greatness. I recommend the novel, though. I tend to overanalyze certain things and you may find significance where I couldn't. It is not a bad book per se but it had every potential to be exceptional and ended up being just average.
Many thanks to ECW Press and Edelweiss for the ARC in exchange of an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com
“She was the gatekeeper at the edge of the world. The final human hymn before all fell to wind and shadow and the strange crooning of stars. She was a pagan chorus. An older song.”
One of the most exciting and nervous moments in the life of a dedicated reader is the minute we open the next book by a writer who produced a masterpiece whose roots are planted deep in our soul, a novel that has never really left our mind since the last page was turned. In this case, I'm talking about Hannah Kent and her debut novel “Burial Rites”. I think the vast majority of those who read it adored it and those who didn't still found many things to appreciate. Her sophomore effort is no less exciting, beautiful, haunting and agonizing. The only exception is the lack of a character who could rival Agnes' powerful voice and convictions. The three women in “The Good People” don't even come close, but it doesn't matter because the mysticism that flows through Kent's exquisite own makes this novel a 5-star read.
-They say there's portent in the direction of a new year's wind.-What does a wind from the west bring?-Please God, a better year than last.
The previous year has brought all kinds of misfortune for Nora. She lost her daughter to a sudden, wasting disease, her husband collapsed after a heart attack and she is left with her grandson, Micheál, who has lost the power of his legs, his speech and his mind. She hires a young woman, Mary, to aid her with her load and pays frequent visits to Nanche, an old woman who claims to possess the intimate knowledge of herbs and fairies. The three women are our ears and ears in the story, each one different in her fears, but with the feeling of despair and helplessness for things beyond their understanding.
“Such a dark season of death and strangeness.”
Kent sets her story perfectly. Strange accidents are taking place, the hens and the chickens are not producing their goods as before, the cold is unusually severe, the fog is too thick, the sun has darkened. For a community that is steeped in superstition and gossiping, these events mean only one thing. The Evil Eye is upon them and they are certain that more wrongs will follow.
“They have always been here. They are as old as the sea.”
The Good People of the title are the Fairy Folk, the main stars in the tradition that has shaped a great part of the outstanding Irish Folk we have all come to love. Nanche believed that all misfortunes have been caused by the creatures of the world beyond and takes it upon herself to right the wrong. Whether she can do it or not is another matter. Her ally is Nora who, driven by her losses, is eager to put the blame on someone who is different, unwanted, unable to defend himself against the madness of a dark time.
“Don't be questioning the old ways.”
At the heart of the story lies the legend of the Changeling. According to tradition, the fairies used to steal human babies from their cradles and leave a child of their own in their place. The fairy child was different in shape and spirit and considered evil by the community. Nora is convinced that the boy is responsible for everything, aided by Nanche. But Mary, whose bright mind is free from superstitions, has come to bond with the boy, much to Nora's dismay.
The writing in this novel is nothing short of outstanding. It is simple, mystical, poetic and loaded with tradition. Kent inserts a plethora of traditional Irish customs and superstitions in the narration, many of which play a significant part in the development of the story. Apart from an exquisite plot, this book is a wonderful folk study of the Emerald Island. It is intriguing to witness the way the superstitions shaped and controlled the lives of the residents in the past. And they still do, albeit to a much small extent. The language is beautiful, the interactions are written with respect to the setting of the story, but there are no idioms that would present problems to those who aren't familiar with the Irish dialects. The ambiguity of the convictions of the people is very effective and it was refreshing to see that there isn't much focus on a rivalry between Religion and Tradition. Apart from the local priest who tries to make the people see some sense, the villagers have fully embraced a combination of Christianity and the Old Ways. The problem is that the balance is very uneven....
The characters of the three women are very well-written, interesting but can't be compared to Agnes of “Burial Rites”. Still, Kent takes us on a journey in three very different souls. Nanche and Nora are almost fanatics and Nora is a rather contradictory character, since she is against gossips but very much in fear of the Evil Eye. I can't say that I sympathized with her. I understand the depth of her pain, but she was so thick-headed and unfair. To use a well-known equivalent, she reminded me of the cruelty and narrow-mindedness of Catelyn Stark. Too bad no wedding was in sight...Nanche is very ambiguous. I still can't decide whether she truly believed in what she did or it was her excuse to make herself useful. Mary is a character that shines. She seems to live in the periphery of the action, but I feel that her importance is significant. She is like us in a sense, watching and bonding with the poor, blameless child, feeling unable to stop what is coming. I fully sided with her decisions and convictions.
Hannah Kent is a born writer. Her pen is magic, her ideas and characters jump out of the page, people of their time and place but people like us. This book is a hymn to the rich Irish tradition, a mystical, haunting, dark, violent journey to places and ideas of a more innocent, more ignorant era. It is a novel to be cherished and appreciated by readers who desire meaningful stories and knowledge in the hands of a trusted artist. It is a human study of the darkest hours of our existence, when we're faced with despair and death and don't know in whom to trust our hopes. It is a book by Hannah Kent. This should be reason enough for you to read it....
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com