Wahey for completing targets

Now I just have to figure out what to write about in this post. I suppose I could write about a book I've recently read, how rude it is to edit other people's posts, rate the different Easter eggs I've devoured since Sunday, describe the changes to decoration I'm making in my bedroom (it will be twice as cool as yours by the time I'm finished, Allie), my top tips for revising effectively, fangirl over- alright that is not on, the html thingy says "fangirl" isn't a real word. Well that just shows what you know- the films coming out in May. Alternatively, I could post my ideas about The Bells of St John, which was the latest Dr. Who episode,   or having phobias, or the best April Fool's jokes I've come across. I could also send out a message to teens with depression, rant about Misha Collins, or list the foreign TV shows I'd recommend if you're sick of the BBC, or waffle about just how lovely Charles McAvoy's voice is. Maybe I could write about all the things I could write about, or some music I've gotten into lately.

Tora, out.

What's this I see? Three posts in three days? From moi?

Oh yes, Tora, you dared me and a did it. In fact, there's a whole lot more I could write about in this post if I wanted to, but I'm not going to. Because some of us need to capitalise on staving off the procrastination monster for as long as we can.

Anyway, aside from starting sentences with conjunctions and an insatiable hunger for a) fan fiction and b) Kit Kats, I'm doing pretty well. Sure, I've written prologues for novels that were ten times the total word count of my three posts this week, but I'm trying not to beat myself up over it. You know what they say: writing is the best way to talk without being interrupted, and I'm always being told to shut up.

On that note, I bid you farewell, safe in the knowledge that you won't hear from me again until November.

Allie

Write or Die

(It's not as bad as it sounds. I promise.)

Write or Die is not, as you may have first assumed, my motto in life - though it would be both suitably ironic and fitting. It is, in fact, a web app of extraordinary usefulness. It may even be the only useful app I've ever tried out. (Yes, I'm looking at you, Skeleton-Hand-Thing and Angry Birds.)

Basically, you have to keep writing of your own volition or it will make you. Depending on your word count and time limit, you could find yourself being persuaded into writing no matter how much you want to procrastinate through a variety of simple, yet effective, methods. Cue sirens blaring and terrible boy band music grabbing your attention as you wander distractedly into the realms of Pinterest and Tumblr. I'm not a big fan of negative reinforcement as a general rule, but this app replicates the feeling of pre-exam dread that forces most people into actually doing some work. Not a bad idea.

Check it out here.

There isn't much more I can say about it that you won't find on the website, but let me just say this: there has never been any greater motivation for me to write than the thoughts of being serenaded by Rick Astley at unrestricted volume.

Let's write, people!

Allie

What can I say? I'm a sheep.

(Not really. It's a figure of speech. Sheep, following each other around? Yeeeah, you gots it.)

I would just like to point out that I would blog if I thought anyone was reading. As it is I'm trying to dig myself out of The Pit of Doom (otherwise known as The Black Plague, the Bane of My Life, or Writer's Block) and my twin sister's frankly creepy timing coincided with the first weekend I've actually got a head start on a new project thanks to a sugar rush of inspiration. No doubt when I go back to said project after this, all my inspiration will be gone. *grumbles*

Merry Easter. Or happy solstice. Or whatever. (MARCH IS DRUNK AND APRIL IS HUNGOVER. CUT ME SOME SLACK.)

Allie

No Post on Sunday

Happy Easter!

Or, y'know, Eostre. Or spring equinox.Or whichever it is you celebrate.

I've spent the weekend with my brother and his family. It was superb- I met the Gruffalo (well, a wood carving of him, but don't tell my niece and nephew that) and performed a very complex Easter egg hunt, resulting in not one, but two prizes. I never knew that Green & Blacks did Easter eggs, let alone 70% mint supreme quality Easter eggs. I thank my sister-in-law for that; her present buying ability remains unrivaled in this (extended) family.

In honour of the passing of Mr. Griffiths, there is not going to be any post on Easter Sunday this year, so I'm going to schedule this for tomorrow. I bid you all goodnight.

Tora.

Still figuring out that title

So, whilst everyone showers one another with medium-quality chocolate, I set myself the task of reviving this blog. Three new posts before Wednesday, all from me, and I shall nag Allie to try to match that. What d'ya reckon? Could she? (She's actually busy posting book reviews and things on another blog, but I'll get her here soon.)

Continuing the endeavor I undertook earlier this... year about reading the books my sister has reviewed on this blog, I shall now present my report:

Starcrossed, by Josephine Angelini

Helen Hamilton, not-so-average American teen, has grown up on Nantucket island with her father Jerry, after her "mom" shot through when Helen was a baby. As always, it - and "it" being the unveiling of Helen's not-so-averageness- began with the cute foreign boy starting her high school, for a couple of seconds after Helen first saw Lucas Delos (one of the teenagers from that massive family just moved over from Spain, talk of the town) she tried to strangle him. For the rest of the novel, things spiral alternatively in and out of control with enough seemingly obvious plot twists to give you whiplash.

