Book Review: Feathertide carried me only so far

4/5 stars
Feathertide is a story with mature themes of love, loss, and growth. Marea grows up cherished but hidden from the world due to the feathers her body sprouts, and the nature of the small town she grows up in. As a young adult, she sets on a journey of self-exploration to an exotic and mysterious land, where her parents had met many years ago.

Marea’s story is one of discovery, of herself and the world beyond her narrow experience as a child.

I enjoyed this novel, but I felt it did not delve deeply into its themes, and left a lot of the story to the readers’ imagination. Picturing the world described by Beth Cartwright was a little difficult, the world-building felt tenuous. Chime in with your thoughts once you’ve read it! I do recommend reading it as an immersive, but not taxing fantasy read.

The novel functions on many lovely metaphors which I thought worked well. It’s filled with moments which provoked self-reflection, but not much in the way of an actual series of events. I expected more, and perhaps that’s on me. I did enjoy the world, just wish there was more detail on the City of Murmurs, Sybel’s story, and Elver, etc.

I’m thankful to Penguin Books for providing me with an Advance Reading Copy of this book, via Net Galley.

 

A feather inspired from Beth Cartwright’s ‘Feathertide’

 

Last question on this book, that I’d love to leave you with. Might be a spoiler for some:
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I was curious why Marea’s name doesn’t appear until halfway through the book, is it a sign of her isolation? Share your thoughts!

Book Review of ‘Honeymoon Alone’: A silly person goes on a fun adventure

The story of a woman on a quest to find herself, and be a little spontaneous. Lucy Gray takes a break from her regular life filled with family and eight-year olds (she’s a third grade school teacher) for a poorly planned, last-minute trip to London. Her enjoyment of the city and all the things she has to discover are marred by a set of lies she gets caught up in, all the while, falling in love with this new part of her, as well as the new person in her life.

Honeymoon Alone by Nicole Macaulay is a sweet but ridiculous novel.

I AM grateful to 4b Pub for providing me the chance to review this book, through an online copy. In spite of the silly bits toward the end, I thoroughly enjoyed this novel.

Coming to the parts I did not enjoy, mostly because some things were very cliched, and silly, I will have to delve into spoiler territory, so you’ve been warned.

Spoilers ahead!

I mean, what kind of idiot throws their phone away, to begin with? There’s such a thing as turning it off!!
For someone who is supposed to be steady and constant to also be so stupid was really frustrating.
The whole, “I’m disconnecting and so much better for it” thing is sooo cliched.

She could also have not been stupid enough to say to a pair of murderers, “Oh, it’s you!”

I mean, come on! Are you brain dead?

She quite possibly has no self-preserving instincts, which drives me insane. Half of her wandering around made me anxious that something bad would happen! I know it wasn’t that kind of book, but it was quite vexing.

Though I felt it was a massive over-reaction for her brother Charles to fly to London at the last minute, perhaps it is because he anticipated her silly behaviour? I guess he had ‘2020’ vision.

FYI, I’m reviewing this book in 2020, and we’re fast running out of time to make 2020 vision jokes. Sorry, not sorry.

Have a good one!

 

A ‘City of Girls’ Book Review

 

City of Girls captures the spirit of coming into one’s own over the years. Our protagonist, Vivian Morris, is continuously growing and learning, without the story becoming preachy or dull at any point! We celebrate every step of her life with her, from her first experience to being in a big city, to the moments she describes her friendships with other women. While the book is fresh in my mind (I read the second half of it in one intense night of reading), I want to say how much I adored this book. It is nuanced, historical, and lovely. A celebration of various kinds of friends and the family we cobble together for ourselves. It is obviously an engaging and fun read, but has so many heartfelt lessons to share. I don’t think it’s easy to write such a touching book with so many characters we can love and respect while also identifying and being fully aware of their deep flaws. Ranging from light to thoughtful moments, this book has such a compelling set of stories to share. I really couldn’t stop reading it once I was into the heart of it. The words are still echoing in my mind, as I think of the relationships I’ve had and will have in my life. The ones I’ve tried to build but were lost to time, those that were happy but momentary embraces and others I still miss. Reading about her grandmother made me miss the kind and silent moments I spent with mine. The love we lose through time, is it really lost? Or is the memory enough? Youth, middle-age, there is something interesting in the way she tells each, and I just kept wishing for more. Magnificent, arching story from Elizabeth Gilbert, I would recommend this to any mature reader!

