Friday, 30 March 2018

Goosebumps...Still get my heart going

For the past month, I have been reading the Goosebumps book series by R.L. Stine. I have read and finished two books, Night of the Living Dummy and Stay out of the Basement. These are both books which as a child I was terrified to read. I remember my brother owning a selection of them and trying to read them and having to hide them under the pillow or just giving up before I had finished the first couple of chapters just due to the anxiety and fear they produced. My partner decided he wanted to buy a collection of them as he loved them as a child and was interested in re-reading them. I thought I am a grown up! I am 26 years old with my own house and a respectable job, I can read Goosebumps...I am starting to doubt myself again.

Sunday, 4 March 2018

Cogheart...Definitely a teenage read

Title: Cogheart
Author: Peter Bunzl
ISBN 978-1-4749-1500-7
Rating: 7/10 (for me) 8/10 (as a teenager)
Genre: Victorian, Fiction, Teenage Fiction, Adolescent
Book: Paperback

"'This' he hissed, 'is all because of you. Look after number one: that's what you're about.' 'No,' she spluttered, 'it's not true.' But maybe it was? She had brought the box here, and Malkin had come. She'd decided it was safe to stay with them, despite all she now knew. That thought made her queasy. She tried to think of something else to say, something comforting, but the words dried in her throat. So instead, she took off his da's coat and draped it over Robert's shoulders. 'There,' she said. She felt the cold now, in only her thin jacket, yet she knew Robert needed the coat much more than she did."

Saturday, 3 March 2018

All the Light We Cannot See...WWII from a different perspective

Title: All the Light We Cannot See
Author: Anthony Doerr
ISBN: 978-0-00813830-1
Rating: 7/10
Genre: WWII, Fiction, Nazi, France, Germany
Book: Paperback

"If there are fireflies this summer, they do not come down the rue Vauborel. Now it seems there are only shadows and silence. Silence is the fruit of the occupation; it hangs in branches, seeps from gutters. Madame Guiboux, the mother of the shoemaker, has left town. As has old Madame Blanchard. So many windows are dark. It's as if the city has become a library of books in an unknown language, the houses great shelves of illegible volumes, the lamps all extinguished. But there is a machine in the attic at work again. A spark in the night.