Moving on, as a concept, is for stupid people, because any sensible person knows grief is a long-term project. 

A minha história com este livro é muito simples. Eu estava a passear sozinha por Paris e dirigi-me à livraria Shakespeare and Company. Mal entrei, de tantos livros por todo o lado, reparei logo neste, não muito grande, numa prateleira alta. Valha o meu metro e oitenta para reparar nestas coisas, mas na verdade acho que houve qualquer coisa de instintiva neste processo. Pousei a minha mala de viagem a um canto da livraria e lá peguei nele. Primeiro livro de um autor, algo assim a puxar para o poético, uma história sobre dois rapazes e o seu pai, tentando sobreviver ao luto da morte da mãe. E essa luta pela sobrevivência aparece sobre a forma de um corvo. 

Sim, é verdade que o símbolo do blogue é um corvo, sim, é verdade que eu tenho queda para alguma escrita poética fragmentada, porém foi todo o conjunto de circunstâncias que me fez comprar o livro. Dois dias antes tinha feito um ano que o meu melhor amigo tinha morrido. Passei o dia sozinha por Dijon, foi um dia meio estranho, devo ter dormido boa parte do mesmo (um desperdício, talvez, mas fiquei doente). Ora, sem dúvida que foram dias de alguma reflexão, principalmente porque dei por mim a pensar que já tinham passado 365 dias, mas a dor era a mesma. As saudades as mesmas. Tudo igual. Não quero falar muito do meu luto neste caso, principalmente porque um mês antes tinha morrido um grande amigo meu de infância, não há muito que se possa dizer e aquela frase inicial é a maior verdade. No entanto, ter posto os olhos neste livro, com este tema, com o corvo como símbolo mensageiro e guia, criou logo uma grande ligação.

Li-o todo enquanto estava no aeroporto à espera do vôo de volta para Lisboa. É um livro extraordinário. Sei que o vou reler imensas vezes. Ao início não foi muito fácil habituar-me ao inglês – muito característico – porque só costumo ler literatura contemporânea em português, mas assim que apanhei os jeitos, o ritmo e a melodia, não mais parei. Não é um livro que vá agradar a toda a gente. A narrativa não é linear, não é bem comportadinha e não segue um rumo bem definido. Vamos tendo acesso a fragmentos de interacção, de reflexão, de esperanças e desesperos, de uma série de emoções tão pessoais e humanas que esta tornou-se numa das obras que mais me tocou. O luto é realmente algo muito, muito pessoal, sentido de forma única por cada pessoa. Neste caso assistimos às perspectivas de um marido e dois filhos pequenos. O corvo tenta ser o guia, este animal mitológico que tanto tem dado origem a obras primas, como o poema The Raven do Edgar Allen Poe, e tantas outras. 

Não sei se vai ser traduzido e/ou trazido para Portugal, mas caso tenham gosto e oportunidade de ler este livro na sua versão original, avancem! Deixo-vos o link no Goodreads para perceberem que não sou a única fascinada! E imaginem, é um primeiro livro do autor! Leia muito, sintam muito, deixem-se levar e “lavar” através da literatura.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25334576-grief-is-the-thing-with-feathers

Despite the tumor-shrinking medical miracle that has bought her a few years, Hazel has never been anything but terminal, her final chapter inscribed upon diagnosis. But when a gorgeous plot twist named Augustus Waters suddenly appears at Cancer Kid Support Group, Hazel’s story is about to be completely rewritten.

First things first: I was a bit reticent with this book. Cancer-kid stories are often depressing with no uplifting moments. Then my dear big sister from College (it’s a hazing thing—she’s the person I chose during hazing week to be my mentor/friend throughout the course and she has not disappointed) told me it was amazing and that I should read it. So, I did. I got the book, started reading it after dinner and couldn’t bear to go to bed without finishing it. It’s that good.

The Fault In Our Stars is the recipe of a tear-jerker: the main character, Hazel, is terminally ill, her love interest is a cancer survivor, his best friend loses both eyes to cancer… You know it’s going to end badly, and it does—but not in the way you’d expect. 

