A Book Review: The Hunter's Moon, by O. R. Melling

I don't know what my luck is with libraries, but once again we returned to a library, and once again the computer said they were checked out of all of the books I wanted except one. Again, the one they reportedly had was missing. Needless to say, I was frustrated. It started to turn into a round of deja vu as I headed for the Young Adult fiction section. Searching for anything that looked good, I pulled out O. R. Melling's The Hunter's Moon. This is getting rather repetitive, but again I had low hopes, and again I was vastly surprised.

The Hunter's Moon had a fairly uninteresting plot that was both cheesy and cliche at parts. There were only a few characters. The general writing wasn't even that great. No, the thing that captured me about this book, was the descriptions of the beautiful Irish countryside, the luxurious land of Faerie, and what the characters were going through. The descriptions flow like Shakespeare, and are sweeter to the ear than poetry. The images Melling's words paint in your mind just transfix you to your seat and keep you turning the pages, searching for more. I'm not even going to bother saying anymore about the story, I'm going to go ahead and post some tastes of this delightful book.

"The order of things is ours to play with. We can create a sun and a moon. The heavens we can sprinkle with radiant stars of the night. Wine we can make from the cold waters of the Boyne, sheep from stones, and swine from fern. On the mortal plane, life is a web of illusion. We weave what we wish."

"I have seen a land where summer dwells, a faraway country. There stands a fair bright wood of branching oak, full of red sap, where sweet birds nest. At eventide cools the sun-steeped earth in a shower of dew, like dark drops of honey. Acorns fall from the trees and into a stream, foam-flecked and murmuring."

"Suddenly a dark form leaped over the bonfire, scattering the fairies with the shriek of a a hawk. Vivid colors gleamed on his body like metallic paint. His dark eyes were scrolled with kohl. His long black hair was sleek and glossy. In command of the clearing, he began to dance. It was a breathtaking display of grace and control. At first he stepped slowly, as if in a dream, then he switched to quick startling motions. The tilt of his head or the crook of his arm. Even his eyes flitted and flicked. And his fingers and toes. Each exquisite movement was an intensity of passion honed to perfection--the first shoot of a leaf, a bird breaking its shell, a dragonfly struggling to unveil its wings. In every part of his being , he was dance itself. On his brow glittered the sovereign star. Finvarra, the King, Lord of the Dance."

"His features were cool, his eyes aloof, but the voice was rich and dark like the night."

"To life we wake from the long-forgotten dream, the beautiful mystery. The taste of existence is a drop of honey on the tongue. So very young and so very old, we have gone to seed and run wild with the wind."

"Unto what is the journeying? What stitches the weave of the warp and the weft? What lies between the layers of every moment?"

"We need no words, Beloved. Our fates are entwined until the stars fall. It is for you I have taken this path and I do so without regret. Whether fairy or mortal, love is all."

"Seven were the days of Genesis. Seven are the pillars of life. Seven will be the fires of the Apocalypse. No better number can ride the storm. As a Company of Seven we will forge our destiny."

"They stepped out from the alcove, one human, one immortal, both clothed in night's black and arrayed with stars. As they walked arm-in-arm toward the assembly, the music and dancing ceased and the trumpets blared out."

"They sat tall in their chairs, like lords and ladies. The ghosts of old battles whispered from the tapestries. Camlann. Clontarf. The Fields of Culloden. The shadows of lost and noble causes. For better or worse, some wars had to be fought."

"They stood in a milky void, as if inside a cloud. Towering before them was a gigantic white gate. The railings shone of pale alabaster; the great fluted arch was inlaid with ivory. The portcullis, which had begun to rise, had the silvery sheen of mother-of-pearl."

"Whether it took seconds or aeons to cross that beautiful kingdom, they couldn't know. Time meant nothing in a land suspended between morning and night, for it held the breadth of infinity within its borders. And whether the countryside swept past them like wind, or they traveled themselves at impossible speeds, they couldn't be sure. For it seemed they were given hinds' feet as they leaped over mountains, vast plains, and boundless seas. Everything shone with a startling clarity of light, an eternal summer's day. For lo, the winter is past, the flowers appear on the earth, and the time of the singing of birds is come."

