Saturday, February 20, 2021

The Light Between Worlds (A Saturday Short Review)

About the Book

The Light Between Worlds by Laura E. Weymouth
Published by Harper Teen on October 28, 2018

GoodReads Description

Five years ago, Evelyn and Philippa Hapwell cowered from air strikes in a London bomb shelter. But that night took a turn when the sisters were transported to another realm called the Woodlands. In a forest kingdom populated by creatures out of myth and legend, they found temporary refuge.

When they finally returned to London, nothing had changed at all—nothing, except themselves.

Now, Ev spends her days sneaking into the woods outside her boarding school, wishing for the Woodlands. Overcome with longing, she is desperate to return no matter what it takes.

Philippa, on the other hand, is determined to find a place in this world. She shields herself behind a flawless exterior and countless friends, and moves to America to escape the memory of what was.

But when Evelyn goes missing, Philippa must confront the depth of her sister’s despair and the painful truths they’ve been running from. As the weeks unfold, Philippa wonders if Ev truly did find a way home, or if the weight of their worlds pulled her under.

Content Warnings

The Light Between Worlds portrays characters dealing with depression, self-harm, post-traumatic stress disorder, suicidal ideation, illness and disordered eating, and the loss of a loved one. It refers to possible suicide, contains scenes of violence and war, and brief mentions may be unsettling to readers with emetophobia. If you have any questions about these warnings, or require more details, please don’t hesitate to get in touch via the contact page on the author's website.

Saturday Short Review

Although it may seem shallow, this book absolutely caught my eye because of the gorgeous cover.  I swooned at first sight and had to have it! I was delighted that the story inside was just as beautiful as the cover it was wrapped in.  I was blown away by the enchanting fantasy land described in this novel. Most of the novel does not take place in this land, but it was enough to allow me to fall in love with it.  The world building of both the real world and the fantasy land were so well done that I never wanted to leave either when I turned the final page.  And, perhaps my favorite part, the characters were stunningly realistic!  No only could I imagine them vividly, I was able to believe that each thing they did was truly happening.  I could put myself in their shoes because Weymouth did such a fantastic job of bringing them to life.

Unfortunately, there were a few things that I didn't think were done as well.  I hated that several aspects of the novel were rather predictable.  I would have been more entranced had the story shocked me in more places.  The most painful moment, however, was the ending.  There is no true resolution to this novel.  Did Ev die? Did she commit suicide? Did she go home?  I need to know, but I will probably never find out.  I'm fairly certain that Weymouth did this to encourage her audience to use their imagination.  This would have been more effective had she given her audience a less predictable novel.

My Rating



Monday, February 15, 2021

Into the Orange Grove: A Guest Post with Grace Hasson

My name is Grace Hasson and this month my first book, Into the Orange Grove: A Collection of
Poetry
, was published. I have dreamed of publishing a book for a long time and now that dream is a reality. The book is a journey, my journey, through heartbreak and isolation and ends at  finding growth. In this post I’d like to share a poem I wrote that I immediately loved since the first draft.


Last year I took a Renaissance Art History class. I also learned about the ekphrastic poem, in which the poet describes and explains something, usually a piece of art. To me, combining artwork with poetry is a great way to find inspiration. One of the paintings we learned about in my class was the paintings on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.


The story of Michelangelo painting the Sistine ceiling seemed to make it so much more than a painting. Creating that piece of art was a journey for him, like my book has been for me. I decided to tell his story through the lens of my story. No journey is easy, but each one teaches a lesson.


Michelangelo Painting the Sistine Ceiling


I lean backwards to create; to craft a layer of life.
Hot pins under my skin dart around inside me as I reach
again, adding a hair to a beard—a cloud puff pulled straight.

Noah is first: a story of life told backwards through paint—
I bend backwards through pain. Speak to Noah. Him alone.
The only one who understands.

He sees the storm to come; black fog in the eyes, mind, ears.
Cumulating cumulonimbus, created for us. Maybe I can stop it.
Purple water line in the clouds, says chain the angels of war.

Ocean of orange devil waves engulf all but the ark, made more noble
than the face of Christ. Dot of gray, a nail holding the wooden world together,
a nail holding flesh to light and light to salvation.

Can I change anything? Noah did. His hands held calluses and deliverance.
Mine wear paint like an extra skin. I’ll never shed my sunbeams of paint.
Even when the typhoon hurls me to the ground, breaks my back.

I won’t stop. My brush makes heaven come down.
God stays on the ceiling, I think he too loves
the taste of Earth.


Hot pins under my skin dart around inside me as I reach


I tried to put myself in Michelangelo’s body. What would it feel like to paint a ceiling for four years? I imagined that kind of work would hurt. My explanation of that kind of pain is the feeling of pins shooting through the body, constantly. Artists have to work and sometimes suffer for their art. My book never caused me any physical pain, but at times I wanted to give up. Some pins, like doubt, dig deep. This poem is about continuing to create despite that.


I bend backwards through pain. Speak to Noah. Him alone. / The only one who understands.


My book has Catholic imagery and Biblical references since I was raised Catholic. My relationship with religion is explored earlier in the book in the poem “My Open Relationship.” I notice something similar to this poem when I reference another Biblical figure in my poem “The Last Supper.” In “The Last Supper” the narrator writes, “I loved the story of Judas, / someone with some sense.” Each narrator relates in some way to a Biblical figure. In Michelangelo’s case, he has no company but the people he has painted. The parallel is that Michelangelo sees his own end of the world coming. Noah knew about the flood that would devastate the world. In this poem, Michelangelo find solace in knowing others try to prepare for devastation.


Cumulating cumulonimbus, created for us. Maybe I can stop it.  / Purple water line in the clouds, says chain the angels of war.


The most important part of this stanza, to me, is the shortest sentence. Maybe I can stop it. Everyone wants to save the world. To prevent tragedy. We all try to protect the people we love, but some floods are inevitable. I’ve tried to learn to accept that some eras end so that a whole new world can blossom.

a nail holding flesh to light and light to salvation.


Some things seem so insignificant in life. One small act of kindness. One nail on an ark carrying what’s left of life. Sometimes our actions feel small. What’s one book among the millions out there? Why even write one when there’s so many others out there? It’s hard not to feel small sometimes. What good in the world can just one person do? But I’m a believer that every good deed and every piece of art, makes the world better. If every artist and poet in the world thought they weren’t worthy of creating, there would be no art.


Can I change anything? Noah did. His hands held calluses and deliverance. /
Mine wear paint like an extra skin. I’ll never shed my sunbeams of paint. /
Even when the typhoon hurls me to the ground, breaks my back.


I remind myself that others before me have doubted themselves and still went on to be successful. There’s something beautiful about persevering. The narrator saying I’ll never shed my sunbeams of paint is equivalent to me not giving up on my book. The following line I wrote and then later discovered was based on fact. Michelangelo fell while painting the Sistine Ceiling, breaking his back. This is a reminder that no journey has no obstacles.


My brush makes heaven come down. / God stays on the ceiling, I think he too loves / the taste of Earth.


I think there is something spiritual and divine about art. Certain poems I have such a deep connection to, that is helps me believe more in myself, and in life having meaning. Michelangelo painted god, captured him on the ceiling. But paintings at the time were made not just for their beauty but to save souls. I think creating and even appreciating art make life soulful. To me, there’s something holy about sharing a piece of your true self—and I hope people see that when they read my collection.