The book is in first-person, narrated by Hazel Grace. Hazel almost died some time prior to the book, but some trial drug kept her tumors from growing and now, she’s sort of stable and walks around with an oxygen tank at all times because, as she puts it, her lungs suck at being lungs. Her parents make her go to a Cancer Kid Support Group and there she meets one-legged Augustus Waters, who is going to flip her world upside down.

Hazel and Augustus practically fall in love right off the bat. Normally, I’d complain about insta-love, but let’s be fair: at times, insta-love is a valid writing resource, especially in a stand-alone novel. And in this case, it’s so cleverly done you really don’t mind that the main protagonists are basically head over heels with each other within the first third of the book.

There is drama surrounding Hazel and Augustus’s relationship: at first, she doesn’t want him to kiss her because she doesn’t want him to grieve for her when she dies. 

Now that we’ve got the main story down, I’m going to talk about Hazel and Augustus. I said earlier that cancer-kid books are often depressing and have no light moments. Well, The Fault In Our Stars is not like that. Hazel has cancer and yeah, it’s pretty awful, but she’s been living with it for so long that she accepts it as a part of her. She doesn’t mope around a lot and say how much her world sucks. Instead, she’s a deliciously sarcastic person who makes the whole cancer deal seem a secondary aspect of her life she has been saddled with. Sure, she has to sleep attached to a machine and has to bring her oxygen tank everywhere—but she makes those complications seem minor in comparison to everything that’s going on in her life. She’s smart, well-read and very compassionate and the perfect narrator to this great novel. And most of all: she isn’t a teenager pretending to be an adult. She’s a teenager being a teenager, tantrums and all, and the fact I don’t hate her as I do most characters who behave that way is something to behold.

As for Augustus… his character is amazing. You see that he truly likes Hazel and he does show it. He does everything he can to make her wish come true, and it’s the sweetest thing. He does not do it so that he can have some measure of power over her: he does everything he does because he loves her. The secondary cast of characters: the fictional author Peter van Houten is a full-fledged jerk, Hazel’s parents are a mix between overly concerned and wonderful, Isaac, albeit a somewhat background character, has a great story… They’re all wonderful and you grow to care about them all when everything unfolds.

And then you have the writing. Oh, the writing. It’s a bit pretentious, all right, but when you have quotes like:

I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once.

and

Without pain, how could we know joy? This is an old argument in the field of thinking about suffering and its stupidity and lack of sophistication could be plumbed for centuries but suffice it to say that the existence of broccoli does not, in any way, affect the taste of chocolate.

and

You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world…but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices.

It’s beautiful. I haven’t read a book that is so short and so filled with memorable writing. It’s also John Green’s flawless prose that brings all these characters to life and it’s a wonder to read.

Finally, you have the end. There’s a point in the book where you know for sure (because until then you will be hoping otherwise) there’s not going to be a happy ending. It’s a tragedy, true and raw, and you feel so helpless you want to stop reading but at the same time you can’t because everything is so carefully worded, so wondrously put together you want to see how the author is going to make the inevitable happen. And when it does, it’s the most beautiful, heartbreaking thing I’ve read in a while.

I’m not kidding when I say this: when I had about forty pages left in the book, I was crying every five minutes. I had to stop reading so I could cry. My boyfriend, who was Skyping with his colleagues for a college project had to turn off the microphone so no one would hear my constant sobbing. And when I read that final sentence, I cried some more, re-read the last chapter, cried again, re-read it… It was a funny thing, how I didn’t want the book to end like that and, at the same time, how I felt the ending was perfect.

I whole-heartedly recommend this book. It’s one of those books that’s so wonderful you feel it’s your personal quest to tell everyone to read it. I’ve heard complaints on the internet about how every John Green book is the same, how he is the Nicholas Sparks of Young Adult—and I don’t care. Nothing is ever going to diminish my opinion of this novel: that it’s a beautifully told, beautifully written story I want to read over and over again.

