Book Report Monday: The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Title: The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Author: Neil Gaiman

Genre: Fantasy

Synopsis: Sussex, England. A middle-aged man returns to his childhood home to attend a funeral. Although the house he lived in is long gone, he is drawn to the farm at the end of the road, where, when he was seven, he encountered a most remarkable girl, Lettie Hempstock, and her mother and grandmother. He hasn't thought of Lettie in decades, and yet as he sits by the pond (a pond that she'd claimed was an ocean) behind the ramshackle old farmhouse, the unremembered past comes flooding back. And it is a past too strange, too frightening, too dangerous to have happened to anyone, let alone a small boy.

Forty years earlier, a man committed suicide in a stolen car at this farm at the end of the road. Like a fuse on a firework, his death lit a touchpaper and resonated in unimaginable ways. The darkness was unleashed, something scary and thoroughly incomprehensible to a little boy. And Lettie—magical, comforting, wise beyond her years—promised to protect him, no matter what.

(from Goodreads)

Why did I pick it up?:  If you don't know that I heart Neil Gaiman, well now you know.

Doesn't the cover remind you of Imaginary Girls? 

Favorite Line: "Books are safer than other people anyway."

I'm sure there were other gems but I only made note of that one.

My Review: Gaiman delivers another fantastic adventure. My only complaint is that it was so short. It wasn't too short though. The story was complete and I didn't need more, but I wanted more. I wanted to know more about Lettie and her mysterious past. Along with her mother and grandmother, Lettie Hempstock knows about the magical world and the creatures that sneak across the border separating it from our world. Lettie is far wiser and tougher than her physical appearance would lead people to believe. She protects the young protagonist who is pulled into the dark happenings when a dead man is found in his family's car. As a 7-year old boy, he looks up to Lettie who is older than he is and who has such a no-nonsense way of explaining the magical that can't help but be believed.

Childhood memories often seem surreal to us as adults. Partially do to the fact that we didn't fully understand what was happening at the time. However, time also has a way of erasing some events and highlighting others in our memories. I've confused realities of childhood with dreams I had as a child. What do you mean there was never a tornado at the playground?!

I've had arguments with my sisters over which one of us slammed their hand in the station wagon door or left a hot dog to burn on the stove. Each of us swearing we had done it as if time had fossilized the painful, embarrassing moment into a prized artifact we'd all like to claim. This book will leave you wondering what events you've excavated poorly or perhaps buried altogether.

My Recommendation: Perfect for any fantasy or magical realism fan. I personally think this would be a fabulous rainy day and pot of tea book.

For Next Time: Gold by Chris Cleave

Fun Friday: Fantasy Fashions

While most people are content to show their love of books and movies with t-shirts, reusable tote bags, or by hanging maps of Westeros in their office (or is that just me?) others take it a step farther. It's not a contest. . .but if it was those folks would be winning.

For fans of Game of Thrones there's a tumblr dedicated to the latest fashions which would most likely be worn by Daenerys across the Narrow Sea. Aptly called What Would Khaleesi Wear? the site has hairstyles, clothes, jewelry and more.

Tattoos are common enough that getting one inspired by a book or movie isn't too crazy, but I'll probably blog about it at some point. Still it's fan nature to one up each other and now you can go under the knife to live out your nerdastic fantasies.

While it's just a bad idea to accuse vampire-wannabes of being nerds, what else do you call someone who gets the dental implants semi-permanently attached to their teeth?

I mean when they go to Nana's 90th, those teeth are still there.  

  

Source

You can now go the surgical route and have a small operation to get pointed ears like and elf or a Vulcan.





Like I said, it's not a competition....but this girl obviously likes elves more than I do...and I like them a lot. Even if I had "the nine" in Sindarin or Orlando Bloom's face inked permanently into my flesh, she'd still be winning.




Source

Elfophiles (aka Alfariophiles*) who aren't prepared to go under the knife can buy accessories that show off their dedication to the Alliance, Lothlorien, Orilla, or pure logic.

*Yes, I made that word up.

Book Report Monday: The Little White Horse

Title: The Little White Horse

Author: Elizabeth Goudge

Synopsis: When orphaned young Maria Merryweather arrives at Moonacre Manor, she feels as if she's entered Paradise. Her new guardian, her uncle Sir Benjamin, is kind and funny; the Manor itself feels like home right away; and every person and animal she meets is like an old friend. But there is something incredibly sad beneath all of this beauty and comfort -- a tragedy that happened years ago, shadowing Moonacre Manor and the town around it -- and Maria is determined to learn about it, change it, and give her own life story a happy ending. But what can one solitary girl do?

Why did I pick it up?: J.K. Rowling said this was her favorite childhood book. Also there is quote from this book which has stayed with her throughout her life, "Humanity can be roughly divided into three sorts of people -- those who find comfort in literature, those who find comfort in personal adornment and those who find comfort in food."

