This book isn’t for everyone, full of coloured language, brutal reality, some very depressing moments and dark humour. It’s a book quite like Marmite, you either love it or you don’t. Narrated by a 17-year-old rebel, Holden Caulfield, who is to be kicked out of another boarding school the story begins.
They were like hawks watching their prey, their wrath emitting towards me in waves. The glass reflecting my defeated self with my acceptance of what would come. My shaky palms moist as I brushed them against my jumper.
Screams left her mouth, each an octave higher. Unaware that I stopped, my knees buckled and I fell to the ground. A door scraped the stone floor; her screams persecuted me. Vibrations shook the walls, electricity shot through my spine and awakened me, if under some pretense had I thought this hallucination. Hearing the lashes from the belt whip against her, my skin prickled and blistered with pain. Grunts and sighs echoing around me.
If you’ve never heard of this book then I can say you are uneducated in someway or another. Not in a bad way though – because in my opinion I don’t believe Angela Carter’s, Bloody Chamber is for every soul. It’s for those really brave people who like to venture into the weird and wacky.
I really enjoyed this book but after the hype of the love story ended in my mind and the book came to a close, I realised that in fact there was nothing authentic about it. It’s filled with a classic storyline of man and women falling in love except this was set in Afghanistan under bombs and guns and no walking on the beach holding hands in the afternoons.
I always have something to read, I’m doing an English degree and there is always core reading material or secondary reading to do but in my own day to-day life I am honestly a complete bookworm.
Unless you’ve been living under a rock as of late, you will know that John Green’s newest book has been received very well. New York Times has labelled it a #1 best seller, teenagers can’t stop reading it and the reviews just keep on coming! Obviously I joined on the band wagon and decided to devote my weekend to reading it.
“You can’t come Lucy!” screamed Rosie, slamming the wardrobe door behind her. Rage filled the ten year old as she reached for Dad’s hammer. CRACK! Adrenaline pulsed through her, shards of wood splintering everywhere.
She sat amongst the dismantled wardrobe, her siblings trapped in Narnia forever, grief suddenly taking over.
I seem to have grown fond of Crime Fiction and all things alike. With all the Crime Fiction novels I’ve ventured through as of late I feel like a theoretic expert (lets not test the theory) on escaping any crime scene without getting captured. I exaggerate of course, but the lives of CIA and MI6 officers and detectives solving cases just seems thrilling – well at least that’s the twist authors and hollywood have used.
There were more consultations, more hushed whispers, more pain and less comfort; nowadays Mum’s eyes were even more raw.
You had been prodded with needles, bone marrow biopsies and transplant, chemotherapy and tests, tests, tests. There wasn’t an inch of your skin that hadn’t been pierced, bruised or scratched since you entered St. Mary’s. Even the smallest of falls would cause deep painful bruising so you weren’t even allowed to walk. You used a wheelchair and that made you angry.