LOCAL GIRL MISSING: A BOOK REVIEW

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Wow! There are thrillers with twists and then there is Local Girl Missing. A slow burning thriller that builds up to a crescendo of twists!

Twenty years ago 21-year-old Sophie Collier disappeared one night in her small Somerset hometown of Oldcliffe-on-Sea. Her best friend, Frankie (Francesca Howe), is devastated and left the town soon after the tragedy. Now she is back, answering the desperate call by Sophie’s brother Daniel to help him. To help him finally discover what happened to his sister. The impetus to his renewed search for the truth is the discovery by the police of a woman’s foot – that believed to be of his long-lost sister after she vanished, leaving only her trainer on the seaside’s dilapidated pier.

The story is told through the present narrative of Frankie and through Sophie’s old diary entries from 1997, prior to her disappearance. Eerily the two voices weave back and forth, from the past to the present. From past shared loves, to the death of a boyfriend witnessed by the girls as young. To the present and renewed love interest between Daniel and Frankie, to her former boyfriend Leon who was Sophie’s big love the months before her disappearance.

All seems connected and as Frankie arrives the past seems to invade her present existence. Quickly she begins to regret her return as ghosts literally appear to haunt her in the town, around the flat she resides. Letters appear alluding to knowledge of a devastating secret. She hears a baby’s cry every night, yet no family resides in the other apartments. Frankie’s friendly father appears more and more in the past story-line. Why? He ran a hotel in which the girls worked. How far does family come before friends? Who really is the enemy? Can one tell? Frankie’s distress and confusion is palpable but still she remains in the Oldcliffe. Unwilling to leave Daniel. Desperate, it seems, to discover the truth of her best friend’s disappearance.

The novel quickly builds to one where everyone is held under suspicion by Frankie.

I had expected a great novel by Claire Douglas as I’d been hooked by her nail-biting debut of ‘The Sisters’ where nothing was as it seemed. This book only confirms the expertise and adeptness of the author. The writing is taut, tense and gripping. The undercurrent of menace bubbles beneath the surface – a real psychological drama. Intense, shocking and frightening. Absolutely wonderful.

netgalley I received a free copy of this book from the NetGalley in exchange for a honest and impartial review.

Rating:                    4 out of 5 stars

Publisher:               Penguin UK

Publication Date: 11th August 2016

Price:                        £ 4.99 Kindle – Amazon UK          

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Local-Girl-Missing-Claire-Douglas-ebook/dp/B01CL290HI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1471982528&sr=1-1&keywords=local+girl+missing

                                  £ 3.85 Paperback – Amazon UK    

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Local-Girl-Missing-Claire-Douglas/dp/1405926392/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1471975196&sr=8-1

                                $ 6.03 Paperback – Amazon US      

https://www.amazon.com/Pier-Claire-Douglas/dp/1405926392/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1471975429&sr=1-1&keywords=local+girl+missing

THE FUTURE LIBRARY

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Imagine writing a book only to have it safely stored unseen by anyone for up to 100 years.

This is the reality to which famous writers and poets are subjecting their work as part of The Future Library project. 

It all starts with a forest of 1,000 trees planted near Oslo, Norway, which we will be harvested in 100 years and used to print a unique anthology – for people yet to be born! The anthology will be from books, poems or texts submitted by one author per year (one piece of work only)  for the next 100 years and apart from its creator no other human being alive will have seen their work. 

The creator of this living conceptual artwork is Katie Paterson, a Glaswegian visual artist. Trust is central to this project: trust that there is a future; trust that there will be a future that cares about art and the written word; trust that the work will be carried on; trust that writers have handed in complete work. After all – who is to know if only a sheaf of empty pages is handed over.

Katie Paterson says that ‘tending the forest and ensuring its preservation for the 100-year duration of the artwork finds conceptual counterpoint in the invitation extended to each writer: to conceive and produce a work in the hopes of finding a receptive reader in an unknown future’.

This is the beauty about this concept; it runs contrary to all expectations and desires of writers and readers. Often the writers battle to have their work read. Readers are always eager for an immediate access to the book. 

The first contributor to The Future Library was Margaret Atwood with her piece entitled ‘Scribbler Moon’. That is all we and anyone knows about the book. Although it might be a poem, a short story. No one knows.

