Du Maurier was a genius at creating delicious, atmospheric scenes. In her capable hands, the setting o"Respectable folk don’t go to Jamaica anymore."
Du Maurier was a genius at creating delicious, atmospheric scenes. In her capable hands, the setting of the Jamaica Inn on Bodmin Moor became a hauntingly beautiful one. The main character, Mary Yellen, possessed both an endearing vulnerability and inspirational strength as a sinister mystery unfolded around her.
"… a silence on the tors that belonged to another age; an age that is past and vanished as though it had never been, an age when man did not exist, but pagan footsteps trod upon the hills. And there was a stillness in the air, and a stranger, older peace, that was not the peace of God."
Although this book didn't quite reach the pinnacle of Rebecca, it came a very close second and was easily my favorite read of the year....more
"A dream is not reality, but who's to say which is which?" ~Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Imagine, if you will, an addition to your house built "A dream is not reality, but who's to say which is which?" ~Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Imagine, if you will, an addition to your house built solely to entertain children. It is called the nursery. Any marvel a child can imagine manifests itself in three dimensions on the ceiling and walls, accompanied by scents and temperature changes to round out the experience. They might like a day spent in a clover field brimming with bunnies or an invented trip to the circus. As a bonus, you gain free time to clean the home or read a book. It's perfectly safe — it’s virtual reality.
But is a room in which your children can live out their dreams genuinely innocent? What if the little ones are into something more thrilling? George and Lydia Hadley had recently begun to wonder what their kids, Peter and Wendy, have been up to in the nursery. Lo and behold, they discover a sensory sensation that leaves their hair standing on end…
The Veldt was written in 1950, and Ray Bradbury was undoubtedly ahead of his time. This creepy sci-fi short story is just the ticket!
"Coincidence and intention are two sides of a tapestry, my lord. You may find one more agreeable to look at, but you cannot say one is true and the ot"Coincidence and intention are two sides of a tapestry, my lord. You may find one more agreeable to look at, but you cannot say one is true and the other is false."
And so I entered the world of Fuwaad ibn Abbas, a merchant from Baghdad, who by coincidence (or intention) stumbles upon a wondrous metalsmith’s shop. Bashaarat, the store owner, cordially greets Fuwaad. As he peruses the fascinating items on display, the craftsman casually mentions that he has something even more fantastic in the next room. Would Fuwaad like to see this extraordinary object? He wondered.
"Of course he would!" I exclaimed. "Take us to see this magical marvel at once!" My anticipation was electric, sparking like a molten blade in the process of being forged.
The clanging of metalwork faded into the background as Bashaarat spoke of his discovery — a gateway of seconds. He then stepped up to a metal hoop positioned chest-high in the middle of the room and gave a demonstration.
“Bashaarat thrust his arm through the hoop from the right side, but it did not extend out from the left. Instead, it was as if his arm were severed at the elbow, and he waved the stump up and down, and then pulled his arm out intact. I had not expected to see such a learned man perform a conjuror's trick, but it was well done, and I applauded politely. "Now wait a moment," he said as he took a step back. I waited, and behold, an arm reached out of the hoop from its left side, without a body to hold it up. The sleeve it wore matched Bashaarat's robe. The arm waved up and down, and then retreated through the hoop until it was gone”
Fuwaad and I were both skeptical, but our curiosity was piqued, and we were eager to unravel this mystery.
The metalsmith shared with the merchant that there was more.
How could there be more? I pondered as I hurried after the two men as they entered another chamber. A large, polished metal circle waited silently — a gateway of years…
This is the best short story I’ve read this year! The Merchant and the Alchemist’s Gate is a brilliant tale that left me mesmerized. Take an hour to visit Bashaarat’s emporium. You’ll be glad you did.
Many thanks to my Goodreads friends for pointing the way to this terrific tale. It’s free to read HERE....more
"Her will, like the veil strung to her bonnet, flutters in every breeze; always there is the desire urging, always the convention restraining."
Most o"Her will, like the veil strung to her bonnet, flutters in every breeze; always there is the desire urging, always the convention restraining."
Most of us, at one time or another, have wished for some elusive ‘thing’ that we believed would make our lives complete, but Emma Rouault has turned wishful thinking into an art form. Life on her father's farm is dull as dishwater, so to escape the boredom, she reads romance novels and dreams of a white knight on a majestic steed who will carry her away.