I like the ideas that make up this book, the reincarnations of the old stories, the "inescapable fate". The reason it's a little confusing for me to get a grip on is the way it's written, which, depending on how you look at it, could be very well or sort of alright. It's the way the plot is sort of swimming inside the narrative. Helen's viewpoint is very heavy- you experience the story completely through her, exactly as a teenage girl would react to the situations and characters. The plot's a little continuous, but all the other nuances of the story, are personal anti-preferences, so I'll make no comment, and if you want, follow in mine and Allie's footsteps and try the story out for yourself.

See you laters!

Tora.

Oh, I have a music exam on Monday... and Monday is Music Monday day. That's weird.

Yeah.

Paloma Faith.

Lots of the marvelous letter "T".

Since I have adherently decided that exam time is the bestest time ever to get back into teen fiction, I'm doing this thing for the blog. It was going to be called "Tora Tracks Twin's Tales" or "Victoria Vandalizes Victim's Victories" (not to say that you're my victim, at all, Allie...) where all of the nice books that Allie has reviewed or described her undying excitement over their expected releases, I'm going to track down and read. I've already started (but you'll hear about that in just a second) and maybe I'll even post some reviews of my own in order that my dear sister actually /reads/ some of the thingies I've been nagging her to read (cue: evil laugh).
The truth is, dear internet, that I've been wasting far too much of my time studying for those pesky GCSEs and most of my reading has been of unpublished works by independant authors online *coughfanfictioncough* for cheap kicks. Time to return to the realm of literature excellence.

First off, "Matched" and the subsequent novels "Crossed" and "Reached" by Allie Condie.

So, set in a futuristic Earth (I assume America because the massive continental plate and exclusion of the letter "u" in places in should be) the Society has salvaged a population of 20,000 people, who live in peace under its jurisdiction. Or not? Cassia Reyes begins to uncover some of the faults in the fabric of the Society on her seventeenth birthday, when the Society presents her with her perfect partner for life.

I think I read this book without hearing of any of the hype about it, so I had no expectations about it. Literally, a friend handed it to me on the bus home, saying, "It's OK". The fascinating thing about this series is how the story half plays out in the setting of the book, and half in the character's heads. Connecting with Cassia was easy, as we interpret the world and events happening to her through her thoughts and reactions to it. In the later books, we also have Xander's and Ky's viewpoints. Aside from the lovely writing, the use of poetry to style the flow of the story and the life given to the other characters in the book made it even better the second time round. It's a rare series that doesn't lose any expectations as you proceed to the second and third books. Tora gives thumbs up.

I feel like this needs a picture.

There.

OK, peace out, blogosphere.

Tora.

PS. I'll get back to you on the title for this. Is the alliteration too much?

There Are No Excuses....

A whole summer, gone! Inexplicably, during a time when technically we should have had the most time to dedicate to the blogosphere, we managed to totally abandon it. Instead of capitalising on a brief surge in traffic, we let the blog drift into its current lonely and idle state.

We apologise, dear readers. (If there are any of you left.)

 We could have spent an entire season improving our non-fiction skills, whether it be reviews of the literary kind or reviews of our daily experiences themselves. Our contributions could have exploded into cyberspace garnering praise from every corner of the earth. Mindless ramblings could have transformed into astounding observations, explanations or even salutations of the achievements of a race bound to a planet which is dying beneath our feet.

But the truth is, readers, none of that was ever really likely to happen.

I mean, the closest I get to saving the planet is making sure I put the recycling out on time. Mostly I'd rather have my head stuck in a book than in a school of thought that would inevitably lead me to contemplation of humanity's destruction. (I'm telling you now, me in a perpetual state of Armageddon-related paranoia is not a pretty sight.)

Besides, I doubt my obsession with analytically reviewing books is going to make universal headlines any time soon.

For now, though, we're back! (Or at least I am, since Tora's not here at exactly this moment to consult on the matter.)

More posts to come, if I can pull myself out of my regret-filled, guilty wallowing pit. How could I have let an entire summer pass by without posting at all?! I bring shame upon myself.

-Allie

Music Monday

Today here's another new release that's got me  all worked up with impatience and excitement!

                                                     Heathers - Forget Me Knots

With their second album, Kingdom, due to be released in September, the fast-paced energy that captures us on songs such as (oops, sorry for the minor Troy McLure impression there!) Remember When, Slices of Palama and more recently Find A Way returns in Heathers' new single, Forget Me Knots.

There's an almost orchestral feel, reminiscent of Florence and the Machine's Ceremonials, that hints at the girls' musical style having grown and changed for the better, and combined with the strong vocals, familiar harmonies and of course the staple guitar driven sound of Here Not There, I think it's definitely a step in the right direction. 

Plus, it's an awesome summer song, too :) I for one cannot wait for the rest of album!

Allie

Music, er, Friday? Cause I won't schedule this post for Monday, I'm far too impatient for that, and besides, you only live once!

