#christmas reading

[listentothestories]

Emily A. Clark | Beacon Hill Books and Cafe

[readtheuniverse]

[bookaddict24-7]

"I have a sort of Christmas morning sense of the library as a big box full of beautiful books."

-The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

[nossumusstellae]

Just finished reading "Voyage of the Damned" by Frances White.

This book is so much fun. Magic, murder, and queer characters galore. 12 people stuck on a boat Murder on the Orient Express style. Except multiple people die.

The world lore is enough to tell the story, (I found it a little lacking), but the novel is meant to be fun, not Games of Thrones. Though it does get a tad serious at times. There is murder. Lots of murder. Just when I thought I had figured it out, I didn't. Multiple times.

Ganymedes is the perfect main character. The remaining eleven are all well written, each with their own pasts and motivations that give you a pretty good glimpse into how the world of Concordia operates.

Also the swearing. Goddessdamn just hits different, and in a good way. ^-^

Blurb from the publisher:

For a thousand years, Concordia has maintained peace between its provinces. To mark this incredible feat, the emperor’s ship embarks upon a twelve-day voyage to the sacred Goddess’s Mountain. Aboard are the twelve heirs of the provinces of Concordia, each graced with a unique and secret magical ability known as a Blessing.

All except one: Ganymedes Piscero—class clown, slacker and all-around disappointment.

When a beloved heir is murdered, everyone is a suspect. Stuck at sea and surrounded by powerful people and without a Blessing to protect him, Ganymedes’s odds of survival are slim.

But as the bodies pile higher, Ganymedes must become the hero he was not born to be. Can he unmask the killer and their secret Blessing before this bloody crusade reaches the shores of Concordia?

Or will the empire as he knows it fall?

[bumblebee-cottage]

[estherdedlock]

Every year, there’s a pop-culture debate about whether some movies that aren’t about Christmas, like Die Hard and Catch Me If You Can are actually “Christmas movies.” I think it depends on how the movie makes the viewer feel. If it gives you those vibes, then by golly, it is a Christmas movie.

I think a lot of readers tend to associate The Secret History with autumn, which makes perfect sense, but for me, it’s a winter’s tale---and that puts it firmly in the category of Christmas books. So in the spirit of the season, here’s an excerpt, abridged for the holidays, of one of my favorite parts of the story. Because The Secret History isn’t just a winter’s tale but a Winter tale, if you know what I mean.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all!

************

  Christmas came and went without notice, except that with no work and everything closed there was no place to go to get warm except, for a few hours, to church. I came home afterwards and wrapped myself in my blanket and rocked back and forth, ice in my very bones, and thought of all the sunny Christmases of my childhood---oranges, bikes and Hula Hoops, green tinsel sparkling in the heat.   Around the second week of January I got a postcard from Rome, no return address. It was a photograph of the Primaporta Augustus: beside it, Bunny had drawn a surprisingly deft cartoon of himself and Henry in Roman dress (togas, little round eyeglasses) squinting off curiously in the direction indicated by the statue’s outstretched arm. (Caesar Augustus was Bunny’s hero; he had embarrassed us all by cheering loudly at the mention of his name during the reading of the Bethlehem story from Luke 2 at the literature division’s Christmas party. “Well, what of it,” he said, when we tried to shush him. “All the world shoulda been taxed.”)   Late one afternoon, as it was getting dark, I looked down into the empty courtyard and was startled to see that a dark, motionless figure had materialized under the lamp, standing with its hands in the pockets of its dark overcoat and looking up at my window. It was shadowy and heavy snow was falling: “Henry?” I said, and squeezed my eyes shut until I saw stars. When I opened them again, I saw nothing but snow whirling in the bright cone of emptiness beneath the light. It was Friday, and Dr. Roland was going to be out of town until the following Wednesday. For me, that meant four days in the warehouse, and even in my clouded state it was clear I might freeze to death for real.   When Commons closed I started for home. The snow was deep, and before long my legs to the knees were prickling and numb. Everything in East Hampden was dark and deserted, even the Boulder Tap; the only light for miles around seemed to be the light shimmering around the pay phone in front. I had about thirty dollars in my pocket, more than enough to call a taxi to take me to the Catamount Motel.   I had one more quarter in my pocket; it was my last one. I took off my gloves and groped in my pocket with my numbed fingers. Finally I found it, and had it in my hand and was about to bring it up to the slot, when suddenly it slipped from my fingers and I pitched forward after it, hitting my forehead on the sharp corner of the metal tray beneath the phone. I managed to get up on all fours. I saw a dark spot on the snow. The quarter was gone.   I made it up the stairs, half walking, half on my hands and knees. Blood was trickling down my forehead. I pushed the workshop door open with my shoulder and began to fumble for the light switch when suddenly I saw something by the window that made me reel with shock. A figure in a long black overcoat was standing motionless across the room by the windows, hands clasped behind the back; near one of the hands I saw the tiny glow of a cigarette coal.   “Henry?” I said at last, my voice scarcely more than a whisper.   He let the cigarette fall from his fingers and took a step towards me. It really was him---damp, ruddy cheeks, snow on the shoulders of his overcoat. “Good God, Richard,” he said, “what’s happened to you?”   It was as much surprise as I ever saw him show. I reached for the door frame, and the next thing I knew I was falling, and Henry had jumped forward to catch me.   He eased me onto the floor and took off his coat and spread it over me like a blanket. “Where did you come from?” I said.   “I left Italy early.” He was brushing the hair back from my forehead. I saw blood on his fingertips.   “Some little place I’ve got here, huh?” I said, and laughed.   “Yes,” he said brusquely. Then he bent to look at my head again.

[nightofnyx8]

How the heck did this adorable hallmark novel bring me to tears UGG I swear I'm getting soft

[awolfinpeopleclothes]

[weirdowearingprada]

[blumenundpoesie]

a blanket of snow on fairy lights

[readtheuniverse]

[fictionophile]

"Christmas at a Highland Castle" by Rachel Barnett - Book Review @emblabooks #FestiveRead #ChristmasAtAHighlandCastle @Laura_R_Leeson #BookReview

Jess grew up in the foster system, never really putting down any roots, until she met her foster mother whom she calls Aunt Vivi. Vivi owns an agency that places housekeeping staff with employers. Though Jess has aspirations to be a singer, singing gigs are hard to come by, so she takes a placement as a housekeeper at a castle in Scotland over the Christmas season. Because Aunt Vivi, who is…

[annafromuni]

No Post Today

Life events have muddled my time management a little so I unfortunately do not have a review or discussion lined up for today and I am heading off on a roadtrip for a wedding in half an hour so I do not have the time to whiz one up. No worries! I will be back on Monday (NZST) with a review and over Christmas I will rewrite this post to be a review, so keep your eyes peeled for that sneaky…

[juiche]

a moment of peace before the whole world shatters 😇

get your own print here ❤️

[valtsv]

are we still doing this because i have a late submission

[egophiliac]

buckle up lads we're going BACK INTO THE BOOK