Music Monday 13 (and 14)

Uh oh, unlucky number. Guess I'm going to have to write up two to make it okay again...

I know Christmas is actually over, but here are some (sort of) Christmas songs that I've been enjoying recently...

Winter Song by Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson

What a combination! I never realized how similar their voices are before now, but it's really clear in this duet...Never one I would have put together, but I'm ohhh so glad they did! Perfect Christmas song if you don't want to be bombarded with cheesy lyrics and too many trumpets. Understated, elagant, sweet, sad - what more could you want?

And the second song: Walking in the Air cover, by the excellent Ryan Sheridan

Talk about contrast! Originally a song that made me cry every time I heard it, I can now listen to it in full and feel cool about it! Not to disrespect the brilliant vocals from The Snowman, but I think this version is really unique and again, brings a non-Christmassy element to a very Christmassy song - talk about a free pass for a guilty pleasure!

Hoping the music brightened up your day,

Allie

Nightshade, by Andrea Cremer - Excerpt

I keep nearly forgetting to track down excerpts for my reviews - usually I search for them before I write the review, since sometimes it's necessary to have a little teaser to go along with the book and make sure anyone reading gets what you mean....thankfully someone had thought to write up an excerpt and I didn't have to look very far for this one...

Here you go, a whole 2,035 words of wolfishness - the first chapter! You'll see what I mean about action from the very beginning...

I'd always welcomed war, but in battle my passion rose unbidden.

The bear’s roar filled my ears. Its hot breath assaulted my nostrils, fueling my bloodlust. Behind me I could hear the boy’s ragged gasp. The desperate sound made my nails dig into the earth. I snarled at the larger predator again, daring it to try to get past me.

What the hell am I doing?

I risked a glance at the boy and my pulse raced. His right hand pressed against the gashes in his thigh. Blood surged between his fingers, darkening his jeans until they looked streaked by black paint. Slashes in his shirt barely covered the red lacerations that marred his chest. A growl rose in my throat.

I crouched low, muscles tensed, ready to strike. The grizzly rose onto its hind legs. I held my ground.

Calla!

Bryn’s cry sounded in my mind. A lithe brown wolf darted from the forest and tore into the bear’s unguarded flank. The grizzly turned, landing on all fours. Spit flew from its mouth as it searched for the unseen attacker. But Bryn, lightning fast, dodged the bear’s lunge. With each swipe of the grizzly’s trunk-thick arms, she avoided its reach, always moving a split second faster than the bear. She seized her advantage, inflicting another taunting bite. When the bear’s back was turned, I leapt forward and ripped a chunk from its heel. The bear swung around to face me, its eyes rolling, filled with pain.

Bryn and I slunk along the ground, circling the huge animal. The bear’s blood made my mouth hot. My body tensed. We continued our ever-tightening dance. The bear’s eyes tracked us. I could smell its doubt, its rising fear. I let out a short, harsh bark and flashed my fangs. The grizzly snorted as it turned away and lumbered into the forest.

I raised my muzzle and howled in triumph. A moan brought me back to earth. The hiker stared at us, eyes wide. Curiosity pulled me toward him. I’d betrayed my masters, broken their laws. All for him.

Why?

My head dropped low and I tested the air. The hiker’s blood streamed over his skin and onto the ground, the sharp, coppery odor creating an intoxicating fog in my conscience. I fought the temptation to taste it.

Calla? Bryn’s alarm pulled my gaze from the fallen hiker.

Get out of here. I bared my teeth at the smaller wolf. She dropped low and bellied along the ground toward me. Then she raised her muzzle and licked the underside of my jaw.

What are you going to do? her blue eyes asked me.

She looked terrified. I wondered if she thought I’d kill the boy for my own pleasure. Guilt and shame trickled through my veins.

Bryn, you can’t be here. Go. Now.

She whined but slunk away, slipping beneath the cover of pine trees.

I stalked toward the hiker. My ears flicked back and forth. He struggled for breath, pain and terror filling his face. Deep gashes remained where the grizzly’s claws had torn at his thigh and chest. Blood still flowed from the wounds. I knew it wouldn’t stop. I growled, frustrated by the fragility of his human body.