What to say? Enjoy the music. Groove a little, if the feeling takes you. Perhaps allow it to guide your muse as you write, draw, or lie on your bed and daydream. Also, celebrate the end of your exams *hinthint Allie*! Just, enjoy!

Toraaaa.

Music Monday

Orla Gartland needs to stop teasing me! Her new single was released yesterday (and it even has a B-side!!)  on June 17th, Seriously, it's amazing, but I need more! As if dozens Youtube videos weren't enough (and Tora will be proud to see Orla's ukulele featuring in many) her music inspires me to write SO MUCH. Thank you, Orla, for allowing me to indulge in my favourite folk-pop sound as well as getting on with the work I need to do!

Orla's single - Devil On My Shoulder

And (the equally amazing) B-side song, the Ground

The thing with Orla Gartland is that she writes with incredible fluidity - her songs sound so natural, and they seem to simply slip from her in a wave of honesty and sincerity. To make words appear so flawless is not something I could ever hope to emulate, but Orla's lyrics do it every time. And her voice - it's easy on the ears, of course, but more than that it strikes a chord (no pun intended) whatever the material. From carefree covers (see her version of Hey Ya by OutKast for a great summer song) to light originals (Steps is my favourite) to powerful, evoking narratives like the ones featured above, you'll find anything you could ever wish for in a young-singer songwriter with Orla Gartland.

Let us hope she releases an EP as soon as possible...I'm dying here!

Allie

I have a ukulele!

Remember yonder last post... *points upwards on dashboard* Entitled "I want a ukulele." Well. Well. *suppressed excitement* It arrived today! So now, I present, Victoria, pround new owner of a Herald soprano ukulele. I am in the habit of naming my instruments, as I get to know them. But I wondered whether the (non-existant) readers would like some input? No, this is totally not a way of getting anybody to comment at all, or anything... *cough* Not at all. Anyways- here's a picture. It's not the best quality in the world, apologies.

Yeah. Look there ----> (Incase you're wondering what s/he's propped up against, it's our sofa. That's another thing- gender? I have no clue at the moment).

I'm realizing all this isn't adding to the image of catatonic sanity for mys- oh, who am I kidding?

Till next time-

Tora.

I want a ukulele~

I asked my Dad for a ukulele once. He gave me a 3/4 sized guitar. I still want a ukele- or a bass- or something with four strings, but that's for later. Now I can play on guitar! (A full-sized one, at that, not the little midget thing). Apparently, if you placed a capo (for those non-musicians, a little clamp thing) on the fifth fret, you'd be in the same key as ukele. But I don't have a capo.

I don't think I've talked about music. Let's talk about one of mine and Allie's biggest passions, then.

I got my first instrument eight years ago- a tinny keyboard that still lovingly has it's place of honour in the middle of my bedroom. I've never had one lesson on the thing- I'm from the realms of self-taught guitarists and pianists, God save us all, but my instrument of choice is oboe.

I honestly don't blame you if you've never even heard of it- (for those you don't know, they look like this - http://www.dsokids.com/public/Instruments/photo160oboe.jpg ) I hadn't, until my ten year old self decided to choose possibly one of the hardest insturments in the classical orchestra to play, because I'm clever like that. It's been five years now, and I still spend a ridiculous amount of time each day wrestling notes from that distastrous stick of wood with holes in it.

Allie, for her part, sings like a frickin' angel. You should hear her "Halleluja". Unfortunately, due to recent-ish loss of voice, her singing capacity has been lowered, but I pray to God each day it'll return soon to full brilliance.

You've probably noticed, from our "Music Mondays", that Allie is far more knowledgable about modern music than I, something I constantly am in awe of, as well as her excellent taste in it. One the other hand, I, much more selfishly, enjoy playing it rather than listening to it. Which you may have picked up from the fact I have posted some of my embarrasingly amateur compositions on this blog.

So. Yeah. That was just me talking about myself. There was no point to this blog post. Oh, God. I'm running out of reasonable things to say.

Tora.

(NB: Mucho thanks to my awesome partner Annon- the other half of the slightly-insane duo the Knitted Jellyfish :) )

The silence is deafening around here.

Yes, I know, I know. Our habitual abandoing of you is disloyal and unbeleiveable. But we have excuses, I swear! Like a kid who hasn't done their homework for the second day in a row, the grovelling is soon to follow...

Oh, wait, you mean you didn't know I was gone?!

Oh yeah, those scheduled posts. Phew. Nothing to worry about then.

Hold on. You say that the mysterious absence of regular rants let you know something was up?
Dayum. We need better cover!

Yes, you did get a ton of book-related post. Yes, you are probably bored to tears by now.

Readers, we apologise.

Let us hope (and [perhaps pray, if the worst comes to the worst) that you can forgive us and this very apologetic and very of-course-this-isn't-scheduled post will give you some kind of beleive that we're not dead, hanging from a noose somewhere, caught up ina revolution or doing anything else quite so unsavoury.

(You can't totally tell I've been learning off my history book by heart....)