Will her name still be known 100 years hence? Will her grandchildren or great-grandchildren attend the unveiling of the anthology in 2114? 

‘I am sending a manuscript into time,’ Margaret Atwood said at the time of delivering her work to The Future Library. ‘Will any human beings be waiting there to receive it? Will there be a ‘Norway’? Will there be a ‘forest’? Will there be a ‘library’?

‘How strange it is to think of my own voice – silent by then for a long time – suddenly being awakened, after a hundred years.

‘There’s something magical about it. It’s like Sleeping Beauty. The texts are going to slumber for 100 years and then they’ll wake up, come to life again. It’s a fairytale length of time. She slept for 100 years.’

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David Mitchell’s book, entitled ‘From Me Flows What We Call Time’ is the second written text secreted within what is envisaged to be a specially designated room at the New Public Deichmanske Library, Oslo. Here the name of each writer and the name of their work will be on display in front of their work, hidden from view.  The famous ‘Cloud Atlas’ author found the writing process liberating and thrived in knowing he wouldn’t be alive for criticism. Furthermore he added, ‘Isn’t the prospect of a berth aboard an Ark of Literature with fellow-passengers of this calibre not a tempting one?’’

He stressed the topic of trust and belief in the future in his eloquent speech about the project.

‘Firstly, the Future Library project is a vote of confidence in the future.

‘We have to trust our successors, and their successors, and theirs, to steer the project through a hundred years of political skulduggery, climate change, budget cutbacks and zombie apocalypses. 

‘We have to trust that ‘digital archeologists’ will manage to get inside ancient USB sticks.’ 

Luckily the latter point has been taken into consideration and alongside an easily formatted version of the written work there will also be a printed paper copy. Belts and braces!

Will these writers find a receptive audience ten decades from now? What will the future generations make of the written words? How relevant will they find the stories? What will they make of the project?

What about you? What do you think of The Future Library? 

Here is a video link to video link to Katie Paterson in Norway discussing her artwork, where she says she imagines the ‘tree rings like chapters in a book’.

https://vimeo.com/katiepaterson/future

‘Nature, the soul, love, and God, one recognises through the heart, and not through the reason… Reason is a tool, a machine, which is driven by the spiritual fire.’  Dostoevsky

TO HUNT A SUB: NOW RELEASED

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The wait is over!  The publication of what has for me been an eagerly awaited book is now available – ‘To Hunt a Sub’ by Jacqui Murray.

As Jacqui slowly started to give us an inkling about her first fiction book I was hooked. 

An unlikely team is America’s only chance

She reeled me when I read the summary.

A brilliant Ph.D. candidate, a cynical ex-SEAL, and a quirky experimental robot team up against terrorists intent on stealing America’s most powerful nuclear weapon, the Trident submarine. By all measures, they are an unlikely trio–one believes in brawn, another brains, and the third is all geek. What no one realizes is this trio has a secret weapon: the wisdom of a formidable female who died two million years ago.

An accomplished writer, Jacqui captured me with a sample chapter. Here is just a taster excerpt. Enjoy…and remember you can read buy the book now!

Within an hour, the massive warship had settled to the ocean floor like the carcass of a dead whale. It teetered atop an ocean ridge, listing starboard against a jagged seamount, and the gentle push of an underwater current from a cliff that plunged into a murky darkness. Every watertight door was closed. As per protocol, the oxygen level was reduced to suppress a fire hazard. Without climate controls, the interior had already reached 60 degrees. It would continue dipping as it strove to match the bone-chilling surrounding water temperature.  Hypothermia would soon be a problem. For now, though, they were alive. 

The hull groaned as though twisted by a giant squid.

The Captain peered into the gloomy waters that surrounded the sub. “Thoughts, XO?”

“We’re stable for the moment, barring a strong underwater current.” 