Hardcover: 336 pages 

Publisher: Penguin (3 May 2012) 

ISBN-10: 0141345632 

ISBN-13: 978-0141345635

Review in Portuguese by Sofia Teixeira: http://www.branmorrighan.com/2012/09/opiniao-culpa-e-das-estrelas-de-john.html

Some weeks ago, I was wondering when had been the last time a book had made me cry. George Orwell’s1984(which is, without a secret, my favorite book—I even have two tattoos to prove it!) made me cry. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban made me cry. Same forTo Kill A Mockingbird.

And then, there was Bitterblue.

I loved Graceling. I didn’t care much for Fire, but it was a nice book. I absolutely loved, loved, Bitterblue and I didn’t want it to end. And, when it did, I felt so overwhelmed with emotion, so touched by the subjects Kristin Cashore had visited in her third novel (and identifying with some of them) that I couldn’t stop the awfully embarrassing tears from prickling my eyes.

But let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

If you’ve read the previous two books, you remember Bitterblue. She was a small, ten-year-old girl then, running from her tyrannical father Leck. Eight years afterwards, the third installment of The Seven Kingdoms starts and she’s grown into a smart, curious queen. Feeling out of the loop when it comes to her royal business, she escapes into the city at night and stumbles upon a story house. There she hears various stories—some about her horrible father,—and meets Teddy, a printer, and Saf, a graceling who doesn’t know what his power is. 

Balancing her covert identity and her knowledge about politics, Bitterblue soon discovers that her advisors had been lying to her. Among other things, she thinks almost everyone is literate in her city, while it’s the complete opposite. I don’t want to get much into details as I don’t want to spoil the amazing intricacies of the plot, but I’ll tell you this: it’s not just about Bitterblue’s escapades at night and, behind everything lie tons of horrible secrets Bitterblue wants to unravel… And they’re worth every page you read.

In Bitterblue, everything is connected. Old characters return in an amazing fashion (particularly Fire), characters you might overlook become important when you least expect them and character who’ve endeared themselves to you in the beginning start not to matter much. But, like the title says, the novel is about Bitterblue and, while you might think it’s not enough… it is. Bitterblue is an amazing, strong character and by the end of the book I wanted to know more about her. The romance in the book suffers from it, but the resolution is so bittersweet, and so true to the characters that my heart ached in response.

And then, the end. Everything culminates at the end of the novel and that’s where I lost it and cried like a baby. There’s closure to almost every aspect—and I say almost because I hope Kristin Cashore writes more about Bitterblue and resolves certain relationships. It’s not that they ended badly or anything, it’s just… It was so good, so beautiful, that I want more.

The writing is, as Kristin Cashore’s writing has been in the first two novels, flawless. Her handle on vocabulary is stellar and she evokes imagery without even trying. But what sets this novel apart from the other two is the complexity of the plot. Bitterblue’s machinations are so beautifully intricate, sometimes wonderfully perverse that I had trouble stopping myself from reading more so I could go to bed. 

I could go on and on about how much I loved this book. I really could. But I’m afraid I’d just spoil you, so I’ll just shut up and tell you to read it. Bitterblue is a wonderful, complex, riveting read and the emotion I felt at the end is the proof of it. Please, please read it and give Kristin Cashore the recognition she deserves. 

Hardcover: 576 pages

Publisher: Gollancz; Hardback edition (1 May 2012)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0575097175

ISBN-13: 978-0575097179

“In a world where people born with an exceptional skill, known as a Grace, are feared and exploited, Katsa carries the burden of a skill even she despises: the Grace of killing.”

The first installment of Kristin Cashore’s Seven Kingdom’s saga tells the story of Katsa, a woman who is unnaturally apt to kill. The book starts off with the heroine fulfilling a mission for the Council, an underground organization founded by her, in which she has to retrieve an old man from another country. However, what at first seems a simple plot unravels into a complicated ploy.