As she is one of my favorite writers, I picked the book up right away.

Favorite Line: "Don't waste hate on a pink geranium."

My Review: I took my time reading this. Whenever I had a minute to spare I'd read a few pages.Until I reached the middle and then I curled up on the couch and finished it in one sitting.

This is everything a children's book should be. Full of just the right amounts of magic, adventure and romance The Little White Horse is uplifting without being too predictable. Maria Merryweather is feisty and clever but full of quirks which make her believable, the best kind of heroine. Her friendship with the townsfolk, her uncle and the animals she meets along the way is real as well as heartwarming. With every page the fantasy elements increase, so that you feel as though the world of magic is presented in a gentle manner which makes it feel all the more realistic.

Connections to Harry Potter abound. Needless to say that pleased me greatly. One of the most obvious similarities is a tunnel with its entrance hidden by a great tree, exactly like the Whomping Willow. The way food is presented and described is also very similar to the Potter series. As is a particular house cat at Moonacre Manor who like Crookshanks is abnormally intelligent.

Recommendation: Children and fans of The Secret Garden and The Hobbit will enjoy. It will appeal more to girls.

Next Week: I Am Number Four by Pittacus Lore

My Best Scar Story

This post came from a prompt over at  YA Highway...last Wednesday. I am late, okay very late but I couldn't resist posting my best scar story, even if it's overdue. Why? Because I think scars are fascinating. Like Little Bee says in the book of the same name by Chris Cleave, "We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived."

This is not necessarily a story of survival, rather it is a story of childish stupidity and a good reason not to have desserts for breakfast.

At the ripe age of seven I was an early riser. At least, as far as the rest of my family was concerned. My little sister wouldn't wake up until after my grandmother dressed her sleeping form and brushed her hair. I always suspected her sleep coma was an act but never got proof. On the other hand, I was up, dressed, and ready to go an hour before the school bus would arrive. This gave me time to read The Babysister's Club and Anne of Green Gables. 

It was common for me to prepare my own breakfast, this usually consisted of boxed cereal and milk. Nothing complex or dangerous. One morning, however, I had a craving. Summer was in the air and when I dressed in lime green shorts and a splattered paint bodysuit (complete with snaps, I was a fashionista from day one.) I had a hankering for an ice cream sundae.



Me, aged 7.

 Everyone was still asleep and I knew they wouldn't approve of my breakfast choice so I quietly went about with the preparations. I used a chair from the dining room to get into the freezer. Mint chocolate chip, I believe it was the white kind. Oh glorious breakfast!

To top off my ice cream I grabbed the glass container of Smucker's Fudge from the fridge. Now here is where I made my first mistake. I put the fudge in the microwave for a minute and waited patiently, counting to 60 along with the microwave timer. I  questioned why the microwave cooked for 60 seconds whether I hit 6-0 or 1-0-0. What if I wanted it to cook for 100 seconds. I figured most people didn't think about seconds like that. At no point, in that pensive minute, did I question my actions.

Today, I know you don't need to heat up fudge for that long, 15-20 seconds would suffice. Also I know you should remove the lid, something I overlooked. When the microwave beeped I rushed to open it and remove the fudge lest anyone should hear. I did what my mom and grandmother always did, I grabbed the fudge with my bare hand, it was so hot I stifled a gasp but I didn't let go until I had already pulled it out of the microwave.



Dangerously delicious


To this day, I swear the container exploded before it hit the tile floor. There was a crash and scalding hot fudge spewed into the air, like a chocolate volcano erupting. A plume of fudge connected with the inner thigh of my right leg. It burned. I screamed and cried and tried to rub it off but it hurt to do anything to it and the fudge was still hot. My mother came running in and I can only imagine the obscenities that tore through her mind at the sight of me in my bright green shorts dancing around crying. Fudge was all over me, the floor, the cabinets. The mint chocolate chip was melting on the counter top. All before she had her morning coffee. I can't remember if I was yelled at or the details of the fudge being wiped from my leg but I was taken to the hospital, where they wrapped my injury in soft white gauze and covered it in silvadene cream.

I had minor burns on my hand but my leg had a second degree burn. To me it didn't look like a burn, it looked like a giant blister. A blister that took up my whole inner thigh. My mom said if I had worn pants it wouldn't have been so bad, but the fudge connected with my bare skin. I remember when the blister popped, I woke up and thought I had wet the bed and didn't want to tell anyone. I am left with a a scar that resembles, in my opinion, the big dipper. As I acquired the scar while preparing ice cream, the humor of this is not lost on me.

To this day whenever I have Smucker's products (more frequently than I should) I use oven mitts to remove them from the microwave.