Based on the creaking protests from the hull, they were at or beyond crush depth. Any deeper, the outside pressure would snap the HY-80 outer hull and sea water would roar into the living compartments. Everyone would be dead in seconds, either drowned or impaled on the ragged remains of the sub by a force in excess of a Category Five hurricane.

selfJacqui Murray  is the author of the popular Building a Midshipman, the story of her daughter’s journey from high school to United States Naval Academy. She is the author/editor of over a hundred books on integrating tech into education, adjunct professor of technology in education, webmaster for four blogs, an Amazon Vine Voice book reviewer,  a columnist for TeachHUB, Editorial Review Board member for Journal for Computing Teachers, monthly contributor to Today’s Author and a freelance journalist on tech ed topics. You can find her books at her publisher’s website, Structured Learning.

To Hunt a Sub is available to buy on Amazon. 

 £ 2.29      Amazon UK 

$ 2.99      Amazon US 

 

 

BRAVE THE CANVAS

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The weather might not reflect it but summer is here! As usual I will be mostly awol from WP for a few weeks as I disappear to a part of the world untouched by the internet, wifi & TV (I know, unbelievably these places still exist!).  I look forward to popping in at times when possible. 

I wish you all a lovely peaceful summer. May it be a time for recuperation and soul-searching, may it be a time to reflect where you are today, where you want to be tomorrow. For everyone out there, writers, artists, poets, may your creative energy flow keenly. For some inspiration I am honoured to share Thalia’s Gust’s latest poem. May we all Brave that Canvas, notebook, document…to find the courage to CREATE.

Brave the Canvas                              


An empty canvas can paralyse

Vincent tells us, he should know.

Let us be brave

Let us

Boldly put something down,

Even if we fail.

 

Try again, get up

Use your gifts, your tools,

Be it your work,

your writing, painting

or baking bread.

 

Boredom kills

We diminish ourselves,

automatons walking along,

eat, work and sleep

Until our days are past.

 

Yes, you will fail at times,

Spectacularly perhaps.

Equally, you might succeed,

Reaching someone’s heart.

 

Go ahead with passion,

do your best.

 

Glorious feeling,

when beauty ensues.

Give Birth to a dream.

 © Thalia Gust

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A BOY MADE OF BLOCKS: A BOOK REVIEW

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A Boy Made of Blocks is a debut novel by Keith Stuart and is inspired by his experience with his own autistic son.

In the book, Sam is eight-years-old and only recently diagnosed with autism.  The trauma of bringing him up – described early on as ‘he (Sam) was like Joe Pesci in Goodfellas – small, funny but at the flick of a mental switch, easily capable of extreme and demented violence’ – has reached crises point with his mother, Jody and his father, Alex living apart in a trial separation. 

Alex has never connected with his son and mostly left Jody to care for Sam whilst using his job as an estate agent as an excuse to avoid the family home.  

The book is told solely through Alex’s first person point of view and I personally felt this is flawed on two levels. Firstly, it restricts the novel to the character of Alex and although we see Sam and Jody through his eyes, I would have enjoyed a direct view of their world through their eyes. As it is Jody becomes rather stereotyped and typecast. 

Furthermore, Alex’s initial self-pitying, self-absorbed litany (admittedly often self-depreciating and funny) does at times become tiring. It is only as the novel develops that he is redeemed and finally becomes a likeable character with whom I felt empathy.

It becomes increasingly obvious that Alex’s relationship with the world is almost as alien as his son’s. Alex’s isolation and loneliness is not as a result of  autism but started the day he saw his older brother killed by a car when they were children leaving school. A day and a death he has never come to terms with and that eventually tore the family apart, driving his sister (Emma) into a life of a globe trotter, never settling down with anyone, anywhere.

The transformation of Alex and Sam’s relationship and of their lives as a whole occurs as the result of Minecraft – an impulse purchase by his wife to help Sam fit in with his peers at school.  Based on the author’s real-life experience with his son and with his own in-depth knowledge of the gaming industry as a writer, it is only with the introduction of Minecraft that the book takes off. (As well as helping provide the title of this book!)

Minecraft acts like an extended metaphor throughout the book – the more Sam interacts with the game, the more he becomes connected to Alex and the world as a whole. The games’s low and high points – its hell, demons, creepers and finally treasure – mirrors their lows and highs in real life. Whilst staying at his best friend’s (Dan) flat, Alex joins Sam in the virtual world of Minecraft and together they start ‘chatting’ for the first time in Sam’s life as they build and build. It is this journey that finally causes Alex to see his son as a real person and not merely as a problem to be handled. ‘I saw Sam as an obstacle, something I’d have to work around. But that was wrong. Sam was the guide. Sam was my guide.’ Finally Alex realises they have more in common than he ever imagined.

