Leviathan — Book Review // 4 of 5 stars

  

(check out my new page: What is The Fandom Café?)

Leviathan written by Scott Westerfeld.

Genre: young adult steampunk alternate history.

Premise: Prince Aleksander, would-be heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, is on the run. His own people have turned on him. His title is worthless. All he has is a battletorn war machine and a loyal crew of men.

Deryn Sharp is a commoner, disguised as a boy in the British Air Service. She’s a brilliant airman. But her secret is in constant danger of being discovered.
With World War I brewing, Alek and Deryn’s paths cross in the most unexpected way…taking them on a fantastical, around-the-world adventure that will change both their lives forever.
My Thoughts:

Plot: There were plenty of unexpected moments and twists to keep me guessing. For me the World Wars are a fascinating time period, so reading a book about the first War set in an alternate history, steampunk world was extra fun.

Worldbuilding: Brilliant, very well thought-out and written. I like a book where the world is so fresh you can see what’s happening, feel the essence of it, and know what everything looks, tastes, and smells like as if you were really there. Even though the slang Deryn speaks is often crude, it perfectly fits the world Westerfeld created. I’ve caught myself saying “barking spiders” several times. Also, Deryn’s rides on the Huxley are so real they were making me giddy. 

Characters: Ahhh… the characters. ^_^ Alek captured my heart at once — charries with tragedy do that to me. He’s such a sweet, brave, lonely little boy. By the time he realizes he has no clue how to pretend he is a commoner I was rooting for him completely. Deryn is a fiesty, clever-boots, determined girl who took a bit longer to worm her way into my affections (more on that later) but I love her to pieces now. Of the two Alek is my favorite. His character arc throughout Leviathan is fascinating to watch, from a little boy playing a strategy game with his toys to a responsible young man. 

I like everything about the Count, particularly his dry snark and when he talks politics with Alek — which is almost always. (Can I just say how much I loved the addition of politics in this book. Lots of books leave that element out of their worldbuilding, or only touch on it briefly, and I love that Leviathan wasn’t like that.) The “boffin” doctor is another favorite with her quick mind, clever dialogue, and enigmatic way of behaving. Diplomat much? I like how she keeps Deryn on her toes, but I felt badly for how easily she tripped up Alek in verbal sparring. Poor chap. He has a lot to learn. 

My dislikes:

Firstly, the evolutionism. One side of the War — mainly the Brits — are called Darwinists because they have evolved species of animals to make them more useful and spliced together genes to create various creatures that are combinations, e.g. dogs with spiders legs or a weird mixture of tiger, lion, and I don’t remember what else. It’s uncomfortable to read about because it’s so clearly against the laws of God, nature, and scientific logic. 

The other thing is Deryn’s attitude towards being a girl. It’s one thing to disguise yourself as a boy so you can be a midshipman, it’s quite another to do it with a hearty disgust about everything feminine. One of the saddest effects of feminism is girls who are taught to be uncomfortable as womanly women. 

Despite those two points I enjoyed Leviathan very much, and I’m dying to pick up Behemoth and see what happens next. 

In conclusion: Leviathan is an engrossing read with some unfortunate elements, but with stellar worldbuilding, a captivating plot, and lovable characters. 

–> The Fandom Café: now serving spoilers <–

GUYS. If those eggs don’t turn out to be dragons I will be barking furious. I will REND ALL THE THINGS. (kudos if you get that reference.) Also, I know they’re still children practically but I ship Alek and Deryn. so. hard. I need this to be a thing. And I’m dying of curiousity: has anyone else shipped the Count and Dr. Barlow together? Because there would be so much snark and adorableness. I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS SHIP. 

And can we just talk about the Huxley rides for a moment? Did they make anyone else feel dizzy? Heights are not my Favorite, BUT the moment when Deryn uses the whole set-up like a zip-line was EPIC. And I was freaking out when Dr. Barlow asked Deryn about her razor. I wonder how long it’ll take her to realize that she’s a girl? 

Oh, my stars. O.O How will Alek react?!! *hyperventilates* 

–> Exit the Fandom Café <–

I am interviewed by a Fellow Scribbler

  
(via pinterest.)

