THE DARING SHOW

When one opinion won't do, I DARE You to ask me mine!

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A Dance of Cloaks

Posted on June 6, 2016 at 2:05 PM Comments comments (0)




A Dance of Cloaks by David Dalglish Available on Amazon.

For those that known my review style, I usually don't give spoilers. I usually don't re-explain the storyline as it's presented in the book, and this review will be no different. I review how the book and I interacted, was I entertained, captivated or just plain bored. So let me start by saying I agree with many reviewers of this book that The Cloak had waaaay to many characters. The different fractions all played a part in the essence of the story but fractured my fluidity of reading. The writer created a world that I could envision during my intermittent reading sessions. Which in my opinion for fantasy readers is a must. My middle schooler and I, started to read this piece together and after about the 8 chapter he lost interest. So my age recommendation would be 16+. Especially because of the violent scenes that were quite descriptive it well placed and conveyed. I continued to read this book because the content held my interest. As I came to the end of the book, knowing before hand that it was book one in the series, I was content with the ending. It was complete and but left a slight inquest of what could happen next. I give this book 3 stars.


Dare Me

Posted on January 21, 2016 at 1:25 PM Comments comments (0)




Author Page: 

Excerpt from author page:

Excerpt

After a game, it takes a half hour under the shower head to get all the hairspray out. To peel off all the sequins. To dig out that last bobby pin nestled deep in your hair.

 

Sometimes you stand under the hot gush for so long, looking at your body, counting every bruise. Touching every tender place. Watching the swirl at your feet, the glitter spinning. Like a mermaid shedding her scales.

 

You're really just trying to get your heart to slow down.

 

You think, this is my body, and I can make it do things. I can make it spin, flip, fly.

 

After, you stand in front of the steaming mirror, the fuchsia streaks gone, the lashes unsparkled. And it's just you there, and you look like no one you've ever seen before.

 

You don't look like anybody at all.

 

At first, cheer was something to fill my days, all our days.

 

Ages fourteen to eighteen, a girl needs something to kill all that time, that endless itchy waiting, every hour, every day for something-anything-to begin.

 

"There's something dangerous about the boredom of teenage girls."

 

Coach said that once, one fall afternoon long ago, sharp leaves whorling at our feet.

 

But she said it not like someone's mom or a teacher or the principal or worst of all like a guidance counselor. She said it like she knew, and understood.

 

All those misty images of girls frolicking in locker rooms, pom-poms sprawling over bare bud breasts. All those endless fantasies and dirty boy-dreams, they're all true, in a way.

 

Mostly, it's hard, it's sweaty, it's the roughness of bruised and dented girl bodies, feet sore from floor pounding, elbows skinned red.

 

But it is also a beautiful, beautiful thing, all of us in that close, wet space, safer than in all the world.

The more I did it—the more it owned me. It made things matter. It put a spine into my spineless life and that spine spread, into backbone, ribs, collar bone, neck held high.

 

It was something. Don't say it wasn't.

 

And Coach gave it all to us. We never had it before her. So can you blame me for wanting to keep it? To fight for it, to the end?

 

She was the one who showed me all the dark wonders of life, the real life, the life I'd only seen flickering from the corner of my eye. Did I ever feel anything at all until she showed me what feeling meant? Pushing at the corners of her cramped world with curled fists, she showed me what it meant to live.

 

There I am, Addy Hanlon, sixteen years old, hair like a long taffy pull and skin tight as a rubber band. I am on the gym floor, my girl Beth beside me, our cherried smiles and spray-tanned legs, ponytails bobbing in sync.

 

Look at how my eyes shutter open and close, like everything is just too much to take in.

 

I was never one of those mask-faced teenagers, gum lodged in mouth corner, eyes rolling and long sighs. I was never that girl at all. But I knew those girls. And, when she came, I watched all their masks peel away.

 

We're all the same under our skin, aren't we? We're all wanting things we don't understand. Things we can't even name. The yearning so deep, like pinions on our hearts.

 

So look at me here, in the locker room before the game.

 

I'm brushing the corner dust, the carpet fluff from my blister-white tennis shoes. Home-bleached with rubber gloves, pinched nose, smelling dizzyingly of Clorox, and I love them. They make me feel powerful. They were the shoes I bought the day I made squad.

 

For media inquiries:

Please contact Michelle Aielli at Little, Brown at 212-364-1223 or michelle.aielli (at) hbgusa.com

 



Bad Feminist

Posted on January 14, 2016 at 1:15 PM Comments comments (0)



Author page:  


Per Publisher's Weekly:

This trenchant collection assembles previously published essays and new work by cultural critic and novelist Gay (An Untamed State). Even though she loves pink, feels nostalgic about the Sweet Valley High series, and lets degrading rap lyrics blast from her car stereo, Gay is passionately committed to feminist issues, such as equal opportunity and pay and reproductive freedom. Writing about race, politics, gender, feminism, privilege, and popular media, she highlights how deeply misogyny is embedded in our culture, the careless language used to discuss sexual violence (seen in news reports of sexual assault), Hollywood’s tokenistic treatment of race, the trivialization of literature written by women, and the many ways American society fails women and African-Americans. Gay bemoans that fact that role models like Bill Cosby and Don Lemon urge African-Americans to act like ideal citizens while glossing over institutional problems in the education, social welfare, and justice system that exacerbate racism and poverty. Although Gay is aware of her privilege as a middle-class Haitian-American, she doesn’t refrain from advising inner-city students to have higher expectations. Whatever her topic, Gay’s provocative essays stand out for their bravery, wit, and emotional honesty. Agent: Maria Massie, Lippincott Massie McQuilkin. (Aug.)



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