The beauty and magic of the world of Minecraft is brilliantly and descriptively explained, weaving its way through the book as it widens the world for Sam.  

The ghost of Alex’s brother refreshingly haunts the pages, recounting  the events of their childhood lives and also providing an amiable side-plot through the possible romance between Dan and Emma. An aunt adored by Sam and to whom he naturally connects.

The tense in the book is unusual as it is present tense throughout and brings a sense of immediacy and involvement with the story.

A Boy Made of Blocks builds to a satisfying exciting conclusion, with me rooting for Sam along with the rest of his family and friends.

Overall, I like this book a lot but curiously enough I don’t love it. It is very well written and constructed. The start lacked the fizz and unputdownable factor of many other books, although it did pick up and I am very glad to have finished it.

Sam is pivotal for the story and the success of the book – at times I felt he was the only one making sense of the confusing mess of this world. He has depth and immediately likeable, personable and always original. Sam shines through for me. The lesson he has learnt is applicable to us all: ‘Life is an adventure, not a walk. That’s why it’s difficult.’

netgalleyI received a free copy of this book from the NetGalley in exchange for a honest and impartial review.

Rating:                           3.7 out of 5 stars.

Publisher:                      Little Brown Book Goup UK

Publication Date:        1st September  2016                         

Price:          £ 6.99       Kindle       –   Amazon UK          

                     £ 7.99        Paperback – Amazon UK

                    $ 20.41        Hardback –   Amazon US

STRIKE DAY

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Remember that childhood feeling of anticipation, of adventure? Of a day of freedom waiting to be explored? Often those days seem faraway in adult life but last week I was lucky enough to experience a few hours of such bliss.

As a strike by teachers closed half the schools around the country we decided to use this day for relaxation and fun.

The sunlight glows in the bedroom, gentle golden hues blending with the soft lilac of the flowers on the curtains. Yes! Already a flutter in my tummy. A few minutes to just lie and savour the minutes unencumbered by alarm clocks, free from the usual morning rush. A bumble bee buzzes its way in through the open windows, ambling around the windowsill, I imagine it bumping along the ornaments. My normal irritated reaction is replaced by one of quiet musings, the soft hum calming my incessantly busy mind. As the room warms from the morning sun I rise, open the curtains and gently edge the bumble bee out.

An hour later my husband, son, his two friends and I are heading towards the coast and the town of Clacton-on-Sea – an old seaside resort popular with London day-trippers in the late 1800s/early 1900s who arrived by steam boat. Today the pier on which the passengers disembarked is still standing and is one of the town’s main features. 

‘Urgh,’ exclaims one of the friends. ‘The sea is a really weird colour.’ I look again as we drive along the sea front. Knowing not to expect the brilliant aquamarine of the Mediterranean I expected at least a dark green shade. Not the sludge brown water moving laboriously up and down in shallow waves, the sand that had been stirred upon during the stormy night gradually sinking to the bottom but as if exhausted barely shifts at all.

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We park up and the youngsters are off and away with just a hasty meet up time arranged. We head to the beach, the soft sand giving way beneath each step and with effort we walk on. Distance – I relish the long distance views, the beach stretching for miles ahead of us, the sky a wondrous mix of clouds, rain threatening then the sun peaking through the brightest of blue respite.

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Its glare a sign of hope, the possibility of summer warmth. By the end of the day, we swelter in the heat, the cute little palm trees along one beach section providing scant protection. I lie underneath the fronds of leaves, close my eyes and imagine myself far far away. 

Ahead we spy some buildings and coming closer the most delightful beach huts have me smiling. Pastel coloured, they look incongruous on their own on the sand but they are so sweet. Ready for the doors to be flung open and for children to exit in a gaggle of laughter and swimming aids. As it is the beach is quiet on this an otherwise normal working & school day. We march on for a few miles, then turn and head back. 20160705_122336

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The serenity of the slow turning blades of the numerous windmills out to sea captivates me. The silent motion mesmerising. I stare on and only now realise that they are placed in long rows and that here, in one spot I see blades upon blades, overlapping as I’m standing directly in front of one row. Resembling a cactus. Like an open swiss army knife. What do you see?