Recently the lovely Heidi asked me if I would like to do an author interview with her on her writing website. Of course, I was highly honored and delighted to do so. She sent me her thoughtful, in-depth questions, and the rest is history! 

1. (Heidi) Some differences and similarities you see between the three major forms of storytelling—literature, music, and film? 

(Annie) Oh, goodness, this question is fascinating and surprisingly difficult to answer. Some obvious similarities between film vrs. literature would be they both involve characters, emotion, and some semblance of a plot. But simultaneously they tell their stories in very different ways. A book drops you inside the minds and thoughts of its characters. Reading requires imagination and…. read more.

What Makes The Perfect Autumn TBR?

 

(image via pinterest. words are my own.)

Autumn. The nip of chilly air. Trees blushing rosy red. Dead leaves rustling like paper in the wind. The scent of bonfires and ripe, sweet apples. 

Something about the Fall season always makes my bones tingle with the longing to read, read, read — more so than usual, even.

Autumn is when I dig out mysteries and cozy novels and books that tend to run more than 400 pages long. Something about the season’s air is perfect for curling up in your warmest flannel with a novel that makes you deliciously frightened. Or sprawling out on your (quilted, soft) bedcovers with a book that keeps you breathless with laughter. And autumn breathes the feel of poetry, which means well-loved — and new — poets are in demand.

Annie’s Autumn TBR: 

–The Phantom of the Opera (first read)

–The Silver Branch (first read)

–Behemoth (first read)

–Jane of Lantern Hill (re-read)

–A Tale of Two Cities (re-read)

–The Wrath and the Dawn (first read)

-A few Shakespeare plays

–Flights and Chimes and Mysterious Times (first read)

–Rebecca (first read)

–Rooftoppers (first read)

–Pilgrim’s Inn (first read)

-A Scarlet Pimpernel book

–Fly Away Home (re-read)

–Halo: Fall of Reach (re-read)

–Ivanhoe (re-read)

–Winter (first read)

I also plan on reading a goodish amount of Wodehouse and Agatha Christie (pretend I haven’t been doing that already). Plus G.K. Chesterton’s Father Brown, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and C.S. Lewis, and various poets. 

And since this post fits the prompt, I’m linking up to the Broke and the Bookish.

Tell me all! What makes the perfect Fall TBR for You? What books/genres will you be digging into this season? Your Go To autumnal Read? And (this is important) do you drink cider whilst reading? Eat pumpkin pie? (Aimee and Amanda, I know you two don’t. We’re still friends, though. *gives you apple pie*)

I am Juliette sneak peek // the 7/7/7 challenge

  
The sweet Victoria and the inspiring Nicole both tagged me for what is called the 7/7/7 challenge. 

In a nutshell, I trot over to the seventh page of my manuscript, count seven lines down, and share the seven lines below that. LET US DO THIS.

Quick synopsis: I am Juliette is a light science fiction re-telling of Beauty and the Beast. A girl wakes up from hibernation on a starship with no idea how she got there or why. The ship appears to be deserted other than a few quirky robotic birds, but then she discovers a mad prisoner trapped in a containment cell. 

And many feels go down. *fangirls/cries inside*

The seven lines:

“A hospital?”

“Negative,” POND I chirped.

I tapped my lip, and looked the hall over once more. My gaze fell on the wall-sized image of a night sky, bright with stars. A planet shone in the remote background.

Holographic wallpaper, maybe. And is that supposed to be Earth?

//

And I shall tag…… Joy @ Fullness of Joy | Schuyler @ My Lady Bibliophile | Emily @ The Herosinger | Carmel @ CARMEL | Mirriam @ Wishful Thinking | Hanne-col @ Ain’t We Got Fun | Elisabeth @ The Second Sentence | and anyone else who wishes to participate! Don’t be shy, ladies and gentlemen. 

Ten Books I Am Eager To Read In The Near Future

  
(image via Pinterest. words are my own.) 

This week for Top Ten Tuesday we all basically get to do our own thing. Did anyone else besides me panic momentarily? 

Hence: 

Ten Books I am dying to read soonish (probably during the months of ice-and-frozen-fingers-and-hibernating-in-a-nest-of-blankets-and-drinking-all-the-hot-chocolate).

