#magical realism books

[rachel-sylvan-author]

"Unlikely Animals" by Annie Hartnett

Thank you @apuzzledbooklover for the rec! ❤️

[nerdynatreads]

 ☆☆YouTube | Tumblr | Instagram | Storygraph ☆☆

book review || Watch Over Me by Nina LaCour

video review || Queen of Writing Emo Girls -- Author Taste Test: Nina LaCour

This is pretty quiet and soft but has this unsettling feeling that permeates the story. It’s like walking around an abandoned building, both eerily peaceful and hauntingly surreal. The writing is so simple and yet I’m completely enthralled, the atmosphere has been created beautifully. There’s something that’s just not quite normal the entire time, you hope that everything is as sweet and wholesome as it seems, but with the creepy atmosphere and the ghosts playing around the property, it’s hard not to be suspicious of more.

Mila, I’d protect her from the world. She’s so desperate to belong to this odd little family, but also wants to be a source of comfort to Lee, the little boy she’s teaching, who also hasn’t quite been accepted yet. I adore the way we’re slowly seeing more of Mila, layer by layer, as she tries to relate to Lee and help him deal with his own trauma. It’s so wholesome, even if the rest of the book has this somber quality to it. The consistent loneliness that Mila feels is interrupted by Lee and the other members of the farm, but there’s still a separation between them. The final reveal of her background was so heart-aching that I just wanted to wrap her up in a hug. It was shocking how misty-eyed I was, given how short this book was, I just didn’t expect to be so emotionally invested. The twist that was revealed in the current timeline was so clever and the paralleled moment from the past timeline had my heart in a vice for Mila.

All in all, this was a haunting story of grief and trauma that was so short and yet pretty damn impactful.

4 / 5 stars

[subjective-raven]

Hey everybody! I wrote a book! It comes out on September 17th 2024.

It’s a magical realism thriller anthology of four short stories and five poems! Each stand alone short story is set in a different season. Each story says something different about the human condition.

In “Dottie’s Final Day,” a reaper comes to Dottie Lyre in her garden. What does an elderly mother choose to do on her last day alive?

“The Door,” appears suddenly and disappears just as fast. What’s on the other side? Why won’t the door sit still? Jane’s going to find out.

Please share this with anyone you think might be interested! You can preorder the e-book on Amazon now for .99c and the paperback will be available SEPTEMBER 17th for $10.99! The price will go up a few dollars September 28th but I’ll also be getting a larger percentage of the sale.

I’ve been writing my entire life and this is my first published book so pleaseeee if you are reading this, this book is for anyone middle school to grave. It’s only like 142 pages and the cover is really pretty if you would rather just have a pretty trophy and leave me a review on Amazon like you read it and it was awesome then I also love you.

[forgetriestowrite]

The Raven Cycle is great because you go into it thinking it's another weird YA romance and then you get thrown into four (or seven if you read the sequel trilogy) books of batshit insane magic and then at the end of it you find out it really was a love story the whole time

[haveyoureadthispoll]

In Tokyo, sixteen-year-old Nao has decided there's only one escape from her aching loneliness and her classmates' bullying, but before she ends it all, Nao plans to document the life of her great-grandmother, a Buddhist nun who's lived more than a century. A diary is Nao's only solace—and will touch lives in a ways she can scarcely imagine. Across the Pacific, we meet Ruth, a novelist living on a remote island who discovers a collection of artifacts washed ashore in a Hello Kitty lunchbox—possibly debris from the devastating 2011 tsunami. As the mystery of its contents unfolds, Ruth is pulled into the past, into Nao's drama and her unknown fate, and forward into her own future.  Full of Ozeki's signature humour and deeply engaged with the relationship between writer and reader, past and present, fact and fiction, quantum physics, history, and myth, A Tale for the Time Being is a brilliantly inventive, beguiling story of our shared humanity and the search for home.

[squash1]

ok book club <3 what are we reading that’s actually good and would maybe fill the trc shaped hole in my soul???? and don’t say reread. unless you say reread the dreamer trilogy because i’m so close to giving into the urge.

please. please. give me your suggestions.

as a frame of reference here are non-trc books i love & would recommend (different content, same soul):

watch over me by nina lacour

in memoriam by alice winn

under the whispering door by tj klune

these violent delights by micah nemerever

the anthropocene reviewed by john green

summer sons by lee mandelo

a tale for the time being by ruth ozeki

i need an actual book club but tumblr took away my group chats :(

anyway love you please give me suggestions!!!!!

[geekynerfherder]

Showcasing art from some of my favourite artists, and those that have attracted my attention, in the field of visual arts, including vintage; pulp; pop culture; books and comics; concert posters; fantastical and imaginative realism; classical; contemporary; new contemporary; pop surrealism; conceptual and illustration.

The art of Raymond Swanland.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kelly Link's "Book of Love"

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/13/the-kissing-song/#wrack-and-roll

Kelly Link is one of science fiction's most important writers, a master of the short story to rank with the likes of Ted Chiang. For a decade, Kelly's friends have traded whispers that she was working on a novel – a giant novel – and the rumors were true and the novel is glorious and you will love it:

https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/book-of-love-9781804548455/

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/239722/the-book-of-love-by-kelly-link/

It's called The Book of Love and it's massive – 650 pages! It is glorious. It is tricky.

