Our Dark Duet

Some books require a deep breath.

• Author: Victoria Schwab
• Publisher: Greenwillow
• Year: 2017
• Genre vibe: Urban fantasy!
• At a glance: Things are  bad, and a badder monster has come to Verity. August Flynn and Kate Harker are up against their worst enemies: themselves. Lots of things get broken.

What all is there to say about this book? Not a lot, I think. This Savage Song was one of the most exciting books of last year–Schwab is a legend, and Urban Fantasy is a much-neglected niche of the YA market. You bet I was stoked. When the conclusion to this lovely duology arrived in this world, I was in Kansas for a writing workshop, and I had the opportunity to travel to Barnes & Noble and retrieve the precious. That very same day, some friends and I happened to be cosplaying some characters from the Shades of Magic series, so what a coincidence! However we neglected to take pictures with the new arrival, so oops.

But I got the book home, got swept up in other lovelies (like A Good Idea), and then finally picked it up. A weekend flew by, and suddenly it was gone. I couldn’t believe how quickly all those pages flew by, and my heart hurt at the end (as one’s heart does at the end of a Schwab novel), and I wondered for a couple days after…what next? What now? How do I even feel about this? And I’ve come to a couple of conclusions.

1. These books need to be re-read, slowly.

There’s a meatiness to these books that I feel like I missed as I sped on through, caught up in the story and the world and all the things going on and the monsters and the darkness and the light and the everything. There’s some absolutely stunning insight in these, I feel, and I feel it gets missed when one gets caught up.

Schwab is very good at humanity. It’s one of my favorite things to read about, and one of my favorite things about her work. The Monsters of Verity books are simply soaking with it, and it’s an aspect that I feel deserves digging for.

2. The best part of these books is the music.

Schwab’s writing is like lyrics in this book more than in any of her others that I’ve read. I keep a small notebook nearby whenever I’m reading to jot down quotes, and I just filled half of one with things from this book because they just struck a chord with me.

These books are, of course, about the music. “Sing a song and steal your soul“, yes? But there’s something raw and real and lovely about the actual verbiage of this book in particular that really drove it home with me, and that, I think, is my favorite part.

So overall, this book is…

• 4.5/5 stars
• For people who love monsters and who also love humans; for people who wonder about the difference between the two.
• silent blood and gore and quiet music.
• Honestly, I couldn’t think of a single song I listened to during this book to go along with it, because this book was the song.

This Savage Song

Some books don’t even try to lie about what they are. 

This one? This book is a monster. 

• Author: Victoria Schwab 
• Publisher: Greenwillow Books
• Year: 2016
• Genre vibe: Urban fantasy. That’s it. (Can I get a “hell yes” from the people in the back?) 
• At a glance: August Flynn has no wish to be a monster, and yet that’s the role he’s given. Kate Harker doesn’t believe in anything but monsters, and if she must become one herself to fight them, then so be it. Both of them are right, and both of them are wrong. (Also, there’s monsters.)

This Savage Song

What is there to say about any given Victoria Schwab novel, for starters? They’re gigantic. Someone is going to break your heart. There’s no possible way for you–oh measly reader–to comprehend the sheer scope of the world she’s created for you. I think of any given Victoria Schwab novel and think of a sculpture: sculptures are things that I can stand and stare at for hours, enjoying in such an objective manner that I find I don’t really care if I understand them or not. 

Here’s the thing about This Savage Song: True to Schwab form, this thing is huge. The world. The story. The amount of pages. It’s gigantic, and not exactly fast paced, and not exactly magic-saturated in a very traditional Urban Fantasy kind of way. 

But here’s the other thing about This Savage Song: It doesn’t have teeth–it has claws. And like any given Victoria Schwab novel, it is very, very good at keeping them sheathed until the last moment. 

Following August and Kate isn’t exactly a chore–but it’s not very easy, either. Throughout a lot of the first half, I felt vaguely distanced from them as characters with wants and needs and goals. It didn’t bother me, strictly speaking. After all, this is Urban Fantasy straight from the hands of a goddess, so it’s not like you’re suffering. You just don’t realize what you’re missing until the latter half of the novel. Because the latter half of the novel packs more than a punch. The latter half of This Savage Song packs heat. 