Anyway, this is just a quick message to say wer'e still here adn we'll be back online really soon. For now, explore the archives to your hearts content, or comment and see if you can get our elusive attention...

Allie

Fallen, by Lauren Kate - Excerpt

What a glorious waste of time tracking down these excerpts is. It's not like I have art homework I shoul;d be doing, or anything....

As they came around the corner of the cinder-block classrooms, Arriane skidded to a halt. “Effect cool,” she said.

Luce nodded, already looking around the grounds. “Cool,” she repeated.

All the other students seemed to be clustered around the kudzu-strangled trees outside the building. No one looked exactly happy to be hanging out, but no one looked ready to go inside yet, either.

There hadn’t been much of a dress code at Dover, so Luce wasn’t used to the uniformity it gave a student body. Then again, even though every kid here was wearing the same black jeans and black sweater, there were still substantial differences in how they pulled it off.

A group of tattooed girls standing in a crossed-armed circle wore bangle bracelets up to their elbows. The black bandanas in their hair reminded Luce of a film she’d once seen about motorcycle-gang girls. She’d rented it because she’d thought: What could be cooler than an all-girls motorcycle gang? Now Luce’s eyes locked with those of one of the girls across the lawn. The sideways squint of the girl’s darkly lined cat-eyes made Luce quickly shift the direction of her gaze.

She noticed that a guy and a girl holding hands had sewn sequins in the shape of skulls and crossbones on the backs of their black sweaters. Every few seconds, one of them would pull the other in for a kiss on the temple, on the earlobe, on the eye. They looked a little rough, but it was obvious how much in love they were. Every time she saw their tongue rings flashing, Luce felt a lonely pinch inside her chest.

Behind the lovers, a cluster of blond boys stood pressed against the wall. Each of them wore a white oxford shirt under his sweater, the collar starched straight up. Their tailored black pants hit the bridges of their polished dress shoes perfectly. Of all the students on the quad, these boys seemed to Luce to be the closest thing to Doverites. But a closer look quickly set them apart from boys she used to know. Boys like Trevor.

Just standing in a group, these guys radiated a specific kind of toughness. It was right there in the look in their eyes. It was hard to explain, but it suddenly struck Luce that just like her, everyone at this school had a past. Everyone here probably had secrets they wouldn’t want to share. But she couldn’t figure out whether this realization made her feel more or less isolated.

Arriane noticed Luce’s eyes running over the rest of the kids.

“We all do what we can to make it through the day,” she said, shrugging. “But in case you hadn’t noticed the low-hanging vultures, this place pretty much reeks of death.” She took a seat on a bench under a weeping willow and patted the spot next to her for Luce.
Luce wiped away a mound of wet, decaying leaves, but just before she sat down, she noticed another dress code violation.

A very attractive dress code violation.

No, attractive didn’t even come close to covering it.

He wore a bright red scarf around his neck. It wasn’t cold outside, but he had on a black leather motorcycle jacket over his black sweater, too. Maybe it was because his was the only spot of color on the quad, but he was all that Luce could look at. In fact, everything else so paled in comparison that, for one long moment, Luce completely forgot where she was.

She took in his deep golden hair and the matching tan. Her eyes ran over his high cheekbones, the dark sunglasses that covered his eyes, and the fullness of his lips. In all the movies Luce had seen, and in all the books she’d read, the love interest was empirically attractive—except for that one little flaw. The chipped tooth, the charming cowlick, the beauty mark on his left cheek. She knew why—if the hero was too unblemished, he’d risk becoming unapproachable. But approachable or not, Luce had always had a weakness for the sublimely gorgeous.

And sublimely gorgeous this guy was . . . but the crazy thing was, it wasn’t the way he looked that kept Luce’s rapt attention. She started to feel that there was something else, something bigger that, after her first glance, almost prevented her from really seeing him at all.

He leaned up against the building with his arms crossed lightly over his chest. And for a split second, Luce saw a flash of herself folded into those arms. She shook her head, but the vision stayed so clear that she almost took off toward him.

No. That was crazy. Right? Even at a school full of crazies, Luce was well aware that this instinct was insane. She didn’t even know him.

He was talking to a shorter, black kid with dreads and a toothy smile. Both of them were laughing hard and genuinely—in a way that made Luce strangely jealous. She tried to think back and remember how long had it been since she’d laughed, really laughed, like that.

“That’s Daniel,” Arriane said, leaning in and reading her mind. “I can tell he’s attracted somebody’s attention.”

“Understatement,” Luce agreed, embarrassed when she realized how obviously awestruck she must have looked to Arriane.

“Yeah, well, if you like that sort of thing.”

“What’s not to like?” Luce said, unable to stop the words from tumbling out. “He’s incredible. What’s his story?”

Arriane cleared her throat. “No one really knows,” she said. “He’s kind of a mystery man. My guess is he’s just your typical reform school asshole.”