  

  
1. The Phantom of the Opera.

This book has been described as epic and glorious and beautiful and heartbreaking and I can’t wait to get my icy fingers on it! I actually have a read-along planned with two friends for this October so I’m stoked about that. *flails*

  
2. Macbeth.

Let’s take a minute to swoon over that cover, shall we?

Now then. Much of the classic lit I’ve read has little nods to this particular Shakespeare play, and I want to know what it is all about. Every tiny snippet I’ve caught of it on-line is gorgeous. 

Plus, it’s a tragedy which means all the feels. 

Let’s do this. 

  
3. Red Rising.

Aimee read this and it sounds just my cup of tea (despite the fact, I’ll have to read it with white-out in hand). I love books that tear my emotions apart, and are rich with story, and moral conflict that makes me think. 
  

4. The Wrath and the Dawn.

Alright, I haven’t the faintest idea if this is clean or rubbish (any of you know?) but, it’s a re-telling of one of the most fascinating Arabian Nights stories, and I want to read it in the worst way.

  
5. Flights and Chimes and Mysterious Times.

Steampunk! Metal fairies! Clockwork dragons! Time-travel! Villainesses! More steampunk! 

I NEED IT.

  
6. Shirley.

In a nutshell, after the heart-wrenching, rich beauty that was Jane Eyre I desperately want more of Charlotte Brontë’s writing.

  
7. Seraphina.

Mathematical dragons in an alternate-medieval world? 

YES PLEASE.

  
8. Pendragon’s Heir.

Because I’ve never read an Arthurian legend book and a friend of mine wrote it and it sounds all around epic.

  
9. The Book Thief.

This sounds like one of those unforgettable reads that is about as close to perfection as one can get. We need to become acquainted, this book and I. 

  

10. Show Your Work!

I blame Schuyler for my eagerness to devour this. That and Steal like an Artist being such an inspiring read. 

Have YOU read any of these books? Thoughts? Which ones intrigue you the most? What books are YOU dying to get your hands on? 

Flash fiction — Her (part two)

Oh, goodness, thank you all so, so much for your positive response to Her!! Everything you said was so encouraging, inspirational, and just so overwhelmingly nice! *group hugs* Have a cupcake, and a bag of chocolate chips. (find Part One here.)

Her [part two]

Light.

Crouching on the ground, your eyes closed, even then it’s blinding.

Your head spins.

Teleportation three times in half an hour will do that to a person.

The first time you are too much in shock to take the child’s mother with you.

You remember the child.

So you went back for the stick woman with the sky-eyes.

Finding her dead was another shock.

It makes sense (you think now). Without her child, what reason was there to live?

Finding her limp body, the strong spirit fled like a falling star…

You open your eyes.

The sight of freshly piled dirt floods your vision.

Taking lives and burying those already gone.

Will you never be done with death?

A soft sound filters into your awareness and you look up.

The child shifts in her bundle of blankets. She watches you curiously with her blue eyes. Blue eyes that are too bright.

Too trustful.

You look away and stand up straight.

With a flick of your hand, the child floats up to shoulder-level. She lets out an excited squeal and tries to squirm around so she can see you.

You ignore her and look down at the grave at your feet. A cool breeze wafts past, smelling of pine and cold water and mountain air.

How do you say goodbye to someone you hurt? To someone who should have lived?

You never learned how.

In the end, you say nothing.

Words are empty.

So you turn and walk away from the mound of already drying earth.

Away from the woman with the eyes of sky and fire.

Her child floats along behind you. You resist the urge to turn your head when she squeaks, and walk steadily on, moving aside branches without bothering to touch them.

And so you make your way across the pine-clad slopes without the child receiving a scratch.

Meadows are good for hiding in. You don’t need to hide, but it makes you feel safer.

You never feel safe really.

A twitch of your fingers and the child drifts down to rest in a jumbled heap among the long, tangled grass.

She is asleep.

You move a few feet from her and sit cross-legged. The grasses stand taller than you. Sound is muted here. The whole world shut out and far away.

You look down at your gloved hands.

One heartbeat and your mind pours out a nightmare. Fractured images. Color. Sound.

A moving picture of every person you destroyed.