He was a boy who looked about my age: seventeen, maybe eighteen. Brown hair with a slight shimmer of gold fell in a mess around his face. Sweat had caked strands of it to his forehead and cheeks. He was lean, strong—someone who could find his way around a mountain, as he clearly had. This part of the territory was only accessible through a steep, unwelcoming trail.

The scent of fear covered him, taunting my predatory instincts, but beneath it lay something else—the smell of spring, of nascent leaves and thawing earth. A scent full of hope. Possibility. Subtle and tempting.

I took another step toward him. I knew what I wanted to do, but it would mean a second, much-greater violation of the Keepers’ Laws. He tried to move back but gasped in pain and collapsed onto his elbows. My eyes moved over his face. His chiseled jaw and high cheekbones twisted in agony. Even writhing he was beautiful, muscles clenching and unclenching, revealing his strength, his body’s fight against its impending collapse, rendering his torture sublime. Desire to help him consumed me.

I can’t watch him die.

I shifted forms before I realized I’d made the decision. The boy’s eyes widened when the white wolf who’d been eyeing him was no longer an animal, but a girl with the wolf’s golden eyes and platinum blond hair. I walked to his side and dropped to my knees. His entire body shook. I began to reach for him but hesitated, surprised to feel my own limbs trembling. I’d never been so afraid.

A rasping breath pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Who are you?” The boy stared at me. His eyes were the color of winter moss, a delicate shade that hovered between green and gray. I was caught there for a moment. Lost in the questions that pushed through his pain and into his gaze.

I raised the soft flesh of my inner forearm to my mouth. Willing my canines to sharpen, I bit down hard and waited until my own blood touched my tongue. Then I extended my arm toward him.

“Drink. It’s the only thing that can save you.” My voice was low but firm.

The trembling in his limbs grew more pronounced. He shook his head.

“You have to,” I growled, showing him canines still razor sharp from opening the wound in my arm. I hoped the memory of my wolf form would terrorize him into submission. But the look on his face wasn’t one of horror. The boy’s eyes were full of wonder. I blinked at him and fought to remain still. Blood ran along my arm, falling in crimson drops onto the leaf-lined soil.

His eyes snapped shut as he grimaced from a surge of renewed pain. I pressed my bleeding forearm against his parted lips. His touch was electric, searing my skin, racing through my blood. I bit back a gasp, full of wonder and fear at the alien sensations that rolled through my limbs.

He flinched, but my other arm whipped around his back, holding him still while my blood flowed into his mouth. Grasping him, pulling him close only made my blood run hotter.

I could tell he wanted to resist, but he had no strength left. A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. Even if my own body was reacting unpredictably, I knew I could control his. I shivered when his hands came up to grasp my arm, pressing into my skin. The hiker’s breath came easily now. Slow, steady.

An ache deep within me made my fingers tremble. I wanted to run them over his skin. To skim the healing wounds and learn the contours of his muscles.

I bit my lip, fighting temptation. Come on, Cal, you know better. This isn’t like you.

I pulled my arm from his grasp. A whimper of disappointment emerged from the boy’s throat. I didn’t know how to grapple with my own sense of loss now that I wasn’t touching him. Find your strength, use the wolf. That’s who you are.

With a warning growl I shook my head, ripping a length of fabric from the hiker’s torn shirt to bind up my own wound. His moss-colored eyes followed my every movement.

I scrambled to my feet and was startled when he mimicked the action, faltering only slightly. I frowned and took two steps back. He watched my retreat, then looked down at his ripped clothing. His fingers gingerly picked at the shreds of his shirt. When his eyes lifted to meet mine, I was hit with an unexpected swell of dizziness. His lips parted. I couldn’t stop looking at them. Full, curving with interest, lacking the terror I’d expected. Too many questions flickered in his gaze.

I have to get out of here. “You’ll be fine. Get off the mountain. Don’t come near this place again,” I said, turning away.

A shock sparked through my body when the boy gripped my shoulder. He looked surprised but not at all afraid. That wasn’t good. Heat flared along my skin where his fingers held me fast. I waited a moment too long, watching him, memorizing his features before I snarled and shrugged off his hand.

“Wait—” he said, and took another step toward me.