“I’m no stranger to assholes,” Luce said, though as soon as the words came out, she wished she could take them back. After what had happened to Trevor—whatever had happened—she was the last person who should be making character judgments. But more than that, the rare time she made even the smallest reference to that night, Luce could feel the presence of the shadows, almost like she was right back at the lake.

Feeling spooked, she glanced back at Daniel. He was the opposite of all the shadows. She watched as Daniel took his glasses off and slid them inside his jacket. He turned to look at her.

His gaze caught hers, and Luce watched as his eyes widened and then quickly narrowed in what looked like surprise. But no—it was more than that. When Daniel’s eyes held hers, her breath caught in her throat. She recognized him from somewhere.

But she would have remembered meeting someone like him. She would have remembered feeling as absolutely shaken up as she did right now.

She realized they were still locking eyes when Daniel flashed her a smile. A jet of warmth shot through her and she had to grip the bench for support. She felt her lips pull up in a smile back at him, but then he raised his hand in the air.

And flipped her off.

Luce gasped and dropped her eyes.

“What?” Arriane asked, oblivious to what had just gone down. “Never mind,” she said. “We don’t have time. I sense the bell.”

The bell rang as if on cue, and the whole student body started the slow shuffle into the building. Arriane was tugging on Luce’s hand and spouting off directions about how to find her locker, where to meet her next and when. But Luce was still reeling from being flipped the bird by such a perfect stranger. Her momentary delirium over Daniel had vanished, and now the only thing she wanted to know was: What was that guy’s problem?

Just before she ducked into her first class, she dared to glance back at Daniel. His face was blank, but there was no mistaking it—he was watching her go.

Allie

Book Review 16 - Fallen, by Lauren Kate

I have a minor EEEKS moment
every time I look at this cover...

If you've read my review for Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick, you'll know that I read this at the same time, and their similiarites were hard to ignore, but I'll do my best to do Fallen justice without comparing (too much). It isn't a book I would have immediately picked up of my own volition. I should let you know that I prefer kick-ass action to undiluted romance, and this book seemed to have a whole lot of the latter and not enough of the former. But, I got started with it anyway, and found that the hype wasn't all hot air. I perserved, and my patience was definitely rewarded. It's a story about angels, about light and dark, good and evil, and most of all, about love - love that can't be changed, only saved, or destroyed. It's compelling, and brilliantly-written.


There’s something achingly familiar about Daniel Grigori. Mysterious and aloof, he captures Luce Price’s attention from the moment she sees him on her first day at the Sword & Cross boarding school in sultry Savannah, Georgia. He’s the one bright spot in a place where cell phones are forbidden, the other students are all screw-ups, and security cameras watch every move. Even though Daniel wants nothing to do with Luce–and goes out of his way to make that very clear–she can’t let it go. Drawn to him like a moth to a flame, she has to find out what Daniel is so desperate to keep secret . . . even if it kills her.


It is the characters, and more importantly, the characters' past, that make this book work. This character and setting build-up is vital to the storyline. They characters are fascinating, and most of them leap off the page with such intensity I was completely envious of Lauren Kate being able to keep them in her head (Not in a schizophrenic way. In that writer-y way where when you write the protaganists - and antagonists - are dictating what happens right in your ear. Except when revising, where they have to be rudely shoved aside so the practical editor side of your mind can wade through all the impassioned rubbish and make some kind of sensible plot). Arriane - bad-ass and insane (my favourite!). Cam - lecherous, and slightly evil. Gabbe - sickly-sweet and underestimated. Luce herself - confused, lonely, but smart, and growing throughout the book.

And then there's Daniel. Oh, Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. Perfect, awe-inspiring, drool-worthy.

And also, completely implausible.

I wanted him to be the person he should have been to end up in a place like that, like the only centre secure enough to hold Luce without her killing anybody. And for a long time, he seemed to be that, with just a hint of something else underneath - his true self; kind, sweet, sacrificial, devoted. And I didn't believe it. I wanted him to be more tortured. I wanted him to be thinking; if I get anywhere near this girl I'm going to send su both up in flames at every waking moment. But when he did think like that, it was so half-hearted it was practically non-existent. And I understand that that's part of the nature of his love for Luce, but I just wished he was strong enough to hold out a little longer. (So maybe I like torturing my characters. A little. Or a lot. So what?) However. I won't drag out that particular annoyance too much, because frankly there is too much good about this book to ignore.

We need to be very involved with Luce to believe her, and to keep up the chain of events that follow, and as we learn her history - or what she knows of her history, to be more specific - the pieces of the puzzle come together, like they have been dotted carefully throughout the chapters without us noticing. That was my favourite part about Lauren Kate's writing - she doesn't underestimate her readers' intelligence, and you feel respected. I certainly enjoyed the fact that the mixture of obvious and not-so-obvious hints allows us to guess, predict, and gasp at the scenes that we see unfolding before our very eyes. Her writing is so amazing it's scary. Even if I didn't like the way the plot had turned, or the situation she had put her characters in, I couldn't deny the way she was wrote was not only realistic, but it was flawless, and flowing, too.