 

Redundant. Redundant.

I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking about creativity. The definition of creativity is essentially a combination of originality and appropriateness. When I write, it always feels terribly unoriginal, and the utility, purpose, or suitability of the words I type remains open to debate.

And yet, here I am. Writing something I’m sure innumerable people before me have expressed before, perhaps more eloquently (or not). How redundant is this post? Who cares? If we were constantly worrying about the originality of our ideas, we’d never get a word out. There’s this thing called historical creativity, it’s what we consider real innovation. When some remarkable individual proposes a wholly new concept to society, something unheard of, that’s historical creativity. The rest is just personal creativity, when a novel bit of information occurs to a person, and they get all excited.

So let’s focus on personal creativity. Maybe it’ll get us to historical creativity. Or it won’t. But that’s perfectly alright. I’m trying to remind myself, you just happen to be privy to this little monologue. With every little idea that springs from me into written form, the screaming on the inside quiets. Isn’t that worth it?

 

 

 

Write drunk, edit sober?

The idea of writing drunk and then editing ruthlessly while sober has always struck me as incredibly peculiar. Being drunk lends itself to a lot of things, one being brutal honesty. If you later edit the things you wrote while drunk, will the honesty be lost? What happens to the crazy flow of thought that comes with slowing down the brain? I’m not sure who’s noticed, but being drunk is excellent for slowing down that maelstrom of sub-par ideas which hits ever writer while they’re in full control of their faculties.

Having your brain a little off-kilter might help slow down the words bursting out of you. And you can make all sorts of unexpected connections which would have otherwise been drowned out. Writing is hard, it’s important to try out whatever makes you feel like you have more control and gets you to that sweet spot where what you’re writing doesn’t feel like nonsense.

That’s the general takeaway I have from my own writing experiences. Writing drunk is a bit like writing angry, it makes you write more passionately than you would when you’re over-thinking every sentence. So write when you’re over-whelmed in some way. Who knows where it might lead. (Don’t develop an addiction for the sake of your writing, that’s a terrible idea. As bad as lazy writing in a movie-script is. Deadpool, baby-I’m referencing you.)

But what do I know? I might or might not be currently inebriated.

Something to do with writing

Writing has always been something that came naturally to me. While others groaned and moaned when perfunctorily told to  write 200 words on an obscure topic, I was happy to set out. Sometimes it seems like I have too much to write and not enough time to do it. How do you pick one thing to write about, when you have 10 ideas floating around your head, each muttering in a voice strangely like your own “Pick me, pick me”?

I never quite got the hang of brainstorming, that magnificent thing everybody swears by, I prefer a more go-with-the-flow style that led to a lot of scratches and striking out before my main method of putting thoughts into words became typing. Typing has made it so much easier for me to articulate all that I earlier couldn’t. Now I can have 20 documents with various topics, and I can get back to them whenever I feel like I need to get more out about whatever I am thinking. But, I wonder, does the fact that I can get back to it make me lazy to write or does it remove the pressure of finishing something even when my mind turns to mush?

The laptop allows for easy cataloguing of my work, but sometimes I think I would have been more motivated to write if it wasn’t so easy to open a file, find my place and return to the topic. I guess you have to see which outweighs the other, and use whatever seems best, just like when you choose one way of saying something over another.

The clatter of keyboards makes me happy

I have found that the sound of people around me typing gives me a new sense of happiness in my own work that I don’t usually have, when mine are the only fingers flying across a key-board in an empty room. I don’t know why I find the sound so inspiring, but when I hear the clack of innumerable keys, I feel like I should be typing faster and faster, as the words pour from my mind. For once, I don’t labour over every word and keep hitting the faded button to the upper right corner of my keyboard.

I am one of those neurotic people who is constantly aware of all the noises around me. Finding sounds around me motivating and inspiring rather than driving me out of my mind creates a very pleasant change.

The peculiar sound of typing on a laptop or desk-top key-board makes something in my mind click, and I feel the thoughts come to me in nicely arranged phrases. Instead of the solitary tapping of the keys, I hear a bunch of hands, creating music to my ears. I just keep on typing, until I have nothing more to write.