What if I could wait, putting my life on hold in this moment? What if I stole a little more time and caught a taste of what had been so long forbidden? Would it be so wrong? I would never see this stranger again. What harm could come from lingering here, from holding still and learning whether he would try to touch me the way I wanted to him to?

His scent told me my thoughts weren’t far off the mark, his skin snapping with adrenaline and the musk that belied desire. I’d let this encounter last much too long, stepped well beyond the line of safe conduct. With regret nipping at me, I balled my fist. My eyes moved up and down his body, assessing, remembering the feeling of his lips on my skin. He smiled hesitantly.

Enough.

I caught him across the jaw with a single blow. He dropped to the ground and didn’t move again. I bent down and gathered the boy in my arms, slinging his backpack over my shoulder. The scent of green meadows and dew-kissed tree limbs flowed around me, flooding me with that strange ache that coiled low in my body, a physical reminder of my brush with treachery. Twilight shadows stretched farther up the mountain, but I’d have him at the base by dusk.

A lone, battered pickup was parked near the rippling waterway that marked the boundary of the sacred site. Black signs with bright orange lettering were posted along the creek bank:

NO TRESPASSING. PRIVATE PROPERTY.

The Ford Ranger was unlocked. I flung open the door, almost pulling it from the rust-bitten vehicle. I draped the boy’s limp form across the driver’s seat. His head slumped forward and I caught the stark outline of a tattoo on the back of his neck. A dark, bizarrely inked cross.

A trespasser and trend hound. Thank God I found something not to like about him.

I hurled his pack onto the passenger seat and slammed the door. The truck’s steel frame groaned. Still trembling with frustration, I shifted into wolf form and darted back into the forest. His scent clung to me, blurring my sense of purpose. I sniffed the air and cringed, a new scent bringing my treachery into stark relief.

I know you’re here. A snarl traveled with my thought.

Are you okay? Bryn’s plaintive question only made fear bite harder into my trembling muscles. In the next moment she ran beside me.

I told you to leave. I bared my teeth but couldn’t deny my sudden relief at her presence.

I could never abandon you. Bryn kept pace easily. And you know I’ll never betray you.

I picked up speed, darting through the deepening shadows of the forest. I abandoned my attempt to outrun fear, shifted forms, and stumbled forward until I found the solid pressure of a tree trunk. The scratch of the bark on my skin failed to repel the gnat-like nerves that swarmed in my head.

“Why did you save him?” she asked. “Humans mean nothing to us.”

I kept my arms around the tree but turned my cheek to the side so I could look at Bryn. No longer in her wolf form, the short, wiry girl’s hands rested on her hips. Her eyes narrowed as she waited for an answer.

I blinked, but I couldn’t halt the burning sensation. A pair of tears, hot and unwanted, slid down my cheeks.

Bryn’s eyes widened. I never cried. Not when anyone could witness it.

I turned my face away, but I could sense her watching me silently, without judgment. I had no answers for Bryn. Or for myself.

Oh, and excuse some of the writing behind in red. I'm in a  red kind of mood.

Allie

A post in which I bring you seasonal merriment and joy

Aye, 'tis not an apparition you're seein'! I'm back! And not just in spirit through a review! I am here to grace you all with my madness once again....

It's the 21st of December. My post has to be about Christmas. Or Yuletide. If I'm taking time out from all the preparations and excitement it has to be to blog about Christmas. Right?

Well...

Yes.

(Let's face it, what else can I write about, Easter? Not yet my friend, Jesus isn't dying just yet.)

Anyway. At least the post will be a bit more traditional, albeit infected with what I like to call my enthusiasm, and what other people would call taking insanity to a whole new level. But I digress.

We'll be doing those new memes soon - so watch this space! - but since I blog predominately about books, I thought I might do a kind of book-ish Christmas post. And no, it's not a wishlist of all the books I want for Christmas, because a) that's been done before and b) it would take forever.

Remember those old Christmas stories you used to hear? And no, not about Santa Claus, because just in case there are kids reading this we';re not going to even mention that one.