Okay, so it's not exactly the kind of book you're going to read over and over again, it is the kind of story you're either going to absolutely love or absolutely hate, and the plot isn't necessarily unique - after all, it kind of started the angel-fanatic trend that cursed our shelves not so long ago - but taking the risk was definitely worth it for me.

I sought out the sequel, only to find out it wouldn't be released for months, and had to make to do with imagining everything that would happen in the second book. As you've probably guessed I've read Torment by now, and Passion, but my opinions on those will have to wait - this review is for people who haven't read it yet, or are just about to, or are considering buying/loaning/grabbing it from the nearest bookshop, shoving it under their jacket and running away as quickly as possible (not that I condone stealing in any way, shape or form...not at all. Except in books. Or videogames. Or movies. Or if you're a totally awesome thief from the streets who helps Sherlock Holmes. But I digress.)

Anyway. Onto my short round-up...

Re readability: 3.5/5
Plot: 4/5
Characters: 4/5
Writing: 5/5
Overall: 4/5
In five words: angelic! Well-written, unputdownable, dark, seductive.

Allie

Hush Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick - Excerpt

OK, y'all have probably already seen this by now, but I like excerpts, so bear with me!

PROLOGUE

LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE NOVEMBER 1565

CHAUNCEY WAS WITH A FARMER’S DAUGHTER ON the grassy banks of the Loire River when the storm rolled in, and having let his gelding wander in the meadow, was left to his own two feet to carry him back to the chÂteau. He tore a silver buckle off his shoe, placed it in the girl’s palm, and watched her scurry away, mud slinging on her skirts. Then he tugged on his boots and started for home.

Rain sheeted down on the darkening countryside surrounding the ChÂteau de Langeais. Chauncey stepped easily over the sunken graves and humus of the cemetery; even in the thickest fog he could find his way home from here and not fear getting lost. There was no fog tonight, but the darkness and onslaught of rain were deceiving enough.

There was movement along the fringe of Chauncey’s vision, and he snapped his head to the left. At first glance what appeared to be a large angel topping a nearby monument rose to full height. Neither stone nor marble, the boy had arms and legs. His torso was naked, his feet were bare, and peasant trousers hung low on his waist. He hopped down from the monument, the ends of his black hair dripping rain. It slid down his face, which was dark as a Spaniard’s.

Chauncey’s hand crept to the hilt of his sword. “Who goes there?”

The boy’s mouth hinted at a smile.

“Do not play games with the Duc de Langeais,” Chauncey warned. “I asked for your name. Give it.”

“Duc?” The boy leaned against a twisted willow tree. “Or bastard?”

Chauncey unsheathed his sword. “Take it back! My father was the Duc de Langeais. I’m the Duc de Langeais now,” he added clumsily, and cursed himself for it.

The boy gave a lazy shake of his head. “Your father wasn’t the old duc.”

Chauncey seethed at the outrageous insult. “And your father?” he demanded, extending the sword. He didn’t yet know all his vassals, but he was learning. He would brand the family name of this boy to memory. “I’ll ask once more,” he said in a low voice, wiping a hand down his face to clear away the rain. “Who are you?”

The boy walked up and pushed the blade aside. He suddenly looked older than Chauncey had presumed, maybe even a year or two older than Chauncey. “One of the Devil’s brood,” he answered.

Chauncey felt a clench of fear in his stomach. “You’re a raving lunatic,” he said through his teeth. “Get out of my way.”

The ground beneath Chauncey tilted. Bursts of gold and red popped behind his eyes. Hunched with his fingernails grinding into his thighs, he looked up at the boy, blinking and gasping, trying to make sense of what was happening. His mind reeled like it was no longer his to command.

The boy crouched to level their eyes. “Listen carefully. I need something from you. I won’t leave until I have it. Do you understand?”

Gritting his teeth, Chauncey shook his head to express his disbelief—his defiance. He tried to spit at the boy, but it trickled down his chin, his tongue refusing to obey him.

The boy clasped his hands around Chauncey’s; their heat scorched him and he cried out.

“I need your oath of fealty,” the boy said. “Bend on one knee and swear it.”

Chauncey commanded his throat to laugh harshly, but his throat constricted and he choked on the sound. His right knee buckled as if kicked from behind, though no one was there, and he stumbled forward into the mud. He bent sideways and retched.

“Swear it,” the boy repeated.

Heat flushed Chauncey’s neck; it took all his energy to curl his hands into two weak fists. He laughed at himself, but there was no humor. He had no idea how, but the boy was inflicting the nausea and weakness inside him. It would not lift until he took the oath. He would say what he had to, but he swore in his heart he would destroy the boy for this humiliation.

“Lord, I become your man,” Chauncey said venomously.

The boy raised Chauncey to his feet. “Meet me here at the start of the Hebrew month of Cheshvan. During the two weeks between new and full moons, I’ll need your service.”

“A … fortnight?” Chauncey’s whole frame trembled under the weight of his rage. “I am the Duc de Langeais!”