There is little I like more than to see my beautiful, darling characters brought to their knees by circumstances, particularly circumstances they have gotten themselves into in one way or another. That’s pretty much all that happens at the end of this book. Me being a little late getting started, I’d already heard the cries of “FEELS” from the majority of the world. “Heh,” I thought, flipping through page after page of mob politics and awesome demon creatures, “Yeah, right.” 

You’d think I’d know by now than to underestimate the sheer depth of the Schwab Feelings. But I am a fool, and so fools fall prey unprepared. 

By the end of the book I was quite angry with myself for forgetting that this was a series, gosh darn it Linnea, and spent a good amount of time ranting to Mariesa about it. This happens a lot after I read a Schwab novel. Covered in feelings and the depth of my own foolishness while Mariesa pats me on the head and provides the release date for Conjuring of Light to calm me down. 

This Savage Song is just that–savage, and while maybe not as musical as I’d hoped, certainly crafted like a song. Urban fantasy is something that has some very strong characteristics when it’s presentented in its true form. This Savage Song is missing a couple, but not nearly enough to disqualify it from being one of the best urban fantasies out there right now. Schwab is a story goddess, and bringing her take on the art to this particular genre is something that urban fantasy readers could only have dreamed of. And yet, here we are, and look at what we have been graced with. 

No complaintes here. 

So overall: 

• Rating: 4.5/5 stars 
• Recommended to: Urban fantasy readers! Everywhere!! All of you!!!
• Lasting Impression: Blood on the wall, on your hands, caked into your jeans. Water sloshing in a too-full bathtub. A desert sunset, stretch of endless road that means hope to some and condemnation to the rest. 

Black Heart.

Black Heart.
What else is there to say? I spent all day yesterday through a double shift at work trying desperately to come up with a clever name for this post.

It didn’t work.

Black Heart is the reason for reading this series, honestly. There are a million reasons. There are so many “whys” and so many arguments and so many talking points I use to convince people that these things are worth the time. And Red Glove may be what I carry around with me the closest, but Black Heart? Black Heart is the reason for these books.

Black Heart is the best view of the city. Black Heart is the best kind of mess. Black Heart is the worst kind of pain.

It’s not the book with the most coffee consumption. Or the book with the most conning. Or the worst breakdown. Or the most magic. Or the book with more anything than any of the others, honestly. But what Black Heart is that the rest of the series isn’t, is the end.

The big score.

Throughout this whole entire freaking book, Cassel Sharpe is one big mess. He is. He’s angry. He’s so torn up over everything that by now, he’s not even trying to find the pieces again.

And then there he is, at it again at the very end. Just like we’ve grown to know him to be.

Cassel’s the whole point of this whole series, for me. He’s my third favorite character of all-time, and he’s my favorite character type, and the journey he takes in these books–Black Heart especially–is something that I want to write. Over and over again it has echoes of the stories and ideas and themes that call me to all of my favorite things, and that’s important. Cassel Sharpe calls me back to what it means to be me. And that’s a good thing.

So, if you’ve made it this far, and you read the books and understood any of what I just said: congratulations. Thanks for joining me. Our next adventure here will be the #5books7days challenge over on Instagram.

 

For now, have a mixtape for our devil boy. This took a while to put together, because Cassel is a mysterious amalgam of weirdness and I couldn’t decide if I wanted a playlist for him, of him, or from him. So it’s a little of all three. (click image for link)

Look at us laugh. Look at us lie.

Welcome to the end of White Cat Week, Reachers. White Cat’s pages have flown by me once more, and once more I have fallen in love with Cassel Sharpe. So what else is new? We’re pretty much always in love with him, around here.

It’s been a fun week. Snifferblog and 2 AM Readers both joined me this week (thanks guys!) and both of them had some lovely things to say about the book that I so generously forced upon offered to them.

