I'm in love with this book...
Jul. 12th, 2007 11:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
erastesAnd it's not even gay erotica! It's The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova.
It was a pure chance "pull off the shelf try" although having found out that "The Vintner's Luck" - which I thought was a very random selection was actually a rec - was non random, I'm believing less and less in the "chance read" It's just wonderful - first of all, it's a large book and I'm reading it slowly, because that's the pace that the book demands because it moves very very slowly itself. It's the slowest cliff-hangery book I've ever read but so well written that it becomes a page turner without even trying. It's a different take on the Dracula story, and that isn't really a spoiler because it says that much on the cover - but that doesn't really do it justice, it has nothing (that I can see) about Whitby and Mina and Harker, but starts in the 1970's with a girl who finds a letter in her father's library that she probably shouldn't have found. It's full of conspiracies and strange characters and musty libraries and an underlying tension and I'M LOVING EVERY WORD. It's been a long long time since I read a book that enthralled me so much - possibly GRRM was the last author that did it as perfectly as this. If you want a good gripping story that's well crafted and absorbing, I highly recommend it. (since reading this I've just seen the reviews on Amazon, I can't believe how many people didn't like it!)
I can't tell you how i want to click on all these OotP reviews, but I'm managing not to. I am sensing that there's a lot of "good but not brilliant" thoughts out there, though.
I finished one of the novellas I've been working on for the last few weeks. I've been working on two, one, about a late 19th Cent. Florentine aritist and the other with the uber-wordy protagonist from the Regency - and I finished the Vampire one today. Want a snippet? Tough, you are getting one.
"Forgive me," I whispered, "and thank you." Without thought and not even taking account of the fact that he was naked and I was not, I pulled his face to mine to kiss him as I had longed to do so since our first meeting. As if in a waking dream my light-headedness continued as my mouth became a part of his, lost in the sweetness of a long awaited communion. He pulled me back to him with arms surprising in their strength so that I fell forward and we hit the ground together. He rolled around, and we tangled together in the artist's sheet. I don't know where my mind was—I had no thought that this might be scandalous or wrong, even though such thoughts had troubled my conscience at the ball. Now, as he held me, as he kissed me, it felt as comfortable as charcoal in my fingers, as natural to me as the smell of turpentine and linseed.
I hardly remember undressing; my clothes were nothing but dry leaves that he pushed aside, and the touch of his skin against mine was like being born, a shock so sweet and savage that I gasped like a baby taking its first breath. Everything was a series of firsts. The first kiss, the first heat of skin on skin, the first hand sliding down my flanks and digging into my flesh, the first fingers— not mine—curled and tight around my prick.
I didn't adhere to my "ritual" of buying champagne upon finishing because this is - after all - only a novella, but I might treat myself to a bottle of Cava tomorrow night. *G*
It was a pure chance "pull off the shelf try" although having found out that "The Vintner's Luck" - which I thought was a very random selection was actually a rec - was non random, I'm believing less and less in the "chance read" It's just wonderful - first of all, it's a large book and I'm reading it slowly, because that's the pace that the book demands because it moves very very slowly itself. It's the slowest cliff-hangery book I've ever read but so well written that it becomes a page turner without even trying. It's a different take on the Dracula story, and that isn't really a spoiler because it says that much on the cover - but that doesn't really do it justice, it has nothing (that I can see) about Whitby and Mina and Harker, but starts in the 1970's with a girl who finds a letter in her father's library that she probably shouldn't have found. It's full of conspiracies and strange characters and musty libraries and an underlying tension and I'M LOVING EVERY WORD. It's been a long long time since I read a book that enthralled me so much - possibly GRRM was the last author that did it as perfectly as this. If you want a good gripping story that's well crafted and absorbing, I highly recommend it. (since reading this I've just seen the reviews on Amazon, I can't believe how many people didn't like it!)
I can't tell you how i want to click on all these OotP reviews, but I'm managing not to. I am sensing that there's a lot of "good but not brilliant" thoughts out there, though.
I finished one of the novellas I've been working on for the last few weeks. I've been working on two, one, about a late 19th Cent. Florentine aritist and the other with the uber-wordy protagonist from the Regency - and I finished the Vampire one today. Want a snippet? Tough, you are getting one.
"Forgive me," I whispered, "and thank you." Without thought and not even taking account of the fact that he was naked and I was not, I pulled his face to mine to kiss him as I had longed to do so since our first meeting. As if in a waking dream my light-headedness continued as my mouth became a part of his, lost in the sweetness of a long awaited communion. He pulled me back to him with arms surprising in their strength so that I fell forward and we hit the ground together. He rolled around, and we tangled together in the artist's sheet. I don't know where my mind was—I had no thought that this might be scandalous or wrong, even though such thoughts had troubled my conscience at the ball. Now, as he held me, as he kissed me, it felt as comfortable as charcoal in my fingers, as natural to me as the smell of turpentine and linseed.
I hardly remember undressing; my clothes were nothing but dry leaves that he pushed aside, and the touch of his skin against mine was like being born, a shock so sweet and savage that I gasped like a baby taking its first breath. Everything was a series of firsts. The first kiss, the first heat of skin on skin, the first hand sliding down my flanks and digging into my flesh, the first fingers— not mine—curled and tight around my prick.
I didn't adhere to my "ritual" of buying champagne upon finishing because this is - after all - only a novella, but I might treat myself to a bottle of Cava tomorrow night. *G*