“You are a Nephil,” the boy said on a sliver of a smile.

Chauncey had a profane retort on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. His next words were spoken with icy venom. “What did you say?”

“You belong to the biblical race of Nephilim. Your real father was an angel who fell from heaven. You’re half mortal.” The boy’s dark eyes lifted, meeting Chauncey’s. “Half fallen angel.”

Chauncey’s tutor’s voice drifted up from the recesses of his mind, reading passages from the Bible, telling of a deviant race created when angels cast from heaven mated with mortal women. A fearsome and powerful race. A chill that wasn’t entirely revulsion crept through Chauncey. “Who are you?”

The boy turned, walking away, and although Chauncey wanted to go after him, he couldn’t command his legs to hold his weight. Kneeling there, blinking up through the rain, he saw two thick scars on the back of the boy’s naked torso. They narrowed to form an upside-down V.

“Are you—fallen?” he called out. “Your wings have been stripped, haven’t they?”

The boy—angel—whoever he was did not turn back. Chauncey did not need the confirmation.

“This service I’m to provide,” he shouted. “I demand to know what it is!”

The air resonated with the boy’s low laughter.

Allie

Book Review 15 - Hush, Hush, by Becca Fitzpatrick

OK, I totally jumped on the YA bandwagon with this one.

What can I say about this cover
that hasn't already been said? It's not
my favourite out there, but it's still
pretty good!

Angels + teenage love = GIRLS BETWEN THE AGES OF TWELVE AND EIGHTEEN BEWARE! THE VIRUS MAY VERY WALL BE INFECTING YOU AT THIS VERY MOMENT! But wading through all that hype is worth it - underneath, there really is a book worth devouring. I know anyone who's anyone has probably read it by now, but I didn't get it for a while after it was published and I eventually had to see what all the fuss was about. I finished it a long time ago, andnever got around to reviewing it - I should have, but I didn't, so I'm doing it now. Better late than never...

I'll be straight with you. This book screams romance. Which wouldn't have interested me not so long ago, but my recent introduction and subsequent obsession with YA fiction means the hollering of true love affects the plotline in a good way. The romance is dark, and seductive, and sometimes even funny. It's the lifeblood of the book, and without it, the story wouldn't be the same.

The characters are easy to like, no matter how many times you tell yourself you shouldn't. Patch is, of course, incredible. It's taking everything I have not to write about him in block capitals. Even though there were times when I didn't like his decisions, or just didn't like him in general he kept me crawling back - and that's the true mark of Becca Fitzpatrick's prowess. Frustration seeps from every pore of the characters, and yet I continued to read it anyway. It took me a while longer to connect with Nora I couldn't help but see things in her that I enjoyed reading about, and I liked watching her develop. She changes throughout the book just as many of the other characters do, but you realize that these changes are significant at different stages and chapters - and character growth is one of the main things I look for in a book.

 The battle between light and dark that rages between the pages seems realistic as it extends towards the characters, to you and back again. One of my favourite things about it is that even though it is, technically, of the paranormal genre, everything and everyone in it is so easy to imagine. You barely even have to think about conjuring up their images or hearing them speak. The romantic elements - which are, admittedly, a large percentage of the novel - are original and there are paragraphs I just wanted to read over and over. It's dark and tempting and well, should be perfect as a guilt-pleasure novel - except it's not a guilty pleasure because there's nothing to be guilty about. the writing is excellent, and the plot, with all its undercurrents and twists, does deserve credit. Which means - it's okay to enjoy this kind of book! HALLELUJAH!

However, as with any book it has its faults....

I did read it at the same time as I was racing through Fallen by Lauren Kate so the two stories and their similarities did have a minor tug of war with my heartstrings...(and every other part of me,) but overall it didn't really impact on my enjoyment of the novel because their differences were just enough to get me through.

I definitely think it's not one of those books you can re-read as many times as you want because the plot does eventually become too easy to remember and the story loses the element of excitement. There were certain parts of the book that didn't appeal to me or that I simply didn't like, but it's the same with everyone, and to be fair, you're never going to absolutely adore every single word in an entire book. From this review you may think I'm obsessed, but that's actually one of its downfalls - I wished I could be obsessed, but somehow, I just couldn't. Despite how great it is, there's just something missing that I can't put my finger on that stops me from all out shouting 'READ THIS BOOK! AND READ IT NOOOOWW!!' from the rooftops - although I wouldn't tell you not to read it, either. I just think that a lot of the book seems flat. not that it isn't exciting or thrilling - it's more like you can never get fully lost in the story; you're always too aware of the real world, which I think is a shame. However, any YA/YA romance reader will like this book - and might even help them warm up to the fantasy and paranormal genres to boot (although all three genres do in a way go hand in hand these days).

Rereadability: 3/5
Plot: 4/5
Characters: 4/5/5
Writing: 4/5
Overall: 4/5
In five words: excellent, pure YA romance, brilliant.

