Wolfie and Maggie

Dear Reader,

This is a quick post about this amazing book that is the 2nd part in the trilogy called "The Wolves of Mercy Falls" by Maggie Steifvater. If you haven't read this trilogy or wish to read it but don't want to read any spoilers then I'd advise you not to read the second part of this post.

So, for all you naive souls, this trilogy contains:

1. Shiver
2. Linger
3. Forever (not yet released)

and here the quick synopsis(es ... synopsi?) for the first two:

Shiver:
As a child, Grace Brisbane was attacked by a pack of wolves that roam the woods behind her house. But she was saved by a particular yellow-eyed wolf. Since then, she's seen him every winter lurking at the edge of the woods; her fascination with a wolves ever increasing. Now, as a girl of 17, she dreams of running with the wolf pack. But when a local boy, Jack Culpeper, is supposedly killed by the wolves, his father become determined on wiping out every wolf in Mercy Falls. After one of these hunting expeditions, Grace discovers a bleeding-young-man on her doorstep who takes her breath away. He has the same yellow eyes as her wolf. He says his name is Sam...

Linger:
Just when things seem to be settling into normalcy for Grace and Sam and they can finally start planning for the future, Grace's parent begin paying attention to her and forbid her from seeing Sam. To add to this, Grace is beginning to not feel like herself; her inner wolf is beginning to force itself to the surface, threatening to separate Grace and Sam forever...      

In both books, there are countless other sub-plots and wonderful, memorable characters like Beck, Olivia, Isabel, Ulrik, Rachel, to name but a few, that I haven't mentioned here.    

***

When I came to the end of the final page of this book at 3am this morning, I let out a long sigh-like-breath that I hadn't known that I was holding. If you have been following this blog for sometime (if not click here), you may remember that I have been waiting for Linger for only God knows how long. And now that I've finally got my hungry hands on a copy, I must say, I have not been disappointed. It was equal parts romantic, heart-wrenching, beautifully poetical, intriguing and thrillingly flash-back-filled; all of this building a tight thick ball of suspense and tension that still clogs my throat, even though I've long finished the book. 

Yet, there is one thing I want to write about more than any of the above: Cole! You see, he's a new addition to this wolfie family but if I had known him in real life, I can quite assuredly say that we would not have gotten along well. In fact, I believe after one conversation with him I would have walked away feeling mutual disinterest, never looking back, never giving him a second thought, no matter how famous or handsome he was. (Confession: I have to admit that fame  and beauty have never held much weight with me to begin with.)

Okay okay, I know that I'm being hard on him since I can almost understand where he's coming from. After all I, of all people, know  a lot about expectations. But what really annoyed me about him was his cowardice and selfish disregard for life, his own and of those around him. And to top off that bitter but beautiful dessert that is Cole St.Clair, I became irrationally angry at him, half way through the book, for not only wasting but also ruining that intelligent, creative ... insightful mind of his. Yet - without revealing too much of the plot - I must say that, some how, impossibly,  Cole redeemed himself in my eyes by the end of the book.

Maggie Stiefvater has quite cleverly constructed him in that way. I believe it is characters like Cole St.Clair that add another dimension to the stories, allowing the reader to increase the their insight into human (or wolf) nature. A friend of mine once said that he liked meeting and talking to people who were quite completely different to him. And now (in a sudden Sam-style flash-back sort of a way) I understand why. Hearing and reading things from such different perspectives stops you from becoming narrow minded, helping you to understand the world at large. 

Another thing I'd like to mention is the shear exquisiteness of Maggie Steifvater's style of writing's and imagination. I've always thought that she's had such a way with words but some of her descriptions in this  book far surpassed my expectations. Here is a passage that I thought was particularly emotive, without being too obvious: 

"When I rolled back over to look into the rest of the room and saw birds dancing between me and the ceiling, there was no surprise. Just wonder. Dozens of origami birds of every shape, size and colour danced slowly in the air from the heating vents, life in slow motion. The now-brilliant light through the tall window cast moving bird-shaped shadows all around the room ... It was beautiful. ...

'All these perfect days, made of glass
Put on the shelf where they can cast
perfect shadows that stretch and grow
on the imperfect days down below'...

The one that had knocked against my head was folded out of newsprint. Here was one folded out of a glossy magazine cover. Another from a paper beautifully and intricately printed with flowers and leaves. On that looked like it had once been a tax sheet ... So many stories and memories folded up for safe keeping; how like Sam to hang them all above him while he slept ... I stood among his birds, with the shape of my body still impressed on the bed sheets beside me, the sun splashing over me and him, and my worries of last night seeming impossibly small in comparison to the vast glow of this morning."

  

And here is the address of the site which tells you how to make Paper Cranes (scroll down right to the bottom)

Her writing, so often, is such a pleasure to read in itself - regardless of the gripping tale it tells - tha5t you desire to read the words again and again, feeling them rolling around in your throat, prancing off your lips,  ingraining the image they convey on to your mind. The ability to induce this effect on the reader, I believe is a true talent; the reason why Maggie Stiefvater is a best selling author (and I'm not). 