 A. J. Bayes illustration, 1889

My favourite was always the Little Match Stick Girl. You have to have heard it. It's so saaaaad....*takes out Kleenex*

On a long ago New Year’s Eve, a poor little girl tries to sell matches in the street. She is freezing badly, but she is afraid to go home because her father will beat her for not selling enough matches. They are so poor that she is in bare feet even though it has grown dark and is snowing.  

She takes shelter from the cold and lights the matches to warm herself. In their glow, she sees visions; a brightly decorated Christmas tree and a divine Christmas Day meal. As she lights her next match, she sees a vision of her grandmother, the only person to have treated her with love and kindness. The girl sees a shooting star, and remembers her dead grandmother saying that such a falling star means someone died and is on their way up to Heaven. 

She strikes one match after another to keep the vision of her grandmother nearby for as long as she can, until there are none left.The next morning, people passing by find her body on the street - perfectly frozen, as though the last rosy colouring of her cheeks is jut fading away. She died, and her grandmother carried her soul to Heaven -which I guess is kind of a happy ending if you compare it to going to hell - but the story is still so unbearably haunting...*snuffles*

Johan Lundbye

Several versions of this story exist, including the one by the Brothers Grimm but the most popular and well-known is the one written by Hans Christian Anderson. Though he was also a poet his stories became most famous, and they were always some of my favourites...in fact, the whole lyrical poetry thing was probably a reason why I liked them. He wrote it in 1845 when his editor sent him a copy of a woodcut by the young artist Johan Thomas Lundbye (who, coincidentally, was chronically depressed and died at the age of 29 after being shot, though it is disputed whether it was accidental or if he killed himself). 

I had an audio CD of the story. It was worse than reading it, because the woman's voice was so lovely and I cried when I first heard the ending, because I'd heard of the story but never been able to track down a version of it to read, or listen to as it turned out to be. I've long since lost the CD, but the story has always stuck with me. 

Thank you, Hans Christian Anderson, for ensuring that no matter how much I love it, no holiday can go past without my regular dose of depression. So, to celebrate, here is the story in full, definitely more beautifully than I could ever describe it:

How I always imagined her to look 

Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening-- the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.


One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.


She crept along trembling with cold and hunger--a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing!


The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of that she thought. 


In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.


Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out. "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but--the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.


She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when--the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house.


Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when--the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire.


"Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.


She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.


"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.


But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.

Allie

Who Brought The Shot Glasses?

So. Cheer up! This post is a post of things to celebrate! by your very own, Tora. Now, don't be alarmed. I actually find fun in much the same things as you... don't let your eye be drawn to that little 'much', OK?

So, first up~

1. Obvious ones first... what could possibly be the best celebration right now? Nailed it! We have 1,ooo page veiws!

2. Some people believe in this dude called Jesus. He was born over 2,000 years ago around this time of year. And there are some who also believe that he was the Son of God. His coming to Earth to walk amongst us people was apparently of such great joy, that people still celebrate it, 2,ooo years later. So if you are a follower of Christ, I bid you Merry Christmas!

3. Some people like to celebrate Yuletide, a fesival that precedes Christanity and Christmas by centuries. It centers around the coming of spring, the return of the sun, days getting longer and new life. A sure reason for celebration! Party out today, which is the Winter Solstice, or Midwinter.

4. Near 100 posts on the Blog! We just have to publish some of drafts we have lying around in the backlog of Unfinished Posts.

5. We have ideas that will actually give structure (Careful, now, no fainting!) to the Bubble. We have created some Memes of our own.

Coming soon, to The Twinsister Bubble!

See you, next time, non-exsistent, computer illiterate or plain lazy readers.

Tora.

Book Review 8 - Nightshade, by Andrea Cremer

First things first: forget what you've heard about the plot of Nighshade. Wolves, love triangle, blah blah blah. Just ditch the misconceptions and the assumptions and everything, OK?

Now, I'm not saying Nightshade was perfect, as my orders to carefully select/delete your memories of Nightshade's hype might suggest. But if you'll be patient with me - I know my reviews can turn out pretty long, but it's only because I love doing them, and when something's worth doing it's worth doing right, right? (Oh God, did I just nearly reference an ancient pop song there? Please pretend I didn't. You are feeling very sleepy....) - I will get to my point eventually.