Mariesa from 2 AM summed up our fearless leader quite well this morning:

somewhat. vaguely. good job cassel.

“Coffee stained” indeed, as Cassel Sharpe consumed 12 individual cups of coffee and 1 whole pot (in one evening) over the course of this book. He may die of caffeine overdose before the next book is out, honestly. We’re all kind of worried about him.

Our old friend Snifferblog somehow managed to get along with this book as well, even given its feline heritage. He wrote a super intriguing review about it and everything.

And then there’s me.

So I read in my new Simon and Schuster misprint this time, and somehow ended up doing a vague job of annotating, keeping count of Cassel’s coffee intake and making notes to no one in particular.

My handwriting is almost as messy as Cassel’s life, but here’s a few of my favorites:

 

(“Honestly, it’s a wonder Cassel survived past age five, what with the combination of smart mouth and horrible brotherly love he’s got going on.”)

 

He’s totally fine.

 

 

 

Cassel “I’m fine with showering alongside arachnids” Sharpe. As one does.

And finally, a decent summary of the whole entire book:

He does try. He tries very hard. He tries to be good, he tries to think straight, he tries to exist without copious amounts of caffeine…

Okay, maybe not that last one.

But in almost every other aspect of his life, Cassel Sharpe tries very, very hard.

And I think that continues to be one of my favorite parts of these books. In a post a while ago, I talked about Cassel in correlation to his setting, and that still stands quite firmly.

Cassel is a product of his circumstances and places, his family, his setting, his genre. But he is also a mess of his own making, and that is what makes him special.

And so here we are on day one of RED GLOVE WEEK. Have fun, tweet lots, and I’ll see you on the 14th with more coffee stats.

Hold me Closer, Necromancer

Some books are a calling. Other books are a destiny. Still others are a demand, and then what’s leftover are a journey.

Sometimes, those journeys last a long, long time.

Hold me Closer, Necromancer

• Author: Lish McBride
• Publisher: Henry Holt
• Genre vibe: Urban paranormal
• At a glance: Samhain Corvus LaCroix is a fry cook. He is definitely nothing special. He’s also a huge smart ass with a penchant for getting into trouble, it seems. And, as it turns out, he’s also a necromancer.

Every book discovery story is different. This one started in February 2015, Liberty Bay Books in Poulsbo Washington. The shiny cover with the raven on the front snagged me more than the staff recommendation slip inside of it did. I was overcome by my first indie bookstore experience and the discovery of a copy of one of my favorite books (The Replacement, Brenna Yovanoff), and yet somehow I convinced myself not to buy it.

I looked and looked and couldn’t find it after that. I’m notorious for forgetting to order books that I want to read.

Flash forward to October 2016, the Half Price Books by my house. I discover the sequel on the clearance rack.

I’m outraged.

Christmas 2016 rolls around and my best friend gifts me with a shiny new copy of the first one.

Success. My adventure begins.

And what a strange adventure it is. NECROMANCER is a weird book. The characters are pretty good, and the writing is pretty good, and the plot is really good. There’s just…a lot going on.

When I first got into it, what I got introduced to were dark, disturbed necromancers, mothers who were also witches, and things that left mysterious claw marks on people. I figured I knew what kind of magic I was in for, and the types of things that would show up.

Then as the book went on, more things showed up, and I tried to make room for them in my perception of the situation.

Then more.

And more.

And more.

Until suddenly there were magical creatures fighting on this necromancer guy’s lawn, and I realized I wasn’t prepared for this. I was enjoying it, but it didn’t fit with what I thought the book was going to be, and I think that threw me off more than a little.

I enjoyed this book a lot. It was worth all the while it took to acquire it. It was fun to read, and by the middle of it, I cared about Sam and Co. quite a bit, and was actually super interested in the magic aspects that I actively saw.

But there was a lot going on. There was some pretty dense writing at more than one point, and there were too many people+places+things for me to really follow. I ended up picking SAM and RAMON and focusing on those two things any time something happened.

I will absolutely be reading the sequel.

Just not very quickly.

