Naomi Novak again manages to make an unforgiving, undesirable setting - in this case, an eternal winter and mysterious creatures preying on humans - iNaomi Novak again manages to make an unforgiving, undesirable setting - in this case, an eternal winter and mysterious creatures preying on humans - into a gripping tale of growth and redemption that I couldn’t get enough of....more
Sadness moves like the tide, and this wave, like the others, will retreat.
Liv pulled away and tectonic plates moved beneath us; under miles of ocean, Sadness moves like the tide, and this wave, like the others, will retreat.
Liv pulled away and tectonic plates moved beneath us; under miles of ocean, the seafloor split.
"He's not even interested in the treasure. The whole point is the adventure. The last true poets of the sea, he calls them. People for whom discovery - like, the concept of the journey - is the treasure itself." "The quest," I said.
No one thing could fix us, because no one thing was wrong. The fixing would be in keeping going, in trying. Survival was its own quest: we needed to choose to survive over and over again. We had to wash up on shore, and we had to choose to keep washing up every single day. We had to let the survival accrue, pebble after pebble, building a beach from a million tiny moments until suddenly we stopped, looked around, and thought on a Saturday in Maine, I'm glad we're here.
There is some strange feeling in the pit of her stomach - what is that? Longing? This feeling is like: nostalgia for something that didn't happen. No - nostalgia for something that could've happened....more
that was...so fucking good? even the twists i saw coming, i loved watching them play out. the writing. THE WRITING! *clutches heart* it’s like it was that was...so fucking good? even the twists i saw coming, i loved watching them play out. the writing. THE WRITING! *clutches heart* it’s like it was written for me....more
All the things that are wrong in the world seem conquered by a library’s simple unspoken promise: Here I am, please tell me your story; here is my stoAll the things that are wrong in the world seem conquered by a library’s simple unspoken promise: Here I am, please tell me your story; here is my story, please listen.
Writing a book, just like building a library, is an act of sheer defiance. It is a declaration that you believe in the persistence of memory.
The library is a gathering pool of narratives and of the people who come to find them. It is where we can glimpse immortality; in the library, we can live forever....more
this was perfect in every sense of the word. this is the type of book you want to hug to your chest and not let go until you feel okay again. i love, this was perfect in every sense of the word. this is the type of book you want to hug to your chest and not let go until you feel okay again. i love, love, loved it....more
2024 reread: 5 years later and still one of the best love stories I’ve ever read <3
Tonight, those thoughts of hers are the living truth. And, for a th2024 reread: 5 years later and still one of the best love stories I’ve ever read <3
Tonight, those thoughts of hers are the living truth. And, for a thought, to be true once, even for just one night, is already quite a feat.
You can't make love standing up when you're in love — that's obvious: being in love unsettles you internally; when someone steals your heart, they also steal your center of gravity.
this reminded me of how it felt to fall in love with a book. i loved every single moment and word of it. that’s all.
At night, if/when he finally fell asleep, this sadness would be lying in wait for him at his bedside, and it was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. Still there, I see. Good morning, pain.
This is how it all begins: This urgent lust for crushing beautiful things. From that point on, you know it won't end well....more
"There is so much I want to tell you, Ma. Sometimes I don’t know what or who we are. Days I feel like a human being, while other days I feel more like"There is so much I want to tell you, Ma. Sometimes I don’t know what or who we are. Days I feel like a human being, while other days I feel more like a sound. I touch the world not as myself but as an echo of who I was. Can you hear me yet?”...more
”Life does kind of suck,” I say. And it’s true. Life is impossible, chaotic. It’s a maze of sorrow and sunlight; it can’t be mapped.
We stand on theoh.
”Life does kind of suck,” I say. And it’s true. Life is impossible, chaotic. It’s a maze of sorrow and sunlight; it can’t be mapped.
We stand on the path, five or so steps away from the sea. I could run and jump and in a second, I’d be in all that water. And the sea would say, “What took you so long, Biz?”
Stare into a fire for more than a minute and it’s clear we humans are ridiculous for thinking we’re solid. We are built from nothing, collapsible in an instant. We’re elements arranged, empty atoms ricocheting, atoms coming and going. We think we’re these tangible things, but really we’re just ghosts walking, dust waiting. Our insides are made of flickered, fickle light.
Why are you so sad and empty when you have a house with walls and a roof and people who love you? Elizabeth? Why are you so ungrateful? Elizabeth? Why is it so hard for you to be happy?
“You’re better,” and “I’m so proud.” Am I better? Can you be better when you’re still sad—long patches of sad swooping in at night when there aren’t any sounds to cover it? Are you better when you still feel blank, fog rising in you, empty spaces like those moors people walk on in British films? Are you better when, as you’re going through the motions—talking, laughing, listening, walking the dog, helping Mum with dinner—at the same time there’s this lost feeling walking beside you, so you can touch it, like a tongue on a tooth? Here’s the shape of it. Here’s the gap. Here’s the space where something good was. Here’s the want....more
it used to be hard to describe the feeling of happiness, but now all you need is a copy of this book, and boom.
there you go.
a perfect representation it used to be hard to describe the feeling of happiness, but now all you need is a copy of this book, and boom.
there you go.
a perfect representation of happiness, captured.
(this isn’t to say that there aren’t difficult moments in this book. but I do think that you can’t know what happiness is until you have sadness, too, and i think this gets that. this book makes sadness worth coping with because it reminds you that happiness will always come).
i cried and laughed and cried and laughed and loved this so much. please read and cry and laugh and love it too....more
holy shit, that was a BOOK. I’m still slightly in shock that I just read Carry On’s sequel. Carry On has a sequel! And I just read it! what the hell jholy shit, that was a BOOK. I’m still slightly in shock that I just read Carry On’s sequel. Carry On has a sequel! And I just read it! what the hell just happened!?!
Simon Snow, it hurts to look at you when you’re this happy. It hurts to look at you when you’re depressed. There’s no safe time for me to see you, nothing about you that doesn’t tear my heart from my chest and leave it breakable outside my body.
“‘He’s gone,’” I lament. “‘I am abused, and my relief must be to loathe him.’”...more
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