Enter Charles Bovary, a country doctor coddled far too long by his mother, who barely graduated from medical school and experienced nothing but bad luck in love. The last thing he needs is a flighty, beautiful wife with Champagne tastes that far exceed his income. But when Emma’s father breaks his leg, and Charles is called in to mend it, the farmer’s daughter bewitches him, and their fates are sealed.
My heart ached for Charles; he loved his wife and would have given anything to see her happy. But he had to engage with Emma; destructive, miserable Emma… I longed to reach into the pages and give her a good shake. She continually chased a dream while ignoring the steadfast love that waited patiently for her on her doorstep.
Madame Bovary is a tremendous tragedy brimming with beautiful prose. Bravo, Monsieur Flaubert!...more
"I desire the things which will destroy me in the end." ― Sylvia Plath
When I picked up Death in Venice on a whim, I thought I was in for an exciting It"I desire the things which will destroy me in the end." ― Sylvia Plath
When I picked up Death in Venice on a whim, I thought I was in for an exciting Italian mystery. This was not that...
On holiday in Venice, a successful and severely repressed Gustav von Aschenbach fears his best years as an artist are behind him. But The Muses, with their wicked sense of humor, place Tadzio, an exquisite Polish boy, in his path. The events that unfolded placed it solidly in the category of a Greek tragedy. (Mann even threw in an abundance of God and Goddess references for good measure.) Having never experienced what he described as love, Aschenbach is utterly lost.
I asked myself: Can a deep admiration of another’s physical beauty to the point of life-altering obsession be classified as love? Aschenbach knew nothing about Tadzio. The boy could have been a vapid, passionless creature for all he knew. To me, love is something more profound, a connection of souls. And who knows, maybe a soul connection can happen without ever speaking a word? But I’m no love doctor.
The writing is elegant, the poetic prose conjuring some splendid scenes. That being said, the story itself didn’t set me on fire. It held my interest, but Mann’s beautiful writing was the hero of the piece. I give the story three stars and the writing five stars, settling in the middle at four stars. Silver-tongued Simon Callow expertly narrated the audiobook.
"It was the smile of Narcissus bending over the water mirror, the deep, enchanted, protracted smile with which he stretched out his arms to the reflection of his own beauty, an ever so slightly contorted smile—contorted by the hopelessness of his endeavor to kiss the lovely lips of his shadow—and coquettish, inquisitive and mildly pained, beguiled and beguiling."...more
"Some of the greatest criminals I have known had the faces of angels…"
As I teed up this second book in the Hercule Poirot series, I peeked over the br"Some of the greatest criminals I have known had the faces of angels…"
As I teed up this second book in the Hercule Poirot series, I peeked over the brilliant Belgian’s shoulder to read a letter penned by Monsieur Paul Renauld urgently summoning the detective - and Hastings, his faithful companion - to France. This letter promised to supply all the details once they had arrived. Below the signature was a despairing and almost illegible scrawl: "For God’s sake, come!"
With their interest piqued and suitcases packed, the men boarded a ship anticipating their new adventure. But upon arrival, they found that the author of the letter, their very reason for traveling, had been murdered. Mon Dieu!
In true Christie fashion, her literary twists and turns had me hanging onto my Kindle for dear life yet enjoying every minute. Would Poirot hit a hole-in-one or shank it? I don’t want to spoil the fun for anyone who hasn’t read The Murder on the Links. (Despite its title, no golfers were harmed in the making of this story…)
Christie’s masterful storytelling has left me hungry for more. On to book three!...more
In Hercule Poirot's Christmas, we meet up with the mustachioed maestro of murder mysteries as he is visiting an old friend, Chief Constable Colonel JoIn Hercule Poirot's Christmas, we meet up with the mustachioed maestro of murder mysteries as he is visiting an old friend, Chief Constable Colonel Johnson. When a call comes in that there has been foul play at multi-millionaire Simeon Lee’s mansion, Poirot tags along with the Colonel 'just to observe'. (wink, wink)
Simeon Lee has made his millions in the diamond mines of South Africa and has since fathered a family that puts the 'd' in dysfunctional. Nevertheless, the old devil has summoned his children from far and wide for a Lee family Christmas that promises to be a 'bloody' good time...
This story puts the ho-ho-ho in homemade holiday homicide; and with an abundance of suspects, Poirot will have difficulty solving the case before the figgy pudding is served. Will he succeed? Grab a copy and settle in for some Christmas carnage, Christie style. You’ll be glad you did!