"Like the kraken from the deep, the Great Worm rose up with an eerie silence more dreadful than a scream. He was darker than the night itself. A thousand eyes glared from his body. Gargantuan and glittering, like a spray of cold stars, he appeared to have no head, no tail, no beginning or end. Crom Cruac, the Hunter."

"I lie curled on the branch of the Tree of Life that bears both Faerie and your world like golden apples. Two spheres, two moons that eclipse each other, one fantasy, one reality, balanced side by side. Humanity cannot exist without its dreams, but for any dream to exist there must be a sacrifice."

"Leaf and branch sighed above her. The trailing ivy on the trunk whispered in her ear. Bees hummed in the sunshine, murmuring their secret language in an effort to soothe her. All of nature inclined toward her, for they knew the Queen of Faerie had lost her king."

"It was twilight that brought the fairies. Dusk had fallen over the fields and hedgerows. The early glimmer of stars hailed the night. First came the music, quivering on the air, dim sounds so plaintive the heart ached to hear them."

Well, I know that's kind of overkill. That's a lot of quotes right there, but it's only the beginning of all the wonders of The Hunter's Moon. If you're into poetry and Shakespeare, and people who know how to use words to stitch amazing tapestries in your mind, then you should definitely read this book.

A Book Review: Incarceron, By Catherine Fisher

So, about a week and a half ago or so we went to a library. I had this long list of books I wanted to read. I got to the library and searched for the books on one of the library computers. To my disbelief and vast disappointment every one of the books (except one) that I wanted either the library didn't have a copy of or they were checked out. I searched for the only book they reportedly had (which happened to be a Stephen King novel), found the Stephen King section, and to my immense displeasure, it wasn't there. Not believing my rotten luck I went in search of a book in the Young Adult section. I wasn't looking for any book in particular, just something that looked good and was preferably Fantasy. I managed to find a book called Incarceron by Catherine Fisher that looked decently interesting. So taking that book, I went back to the Stephen King section and picked out The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. I started the Stephen King novel immediately, and soon got fifty pages into it. To my displeasure, it was not captivating at all. The story was about a girl who gets lost in the woods and spends the rest of the book trying to get out. It didn't strike me as one worth reading all the way through. Chucking that book to the side, I picked up Incarceron with low hopes. Boy was I in for a surprise.

Before I go farther, here is a quick description of the book from goodreads.com:

"Incarceron -- a futuristic prison, sealed from view, where the descendants of the original prisoners live in a dark world torn by rivalry and savagery. It is a terrifying mix of high technology -- a living building which pervades the novel as an ever-watchful, ever-vengeful character, and a typical medieval torture chamber -- chains, great halls, dungeons. A young prisoner, Finn, has haunting visions of an earlier life, and cannot believe he was born here and has always been here. In the outer world, Claudia, daughter of the Warden of Incarceron, is trapped in her own form of prison -- a futuristic world constructed beautifully to look like a past era, an imminent marriage she dreads. She knows nothing of Incarceron, except that it exists. But there comes a moment when Finn, inside Incarceron, and Claudia, outside, simultaneously find a device -- a crystal key, through which they can talk to each other. And so the plan for Finn's escape is born ..."