Automatically you begin to count backwards from a hundred.

Anything to keep away the memories.

You’ve rescued people since. 

You look away from your hands.

The hands that killed.

Faces of Men in Red flash before you.

That still kill.

In the end, do the lives saved even matter?

You can’t breathe.

“Take care of her.”

How?

How?

For the first time you look at the child (the baby). Really look at her.

She is tiny. Tiny and helpless.

You can’t remember what it’s like to be so innocent.

“Take care of her.”

It shouldn’t be you.

Not you who lost all innocence years ago when a victim’s blood spilled on the dirt.

Not you who broke the bones of a woman with eyes like the sky.

The bones of her mother.

Not you who are broken yourself.

(you want to be fixed.)

I can’t do it, you think.

Protecting a child? Being a father?

You can’t do it.

You want to. 

Getting attached to people only hurts.

You want the pain.

Losing her could break you.

You are broken already.

You don’t know how to be caring.

You want to remember.

Please, you want to remember.

Fists clutched, fragmented words tumbling through your brain — you almost don’t hear the faint, mewling cry.

You stiffen and lift your head.

The child (baby) looks at you — eyes like the sky — and yawns.

The walls built around your soul crack.

You take a deep breath.

Carefully, you tug off your black gloves, one finger at a time. Your veins show blue through your pale skin.

Without the gloves you feel vulnerable somehow.

The baby blinks at you sleepily.

You lift your hands. They tremble.

How long has it been since you touched another human?

You lean forward and gently, slowly, you scoop the baby up.

She is tiny. Light as a cloud and warm with life.

You hold her close, shifting her into the crook of your arm, and it feels natural and unfamiliar all at once.

For the first time in years your heart stumbles from something other than fear or anger.

Your eyes burn and you taste salt water on your lips.

The baby looks up at you and yawns again.

“Hey, there,” you whisper.

“Fourteen”

Fourteen years ago I was a six year old little girl. 

Fourteen years ago the world as I knew it changed forever. 

  
I still remember that day as if it was yesterday.

I remember Dad renting a TV so we could watch as the atrocity unfolded.

I remember sitting in front of it on the hard, wooden boards of our floor, my siblings clustered around me. 

I remember the confusion I felt.

I remember my mother crying as she tried to grasp what was happening (how could this possibly be happening). I remember her crying when she explained to me.

I remember the fear. (so little, and taut with vague fear and dread, even though I’m with Mummy and Daddy.)

I remember the horror as I began to realize that people were dying. (so many people).

I remember watching people jump from the towers in desperation. I remember clutching my fists, unable to believe my eyes. 

I remember turning to Mummy with one simple word: “why?” (Mummy always made everything better.)

I remember being too stunned to even cry.

I remember Mummy holding me and my two younger sisters close as if –thousands of miles away from NY — something could happen to us.

I remember people streaming to churches. 

I remember praying numbly myself, and in my six year old mind not even knowing exactly what to pray.

I remember the stories of heroism and humanity and patriotism that finally made me cry when I couldn’t before.

I remember wanting to donate blood, but not knowing exactly what it meant.

I remember being fiercely proud of my people, my nation, as we banded together and bound up each other’s wounds.

This was my first encounter with horrific tragedy. 

Six years old.

Someone, I can’t remember who, told a story with tears streaming down her face about not remembering to give her Dad a hug that morning. He died two hours later.

For more than ten years after that I hugged my Dad goodbye every morning without fail.

My parents taught me to be thankful, to live life treasuring each moment, savoring every breath.

9/11 drove that lesson home.

May we never, never forget those who died, those who gave their lives to save others, and the thousands who are still affected by September 11th. 

“…. That we here highly resolve that these dead have not died in vain: that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that the government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” — Abraham Lincoln, the Gettysburg address.

“…. I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil.” — J.R.R. Tolkien

  

Ten Series I Will (maybe) Finish Before The World Ends

  
(image via pinterest. words are my own)

I’m joining in the Top Ten Tuesday meme hosted by the Broke and the Bookish today! This week’s prompt is Ten Finished Series I have YET to Finish.

(And let me tell you it was not an easy task coming up with TEN book series I still have to finish. When I read a series, I read the series. So I bent the rules a bit by including Not Yet Completed Series too.)