On a blustery night in England, I joined Captain Hastings and Poirot as they discussed the Belgian detective's many successes. Hastings’ curiosity gotOn a blustery night in England, I joined Captain Hastings and Poirot as they discussed the Belgian detective's many successes. Hastings’ curiosity got the better of him, and he had to know if the great man had ever taken a case he royally messed up.
"No, but seriously have you ever failed?"
"One must take the downs with the ups, my friend."
"I meant, had you ever been completely down and out over a case through your own fault?"
“Ha, I comprehend! You ask if I have ever made the complete prize ass of myself, as you say over here? Once, my friend—”
So began a recounting of Poirot’s failure to root out the truth in the bittersweet case of M. Paul Deroulard. Monsieur Deroulard was a French deputy of note who dropped dead suddenly just as his ship was about to come in. I won’t spoil the sweet joy of discovery by revealing too much. It is enough to say that I spent the entirety of this short story smiling like an idiot, as Poirot described murder and mayhem in a way that only he could. What a character!
The Chocolate Box is a tasty tidbit that can be read in the space of an hour, but the joy it brings will carry on long after the last word is devoured. Well done, Ms. Christie, well done!...more
"With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea."
The city streets of"With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea."
The city streets of Omelas are alive with music and dancing as festivities honoring another year of bliss commence. The citizens' fields overflow with abundance, and they know no war or strife. For this, they must pay tribute.
"Omelas sounds in my words like a city in a fairy tale, long ago and far away, once upon a time."
What? I hear you say. Surely a city cannot be filled with joy and happiness all year round? How has such perfection been achieved with neither a king nor bureaucracy to guide them? Do tell! It is not a secret. Every resident of Omelas knows what is required to keep their delight intact. It’s a tiny thing, they say. One small requirement that allows thousands to live their lives free from want or worry.
"But we do not say the words of cheer much any more. All smiles have become archaic."
You are welcome to peek behind the locked doors to see what price has been paid to the piper. But be warned, once you know, you will wish you didn't...
Many thanks to Laysee for sharing this short, shocking tale. It's free to read HERE....more
Welcome to Styles Manor, where murder is afoot and suspects are aplenty.
Britain is in the grip of World War I and Arthur Hastings, our narrator, has Welcome to Styles Manor, where murder is afoot and suspects are aplenty.
Britain is in the grip of World War I and Arthur Hastings, our narrator, has recovered from an injury he received at the Western Front. Having been discharged from an English convalescence home, he wonders where he’ll land next, but fate has plans for him. Happening upon John Cavendish, a boyhood friend, Arthur is invited to stay at Styles Manor.
To outward appearances, our man Hastings has undoubtedly arrived: the Cavendish clan is posh, polished, and positively loaded. But any family, rich or poor, has secrets. From the dazzling Mary Cavendish (John’s wife) to the loyal maid, Dorcus, these characters are geared up to take us for a ride. Yes, indeed. The living is easy in the English countryside until it isn’t ...
Early one morning, death comes to visit when the matriarch of the Cavendish collective is poisoned. Talk about a spanner in the works! But don’t despair; a splendid little fellow by the name of Hercule Poirot, whose head was "exactly the shape of an egg,” lives close by. His powers of deduction are on point, and no secret will stay buried.
I have been circling Agatha Christie novels for quite a while, and when I signed up for Audible, it seemed like a good time to try one. I adored this whodunit! Richard Armitage did a bang-up job with the different characters. Truth be told, I’m a little in love with Poirot, and I’ve decided that Mr. Armitage, with his pistachio-ice-cream-on-a-hot-summer-day voice, should read all my books to me from now on. (I hope he’s on board....more
"A glass-blower, remember, breathes life into a vessel, giving it shape and form and sometimes beauty; but he can with that same breath, shatter an"A glass-blower, remember, breathes life into a vessel, giving it shape and form and sometimes beauty; but he can with that same breath, shatter and destroy it."
I tiptoed into the first pages of this novel, fearful that I would be disappointed because historical fiction isn't my usual choice.
The month was June, the year 1844, and eighty-year-old Madame Sophie Duval, née Busson, would come face to face with her past via a chance encounter between her daughter and a long-lost relative whom Madame Duval never imagined would cross their path. What followed was a brilliant reimagining of du Maurier's own family history of master glass blowers in eighteenth-century France.
Not knowing what to expect made this tale all the sweeter, so I will not reveal too much except to say that I felt as if I knew each character intimately, taking part in their tragedies and triumphs. I could almost feel the heat of the wood burning in glass house furnaces and smell the acrid smoke-filled air from muskets firing as France descended into revolution.