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Ahead is the pier, the popular amusement arcade finally gearing itself up for the day’s activities. The view from the end of the pier back to town is fascinating – after all how often do you see the mainland apart from on boat trips?  

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To the side I suddenly stop and gawp. The unexpected murals a joy to behold; cheeky, bold and full of mischief. I spot the website and later discover this is one of many professional pieces of art created by The Silent Hobo. I love the unexpected, to be surprised, so much the better if on my doorstep.   

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By the pier the famous (really?!) Pirate Radio Station Museum is closed. My husband sighs but I emit a silent cheer. Then I begin to wonder, what would be on display inside. What kind of memorabilia would be on display to  celebrate the 1960s, when ships would be anchored in international waters just off the coast, the illegal radio stations sending the popular hits out to the east coast – songs not sanctioned by the mainstream radio stations. Later many of the DJs would become household names working for the establishment of the BBC.

The south end of the beach is marked by the Martello tower, built in the 19th Century by a country fearing the might of Napoleon and possible invasion. The small defensive fort towers are to this day scattered along this stretch of coast line, their rotund shape visible from miles away.20160705_142550

The only sadness to tinge this day is the sight of an injured seagull on the beach. Whilst a flock loudly squawk and fly around, one seagull struggles its way along the beach, one of its wings dragging uselessly in the sand. Almost torn off, it is held on by a sliver. As one the whole flock lifts, frightened by the arrival of two football playing children. The seagulls swoop gracefully in the air, their white grey feathers shimmering in the sunlight. All but one. The damaged bird looks on, mournfully I feel. Alone and stranded. I couldn’t take a photo of it, it just felt wrong – but here is one of just some of its friends. Can you spot the sleepy one?

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Finally our legs moan in rebellion and our stomachs grumble with hunger; obediently we enter the pub we’d seen earlier. By now heaving with visitors we exit and search out a quieter location and happily come across an Asian restaurant. The vegetarian spring rolls are the best ever and quickly I devour the four. The pièce de résistance is the main course. 

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Satiated we head back to the car, via the previously unseen beauty of the local gardens, packed with people enjoying a bench picnic.  

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Mourning Has Broken: A Book Review

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I read this book during a time of loss and sadness. When my spirits were so low neither music nor books could enter my heart. Numerous books remained unread, the words and stories therein unable to penetrate the wall. 

Then I recalled reading about Carol Balawyder and ‘Mourning Has Broken’; her book on loss and grief. On a whim I bought it.

My attention was seized from the very first few sentences and as I devoured it within two days ‘Mourning Has Broken’ left a deep and profound impact on me.

The writing is exceptional and beautiful. Poetic in places, full of wisdom. Her words spoke directly to me, then at times mirrored my experiences of loss exactly. I have never highlighted so much in a book since my student days. Nor have I I talked so much about a book – I am sure my family by now feel they have read it too!

Within nine months Carol first lost her mother then her sister, Diana, to cancer.  Years before her father had passed away. As she struggled to cope with the ensuing grief, she turned to writing. These turned into two essays which are collected here in one book. Carol calls them essays; for me the word is too heavy, ponderous.

The writing flows with ease and is never ‘preachy’ in tone. Whilst the book is about how to deal with the pain of losing family members; it becomes much more – a personal exposition of Carol’s life and familial relationships and ultimately ‘Mourning Has Broken’ is as much a book on living and surviving grief as on mourning and loss.

Through skilfully crafted snippets Carol provides detailed images of her life when young with her father, mother and sisters (elder one, Louise). At times funny, at times sad, the overwhelming feeling regarding her parents is one of sadness and mourning – even before their deaths. Always kind, considerate and giving Carol realises she never had the relationship she wanted with them.  Averse to showing any physical or verbal affection she regrets her parent’s lack of hugs and ‘I love you’. Where her father was a secret alcoholic, her mother lived by an array of confusing rules, many of which young Carol inadvertently ran foul. 

pinkrose2The second part of the book opens with the ‘unfathomable’. That after five years of fighting lymphoma her sister’s battle is soon over. As the family and the two sisters gather for Diana’s final days in hospital I cried. The helplessness, despair is portrayed with Carol’s usual deep sincere honesty. 

