Amalia Gkavea

 18 beautiful folk tales from every corner of our planet, dedicated to the quiet silence and beauty of Winter. Outstanding illustrations by Zanna Goldhawk.

These are my favourite tales:

The White Bear King (Norway): A haunting version of East of the Sun and West of the Moon.

The Mitten (Ukraine):A cozy retelling of The Musicians of Bremen.

A Cloak for the Moon (Poland):A Jewish folktale about the beauty of the Moon and the serenity of Winter nights.

The Nutcracker (Germany): The quintessential winter tale.

The Poinsettia (Mexico): The moving legend of the girl who wanted to give a unique gift to Baby Jesus.

Wee Robin Red Breast ( Scotland): A tale of tenderness dedicated to one of the symbols of Britain.

The Snow Maiden (Russia): One of the most beautiful and famous fairytale and the inspiration behind Eowyn Ivey's masterpiece The Snow Child.

The Apple Tree Man (England): A legend of Twelfth Night.

Sister and Brother (Siberia): Two children do everything in their power to save their mother.

The Mother of the Sea (Greenland): A tale of environmental cautionand the need to protect God's creation.

The Snow Queen (Denmark) Hans Christian Andersen's masterpiece.

The Twelve Months (Greece): A fable that teaches us to appreciate every season and every month.

Brigitte and the Cailleach (Celtic tradition): One of the most famous Scottish/ Irish tales about the changing of the seasons and the beautiful marriage between Christianity and Celtic culture. 

 'There were 63 jars here and this is the room of 63 fears, all clamoring, all so loud. It is the room I will come back to and, perhaps, this room leads only into the ground.''

A hotel in the Fens hides a mysterious past. A dark and bloody past. Voices echo, shadows walk, the water whispers. the guests of the Hotel come face-to-face with their fears, the sins of the past, the nightmares and regrets that come back to haunt us. Room 63 hides terror. Room 63 hides dread. Room 63 hides despair. Room 63 hides the core of our existence.

‘'I've never been to the Fens before. I'm surprised by the colour of the earth which looks as if darkness itself has slipped from the sky and filled the ground.''

Daisy Johnson creates another masterpiece that requires our absolute attention. An experience that enters your soul as you try to decode and understand. The Fens. The water. The very essence of an unforgetting and unforgiving nature. The women of our stories give voice to all of us, our agonies and mistakes, the Injustice and the Retribution. The women return again and again, clutched in the foundations of the Hotel. A woman is punished as a witch by fanatics. Another woman narrates the unwillingness of the ground to accept the building of the Hotel. A young girl explores its grounds to strange repercussions that will follow her for years to come during eerie night shifts. A guest at the wedding of her best friend cannot let go of the past and a businesswoman finds out that her career isn't enough to drive the darkness away. Rather, it conceals it, sustains it even. Memories of families gone astray, eerie games brought upon by images perceived through our peripheral vision, shadows hiding, reflections in mirrors and windows. And the water stands witness as the women return. As the voices and silhouettes return. Everything returns...

Daisy Johnson leaves us speechless once again...

‘'I'll see you soon.'' 

She snapped open the lid. Inside was a whitish, squishy substance. I asked her what it was. ‘‘Brains,'' she replied. ‘‘Doll brains.'‘

Do you ever feel the urge to peep through a caramel-lit window during an evening stroll in the neighbourhood to catch a glimpse of your neighbours' lives? I certainly do. When I was a child, I used to create stories based on the flitting images I'd capture, blurry behind the curtains or through the open windows on a summer night. In any case, Hiromi Kawakami's neighbourhood is extremely different from all the neighbourhoods in the world.

At least, I hope so...

A boy that doesn't seem to grow over the years. A mysterious elderly lady who might just be a criminal instead of royalty. A gifted child who keeps his strange ‘‘office'' in the park. A girl collects doll brains. A middle-aged woman keeps a restaurant called The Love, which has a very special menu, a lonely karaoke, and hardly any customers. A juvenile delinquent becomes the pride of her hometown. A lottery decides the family that will provide refuge to the youngest child of a poor family. A grandpa has two shadows. A housing development consists of apartments where families of six reside. Six being the number of the Devil, of course. Two girls who live across the street from one another spend their lives in a deep hatred for each other, only to end up in misery.

A serious pandemic appears that turns people into pigeons, causing absolute havoc, and you can imagine the serious repercussions of a no-gravity alert. The story of a found baby teaches us about all the mysterious supernatural creatures of Japanese tradition. A new school named The House of Sweets is created, only to fall prey to the gluttony and greed of children. And no neighbourhood would be complete without shacks full of emotions.

These are only a few of the neighbourhood's strange, eerie, satirical but extremely thought-provoking events in a marvellously ingenious book by one of the best writers of our times.