Graceling’s story unfolds at the right pace. Certain things that, in the hands of another author would probably drag on and on, in Kristin Cashore’s hands they take up just the right amount of time. Her timing is remarkable and so is her sense of plot development.

Cashore’s writing is surprisingly fresh, evocative and nearly hypnotic. She doesn’t over describe; whenever she paints a picture, she describes it clearly and cleanly, which I find to be a blessing nowadays. She is intricate in her prose without being overly so, and it makes the book so much more pleasant to read.

Then, there are the characters. Katsa is very relatable, even though she is blessed with such a destructive power, and isn’t some overpowering force of nature. Even though Grace isn’t just to kill – I’m not going to say anymore so as to avoid spoilers, – she can do little else besides it, making her a flawed, realistic persona. There are also parts when Katsa’s otherwise unstoppable Grace is a weakness. The author explores her gift fully, both the good and the bad side of it.

I also loved Po, who was also Graced, and he added a measure of calmness to contrast with Katsa’s impulsiveness. These two are the main characters, and my favorites, but the secondary characters are equally well-written. The cast is amazing and you can see every single one of its elements serves a purpose and without them the story wouldn’t have worked out.

I found the romance in the book to be well thought-out and heartwarming. It takes time to develop and when it finally does, it makes sense. It isn’t just a man and a woman being thrown together. They really care about each other and it’s a beautiful thing.

The end is satisfying without compromising the personalities of any of the characters. It’s quite an accomplishment, and so is this book. It’s a great, fulfilling read that you just can’t put down.

I really loved Graceling, with its amazing cast and fantastic writing. I look forward to reading more books by Kristin Cashore and hope she continues on being as amazing as she was this time around.

·  Publisher: Gollancz (22 Jan 2009)

·  Language English

·  ISBN-10: 0575084502

·  ISBN-13: 978-0575084506

BOOK: It’s 1895, and after the suicide of her mother, 16-year-old Gemma Doyle is shipped off from the life she knows in India to Spence, a proper boarding school in England. Lonely, guilt-ridden, and prone to visions of the future that have an uncomfortable habit of coming true, Gemma’s reception there is a chilly one. To make things worse, she’s been followed by a mysterious young Indian man, a man sent to watch her. But why? What is her destiny? And what will her entanglement with Spence’s most powerful girls—and their foray into the spiritual world—lead to?

REVIEW: A Great and Terrible Beauty is a Gothic/Victorian novel set in the 19^th century. It follows the tale of a sixteen-year-old Gemma Doyle whose mother has just died under suspicious circumstances, circumstances which Gemma sees in a vision. She is then sent to a boarding school in London, where she rooms with Ann, a plain girl who is only there due to a scholarship. Together, the two of them – along with two other girls, Felicity and Pippa, – they travel to the realms and unravel their magic.

The book has quite a promising start, but as soon as Gemma goes to Spence, the action comes to a halt, which is quite shameful. For a while, all you read about is how the most powerful girls of Spence mock the poor Ann and how they lure Gemma into a prank. You’re left wondering, for quite some time, why Gemma sees visions and when you find out why, it’s almost as side-thought. A great majority of the book is just girls exploring and the action only picks up towards the end – and when it does, the book ends, leaving you wanting to find out more in a sequel.

The biggest flaw I found in A Great And Terrible Beauty were the characters. Gemma is mostly nice and willful, but I felt like she was the only character who had something inside her head. Ann is an ugly, chubby girl and all she wants is to be pretty. Pippa is the opposite – beautiful, – but as shallow as they come. Pippa’s whole world revolves around finding true love and that’s it. And then there’s Felicity, the Admiral’s daughter, who thinks she’s the queen of the world but deep down, all she wants is her father’s approval.

The friendship between Gemma and the other three girls was one-sided. All through the book, Ann, Felicity and Pippa were clearly using Gemma for her magic and they stupidly turn on her the first chance they get. It angered me to no end that these girls, who said over and over again that they were the dearest of friends, would betray each other every chance they got. This friendship was supposed to be one of the main aspects of the book and it was a let-down because the girls were all so jaded.