As she recounts her sister’s fight with cancer (whilst Carol was at the same time also being treated for a ‘safer’ form of cancer) the reader follows her soul-searching; both to understand the past, its guilt, joys and lows and to comprehend present pain. Searching for spiritual meaning, searching for a way to live on. Her self-awareness is at times unforgiving, always touching. 

Throughout Carol’s gentle and compassionate nature shines forth. The book is both heart-felt and heart-warming. 

I cannot recommend it highly enough. It is not, as I thought, a only book for those suffering loss. It is for everyone, whenever. I wished I’d read it earlier. 

Now I will let some of Carol’s wonderful writing in ‘Mourning Has Broken’ provide a glimpse of this life-changing book. 

I know that we were circling, like birds of prey, around his death.

I remember once telling a therapist that my father was my hero. “It’s hard,” he answered, “for any man to stand up to that kind of idolization.”

I love therapy sessions where I am allowed to lie down, just as I love corpse pose in yoga. Why can I not give myself permission to lie down in my own home without a feeling of guilt that I should be doing something else? Something productive?

Morphine. Morpheus. One who shapes dreams. In a dreamlike state but still aware. What are you thinking of in these last hours of your life? What are you feeling? Where are you?

I don’t tell her I think my sister is hanging on like a leaf hangs on to a branch in late November. Sooner or later it will have to let go.

What needs letting go is a future with her.

Death changes everyone.

Before entering a bookstore,  I always ask for guidance that I may find the book which I need to be reading at this time in my life.

Still, at her funeral service, I read these lines from Thich Nhat Hahn: Time is too slow for those who wait/too swift for those who fear/too long for those who grieve/too short for those who rejoice/but for those who love, time is eternity.

Do we ever really bury those we loved dearly? Is there really any such thing as closure?

Mourning, I realize, must come in small parcels. To realize the immensity of the loss at once would be too overwhelming and unbearable. It must be done in bits and pieces of dreams disappearing one sliver at a time.

In the spring before Diana died, she and her partner, Jean-Louis, planted a wild rose bush at our parent’s gravesite. Now, as I walk towards the grave I am struck by the single rose in glorious bloom amidst all the dead ones. My immediate thought is that Diana’s spirit is in the pink wild rose for in her own life, she was a pink wild rose.

In this void, the voice of Karen Armstrong, one of the most progressive thinkers on the role of religion in our society, reaches me. God was not something you could prove with rational thought or words. God was something to be experienced, and you could have this God experience through music, poetry, silence, compassion, and kindness.

“Faith and hope,” she once told me, “are gifts of grace. They are the lighthouse which shines on our days of darkness.” 

carolFrom ‘Mourning Has Broken’ by Carol Balawyder

Note: Use of the quotes are reproduced from the book by kind permission of the author.

RATING:   5 out of 5 stars!

PRICE:        £ 1.99   Kindle       –   Amazon UK          $ 2.99   Amazon US

                     £ 6.02   Paperback – Amazon UK         $ 8.50     Amazon US

 

 

SING: A BOOK REVIEW

sing

Looking for a great summer read – look no further! Sing is pure escapism! Full of fun, fame, friendships and romance. A perfect getaway from reality.

As famous pop star Lily Ross yet again suffers a failed romance in the full glare of the public limelight she accepts the opportunity to escape the madness of her life. To recover from her heartbreak she decides to  live three months during the summer on a small island in Maine.

The house on the island was recently bought by one of her best friends, Tess who used to visit it as a child along with Lily and their other close friend, Sammy. As Lily’s fame and career took off Tess and Sammy left their own dreams behind to be companions and assistants to Lily. Only now, on the island does Lily’s selfish and self-centred approach to life start to rock the foundations not only of her ability to write songs but threatens her life-long friendships.

However, Lily at first fails to notice her friends discontentment as she struggles to recover from the break-up with equally famous Jed. Crashing, literally, into Noel, a local fisherman on her first day on the island does bring new romance for her as she quickly falls for the down-to-earth islander and soon discovers his deeper side and more complex family and career issues. Equally Tess and Sammy are vividly brought to life and developed throughout the book.

