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1mirrani
This was a year of the snake book and it CERTAINLY had to do with snakes. I'd love to eventually get a book about snakes that doesn't deal with the religion of snake handling, but... the mystery in this was worth it for me. I found the use of the religion a little necessary, you know what I mean? We have to have a reason for this, so let's say snake handling religions make people nuts or gullible and blame it on them. Maybe not a conscious thing there, but it's kind of what was done.
I also wasn't all that certain that this book had me on the edge of my seat, the way I read from reviews. It was an interesting mystery but I wouldn't exactly call it a thriller. Maybe you have to be afraid of snakes in order for that to happen? I dunno. I won't pass judgement until I read something else from the same author. Which probably won't happen soon, since I have a HUGE pile of books to get through in a month's time. :p
I didn't take many writing notes... but here's what I have... And for the record, I was listening to music at various points through this book, but I found the music distracting... even when it was just trickles and bubbles and occasional bells for relaxation...
It's never far from the surface, is it, our willingness to mistreat those weaker than ourselves Given a legitimate reason to be cruel, how often do we jump at it? p40
One of the good lines in here. Have to have a mention of the human condition in a murder mystery, don't you?
Until that point, I think I'd been more shocked than scared. But realization was beginning to set in. There was a man in my house in the middle of the night. It was late May and he probably wasn't Santa Claus. p107
Not much that's fun or funny in here, but this was a taste.
So many people have tried to encourage me with hopes of a normal future. /Not every man is obsessed with looks, Clara,/ they'd say. /You'll meet someone who will see the beautiful person you are on the inside./ As though being badly disfigured automatically makes you a better person. Like what's inside, by default, has to make up for what's gone wrong on the surface.
These kind of people are wrong. I'm not beautiful on the inside. How can I be when people shy away from me, when drunken men crack crude jokes at my expense and teenagers follow me in the street, cat-calling and taunting? How can I even be normal when I am afraid to buy clothes from a shop because no one will willingly serve me? How could a beautiful soul survive a lifetime of that sort of treatment? So I am not beautiful, inside or out. I have a chip on my shoulder the size of a boulder, as my sister frequently and accurately reminds me. I am painfully shy permanently short-tempered and totally self-obsessed. p197-198
This is only one short part of her constant reminders that this woman is disfigured and horrible. I don't really see how that drove the plot much. At the end there wasn't any mention of her face, really, so other than giving people something to talk about and giving her character a reason to be this way... I'm not sure it did much for me in terms of the story, other than bring me down.
As we walked further down the corridor, the smell of lavender gave way to one of thick, industrial bleach. But dust lined the corners where the tiled floor met the skirting boards, and round every light switch was a thin circle of grime.
We passed a lounge. Several women and one old man sat in uncomfortable-looking chairs around the perimeter. None of them was talking, no one was reading, nobody was watching TV or listening to the radio. One or two had their eyes closed, the rest just stared at some point a few feet in front of them; and I wondered hat they were seeing, if anything. I had a sense of their bodies decaying, even as they st there, hearts still beating, lungs continuing to pump. p202-203
Just a good description there, even if describing nursing homes is generally done this way. It's very visual.
My eyes closed again. When they opened next, the light outside the window was silver and a song thrush was announcing to all who cared to listen that my garden was his territory and that everybody else had better just back off. p231
This is a lot like what I once wrote about birds in the morning, so I guess this is why I was attracted to the line.
There's a point on p242 where someone is being questioned by the police and it really made me feel like /I/ was almost the one sitting there. That was a good point.
The next mile took me through woodland. It was an ancient beech grove, and some of the trees reached nearly seventy feet in height. They swayed as if they were possessed that night, swooping down towards me with incredible force. People talk about trees rustling, of them whispering. that night they roared and screamed at me as the wind tore through their crowns, ripping away branches, pushing against trunks that had withstood the storms of decades. I wouldn't have put money on any of them lasting the night. p341
I don't know that anything needs to be said of this. It says it all for itself.
I also wasn't all that certain that this book had me on the edge of my seat, the way I read from reviews. It was an interesting mystery but I wouldn't exactly call it a thriller. Maybe you have to be afraid of snakes in order for that to happen? I dunno. I won't pass judgement until I read something else from the same author. Which probably won't happen soon, since I have a HUGE pile of books to get through in a month's time. :p
I didn't take many writing notes... but here's what I have... And for the record, I was listening to music at various points through this book, but I found the music distracting... even when it was just trickles and bubbles and occasional bells for relaxation...
It's never far from the surface, is it, our willingness to mistreat those weaker than ourselves Given a legitimate reason to be cruel, how often do we jump at it? p40
One of the good lines in here. Have to have a mention of the human condition in a murder mystery, don't you?
Until that point, I think I'd been more shocked than scared. But realization was beginning to set in. There was a man in my house in the middle of the night. It was late May and he probably wasn't Santa Claus. p107
Not much that's fun or funny in here, but this was a taste.