As I got further and further into the book, I was turning the pages more and more avidly. The writing of the book was not above average. There are a wide range of characters that are pretty solid. Although their mistrust and fluctuations in temper can become a drag after awhile, they are written pretty well. The descriptions were pretty good, it wasn't as if you could picture everything clearly in your mind's eye, but you got the gist, and your imagination is there to do the rest. It was the whole idea of the book that was intriguing. It's set in a futuristic world where people attempt an experiment, they attempt to make a perfect world. They make this prison, more like a world, called Incarceron and chuck the world's criminals in there. There is no way for the prisoners to get out of the prison, or others to get in. Someone on the outside is named Warden and given the job of supervising the prison. The prison is an artificial intelligence though, and soon goes awry and takes over, leaving the Warden with no power. The "perfect world" soon turns into a hell of savagery and cruelty. Generations go by, and the prisoners begin to think there is no outside, that it's just a legend. The people on the outside still don't know that the experiment went terribly wrong, they still think it's a perfect world. The outside itself is in a sort of prison, a frozen stasis of time. Like I said before, it's a futuristic world, but it's constructed to look like a beautiful era from the past and everyone is forced to obey the strict set of rules called Protocol. Thus, they can never move forwards, they are stuck in a period of time from the past.

What intrigued me the most was the idea of attempting to make a perfect world that eventually turned into a hell. I can't place exactly where it came from, by I feel like that idea has been used before in a book or more likely a movie. The thing is, as Christians we know that a perfect world is impossible on this earth, because we destroyed that chance long ago in the Garden of Eden. Though it's still interesting to see what conclusions non-Christians come to. In Incarceron there is a quote somewhere near the end, that regrettably I did not write down so I can't copy-paste it here word for word. But it was something about how humans carry the evil within them, so that it's not possible to have a perfect world where there are people. And it struck me as being a-kind-of-true statement. Because humans are fallen, we carry sin in our bodies and we cannot hope to be pure until we are born again in Jesus Christ. Thus, no matter what we do on this earth, no matter where we go, there will always be evil following us, and we will never have a perfect world.

All in all it was a fascinating book and had many plot twists and turns that kept me reading to the end. In a book that I didn't have much hope in, I found a good story worth reading.

A Sonnet: Wedding Day

This last school year my English class had to write a series of sonnets. We were writing about the story of a guy's relationship with a girl. It just so happened that I drew the section of the series that was the guy addressing the girl on their wedding day. =P This sonnet is what I came up with. It might be my very favorite thing I've written just because it makes me smile so much every time I read it. I have to give some credit to my oldest brother Jordan, and my sister Karith, because they both sat through the writing of the whole thing with me, and helped inspire me here and there. The rhyme scheme was fairly difficult, it goes A-B-B-A - A-B-B-A - C-D-D-C - E-E. I think that's it anyways. Also, just for those who don't know, sonnets have ten syllables per line. I hope you enjoy it, as a gamer would say, it's pretty imba. =P

Wedding Day

I will love you until the day I die

Two kindred souls have never known such bliss

As when we both on the grass play tennis

Remember you are you and I am I

Everything concerning you makes me cry

With joy because you are so sweet to kiss

And your whole being exudes your kindness

I hope we never have to say goodbye

On this sweet wedding day we make our vows

We will have many babies I am sure

And our love will remain special and pure

We will also have a small herd of cows

So marry me let us get outta here

We have the world to see oh baby dear

The Change

Hey, so as you'll notice the background is a considerable different. I decided to change it because I thought the other one was just too dark and depressing and down. This one is just so much better for this blog. It's got the great sky, the nice green grass. I just like it all around better. Also if you know me well you'll know I really like to try new things and I get bored easily if something looks the same for too long. =P

Yes, I did in fact use an emoticon. I gave in, I don't know why.

The Past, The Future...

To deny the past, is to deny the future.

-Ursula LeGuin, The Farthest Shore

Those who stare at the past have their backs turned to the future.

-Anonymous

These are two rather controversial quotes. I agree with both of them however. The first one is kind of debatable whether or not it's always true, but I definitely think it is. Your past, your years growing up, your experiences, your background- these all shape who you are. If you reject all that, then how can you look to the future, which will be determined by the above? But the second statement is also true. If you're to busy concentrating on the past, regretting it, thinking about it, then you have your back to the future. You're not planning for what's to come, all the possibilities and the open world before you. It's tricky to not deny your past, but also to not spend to much time in it.