  
  
1. The Giver Quartet.

One of these days I will finish Son. I WILL. It just…. wasn’t very interesting to me. I still think The Giver is the best out of that whole series. But! Maybe Son improves. *skeptical squinty eyes*

  
2. Supervillain of the Day.

So far I’ve read the first three books, and loved them to death. Satire! Wit! Supervillains! Aliens! Unexpected feels! Best friends w/love-hate relationship! What more could you want? 

  
3. The Leviathan trilogy.

STEAMPUNK, MY FRIENDS. Ahem. I am currently knee-deep in the first book, and the story-line, characters, and setting make me so happy. The evolution-y aspect of it doesn’t thrill my soul (fabricated animals? Ick. And unrealistic) but I will definitely pick up Book Two when I’ve finished the first. Also, Alek is near and dear to my heart. My precious.

  

4. The Roman Britain Trilogy.

I did a read-along of The Eagle of the Ninth last month with Hanne-col and we both loved it with all the love. (Seriously, if you haven’t read it, get thee to a library!) Now I need to read The Silver Branch, but I keep on forgetting to put it on hold. SOMEONE HOLD ME ACCOUNTABLE.

  
5. The Lunar Chronicles.

Anyone else on pins and needles to read the last book in this series? I need it ASAP. I need more Cinder fighting-cyborg action, and adorable Thorne/Cress moments, and ACTUAL Jacin and Winter scenes. Also, Iko. I love Iko so much. And what happens to Scarlet, I ask you? *hyperventilating* November can not arrive soon enough. 

  
6. The Berinfell Prophecies.

I have all three of my sisters giving me grief about my lack of enthusiasm over this series. Patience, darlings. I’ll put Venom and Song on hold today. I WILL. 

  
7. The Eliots of Damerosehay.

The first book in this series was heartbreakingly beautiful. So much so that I’m scared to read the next book. My heart is a fragile organ, humans! o.o

  
8. The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place. 

Pleasepleasepleaseprettyplease, if you are in love with this series tell me so we can fangirl together! *bribes you with chocolate chips* And are you scared for the next book too? Because the last one BROKE me. Pardon me while I panic. 

  
9. Reckoners trilogy.

I have a love/hate relationship with this series. The sci-fi, and plot twists, and general supervillain writing epic-ness is fantastic, but David’s inability to filter his thoughts about women (Megan in particular) drives me batty. I didn’t even finish Firefight because of it. I think I’ll probably end up buying the book and just whiting out the inappropriate parts and swearing. 

  
10. Tales of Goldstone Wood.

This series is far from being finished (everybody dance a jig of joy!) but I still have to read Golden Daughter and Draven’s Light. And I am so excited. Particularly since the former stars a highly trained Top Secret girl-guardian. Just my style. ^_^ 

Have you read any of these books, fellow bookworms? Which of these series should I tackle ASAP? Which series NOT featured here do you recommend? 

Flash Fiction — Her (part one)

 
(image via pinterest. words my own.)

There is this chap around the Twitter writing community that I collided with a few months ago. His name is Brett, and one day on a whim I trotted over to his website to read an article about Heroines that some of my friends had mentioned. Whilst I was there I read a flash fiction he wrote in the beginning of August entitled simply, Ashton. It was vivid, poignant, and captured my attention so completely I didn’t even notice the specific style he wrote it in until I reached the end. Over the next few weeks while I went on holiday and visited tiny, gloriously overflowing bookstores, and swam at night in glimmering pools, and rode ski lifts and ate ice-cream, I kept on thinking about Ashton in the back of my mind. A thought started to percolate as thoughts do.

And so I finally wrote a flash fic of my own told in the same style Brett used. Enjoy! I’m hoping to post Part Two next Friday. (part two can now be found here.)

Her [part one]

Dark.

Shadows stretch like fingers along the passage walls. Grey blends with black, shattered only by the intrusion of red where each guard stands.

Light is cold, blue, and faint here. Sound is swallowed up before it begins. Time exists only by the change of red to fresh red.

From your place in the deepest corner without light you watch the crimson-clad soldiers march by.

Red like blood. 

Their footsteps echo into silence and the Men in Red stand still once more.