Nevertheless, it would not be fair to present you with such a one-sided review. (Aside: After all people  - and books - must be flawed in order to give us motive to improve, right?) There is one think about this book that didn't particularly bother me, but may annoy some people: at parts the pace of the plot is dragged or slowed down. Considering the time span of the 300 or so pages is just slightly over a week, you can probably see why it seems so. 

But, overall, Linger is a great and worthy  follow-up to Shiver, just as Ballad was to Lament. Maggie Stiefvater, you have done it again!

Nida

         

Hell for Hair and Heavenly eyes

Dear Reader, 

(I must apologise; I've been attempting to write this post for the past week and a have, but can only really manage to do a bit at a time and so this *extremely* long post will have to count for this week and the last. - Sorry!) 

Okay, so I agree the title is a tiniest bit of an exaggeration. But if I relate recent events to you, maybe you'll find it in your hearts to sympathise with me on the horrible bits and join me in excitement with all the good bits. I'll leave it you to decide whether the horrible outweighs the good, or vice versa.   

So last Friday, the 9th of July 2010, at exactly 12:24pm, I entered my local hairdressers. It was my mum's (cough 22nd cough) birthday and we decided that it was time we both treated ourselves to new haircuts (I'd taken a day off work so we could spend time together). I hadn't been to that parlor in over a year and all the staff-faces were new. I was told the currently-pregnant-owner of the shop was taking a nap in one of the back rooms so this new girl will be cutting our hair. At the time I was in an excessively good mood so I thought "why not. Let the owner-who-normally-cuts-my-hair rest." Little had I known how bad that idea was. 

Being my mum's birthday, I let her go first. The girl mumbled something about feathers and layers and my mum just nodded. She didn't much care how her hair was cut, just that it was shorter. I indicated the ideal length and she began snipping away greedily. I sat back in one of the chairs and began reading 'Above the Snowline' - I should have paid more attention. By the time she was finished, my mum's hair resembled that of a 16 year old's rather than the dignified-regal look of a women with 3 grown up offspring. But I could tell she didn't mind. You see, she has a way of curling her hair which makes it look awesomely amazing and mature no matter what the cut (Lucky!). 

However, before I got my turn in the hot-seat another lady came in, probably in her mid to late 40s, with lusciously lengthy black hair. She asked for a simple trim or a straight cut. I was told it would only take five minutes so I let her go first, and turned my attention to my mum. Next thing I know, the mid-to-late-40's-lady is walking out the parlour with the same cut as my mum. Suspicion started to register in the frontal lobe of my brain. So I explained to the girl, several times with increasing slowness, exactly what kind of a hair cut I wanted before I sat down and released my hair to her grasp. I had to remove my all-important-glasses, so I couldn't quite make out what exactly she was doing behind my head, but that didn't mean I was deaf too. Again several times I heard my mum pleading with her to be reasonable. But she carried on chopping away mesmerised in her own bliss; nothing seemed to get through to her. I could, quite literally hear her pulling my hair out by the roots.

And then, to my further dismay, she brought out those horrid, nasty and absolutely despicable feathering scissors (image to the right-->). But before any of us could get a single syllable in she had already rammed it through half my hair. Told me my hair was far far to thick. Needs thinning she said. Well I'll show her a thinning! But of course I'm not an aggressive, argumentative sort and cannot bring myself to raise my voice in public. So I just sat there, fuming on the inside, sending icy glares into the mirror where I suppose her head would be. When I was permitted to wear my glasses again, the first thing I did was look in that mirror. Where my reflection should have been standing, there stood another clone of every other women who walked out of that parlor. And now, whenever I have the courage to open my hair and look in the mirror, it seems as if my hair sticks out at odd ends and angles, as if I were standing a cube which experimented with static  electricity.

(Aside: I'd like to Thank iStockphoto and Sangrea.net for letting me use their pictures, which depict so well how I felt inside that day) 

Anyway, on a happier note: I have two new pairs of designer glasses: 

You see, all my fancy frame-less glasses have come to some dire end, one way or another: basketballs in the face, great-big-squeezy-hug from lovable kid cousins, an "accidental" punch, being piled-on by lots of little children... and the list goes on. So recently I had taken to wearing my "back-up" glasses, which have an old-fashioned, heavy, black-steel frame. Now the problem with these ones is, not the weight of then funnily enough, but the fact that on one side the screw is extremely loose. I do have a mini key-chain-screwdriver to fix it, but the lens for my left eye likes to pop-out at the most inappropriate times. 