This is an engaging novel, marketed as YA / Teen book, but as always I disagree with this genre labelling and felt it was a delightful entertaining read as an adult. The plot moves quickly along, the characters which I feared would become caricatures are fully developed and it was particularly satisfying to see the shallow Lily rediscover her caring more thoughtful side as memories and new experiences sweep over her.

As always with such books it is very much of will she / won’t she scenario. Will she get back with Jed? Will she finish her album? Will she follow her heart’s desire? Will she abandon her fans and career? Will she finally see her friends as such instead of as paid assistants? 

This book not only made me want to stand up, cheer and dance, but by the end I was ready to join Lily and Sing!

netgalleyI received a free copy of this book from the NetGalley in exchange for a honest and impartial review.

Rating:                           4 out of 5 stars.

Publisher:                      HarperCollins UK

Publication Date:        2nd  June  2016

Price:                              £ 3.85     (Paperback – Amazon)  

                                         £ 3.99      (Kindle – Amazon) 

Link to Amazon.com 

 

BLIND DATE BOOKS

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I’m always on the look-out for bookshops with a difference. There are the cafe bookshops. More recently the one-book bookshop in Tokyo. However, these still have books and their covers clearly visible on a shelf.

Elizabeth’s Bookshop in Australia is turning the way we often choose our books on its head by wrapping up the books. Instead of ‘judging books by their cover’ the bookshop feels its policy allows the book to be bought for its contents and also encourages a diversity of reading genres by hiding the book covers. Neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string, the book parcels line shelf upon shelf in one section of the second-hand bookshop. Upon each book is written a few key words about the book – its genre, main plot line. That is all. The rest is pot luck.

An employee originally had the idea to have a ‘blind date with a book’ and sales have mushroomed and the concept has been rolled out to all its six stores across Australia. The books are chosen by staff  who also write on the covers. The customers often buy the books as presents for family and friends for special occasions such as Christmas, birthdays or Valentines. One major selling point is the ease and lack of stress in choosing a book as well as the sense of anticipation and intrigue of the ‘secret’ book held within. 

I can just imagine the anguish felt by the publishers and authors. After hours of deliberation and huge expense their work upon cover design and blurb content is hidden by nondescript paper. However at the same time my interest is definitely piqued and I would happily embrace the ‘blind date’ books now and then. Especially since the books can be returned within seven days if they have already been read – the only main drawback I could envisage. 

What about you? Have you ever come across this scenario in a bookshop near you? Would you buy such a book as a present? Or for yourself? As always I look forward to reading your comments.

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LOSS

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As many of you know I was looking forward to Bloggers Bash in London last weekend. Many wonderful posts from other bloggers are circulating but not from me alas. Following so many warm and excited comments on my last Writer Q & A post I wanted to explain my lack of news about the party.

Sadly my father-in-law passed away towards the end of last week. Sadness, shock and sense of unreality took hold of our family. Not only that but immediate practicalities need to be sorted and we are in the midst of this. I was so sorry not to be able to attend the Bloggers Bash, I really missed not meeting everyone. Unfortunately I was a couple of hundred miles away…

Please understand I will be slightly quieter on the blogging front for the next couple of weeks and for this reason too I have switched off the comments for this post.

Below is a poem by my friend Thalia Gust – one which I hadn’t seen until today. Its peace, tranquility and depth is just perfect for those times in all our lives and for lives gone. Thank you.

Dancing Leaves                                        

Light as feathers they danced,

autumn leaves from the trees.

All gold, brown and red. Such a happy dance,

it seemed.

Like death was not sad at all.

***

Can’t say I’m advanced enough, to see,

That I could meet death with the beauty, 

of leaves.

We have eternal souls, consciousness,

Body of mystery, perfection. Treasured.

The vessel of experiences, light and dark.

***

This morning, the trees have given

A beautiful lesson to me.

Maybe one day I will learn to see death,

With the ease and the light of the leaf.

© Thalia Gust

 

Note: The rose bush photographs are those of one bought for us by my father-in-law two years ago. He couldn’t resist the name – ‘Queen of Sweden’! I have never seen it bloom the way it is this year. 

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