The story was intriguing, exciting, and, at times, heartbreaking. I was spellbound! Silly me. I had nothing to fear. Daphne du Maurier has never let me down.
All the stars for this fabulous read. I never wanted to reach the end....more
"There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about." — Oscar Wilde
Published in 1905, The House o"There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about." — Oscar Wilde
Published in 1905, The House of Mirth was set in New York in the late 1800s — America's Gilded Age.
Miss Lily Bart was one of the 'in crowd'; high society was what she was born and bred for. She was blessed with remarkable beauty and her prospects of a 'good marriage' seemed to be set in stone. But no one in her well-to-do circle should have counted those unhatched chickens, for Lily had a streak of independence a mile wide — and it went against her baser instincts to accept any of the suitors who had dented her sofa cushions over the years.
But an unfortunate illness left Miss Bart without family or means and placed her at the mercy of an aunt's reluctant offer to take her in. Lily quickly realized her situation was tenuous and, at twenty-nine, had resigned herself to bite the bullet and choose from one of the Dapper Dans, whose numbers were dwindling by the day.
Enter Lawrence Selden, the Rhett Butler of this story, darkly handsome with a twinkle in his eye. Mr. Selden had been upfront with Lily. He had no wish to marry her but found her game-playing with the other fellows all very amusing. She could be herself with him because he wasn't a prospect; so good friends they would be.
The rich and the righteous had set standards for unmarried young women. Even a toe over the line of what was considered proper would get one tossed out of society on one's ear, and there were those who would have loved nothing more than to witness the downfall of charming Miss Bart. Will Lily succeed in walking the line?
As one of the most beautiful snowfalls I've ever seen softly coated Kansas in white, I read the final pages of this captivating novel. This did not have the same humor I experienced with my previous read of her work, but the characters leapt flamboyantly from each page. The tale was touching and sometimes harsh, with writing that was dependably on-point. I shed a few tears before all was said and done and the brilliant, unexpected ending put this squarely in the five-star category.
The House of Mirth will be a hard one to beat this year. If you are a fan of the television show The Gilded Age, this book is for you.
A few of the quotes that I highlighted: "She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate."
"Miss Corby's role was jocularity: she always entered the conversation with a handspring."
"It was one of those still November days when the air is haunted with the light of summer…"...more
"To and fro, from table to hearth, bustled buxom Mrs. Bassett, flushed and floury, but busy and blithe as the queen bee of this busy little hive sh"To and fro, from table to hearth, bustled buxom Mrs. Bassett, flushed and floury, but busy and blithe as the queen bee of this busy little hive should be."
An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving, by Louisa May Alcott, circa 1882, has that same heart-warming Little Women vibe, and it transported me back to simpler times. The Bassett family is anticipating their turkey and pie, but, as is usually the case, no great dinner ever comes off without a hitch, and hitches they have aplenty!
""I do like to begin seasonable and have things to my mind. Thanksgivin' dinners can't be drove, and it does take a sight of victuals to fill all these hungry stomicks," said the good woman, as she gave a vigorous stir to the great kettle of cider apple-sauce, and cast a glance of housewifely pride at the fine array of pies set forth on the buttery shelves."
One of the things that struck me while reading this tale was the excitement the characters shared over the possibility of oranges arriving in time for dinner; a reminder to be thankful for the small things.
""Here's a man comin' up the hill lively!" "Guess it's Gad Hopkins. Pa told him to bring a dezzen oranges, if they warn't too high!" shouted Sol and Seth, running to the door, while the girls smacked their lips at the thought of this rare treat, and Baby threw his apple overboard, as if getting ready for a new cargo."
As a child, I spent every Thanksgiving following my grandmother around her kitchen like a shadow. I wanted to lend a helping hand, but I'm sure I was only in her way. Yet each year, she managed (despite my "assistance") to put on a grand feast that left everyone spellbound. She passed her love of cooking on to me, and though she is gone now, I feel her with me each year while I prepare Thanksgiving dinner for friends and family.
An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving is a charming short story filled with love and laughter, and I wish all who celebrate a joyous Thanksgiving.
Many thanks to Julie, whose delightful write-up pointed the way. Julie’s REVIEW.
“Halloa! Below there!” When he heard a voice thus calling to him, he was standing at the door of his box, with a flag in his hand, furled round its sh“Halloa! Below there!” When he heard a voice thus calling to him, he was standing at the door of his box, with a flag in his hand, furled round its short pole. One would have thought, considering the nature of the ground, that he could not have doubted from what quarter the voice came; but instead of looking up to where I stood on the top of the steep cutting nearly over his head, he turned himself about, and looked down the line.”