A Poem: Into The Sky

So I rarely ever rhyme in my poems. I can only really think of three poems that I've written that have some rhyme in them. One was a sonnet I had to write for English class, another was a really junky sonnet that I attempted to write very, very fast (if you've attempted sonnets before you know they can't be written fast), and the last was a completely nonsensical poem that was just about craziness, so thus was very easy to make rhymes. Anyways, I was inspired a couple of days ago to attempt a rhyming poem that actually had some meaning, and rhymed well and was cohesive. The result was Into The Sky. Surprisingly, this is another personal favorite of mine. I don't know why my two most recent poems are some of my favorites, but they are. Maybe it's because I'm getting better at poetry? But that could just be hopeful wishing. Some irony is that I wrote each of these last two poems in about ten minutes, and then edited them slightly a few hours later. How are the two poems I spent the least amount of time on some of my best work and my favorites? I don't know, maybe it means that having inspiration behind you really, really helps out. I may also be biased about liking this one so much. I have this obsession, with the wish to fly. Not so much flying as in flying planes, more like just being able to take to the air anytime you want, by yourself, no hindrance, no support. Sometimes I sit, look at the sky, and simply dream about being airborne. One of the reasons I loved How to Train Your Dragon so much was that for some reason the scene where he's first flying made me really feel almost as if I was flying myself. Anyways, as I said in my last post, if I had one wish it would be that I could fly. Here's my humble attempt at rhyming poetry:

Into The Sky

The wind whistling in my ears

Tearing at my hair

Flying, soaring

It gives me no scare

Through the clouds

Across the sky

Around the world

Away I fly

Leave all the worries

Leave all the sadness

Take to the skies

Where there's no blandness

The bliss of escape

Get away for the day

Appreciate the beauty

There's quite the view of the bay

Feel the freedom

Clouds like pillows

Visit the scorching sun

Catch the wind as it billows

Away, away from trouble

Up, up into space

As far as we can go

Try to keep up the pace

Never have we gone so fast

And we won't stop till the day is past

Rambles

Recently I haven't gotten much posts up, which probably makes me sadder than it does any of you who might be reading this. I'm sure I enjoy writing far more than you could possibly enjoy reading my work. The reason I haven't gotten anything up recently is because I've been insanely busy. You ever get that feeling that life is flowing like a raging river, and the current is so strong you're being swept along at an amazing speed, not able to do anything? That's kind of how I feel, kind of overwhelmed by how fast the days are flying past. It seems to me almost as if I'm on the bank of the river instead of in it. I'm watching the days shoot by, while not really being in them. It's pretty much impossible for me to register everything that's been happening. Like no joke, the past ten days that I've been in Minnesota (I seriously had to think about the number for several minutes before I could realize how many it had been) have gone faster than any other ten days in my life. It's scary really. Every day has been full with activity from the minute I get up, to the minute I go to bed an amount of hours later that I would really not care to think about. In some ways I enjoy how the time zips by, in other ways, not so much. The main reason being that I don't get to write as much when the time is flying. I haven't had any serious writing time since arriving in Minnesota, the only piece of work that I've written is The Blood-Red Rose (which you can find on this site), which took me about ten minutes to write. So yeah, I haven't exactly been sitting around brainstorming ideas. Trust me, I have plenty of ideas, just no time to write them. If I had one wish right now, I would wish that I could fly. Haha, not exactly what you were expecting? Well, the second thing I would wish for would be as much time as anyone could possibly need to write pretty much everything anybody could ever think of. That would be a long time, but that doesn't detract me, that's what I want. Going more than about two days without writing for me is like going two days without water. Well, I don't know if that is an accurate comparison. A more accurate comparison would probably be to say that going two days without writing is like going a couple of weeks without a drug that you're seriously addicted too. But I'm going to stop rambling on and on, I'm going to go write.