If you've read Link's short stories (which honestly, you must read), you know her signature move: a bone-dry witty delivery, used to spin tales of deceptive whimsy and quirkiness, disarming you with daffiness while she sets the hook and yanks. That's the unmistakeable, inimitable texture of a Kelly Link story: deft literary brushstrokes, painting a picture so charming and silly that you don't even notice when she cuts you without mercy.

Turns out that she can quite handily do this for hundreds of pages, and the effect only gets better when it's given space to unfold.

Hard to tell you about this one without spoilers! But I'll tell you this much. It's a story about three teenaged friends who return from death and find themselves in the music room at their high school, face to face with their mild-mannered music teacher, Mr Anabin. Anabin explains what's happened in frustratingly cryptic – and very emphatic – terms, but is interrupted when a sinister shape-shifting wolf enters the music room.

This is Bogomil, and whenever he speaks, Mr Anabin turns his back – and vice versa. Anabin and Bogomil appear to be rivals, and Bogomil may or may not have been the keeper of the land of the dead from which the three have escaped. There's also a forth, a tattered shade who's been dead so long they don't remember who they are or anything about themselves. Bogomil would like to take the four back to the deadlands, but Anabin proposes a contest and Bogomil agrees – but no one explains the contest or its rules (or even its stakes) to the four dead teenagers.

That's the wind up. The pitch that follows is flawless, a long and twisting mystery about friendship, love, queerness, rock-and-roll, stardom, parenthood, loyalty, lust and duty. There's a terrifying elder god of Lovecraftian proportions. There are ghosts upon ghosts. There are ancient grudges. There are sudden revelations that come from unexpected angles but are, in retrospect, perfectly set up.

More than anything, there are characters. It's impossible not to love Link's characters, despite (because of) their self-destructive choices and their impossible dilemmas. They are so sweet, but they are also by turns mean and spiteful and resentful, like the pinch of salt that transforms a caramel from inedible spun sugar into something that bites even as it delights.

These characters, so very likable, are often dead or at death's door, and that peril propels the story like an unstoppable locomotive. From the very start, it's clear that some of them can't survive to the end, and Link is merciless in making you root for all of them, even though this means rooting against them all. This, in turn, creates moments of toe-curling, sublime horror.

Link has built a complex machine with more moving parts than anyone has any business being able to keep track of. And yet, each of these parts meshes flawlessly with all the others. The book ends with such triumphant perfection that it lingers long after you put it down. I can't wait to read this one again.

[mangotalkies]

myths, magical realism, and leftover chocolate

[shu-bullshit]

I Will Always Be Here

2023, watercolor and color pencils

This is a story I poured my heart into. About a little girl and the factory in her hometown. It's a story for people who can't go back to their hometowns.

Since it's pretty long and I can't fit all pages in here, I'm only posting some selected pages first. If you go to this page, you can read all pages smoothly.

[icecreamwithjackdaniels]

"He said that people who loved [animals] to excess were capable of the worst cruelties toward human beings. He said that dogs were not loyal but servile, that cats were opportunists and traitors, that peacocks were heralds of death, that macaws were simply decorative annoyances, that rabbits fomented greed, that monkeys carried the fever of lust, and that roosters were damned because they had been complicit in the three denials of Christ."

— Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera, 1985

[edwardslovelyelizabeth]

The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches by Sangu Mandanna

"... When you decided you needed a mask to fit into the world, you chose one that was sunny instead of scowly..."

[haveyoureadthispoll]

[clinko]

Advertising is a nightmare and I have no idea what I’m doing so I’m just gonna rant about the book that I’m writing

It’s got cool monsters in it. A not so secret society. Academic modern setting but with the Oxford gothic vibes ifykyk. Uhhh Ill-fated yin and yang lovers(not the main characters dw). Duo POV from our two main Characters, the student and teacher. Vigilantism— magical realism. Found family of course.

It’s called When Red Meets Blue and it should be getting published in August :) follow me for more updates. I’m sure it’ll be a fun time getting there

[bodhranwriting]

Oberon my Beloved. By Bodhrán M

“Oberon,” Eleanor said, “he’s still in the house.”

“Your house? The house -“

“- the house they’re breaking into, yes.”

Mal inhaled sharply. “Any chance…?”

Eleanor jammed the bullet into the chamber and thumbed the trigger. The click echoed in the alleyway and her heart jumped with it. “No. I swear, I’ve never seen that man move faster than an amble.” She seized the youth by the arm, dragging them in her wake. “Let’s go.”

There was someone in his workshop.

Oberon stood at the door, almost paralysed with bewilderment.

This was not part of the schedule. It was nearly six o’clock. He came in here every day at six o’clock to work on his projects and now there was a muscular young man dressed in a dark grey suit and green shirt standing in his workshop looking at his tools so he couldn’t do that.

It would be incredibly rude.