As for romance… there is some in the book and it’s well done, but it’s not something central – so, if you’re going in expecting a riveting love story, then you should pick a different book.

There are very good things about A Great And Terrible Beauty, though. For all that’s worth, the book is terrifically well-written. The prose is fluid and the descriptions are quite nice. It’s also very accurate historically, from clothes to customs to the way people talk. For instance, women are only supposed to learn what they need to please a husband, a thought that was quite common in the 19^th century, and some of the girls – not all, – fight against this stereotype. It’s not a feminist book, not by a long shot, but it’s not chauvinistic either. It has a balance about it, and that balance fits.

The author’s take on the magical world is nice and different, but it’s almost not exploited in this book. Hopefully, Libba Bray will make use of the great magical world she created in the second book. To finish it up, the plot twist towards the end is nice, and it makes you want to read more. Even though I found the book fun at best, the end was good enough for me to want to read the sequels.

This is an entertaining novel and if you’re into historic young-adult novels with a twist for the magical, then this book is for you. Even if you’re not, it’s intriguing enough for you to give it a shot.

 Paperback: 416 pages

 Publisher: Simon & Schuster Children’s;

 Language English

 ISBN-10: 0689875355

 ISBN-13: 978-0689875359

Pois é, a partir de hoje temos uma nova colaboradora aqui no Morrighan. Como já disse noutro post, vou começar a ler livros em inglês. No seguimento dessa iniciativa, lembrei-me de convidar a minha afilhada académica, Diana Pinguicha, que colabora no site da autora Marianne de Pierres (http://www.burnbright.com.au/category/dianas-reviews/), a fazer parte deste meu canto partilhando as suas opiniões. Estas são escritas em inglês e com isto pretendo, quem sabe, expandir um pouco os horizontes do blog trazendo novos leitores.

Também eu vou escrever em inglês as críticas dos livros do desafio Ler em Inglês.

Para além de praticar o meu inglês e estender o público do blog, penso que é uma boa iniciativa para conhecermos livros que ainda não foram editados em Portugal.

Espero que gostem.

Aos leitores portugueses/To Portuguese Readers:

Quando me apresentaram este projecto e me pediram para colaborar com a minha opinião, não pude recusar. Dado o carácter internacional do projecto ISF, as opiniões dos três contos apresentam-se em inglês. Se fizerem questão que coloque também em português deixem um comentário.

Obrigada ao editor Roberto Mendes pela oportunidade.

Opinião/Review:

Metal Can Lanterns is one of the sweetest stories I’ve ever read. It reminds us that there are some things that we must preserve and save in our memories so they will never die. This is a story to be read in one of those winter nights when you are staring at the fireplace and thinking about past times. It is impossible not to smile. I loved it.

59 Beads is a sad story. When you finish reading it, you will feel upset and angry, but mostly gloomy. You only have your sister; she gets sick and you put all your effort in getting her healthy. The solution is quite simple: You basically sell your soul to the devil and she gets the treatment. However, there are no guarantees! What would you do? Give up on your freedom or let her die? It’s an interesting story, albeit the set-up is quite cliché. Still, the concept of Dollygirls was interesting enough for me to keep on reading.

Hunt beneath the Moon bring us a supernatural world. Here we meet a hunter and a supernatural creature, the Hind. Somewhere nearby is a book that prevents the Hinds from being captured by the hunters and, naturally, the Hind wants that book — however, it’s the hunter who possesses it, and he is her mortal enemy. The story starts very well and awakens the curiosity of the reader, but soon it becomes too confusing. It’s easy to get lost in the dialogue and the end of the story isn’t well executed. It may have potential, but the Greek legend should’ve been better explored.

Link for the Review in ISF site: http://internationalsf.wordpress.com/2012/11/23/isf-1-review-sofia-teixeira-portuguese-reviewer/