The Neverending Story by Michael Ende.
I may be falling in love.
It would be nice, I think, if I fell in love with a gentleman of a book for a change. The last one I fell in love with was The Kingkiller Chronicle. I have not fully recovered as of yet. Thinking on it too long only brings the threat of screaming and/or tears.
But this book has whispered sweet, innocent promises like a summer breeze carrying the scent of strawberries. Things I’ve always loved, things I’ve never seen, tucked into pages, neat as you please. The sort of book you’ve never met before, but reading feels like coming home.
Within the opening of The Neverending Story I have
- Met a curmudgeonly book hoarding dragon of a man who reminds me strikingly of Elinor from Inkheart (and yes, probably myself in some version of the world as well),
- Wanted to tackle the main character with a hug because he’s so perfectly imperfect, childishly illogical, and actually goes and does the horribly irresponsible things we all secretly wanted to,
- Read sublime descriptions that make the world spring to life in a vision of full color without being overwhelming–a feat and a half in itself,
- Already read several gorgeous bookish lines that may be worthy of being etched on my walls (don’t ask about the writing on the walls thing. We all have our bad habits–biting our nails, sleeping too late, eating raw cookie dough–and inopportune calligraphy is one of mine).
I’ve heard this book compared to Cornelia Funke’s Inkheart (another book love of mine) enough to be curious–German author, book in a book in a book, fantasy, what are you waiting for–and after it was highly recommended by a friend, I snagged an (almost) new-condition copy from an Epic Library Sale.
It sat on the shelf for a while, somewhere behind Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern and between the LeGuin books and The Riddle of the Wren. Waiting until the special rainy-day when I’d pick it up and read it.
Well, it rained today. The brilliant kind of white-fire lightning I like best. And a local theater is planning the story as a play in a few months. So it seemed like it was time.
I hope it suits me perfectly. It is so satisfying to find a book you can completely love.
Writing Status: Unblocked, but who has time to write?
After shipping off my latest short story to the Writers of the Future Contest…and reading the Vol. 36 ARC…and the usual April madness of university life…writing has been taking a mini break.
When I can’t think straight because a new character is stomping and doing trampoline flips on my brain, then I have to write it down. And I’ve had a couple new characters demand attention in the last couple of days–not I’ve had to go looking for them, but that they’ve just stepped directly in front of me and started spilling the stories.
Of course they have busy lives of their own and don’t care the slightest fraction of a dirty coin I might have other things going on.
Which, to be fair, neither do I.
So I’ve been happily plunging down the futuristic fantasy/sci-fi rabbit hole, or climbing to the distant sky, as happenchance would have it, following the threads of my last short story deeper into the world I discovered.
I never really considered writing in this direction. Into this futuristic thing instead of medieval fantasy. It’s all the fault of one exceptionally infuriating character I let in one day…on another rainy day, perhaps.
The kind of day strange new things can happen.
If you’re a writer.
Or a book.
Love books? Do please stay to chat! Half the fun of reading is sharing the stories you like best.