Allie

Paranormalcy by Kiersten White - Excerpt

Hehe, I've been looking forward to giving you this excerpt! I'm sure you'll see what I mean about the rapier wit and constant hilarity!

Oh, Bite Me

"Wait— did you— You just yawned!" The vampire's arms, raised over his head in the classic Dracula pose, dropped to his sides. He pulled his exaggerated white fangs back behind his lips. "What, imminent death isn't exciting enough for you?"

"Oh, stop pouting. But, really, the widow's peak? The pale skin? The black cape? Where did you even get that thing, a costume store?"

He raised himself to his full height and glared icily down at me. "I'm going to suck the life from your pretty white neck."

I sighed. I hate the vamp jobs. They think they're so suave. It's not enough for them to slaughter and eat you like a zombie would. No, they want it to be all sexy, too. And, trust me: vampires? Not. Sexy. I mean, sure, their glamours can be pretty hot, but the dry-as-bone corpse bodies shimmering underneath? Nothing attractive there. Not that anyone else can see them, though.

He hissed. Just as he reached for my neck, I tased him. I was there to bag and tag, not to kill. Besides, if I had to carry separate weapons for every paranormal I took out, I'd be dragging around a full luggage set. Tasers are a one size-fits-all paranormal butt-kicking option. Mine's pink with rhinestones. Tasey and I have had a lot of good times together.

The vamp twitched on the ground, unconscious. He looked kind of pathetic now; I almost felt bad for him. Imagine your grandpa. Now imagine your grandpa minus fifty pounds plus two hundred years. That's who I'd just electrified.

Tasey's work done, I reholstered her and pulled out the vamp-specific ankle bracelet. Bracelet being a loose definition of a fairly complicated and bulky device.

I placed my index finger in the middle of the smooth black surface. After a few seconds it glowed green. Grabbing the vamp's ankle, I pulled his pants leg up to reveal the skin. I hated looking at these guys and seeing their pure white, smooth skin at the same time as their shriveled corpse bodies.

I clamped the tracker on, and it adjusted to the circumference of his ankle. Two soft hisses sounded as the sensors activated and shot into his flesh. His eyes flew open.

"Ouch!" He grabbed at his ankle, and I backed up a few steps. "What is this?"

"You're under arrest under statute three point seven of the International Paranormal Containment Agreement, Vampire Protocol. You are required to report to the nearest processing facility in Bucharest. If you fail to report within the next twelve hours, you will be—"

He lunged for me. Sidestepping, I let him trip over a low gravestone. "I'll kill you!" he hissed, trying to pick himself up off the ground.

"Yeah, you really don't want to do that. That shiny new piece of jewelry I gave you? It's got two little sensors—think of them as needles—jammed into your ankle. And if your body temperature were to suddenly rise, say by the addition of human blood, the sensors would inject you with holy water."

His eyes widened in horror, as he tried to pull the bracelet off, scraping against its sides.

"Don't do that, either. If the seal is broken, holy water, poof. Got it? And I activated the timer and beacon. So not only do they know exactly where you are, they also know your time limit to get to Bucharest. Miss it, and—do I really need to tell you?"

His shoulders slumped. "I could just snap your neck," he said, but I could tell it was halfhearted.

"You could try. And I could tase you again so hard you wouldn't wake up for six hours, giving you even less time to make it to Romania. So, can I keep reading you your rights?" He didn't say anything, and I picked up where I left off. "If you fail to report within the next twelve hours, you will be terminated. If you attack any humans, you will be terminated. If you attempt to remove the tracking device, you will be terminated. We look forward to working with you."

I always thought that last line was a nice touch.

The vamp looked dejected, sitting there on the ground and facing the end of his freedom. I held out a hand. "Need help up?" I asked. After a moment he reached out and took it. I pulled him up; vamps are surprisingly light. Having no internal fluids'll do that to you. "I'm Evie."

"Steve." Thank heavens he wasn't another Vlad. He looked uncomfortable. "Um, so, Bucharest? You wouldn't happen to have money for a train ticket?"

Paranormals, honestly. I reached into my bag and handed him a bunch of euros. Getting from Italy to Romania wouldn't be easy, and he needed to book it. "You'll want a map and directions," I called as he started to slink off through the graves. Poor guy. He was really embarrassed. I handed him the sheet of directions to the Bucharest Processing and Assignment building. "It's okay to use mind-control tricks to get through borders." I smiled encouragingly.

He nodded, still morose, and left.

Finding Steve hadn't taken as long as I had worried it would. Excellent. It was dark, I was freezing, and my vamp-luring outfit of a wide-necked white blouse wasn't exactly helping. Plus I stuck out like a sore thumb in Latin countries, with my platinum blond hair in a braid trailing halfway down my back. I wanted out of here. I punched in the number of the Center on my communicator. (Think cell phone, without a camera. And they only come in white. Lame.) "Done. I need a ride home."

"Processing your request," a monotone voice said on the other end. I waited, sitting on the nearest gravestone. The communicator flashed five minutes later. "Sending transport now."


Allie