But then again, Oberon thought, he was looking at the tools. Maybe he a fellow student of the practical arts. Maybe he also liked long conversations about wood grains, and chisels, and very nice new hammers.

Brightening a little, Oberon put his box containing his shiny new hammer down beside him and gave a polite little cough.

The man turned as smoothly as a shark. When he saw Oberon, he smiled.

Oberon smiled too. “Hello, are you here for Eleanor? I’m terribly sorry if you’ve been abandoned. She tends to do that.”

The man tilted his head to the side, looking Oberon up and down.

He took a few steps towards him, ending up between him and the doorway.

“Mr Fitzrobert, I presume?”

“Yes,” Oberon said. “This is my workshop. If you’re a guest of Eleanor’s, you probably won’t find her in here.”

The man turned and - with a strange deliberation - closed the door. “Do you like it? Are you a dabbler yourself?” Oberon added hopefully.

“We’re not guests, Mr Fitzrobert,” the man said quietly. He was still smiling and Oberon couldn’t work out why. “But we were hoping that you and the lovely Mrs Fitzrobert could do us the great honour of becoming our guests.”

“Oh that’s very kind of you,” Oberon said, looking past the man to his half-made little sailboat. “But I think we’re both very busy at present. What about November? I think we’re both free in November.”

The man’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know Eleanor’s schedule, but the wading birds are returning this month and I can’t miss that, so we could possibly take up your offer later in the year.” He could feel the frustration building up in his chest that this terribly rude man was still crowding him when he just wanted to get stuck in.

But the man only took a step closer, muttering under his breath. He reached inside his suit for something.

“Pardon?”

“I said,” the man snapped, “that they were right. You really are stupid.” The gun he pulled was small, but Oberon immediately recognised it as one of the nastier ones. “And I must insist that you come along with us at once.”

“But I have my boat to make -“ Oberon put his hand in the toolbox to emphasise his point.

“Fuck your bloody boat! Are you coming or do I have to shoot you in the knee?”

Oberon looked at him for a moment, considering it. Then he picked up his lovely shiny new hammer and hit the man in the temple.

[innocentlymacabre]

DUE NORTH: VIGNETTES / 7

A cozy urban fantasy about two best friends who move to the pocket of eccentricity and magic that is Due North

Tony shook his head clear and tried to regain some of the confidence he entered the ring with, pushing aside all other thoughts with a deep breath. He tried reasoning that larger opponents may be stronger, but they’d be slower too, but knew from experience that was more of a human rule than a universal one. Before he could come up with a more actionable plan, Frankie, the ring organiser and referee, blew his extremely shrill whistle (which Tony had begged him to replace multiple times) and the fight began.

The minotaur, contrary to what Tony had come to expect, had no characteristic bellow or over the top pre-fight intimidation sequence. Instead, he nodded his head as a sign of respect, and Tony couldn’t help but return the action.

The pair circled each other, beginning the fight as usual. The minotaur stared at Tony unblinkingly, drawing his attention to eyes Tony had only ever seen on a snake. His irises were soaked yellow, shining in the ring’s similarly coloured lighting, and his pupils were thin black slits. His chest heaved mechanically up and down, each breath a deliberate action, each deliberate action mimicked by his pupils.

Then, the calm before the storm ended and Tony realised why his opponent had his horns wrapped – he didn’t need them in the slightest. The minotaur unleashed a flurry of fists, throwing Tony this way and that, his body never hitting the ground before another punch threw him awry. With a huff, he shoved Tony in the chest, pushing him into the ropes on the other end of the ring, where he took hold and managed to get some much-needed relief. The minotaur stood in place, not a single bead of sweat on his brow, nor a strand of hair out of place. The tussle had apparently taken nothing out of him at all.

Frankie offered Tony a bottle of water from the side lines which he took gratefully, and had to stop himself from downing whole for fear of cramps. The next few minutes went a little better than the beginning of the fight, with Tony getting in a few punches of his own. “Few” being the keyword.

Just as Tony thought the fight was called, the minotaur faltered. It was an almost imperceptible mishap, a block thrown up a second too late, but Tony saw it. He seized his chance, loosened his arm, tightened his fist, and swung at his foe’s chest, knocking him back with surprising strength.

Speed on his side, Tony didn’t let his small window go to waste. He lunged forward, rapidly jabbing three more punches into the minotaur’s chest, then (cautiously) swinging at the side of his face for good measure.

He pivoted and grabbed his head in a headlock, waiting for him to tap out. Even with the apparent advantage, Tony braced himself for a painful upcoming manoeuvre, something that would knock his temporary advantage out of the park and have him pinned down instead, but the minotaur conceded, and Frankie blew the whistle, calling the fight. Tony exhaled and lay flat on his back. He was still heaving when Frankie pulled him up to announce him to the crowds and was grinning absurdly wildly as their cheers grew louder. The minotaur shook his hand and left before him, not a hint of malice or disgrace in his poise.

Frankie handed Tony a significantly larger wad of notes than he was used to, which he took with a cheer of his own. He waved his winnings at the crowd, then ducked out of the ring. Leave when you’re on top, right?

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