The worst one has to have been the one at the beginning of this academic year. I was sitting in a tutorial, surrounded by uber professional med-students and doctors, with Dr. A. Alberts as our tutor. Now I had just asked him quite an intelligent question (and was silently proud of myself for having thought it up) so he was gazing straight at me as he explained when POP! out falls the lens, right on to the table where everyone can see it. And even though my eyesight is really quite bad, I could tell (through my right lens) that Dr. Alberts was trying his very best not to laugh. If that's not humiliating, I don't know what is. I guess its a good thing then that I have the uncanny ability to laugh off everything, especially if it's related to myself.

But anyway, I  have two extremely funky glasses now that fit my sight perfectly. They have this neat little feature called "photosensitivity". For those who aren't feeling quite comprehensive right now, this is basically when the colour of the lens darkens with increasing light. So out in bright sunlight they become Sunglasses - cool right! I'm not exactly sure how the magicians in the experimental-optometry-labs achieved this effect - but I'm sure glad  they did. 

This appreciation dawned on me as I walked home last Monday. The evening sun was playing hide-and-seek with the the clouds and gracing me with it's warmth every now and then. The wind was playful but still gentle as I gazed at the sky over the roof tops and I realised that where the golden light kissed the cotton-wool clouds, they became segregated into a multitude of colours. I had never noticed that before, but my new glasses enabled me to pick out these curvy details. And now, from a distance, the trees lining the streets no longer looked like a splodges of green on brown sticks - as if drawn by a five-year-old. I could actually make out the individual leaves and the style of the bark. I could see the yellow burglar alarm on a house on the other end of the road. I felt pure joy at the details sights that I now saw. Ant all I thought was: "BRILLIANT!".   



And I shall have to leave you at that...



Nida

Life: as I see it - my Space edition

Dear Readers,

If, for the barest tiniest moment, you doubt the extent of my obsession with books, then I welcome you to take a few peaks into my bedroom, my space, my personality in a solid tangible form. Enjoy!

I'm almost ashamed of how much bookshelf space Stephanie Meyer's work takes up!

This would be my bedside reading pile.

my "Classisc" shelf plus a cast of my TEETH! (Aside: note the photo, to the right of my brother and me in our lovely primary school uniforms. I was probably 7 at the time)

my university text books and revision guides 

If there are any books missing it means they have been lent out to friends

Ah! Christopher Paolini, nothing more needs to be said. 

If you have read the Inkworld Trilogy then you will understand why it holds so much space in my heart!

And finally, meet my awesome and adorable laptop, resting resolutely on my desk. It has molecular formulas on it which I, being my exceptionally nerdy self, found extremely excellent. It's part of Product Red, which was also really cool because simply by buying it, I donated about £80 to fighting AIDS. As the old-Tesco lady always said "Every little helps!"

Now we move outside. This is because I spent most of today baking in the sun in my garden. However, unlike most people, I'm not too keen on burning myself a tan. So why was I in the garden today, you may ask? Well the answer in my opinions is obvious enough: I was gardening, though not in the conventional sense of the word. 

As you might know, my house is undergoing some major redecoration and for the past few weeks (in order to take full advantage of the rare-but-wonderful weather) the focus has shifted to the garden. Our builders, however, have run away for some reason, (some excuse about stolen tools, though I think it may have something to do with having seen me after I'd been revising all night). So that is why I spent the better part of this morning being splattered by paint, when trying to convert a two-storey cemented wall into a white one. This also involved a lot of large ladders and walking at roof-level (Ezio-parkour-style). I have to admit, the white in my hair gives me a look of wisdom; although, unfortunately, that isn't mirrored in my behaviour.      

The rest of the day was spent, quite literally, shovelling truck-loads of mud and fertile soil into buckets. Then moving the buckets from one end of the garden to the other (about a 10 meter walk), then dumping all that black-brown stuff into our raised flower-beds. And who was it doing all this back-breaking-work? Well not my brothers or father that's for sure. Forget 'girl power'! for once I'd like to see the men-of-the-house doing the sweat-dripping-heavy-duty work while me and my mum sat back and sipped tea and acted generally fragile.    

Okay, I believe that that is enough of a rant for now. I'll probably blog next when the pain in my arms begins to recede.

Nida

P.S. - The picture above is of the Big-Butterfly in the garden that I insisted on getting! I can't help it, I'm a girl  who adores butterflies and moths.    

quick Summer reading List

Dear Reader,






For those of you who are interested, here is a small sample from my Summer Reading-List 2010:

The Sealed Nectar

Maps of Lost Lovers by Nadeem Aslam

Islam Quintet by Tariq Ali

An Abundance of Katherines by John Green

Linger by Maggie Stiefvater

Dark Secrets by Elizabeth Chandler

Things I Want my Daughters to Know by Elizabeth Noble

Jane Austen Bites Back by Michael T. Ford

The Passage by Justin Cronin

Above the Snowline by Steph Swainston (Aside: which I've begun reading)

I hope you find one or a few of these books interesting. You can keep track of which book I'm reading, and which I've read in the side-bar ----->. Let me know if you want me to discusses anyone that I've read in more detail. :-) 

Enjoy the sun and keep smiling (because I'm in such a lovely mood today).

Nida