So. Onto the review. Well, let's start with the cover first, shall we? I know there are several editions of it, but I have to say this one is my favourite. I could go on and on about it, but I won't. It was the cover of the copy of Nightshade I picked up, and I think the other ones - which have models on them - ruin the story a little, changing your imagination's perception of the book, whereas this one is stunning, simple and utterly divine.

Nightshade's beginning is graphic, and action-packed from about, ooh, the second paragraph? Scratch that, it's the first. I liked how it really grabbed you, and introduced you to Calla's world almost instantly. It's definitely not something for people who like gradually-built stories, because the details seem to intertwined beautifully with the action almost straight away - you need to be clever and really absorb the information, because you know you're not going to be told it twice.

The first quarter of the book was really promising. There was action, information, a dark seductive vibe, tension, and the beginnings of conspiracy. Some of the scenes had me so hooked I had to read them three and four times just so they'd get through in my head, and then I'd re-read them again to bask in their awesomeness. I was obsessed to the point that I was reading the pages faster than I could turn them.

Though the supernatural is a common feature of YA fiction now, the way the wolves were portrayed in Nightshade was refreshing and very well-written. The themes of hierarchy, power, ignorance and duty are thoroughly explored through the pack and their wider circle - including their masters, and this was one of my favourite unique selling points of the novel.

And then Calla met Shay.

At first, he was bearable. He was innocent, gullible, naive, an outsider, but he was smarter than he looked and I wanted to find out more about him. But what Calla was going to do for him - sacrifice her pack, her family - was implied from very early on, though we had no idea how it would actually be carried out, and it just wasn't believable. Not that he wasn't worthy of Calla's love - it was just that I had trouble seeing the reasons why Calla would be interested in him, apart from blind love-at-first sight, which is a shaky basis, at least when included in this kind of story. He didn't leap off the page, and his character seemed a bit flat.

Unlike Ren. Ren was the epitome of what everything this book should have stood for; passionate, fierce, flawed, powerful, irresistible, a risk-taker. He was betrothed to Call to create a new pack, but that didn't stop him for vying for her affections in the only way he knew how. He was a player, and every time I saw his name on the page I practically screamed with delight. He was the only character I genuinely, and whole-heartedly, loved, though the secondary characters of Ansel and Bryn definitely added something to the book.

However, the one thing I was horribly disappointed by in Nightshade was the way women were treated. It seems like a really absurd thing to say about a modern YA novel, right? But although at first I didn't notice, the way the female members of the pack were expected - and often forced - to become second to their male counterparts, and even worse, toys for them disgusted me. I did understand that it was based on their wolf nature and the strict rules of the Keepers, but it got out of hand. I was looking forward to Calla be the strong-willed, independent minded girl I'd heard about - and she was that, at the beginning, before slowly and surely she allowed herself to be degraded and weakened. Even worse than this, it was mostly on her mother's orders. What kind of message in that sending out to its readers? In the end she did stand up for what she wanted - Shay - but it was too long in coming, and the damage had already been done.

My advice: anyone who loves pure YA fiction, action and suspense will love this book. But feminists better stay away, or you'll end up burning the beautiful covers on a bonfire.

Writing: 3.5/5
Characters: 3/5
Plot: 3.5/5
Impact: 2/5 (I could give it five out of five for all the wrong reason, but I won't.)
In five words: dark, seductive, paranormal romance, mixed-message

Allie

And yes, I know we haven't been around for a while...*shame* But don't worry, there'll be plenty of reviews and posts coming up over Christmas to make it up to all of you.

Oh, uhm, we have a blog? Why didn't anyone tell me?

...
...
...

Hi.

*guitly look over at the corner*

OK, so, there havn't been any posts in uh, *checks* A while? Yeah, sorry. In the mean time, though, we did get our first comment from an unknown someone. Mr Mike Draper, who reviews books for his blog is having a giveaway currently, and obviously saw Allie advertising for other book giveaways. Check him out if you're interested in that~~

And so hopefully, next time I post I will be able to show you some peices from the inside the bubble... the other big creative splurge that is music.

I would also like to talk a bit about microcosms (Don't blame me! Currently studying Lord of The Flies in English) and the dreadful, all consuming little plague that is Facebook.

Tora~~