Author: Sarah McCarry
Publication: July 30th 2013 by St. Martin's Griffin
Genre: No idea at all.
-- My Rating --
2.5 / 5 Oscars: It was OK
-- My Thoughts --
What's even stranger is that I don't know the name of the main character in the book. The one who talks in first person. The one that the whole story is about. The author NEVER mentioned the name, so I will go with the initial "A". A and Aurora have been friends since forever. They did everything together, but everything changes when they meet Jack, the mysterious musician, and the guy with the completely-dark eyes.
The first problem I had with this book was that I didn't know if it was paranormal, contemporary, or a mix of both? It irked me that I didn't know anything about the book's genre. So, I didn't know what to expect from the book when I kept reading. The second thing is the characters. None of them ever clicked with me. None. Not A, Aurora, Jack, Cass, Maia. I couldn't connect to any of them and that made me sad.
The plot was, simply put, confusing. I didn't know what was happening well I was reading. I didn't get where they were, what they were doing, or who they really were. It got on my nerves a LOT, and I passed a lot of paragraphs unread, just because I couldn't get them. I didn't want to get them. There is one good thing about this book. It's the writing. Sarah McCarry's writing style is phenomenal, every single sentence she weaved was like silk, so smooth and pretty. I made tons of quotes in my copy, but I think that the author tried SO HARD with the writing, that she didn't give enough of her time to the plot or the characters.
I won't be recommending this. And I definitely won't read it again. I am not saying this book was all bad, it had its ups and downs. And the end was pretty amazing. But, here are some quotes for you, so you can judge for yourself whether you'll give it a go or not:
Music turns us inside out with hunger, the need to hurt ourselves, get drunk, fuck, punch strangers, the need to take off all our clothes and run around in the grass screaming, the need get in a car and drive off in the middle of the night with a pack of strangers. We let the music shake us loose from the moorings of our bodies and hearts and brains, until we are nothing but sex and sweat and fists and hot hot light
Do you know what it’s like to be a girl pieced together out of appetite and impulse? We do. In that place of heat and noise I forget everything, forget being poor and being cared, forget the looming misery of school and the adult world, forget walls and masks and pretense.
A single note, faint and sweet, travels all the way from the stars to fall lightly to earth, and then another, scattering soft as rain. His music is like nothing I have ever heard. It is like the ocean surging, the wind that blows across the open water, the far call of gulls. It catches at my hair, moves across my skin and into my mouth and under my tongue. I can feel it running all through me.
I want to do everything, everything, everything, but I leave my hand in his and tamp all that desire into a hot coal at the center of my chest.
Kissing him is like falling into a river, some great fierce current carrying me outside of my body, and all around us the music of the water rises and rises, and I can hear the wind moving over the sand, the distant singing of the stars veiled behind their curtain of blue sky, the slow, resonant chords of the earth turning on its axis.
You think that the world we live in is ordinary. We make noise and static to fill the empty spaces where ghosts live. We let other people grow our food, bleach our clothes. We seal ourselves in, clean the dirt from our skins, eat of animals whose blood does not stain our hands. We long ago left the ways of our ancestors, oracles and blood sacrifice, traffic with the spirit world, listening for the voices out of stones and trees. But maybe sometimes you have felt the uncanny, alone at night in a dark wood, or waiting by the edge of the ocean for the tide to come in. We have paved over the ancient world, but that does not mean we have erased it.
I’m a chalkboard that’s been erased over and over again until there’s nothing left but a haze of white dust. Before this I never understood how long an hour could take, how many ticks of the second hand are in a minute, how endless the space between seconds can be.