A Poem: The Blood-Red Rose

This is a poem I wrote a couple of days ago. It's one of my favorites actually. I think I like it so much because of the imagery, and I've always had this thing for certain flowers, the rose being one of them. The Blood-Red Rose is in fact representative, it's not merely a pointless poem about flowers. I don't want to just ruin what it's about though, I hope between you and your imagination you can interpret it. After all, it should be really easy to realize what it represents. It's pretty much right out there.

The Blood-Red Rose

The rose

Blood-red

The blood-red rose

Perfectly created

So delicate

So beautiful

Can be crushed in an instant

A snap, and its life is snuffed out

Its fragrance

Sweet and enticing

Holds so many dreams

So many passions

Yet so quickly it fades

How long

How long

Will it adorn the field?

It attempts to hold off its inevitable fate

It grasps at life

Its petals reaching for sun

Its roots for water

It wants life

They all do

How much can it get?

How much will it suck up?

Before its short life is over

Here a second

Gone the next

It's the blood-red rose

A Short Story: Why Me? Part III

So, here is the third, and final part of Why Me? Sadly, I was not as happy with this part as I was with the second, or even the first. It didn't turn out exactly how I was imagining, and I feel like it probably had more potential. In the end I decided to just go ahead and post it though, and not worry too much about it. Rather than spend a whole whopping amount of time trying to make it perfect, I'm just going to post it, and go on to new stories. This short story was my first attempt writing anything in this style at all, so while it wasn't amazing by any means, I was pretty happy with how it turned out, over all. Without further ado, the conclusion:

Why Me? Part III

The sun sank below Ladle Hill and the autumn stars began to shine in the darkening east—Perseus and the Pleiades, Cassiopeia, faint Pisces and the great square of Pegasus. The wind freshened, and soon myriads of dry beech leaves were filling the ditches and hollows and blowing in gusts across the dark miles of open grass. Underground, the story continued.

I turned the last page, and closed the book. I looked down at the worn and battered novel. It was one of the few ones that we owned, and it had always meant so much to me. Even more now that— that—, I swallowed hard.

I looked out the lone window in the small, cubicle like room. It looked out at a small stretch of grass, and then the road. Across it could be seen a large, broken-down warehouse.

I flipped my gaze over to the spot where her bed used to be. It was now empty and forlorn, reminding me of myself. We had had to sell the cot because we couldn’t afford to keep something we didn’t use. We needed every dime and nickel. As a result, all her clothes were gone as well. There were few things left that used to be hers, that’s one of the reasons I loved Watership Down even more than I had before.

Once more I gazed down at the tattered book. Its pages were smooth from being turned so many times by loving hands. Here and there were small tears caused by pages being turned too fast and too eagerly, hungry eyes searching for more of the story.

I sighed, feeling a pang of loneliness shoot through me. It felt as if a stake had been driven through my fragile heart. The lack of her possessions just succeeded in reminding me of her absence.

There was a knock on the door.

I hesitated. “Come in.” I said at last.

It was my dad, flanked by my mom. They both looked sad. “Son…” my dad cleared his throat, just like he always did before he said something he wished he didn’t have to. “We’re being evicted; we’re going to have to move.”

I had known it was coming, in the end we always were evicted, but I still couldn’t help the anger rising in my chest. I laughed bitterly. “Figures, what else could you expect when you have my rotten luck.”

My father and mother just looked at me without saying anything. So I went on. “Oh yes. I got born into a dirt poor family, I have no talents or skills that make me stand out, no looks even. The thing that means the very most to me in the world gets taken away, and now this, getting evicted from our house, one of the last few things that remind me of her!” I was yelling now, I couldn’t help it, all my pent up emotion was coming out. “Maybe if you two would work harder, or managed to have decent jobs, we wouldn’t have to give up the house!”

Hurt and pain flashed across both their faces. Somewhere in the pit of my stomach that made me feel good with a mixture of guilt, I wasn’t the only one who was feeling the stab, the burn. The agony.

