I may be in a complete and utter reading slump – funk, whatever – but I’m still looking for the next book I’m going to fall madly in love with. I sincerely hope this slumpish-funk doesn’t last through the rest of the year, making one of these 2012 releases my next gone-mad-for book, but with their gorgeous covers and nifty premises they are decidedly blipping like mad on my radar. (Notice the overuse of “mad” there. That’s exactly what this slumpy-funk is making me. I want my book-mojo back!)
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The slow and steady parade of Dwarves was perilously close to becoming an exercise in exasperation of the “alright already! They’re all well and good now where is Thorin?!” variety. And now here he is. My already incredibly high sense of excitement over this film has ratcheted up considerably.
I’m not sure I can take how brilliant this cast is.
Oh goodness yes, please.* I find myself every bit excited about this sequel as I was the first time ’round. The palpable chemistry between RDJ and Jude Law may have something to do with that. *clears throat*
Also, I am waiting**, impatiently to be sure, for news of when my other beloved Sherlock and John will be back. Too much time has already gone by. And the set photographs that are going around are.not.helping.
*December, why are you far away?
**I hate waiting.
Publishers’ Summary:
“Sixteen-year-old Eon has a dream, and a mission. For years, he’s been studying sword-work and magic, toward one end. He and his master hope that he will be chosen as a Dragoneye – an apprentice to one of the twelve energy dragons of good fortune. But Eon has a dangerous secret. He is actually Eona, a sixteen-year-old girl who has been masquerading as a twelve-year-old boy. Females are forbidden to use Dragon Magic; if anyone discovers she has been hiding in plain sight, her death is assured. When Eon’s secret threatens to come to light, she and her allies are plunged into grave danger and a deadly struggle for the Imperial throne. Eon must find the strength and inner power to battle those who want to take her magic . . . and her life.”
For the sake of this introductory paragraph, think of days in terms of dog years. In that respect, it’s been ages since I finished Eon (and its sequel, Eona). Too much time has gone by for me to recapture my immediate reaction to either book, but one thought has stuck: I didn’t love it as much as I anticipated.
Several aspects of the book(s) worked for me: I loved the idea and depiction of the dragons; the political machinations whirring behind the scenes, manipulating and motivating every character that crossed the page, kept the slow and steady pace on track, upping the stakes at each turn; and I heartily appreciated the main antagonist’s palpable menace, his changeable charm, in spite of the too simple reasoning behind his actions. Eon’s world-building was nicely crafted; the setting was refreshing; and the story told in a manner that engaged nearly all of my senses.
My primary sticking point with the books turned out to be Eon/Eona herself. As a general rule, I enjoy reading about deeply human characters, which is exactly what Eon/Eona was. Attempting to navigate a torn, obstacle-ridden inner landscape, the result of a painful, some might say curse-struck childhood, Eon/Eona’s sense of self constantly seemed to stretch like a rubber band that might snap between one decision and the next. Every troubled thought, every defiant action, and the way she bore up under the criticism, hostility and derision cast her way because of her disability, provided plenty of fodder for sympathy and appreciation. Not far into the novel, however, I realized that my appreciation wasn’t transitioning into like; I wasn’t wholly sympathetic to her plight, and some elusive thing was frustrating me. Without being fully invested in her character, the highs and lows she experienced were viewed from a distance; it was like witnessing an earthquake without feeling the tremors. And the side effects didn’t stop there: the romance, which transpired moreso in Eona, and was, I think, purposely understated, didn’t stir me in any real way because I couldn’t connect with one half of the pair. As always, keep in mind that every word of this paragraph is based on a personal reaction, one that is definitely in the minority going on the glowing reviews I read prior to picking up the book.
Why so many readers loved this duology is understandable; I can recognize the books’ merits, despite my feelings (or lack thereof) toward the main protagonist, and agree that the story-telling was strong and ultimately well-done. On that positive note, I will assuredly pick up Alison Goodman’s next offering.
I saw this on Tumblr (yes, again with that), and had to post it here. I don’t even know what to say about it, just…watch.
Who needs a Tardis to lose track of time (and space, considering) (though, granted, I wouldn’t back away, slowly or otherwise, from a Tardis if one were to suddenly appear in the vicinity of my person) (and if ten or eleven popped out, I’d miss you, truly, but I’ve never been one to miss out on a well-said “Wot?!”, or inclined to absent myself from some sure-to-be-good-fun shenanigans) when you’ve got Tumblr? In plainer English: Who needs a Tardis to lose track of time when you’ve got Tumblr? Not me!
I’ve happily – giddily, even – lost minutes, hours, days to the time vortex that is Tumblr. The number one reason: I can be myself over there. Little ol’ crazy, obsessive, art-appreciating, Sherlock/John-shipping, Doctor Who-loving, Richard Armitage-sighing, Karen Gillan girl-crushing, fanfiction-reading, quote-gathering me. (And that? A small sampling of recent Tumblr distractions.) Over there, oh how people embrace that sort of thing! That kind of person! No shocking anyone with deliriously cute, squee-inducing illustrations of Sherlock and John’s family, craftily inserted into blog posts-
"Sherlock and John's Family" - Sadyna
Oh. Well. Perhaps just one then.
In any event, I haven’t been reading. Not really. And I haven’t been writing reviews. Okay, a sentence. But that hardly counts as even trying. So until I do either of those things, Tumblr it is (with Sherlock queued and on repeat).
Art buoys my spirit up. It’s a refuge and a dream, a story of my own making, inspired by the artist. You could say I’ve turned appreciating it into an art form all of its own. I ♥ This Art is a regular feature on Tempting Persephone.
“Night Street” by John Pitre