As this eerie short story unfolds, we meet a signalman whose seemingly ordinary life also involves swimming in the murky waters of otherworldly happenings. Will he react to what appears to be a supernatural warning in time to effect a change? Or is a change even possible?
Dickens was a master of the written word. In the space of eighteen pages, he has spun a tale that made me wonder what I would do should I be presented with a preternatural omen.
Many thanks to Fran for digging up this spooky tale! See her review HERE....more
"Dandelion Wine. The words were summer on the tongue. The wine was summer caught and stoppered…"
As I turned the first page, I found myself in an Illin"Dandelion Wine. The words were summer on the tongue. The wine was summer caught and stoppered…"
As I turned the first page, I found myself in an Illinois berg by the name of Green Town. The year was 1928; a summer packed with possibilities had just begun for Douglas Spaulding and his pals.
"Sandwich outdoors isn’t a sandwich anymore. Tastes different than indoors, notice? Got more spice. Tastes like mint and pinesap. Does wonders for the appetite."
I delighted in Bradbury’s cinematic imagery as I met the town’s inhabitants one by one and discovered what lay behind their closed doors.
"Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer."
This read like a string of short stories with Doug Spalding as the hub that tied them all together; each person he encountered took center stage and shared their part of the story.
"Gardening is the handiest excuse for being a philosopher. Nobody guesses, nobody accuses, nobody knows, but there you are, Plato in the peonies, Socrates force-growing his own hemlock. A man toting a sack of blood manure across his lawn is kin to Atlas letting the world spin easy on his shoulder."
When my journey began, I imagined a coming-of-age tale. And it was to a small extent, but more than that, it was an exploration of love, loss, aging, and a realization that where we are is precisely where we are meant to be.
"No matter how hard you try to be what you once were, you can only be what you are here and now."
Bradbury’s poetic prose flowed like a lazy river, expertly carrying me through this enchanting novel. If you haven’t read Dandelion Wine, I highly recommend that you spend some time in small-town Illinois....more
“Iona Potapov, the sledge-driver, is all white like a ghost. He sits on the box without stirring, bent as double as the living body can be bent.”
F“Iona Potapov, the sledge-driver, is all white like a ghost. He sits on the box without stirring, bent as double as the living body can be bent.”
From the outset, the cold seeped into my bones as I imagined the forlorn Iona, his heart in tatters, snow gently blanketing him and his mare. As he drives his sledge, conveying a succession of uncaring passengers to and fro, he tries to unburden himself by revealing his recent loss. But none will grace him with a moment of their precious time.
In the space of five pages, Chekov made me long to wrap an arm around Iona and intently listen so he could share his pain. To evoke such deep emotion with a finite number of words is a true gift.
When a group of ladies who lunch receive the honor of hosting Osric Dane, the celebrated author, their excitement and trepidation concerning the visitWhen a group of ladies who lunch receive the honor of hosting Osric Dane, the celebrated author, their excitement and trepidation concerning the visit stirs a fluff amongst the members.
As the event draws near, each woman reveals their upper-crust considerations, save one: Mrs. Roby. She is, as they say, the odd one out with this crowd. But perhaps they shouldn't be so hasty to dismiss someone deemed an ill fit? Will she be their salvation or their downfall?
Awash with beautiful prose and subtle comedy, I urge you to read this delightful short story and find out how 'lunch is served.'
A big thank you to Antoinette for directing me to this fabulous short story. Antoinette's review
Here are a few quotes I adored: “Mrs. Ballinger is one of the ladies who pursue Culture in bands, as though it were dangerous to meet alone.”
“Miss Van Vluyck adjusted her spectacles as though they were the black cap of condemnation.”
“Her mind was a hotel where facts came and went like transient lodgers, without leaving their address behind, and frequently without paying for their board.”
“Osric Dane received the homage of the smile as a matter of course; but the accompanying question obviously embarrassed her, and it became clear to her observers that she was not quick at shifting her facial scenery.”...more
"Measure your wealth by what you'd have left if you lost all your money." ~H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
Kino, an impoverished pearl diver, one in a long li"Measure your wealth by what you'd have left if you lost all your money." ~H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
Kino, an impoverished pearl diver, one in a long line of the same, lives with his wife, Juana, and their infant son in a brush hut among a colony of friends in a Mexican coastal village. They can barely scratch together enough to feed themselves, but what they lack is made up for with love.