Leaping out of my bed, I stormed past both of them. Rushing out the door, I grabbed the bike—that old, beaten down bike—and peddled like mad.

I don’t know how long, or how far, I rode the bike. All I knew was that I ended up at the hill. It was a hill that my sister and I had discovered once while on a walk. It had a perfect view of the whole town from the top. The day we had found it, we watched the sun go down and talked about our books. Ever since then we made sure to get there at least once every other week or so. It was one of my favorite places in the whole world.

I staggered up the slope, all the memories of times spent with my sister here flooding my head. Unconsciously I began to cry. The tears blurred my vision, making it hard for me to see, but I still struggled towards the crown of the hill.

I finally made it to the top, and I peeled over onto my back, staring up at the beautiful blue sky that was marked by large, fluffy white clouds.

I let the tears come. I was surprised I could still manage to cry, after all the nights spent lying in my bed with the tears pouring, staring at my sister’s empty bed.

I didn’t realize it, but I must have fallen asleep. Because the next thing I knew, the sun was setting.

I sat up, staring in wonder. I had seen many sunsets from this hilltop, but never anything like this.

The sun was setting just over the town. It was partially concealed by two clouds, but it shone out from between them. The whole sky was lit up with yellows, oranges, reds, and even some purple. The sunlight traced the outside of the two clouds, lighting them to a blazing gold. It was almost as if whips of fire outlined the clouds, as if they had been lassoed by some cowboy made of light that rode the sky and roped in clouds instead of cows. The whole sky was like a painter’s canvas. Vivid splashes of color in streaks and clots. It was beautiful.

I realized that while I compared the sky to a painter’s canvas, my sister would say it was a painter’s canvas. She, like my mother and father, believed in God, and his son, the one called Jesus.

I had never really decided if I believed like they did. It had always been my family’s faith, but not my own. As it was, sitting here watching this glorious sunset, I was finding it kind of hard to imagine that there wasn’t a God out there painting the sky.

I figured if there really was a heaven, my sister was sure to be there. She was always the sweetest, most caring person you could ever imagine. I thought about how much my sister loved my parents, how much she treated them with respect and love, and I flushed guiltily.

I felt so bad about what I had said earlier to my mom and dad. I had told them to work harder, but they were already doing more than any normal person could do. They worked over time and double shifts, always searching for that extra buck, trying to make sure that me and my sister had the very best that they could get for us.

They probably were feeling as much pain as I was. There daughter, one of their two children that were precious to them, had been stolen at such a young age. No one should have to out live their children.

I knew that as soon as I got home, I would need to go and apologize to them, for everything. For being so angry at them, even though they didn’t deserve it. For being so sullen and irritable all the time, never even thinking about how they must feel as well. I was so selfish, never a thought passing through my about anybody but myself.

The sun’s last, blood-red rays disappeared beneath the horizon, leaving me in darkness. How appropriate, the color being blood-red. I thought, thinking about my sister’s blood, covering the operating table at the hospital all those days ago. Then another thought process crossed my mind. Something my sister use to talk about with my parents. The blood of Jesus, spilt for us, to cleanse our sins, to heal us, to make us whole.

Maybe there was another book at home that would mean more to me than Watership Down even. I thought about my sister’s bible, sitting on the floor at home, its pages worn and torn, just like Watership Down. I knew each page was completely covered in the tiny scrawl that was my sister’s. She always used to love jotting down notes.

I suddenly felt this deep longing to find out more about what my sister believed and felt so strongly about. It might give me a way of connecting to her, even though she was gone.

As I clambered down the hill and back onto the bike, the stars were just starting to come out. They were like diamonds, sparkling and twinkling in dark mountain stone that was the vast night sky.

I started the trip home, somehow feeling that maybe everything would turn out all right. The wind whipped through my hair, the cool evening air feeling amazing on my face. I looked up at the stars, thinking that maybe, just maybe, my sister was up there somewhere, looking down on me, and believing in me. That was all I needed.