So many people have tried to encourage me with hopes of a normal future. /Not every man is obsessed with looks, Clara,/ they'd say. /You'll meet someone who will see the beautiful person you are on the inside./ As though being badly disfigured automatically makes you a better person. Like what's inside, by default, has to make up for what's gone wrong on the surface.
These kind of people are wrong. I'm not beautiful on the inside. How can I be when people shy away from me, when drunken men crack crude jokes at my expense and teenagers follow me in the street, cat-calling and taunting? How can I even be normal when I am afraid to buy clothes from a shop because no one will willingly serve me? How could a beautiful soul survive a lifetime of that sort of treatment? So I am not beautiful, inside or out. I have a chip on my shoulder the size of a boulder, as my sister frequently and accurately reminds me. I am painfully shy permanently short-tempered and totally self-obsessed. p197-198
This is only one short part of her constant reminders that this woman is disfigured and horrible. I don't really see how that drove the plot much. At the end there wasn't any mention of her face, really, so other than giving people something to talk about and giving her character a reason to be this way... I'm not sure it did much for me in terms of the story, other than bring me down.
As we walked further down the corridor, the smell of lavender gave way to one of thick, industrial bleach. But dust lined the corners where the tiled floor met the skirting boards, and round every light switch was a thin circle of grime.
We passed a lounge. Several women and one old man sat in uncomfortable-looking chairs around the perimeter. None of them was talking, no one was reading, nobody was watching TV or listening to the radio. One or two had their eyes closed, the rest just stared at some point a few feet in front of them; and I wondered hat they were seeing, if anything. I had a sense of their bodies decaying, even as they st there, hearts still beating, lungs continuing to pump. p202-203
Just a good description there, even if describing nursing homes is generally done this way. It's very visual.
My eyes closed again. When they opened next, the light outside the window was silver and a song thrush was announcing to all who cared to listen that my garden was his territory and that everybody else had better just back off. p231
This is a lot like what I once wrote about birds in the morning, so I guess this is why I was attracted to the line.
There's a point on p242 where someone is being questioned by the police and it really made me feel like /I/ was almost the one sitting there. That was a good point.
The next mile took me through woodland. It was an ancient beech grove, and some of the trees reached nearly seventy feet in height. They swayed as if they were possessed that night, swooping down towards me with incredible force. People talk about trees rustling, of them whispering. that night they roared and screamed at me as the wind tore through their crowns, ripping away branches, pushing against trunks that had withstood the storms of decades. I wouldn't have put money on any of them lasting the night. p341
I don't know that anything needs to be said of this. It says it all for itself.
2mirrani
And that's it for my page notes, I guess I had more notes than I thought... Other notes I made, in general dealt with the constant whining about the main character being a loner because of her face. But the face thing is something we learn gradually. What happened? You've got to go through most of the book before you find out. It's really bothersome.
There are also some inconsistencies... she's a vet that doesn't give a second thought to some missing owl chicks unless the plot needs it... wouldn't a vet every once in a while hear a bird and think about the missing owls she had been nursing to health day in and day out? There are other times where things seem to contradict what was said earlier, but I might have misread and some parts seem to repeat themselves in places, granted they're well apart from each other, but still there are certain lines or paragraphs that seem well used. I'm not a fan of that unless it's a character thing, someone purposefully repeating themselves for a reason.
Now I have to put all these notes into a review...
There are also some inconsistencies... she's a vet that doesn't give a second thought to some missing owl chicks unless the plot needs it... wouldn't a vet every once in a while hear a bird and think about the missing owls she had been nursing to health day in and day out? There are other times where things seem to contradict what was said earlier, but I might have misread and some parts seem to repeat themselves in places, granted they're well apart from each other, but still there are certain lines or paragraphs that seem well used. I'm not a fan of that unless it's a character thing, someone purposefully repeating themselves for a reason.
Now I have to put all these notes into a review...
4cedargrove
It's never far from the surface, is it, our willingness to mistreat those weaker than ourselves Given a legitimate reason to be cruel, how often do we jump at it? p40
One of the good lines in here.
This seems to be especially pertinent just lately, given that seems to be just how people are treating one another these day. There always seems to be something to oppress someone else about, or two fight over, or to just plain be cruel about. And generally speaking too, people hide it behind religion. (*gets off soap box*)
I think I might like to try reading this as one of the snake books over the summer, since snake books seem to be so hard to come by, especially in the UK, for some reason. Maybe it's because we don't really have much in the way of snakes over here.
I enjoyed reading your notes, and could relate to some of them. The birds one made me think of the first time I visited NC. The first morning I woke up to the sound of Cardinals...
One of the good lines in here.
This seems to be especially pertinent just lately, given that seems to be just how people are treating one another these day. There always seems to be something to oppress someone else about, or two fight over, or to just plain be cruel about. And generally speaking too, people hide it behind religion. (*gets off soap box*)
I think I might like to try reading this as one of the snake books over the summer, since snake books seem to be so hard to come by, especially in the UK, for some reason. Maybe it's because we don't really have much in the way of snakes over here.
I enjoyed reading your notes, and could relate to some of them. The birds one made me think of the first time I visited NC. The first morning I woke up to the sound of Cardinals...