When a scorpion stings their baby, and they can't afford to pay a doctor, Kino and his wife desperately launch their canoe, searching for that elusive pearl which could mean the difference between life and death.
There is something to be said for the art in simplicity. Steinbeck's scant-yet-beautiful writing style painted a vibrant picture of this family and their journey. I was wholly invested from the beginning.
I read The Pearl, a novella, in the space of a few hours. Its symbolic message led me to consider the meaning of true wealth and the price we pay to capture our own 'pearls.'
If you haven't read it, I highly recommend this thought-provoking tale....more
"How soft and gentle her name sounds when I whisper it. It lingers on the tongue, insidious and slow, almost like poison..." ― Daphne du Maurier
As"How soft and gentle her name sounds when I whisper it. It lingers on the tongue, insidious and slow, almost like poison..." ― Daphne du Maurier
As I stare at the blinking cursor on my screen, thinking about all I’ve witnessed between the covers of My Cousin Rachel, I find myself missing Cornwall and wishing my adventure was not over. But every good story must come to an end, and what an ending it was!
This torrid tale is narrated by Phillip Ashley who, after the death of his parents, has been raised from infanthood by Ambrose Ashley, his bachelor uncle. Ambrose is a well-to-do English landowner, and as it turns out, these two fellows are kindred spirits, enjoying a life of having dogs in the house and smoking tobacco whenever they please without a woman telling them what to do. Once Phillip has completed his education, his uncle determines that the time has come to hand the affairs of the Ashley estate over to his heir while he sets off on his travels. Doctors have suggested that Ambrose might enjoy better health if he spends his winters in a warm, dry climate away from cold rainy days in England. And so it goes for two winters, with Ambrose returning each spring laden with exotic plants and fascinating stories of faraway lands.
Ambrose spends the third winter in Italy. But as spring approaches, he writes that he will stay on because he has become acquainted with their cousin Rachel. Oh my, how this news throws our hero into a state! Phillip had never come second to anyone where Ambrose was concerned. Who is this cousin? And what spell has she cast to keep Ambrose for so long in Italy? (view spoiler)[Then comes a letter that Phillip could never have imagined — Ambrose had married their cousin.
The months crawl by while Phillip waits for the couple to return to England, wallowing in misery over the thought of changes that will surely be thrust upon him. But instead of newlyweds, a short correspondence arrives that strikes fear into Phillip's soul. Four short sentences would send him racing toward Italy and Ambrose, praying that he wasn’t too late. (hide spoiler)]
The tension in this story was scrumptiously persistent, and because I grew quite fond of Phillip, I read every page with my heart in my throat, hoping for the best.
Bravo again to du Maurier for completely wrecking me in the most beautiful of ways.
If you haven’t read this gothic thriller, don’t miss it. Your visit to Cornwall will be unforgettable!...more
"Crazy people are not crazy if one accepts their reasoning" - Gabriel García Márquez
I turned to the first page, anticipating what wonders Márquez"Crazy people are not crazy if one accepts their reasoning" - Gabriel García Márquez
I turned to the first page, anticipating what wonders Márquez would reveal. Sentence by sentence, I drank in the always-enchanting prose this author has to offer as the story inched along. Then I reached the summit of the first hill and whoosh! Down I went through the bends, turns and loop-de-loops of this captivating story, which centers on the life of a twelve-year-old girl, Sierva Maria.
Set in eighteenth-century South America, the story begins on Sierva’s name day, when our birthday girl is bitten by a stray dog while strolling the marketplace with her caretaker. The author transported me to a time when the effects of a common illness could be seen as possession and illustrated the fatal outcome that could befall those imagined to have contracted diseases, such as rabies.
Sierva is of noble birth, but her family is on the cusp of ruin. With a mother who wallows in obsessions of her own and a father who can barely take care of himself, the girl is subjected to all manner of voodoo-esque cures. But does she even have rabies? That is the million-dollar question left to the studious priest, Father Cayetano Delaura.
Rich characters grace these pages; could a forbidden love, forged in the fiery pits of exorcism, save our long-haired beauty? And will love conquer all?
Gabriel García Márquez’s writing is delicious - and magical realism is his gift to the reader. Of Love and Other Demons is certainly Márquez-lite, and if you were considering dipping your toes into his sumptuous world, this would be a great place to start. At 160 pages, it is a delectable bite of the author’s extraordinary talent....more
Loading...