So overall:

• Rating: 3.5/5 stars
• Recommended to: People who like wit and comedy, good male characters, and a lot of interesting fantasy elements
• Lasting impression: Sam’s apartment. Scars on his shoulders. A crooked grin without any malice or cleverness behind it.

Why White Cat is like Crashing a Sexy Motorcycle

Let’s face it: being creative is hard. And being creative online is even harder. And having a blog series planned and never quite being sure how to get around to writing it is hardest.

So in my agony, someone told me to write this blog post.

And I’m not pointing fingers or anything, but it’s Snifferblog‘s fault.

So if I make you want to read this book at all: thank me, but blame him.

So, White Cat.

White Cat is the first book in Holly Black‘s The Curse Workers series. It consists of:

1. White Cat
2. Red Glove
3. Black Heart

and is the one series I will unabashedly make anyone read regardless of genre orientation. They rank in my top three series, Red Glove in my top ten books, and Holly stands as my second favorite author, ever.

So obviously I think pretty highly of them.

But why is White Cat like crashing a sexy motorcycle? And how come my writing partner hit the nail on the head without having read the book yet?

Okay, admittedly, it could have something to do with the original cover publication:

(I may or may not have forced said writing partner to take home this edition out of my personal collection of…4+ copies. This may or may not be a common practice of mine. “Go on,” I say to skeptical friends, who have no choice but to take the book from my eager hands. “Give this a shot. I will tell you very little about it but sing its praises until my dying day. Go forth and read, dubious friend.”)

And so, admittedly, this cover looks like a kind of cheesy crime novel that may or may not involve a motorcycle or something. Right?

(Spoiler: No motorcycles of any kind are ever featured, much less crashed, over the course of this series.)

But there’s something about White Cat and its ensuing journey that makes this particular aesthetic inexplicably right. I can sum it up on one word:

Cassel Sharpe.

Cassel Sharpe is the hero of this story, and this boy is very much the living idea of crashing a sexy motorcycle.

Cassel Sharpe is a hot mess. Even outside of the things he struggles with inside the plot (having magic used upon him, having magic himself, murder, mayhem, school, love, hate, betrayal, the FBI, etc.) Cassel has a lot of issues.

For instance, the boy practically lives off of crappy coffee. It’s like a superpower, this ability to exist purely on caffeine and occasionally making it to dinner.

Perhaps this is the reason for Cassel’s particular brand of bitterness and smart-assery. Because another thing about Cassel Sharpe that makes him the perfect rider for this motorcycle wreck is that his heart seems to be about as black as his coffee. Cassel is very good at being involved with the magic mafia and also at lying to your face–and himself. “I’m fine!” He says, pushing 90 on the interstate without a helmet on.

And that never ends well, now does it?

Cassel’s funny. He’s funny, because he’s a very genuine person, while also being a great con. And you can’t trust him but you love him anyways, and some part of him will always be Devil’s Backbone by The Civil Wars, but the thing is another part is definitely Mr. Brightside, and what a contradiction that is. And really, I think that someone needs to tell him about Billy Joel’s Vienna and set his heart straight.

Because Cassel Sharpe is so stupid. He’s so enormously stupid. I mean, who buys a sexy motorcycle anyways? What kind of person owns a sexy motorcycle? The stupid, messy, conflicted, emotionally reckless kind, that’s what. The kind of person that is so very much a living, breathing thing that they–as a character–have major influence on their story as a whole.

Which brings me to why Cassel Sharpe is the reason White Cat is like crashing a motorcycle. Cassel inhabits his world and drives it around as much as he would a piece of vehicular terror like a motorcycle. Around and around he goes, down streets and alleys and up into different cities and back to school and around and around some more, roaring into places and roaring back out again and leaving behind burnt rubber and the smell of exhaust.

Cassel is atmosphere. And he makes the atmosphere of any place he’s in better by being in it.

So I guess that’s kind of where the sexy part comes in, since we’ve covered the crashing.

Are you beginning to understand? I hope so.

White Cat is like gravel in your palms and blood on a leather jacket, and walking away from it like a miracle with a smile. Just like that.