Statues waiting to be broken.

Your fingers flex of their own accord, and you smile in the dark.

And move.

Shadow on shadow, black against black. A rapid, complicated dance you’ve done a thousand times.

The guards fall one by one, their uniforms crumpled blotches against the floor.

Red like blood.

You leave them where they are — stumbling blocks to make time when the alarm sounds.

The laser grids and razor wire are next.

Most men could never do what you do; could never turn their too-wide bodies at the precise angle and speed to flip and twist through a maze, through a tangled web of red death.

You have always been small. Small, slight, and agile.

But, as usual, your body whizzes by the last laser a fraction too close.

A high-pitched shriek like a demon let loose fills the air. Most people would hit the floor, and curl up, hands over ears.

You are not like most people. 

Past history as a Man in Red makes sure of that.

Adrenaline shoots through your veins, and you hit the floor and roll to your feet in one fluid motion.

Darting over to the nearest cell, you burn a hole through the steel with a slap of your gloved hand and toss an activated teleport cube inside.

You move from cell to cell in a matter of seconds, teleporting the prisoners off without even bothering to glance inside.

Last cell.

You burn a hole, fling a cube in…. and someone grabs your arm.

No time to think. No plan.

Just gut reaction.

You twist your hand. And snap the unseen wrist.

A split second too late your mind catches up.

Heart surging, you stagger back a step. Then raise both gloved hands and burn through the cell door.

Inside a woman crouches at your feet, breathing in painful gasps. One wrist dangles at a freakish angle and she clutches it against her chest.

Seeing her feels like being kicked in the gut.

With a flick of your hand, you de-activate the teleport cube. The woman doesn’t move as you crouch in front of her, and you realize why. You also realize why breaking her wrist felt like snapping a twig.

She is skin and bones, dressed up in rags.

Bile rises in your throat, and you spread your hands, careful to angle the palms away from her.

She lifts her eyes. Blue eyes burning with fear and rage and despair.

You hear yourself stammering out words in a voice that threatens to splinter and shatter, but you know it can’t make a difference.

Words are empty.

Know that any number of apologies can’t atone for the pain you’ve just needlessly inflicted on her.

For the pain you have inflicted on others.

“I’m sorry,” you say anyway. “I am so sorry, ma’am.”

Holding your voice together by a thread. It still cracks.

Holding your soul together with twine. When will it break regardless?

The look in her eyes changes, and she mouths suddenly, “Take care of her.”

The woman’s gaze flicks to the left, and you follow it with your own.

A child sits in the corner.

A baby, to be exact.

It’s so tightly bundled up you doubt if the alarm even bothers it. You think it’s asleep.

You glance back at the stick woman with the blazing sky-eyes.

“Take care of her,” she repeats.

Your eyes widen, and you forget to breathe.

The woman holds your gaze with a fierce grip, and you can feel your soul stripped bare before her.

“If you’re sorry,” she says, “take care of her.”

Four words.

Four words she grits out between, chipped, stained teeth.

Four words that hang suspended in the air.

Four words that make your heart tremble.

How long has it been since you felt raw fear? 

You open your mouth.

No.

IamakillersheisjustachildIcantkeephersafeitshouldntbeme.

No. I can’t.

“I will,” you say.

And the Winner is…

  
Hello, lovelies! 

I’m sure you’re all dying to know who won the Curious Wren blog launch pressies. Yes? Maybe? 

Oh, the suspense. Unfortunately I can’t think of more ways to prolong it. Such is life. la sigh. 

So! The winner of Steal Like An Artist, the Adagio peppermint tea sample, and the chocolates is……..

*drumroll*

*music intensifies*

CLARE!

Congratulations, m’dear! I’ll be emailing you sometime today, so haunt your inbox. 

Thank you so much to everyone who participated in the giveaway, and the blog tag, and left such lovely comments on the interviews and the party post! *group hugs all around* You are so supportive and nice. I’ll be commenting on the various postlings participating in the Curious Wren party tag, and replying to all your fantastic comments this weekend, humans! 

Keep an eye out for a flash fiction involving Not Assassins on the blog tomorrow! I tried out a different style. *mysterious nod*

(image via Pinterest)