''Eat all the bugs we want! Make all the babies we can!'‘

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

 ‘'The loneliness she felt was so keen it was almost elegant. It cut her. Every snowflake on her bare arms had steel blades.There was no future and no past in such immediate pain.''

I haven't read Wicked, I couldn't care less about trash with singing witches (green-faced or otherwise...) but I have read Egg & Spoon (a brilliant folktale about the Baba Yaga and Imperial Russia) and I loved it. A Wild Winter Swan is a tale set in New York during the 60s, inspired by Hans Christian Andersen's The Wild Swans and for the most part, it is a novel that attracts the reader's attention but fails to do justice to Andersen's masterpiece.

‘'No one stood nearby to look down at the girl in the bed and witness whether or not she really existed.''

Laura lives in an upper-class New York neighbourhood under the protection of her grandparents. A troubled teenager who can't seem to fit even in the city of diversity and confusion, unable to cope with school, afraid and unwilling to warm up to people. Before an important Christmas dinner, a strange boy lands on her window. A boy with one hand and one broken wing.

The setting is beautiful. New York in all its Christmas glory, its wintry spirit depicted in poetic, achingly moving paragraphs. This is not enough, I'm afraid. Through Laura's eyes the world is bleak and the focus of the story shifts towards the struggles of the immigrants, Italians and Irish, and the tale itself becomes a mere vehicle. Despite the writer's efforts to add a certain folksy atmosphere, the absence of a compelling cast of characters, the dialogue that leaves a lot to be desired and the fact that the folk tales itself doesn't shine make this retelling a rather forgettable effort, in my opinion.

Some folk tales are better left untouched. 

  ”We were overturned, Mary,” I said as I strode into the room, ”and but for the kind offices of a complete stranger, should be frozen stiff, somewhere between the Winchester and Andover roads. If Mamma has not caught her death, it will be the wonder of the season – and we are all sorely in want of our dinners. Happy Christmas.”
I have read several installments in the Jane Austen Mysteries series by Stephanie Barron and I always know I am in safe hands when I choose one of her books to keep me company. The twelfth (as it were) volume of the series is a beautiful tribute to the traditions that make British Christmas so unique. The greenery, the Yule log, Snapdragon, the merriment of Twelfth Night. The writing is impeccable, proving Jane's point of view to perfection, faithful to the character and the era, and I loved reading about Jemima's wardrobe.
Why 4 stars? In my humble opinion, the mystery itself was a strange mixture of being predictable and far-fetched at the same time, the supporting cast was not particularly interesting and I was disappointed in how a certain subplot was developed. I adored Raphael West.
I started the novel on the 24th of December and finished it on the 5th of January, reading one chapter per day and it gave the festive days of Christmas a certain Regency flair.
A cozy book for the festive season and a journey to the past and how Christmas should be cherished and preserved. 

 ''Bookstores most certainly were the closest thing to heaven.''

Thirteen stories centred -in many different ways- around the Mysterious Bookshop in New York. Jilted lovers, wronged people who seek revenge, ambitious writers who try to resurrect their fame by taking advantage of the past and present, corrupted police officers, amateur sleuths, Christmas puzzles and a cognac that brings warmth and happiness to the ones who accept it without opening it.

Even if the stories do get a little bit repetitive, there are some twists and turns in this collection that fully deserve their name. Definitely one for the holiday season. 

 ''For it is good to be children sometimes,and never better than at Christmas, when itsmighty Founder was a child Himself.'‘Charles Dickens

Lost gifts, a lost necklace, a Lord and a Lady newly arrived from London, 1930s glitter and elegance, witty dialogue, and kindness.

A delightful Christmas mystery with an attractive sleuthing duo, the perfect read for the holiday season. And I will definitely try my luck with the rest of Michelle Cox's work. 

  ‘'It seems we are destined to be ships passing in the night.''
This is the tender Christmas story of two people who lose and find each, separated and united by circumstances, destiny, fate. A young woman, a single mother, determined to succeed in a job controlled by men and an American chef who has made his home in London only to be wounded by a twisted game of Fate.
‘'Whether a monster, or a queen - or both - we must all make sacrifices at times. Fce the difficult decisions.''
Then, we have a character who is very much the heart of the book, the one who brings everything and everyone together. Queen Elizabeth II, presented in a beautiful portrayal of a young woman who is perfectly aware of the responsibilities of her role, yet she is not free of insecurities, uncertainties, vulnerabilities. She is shown as a woman, a mother, a wife. Never as a frozen queen on a golden pedestal.
Naturally, a Christmas story needs Christmassy descriptions and London is given a special role, depicted in warm, festive colours:
‘'I'd always felt there was something magical about London in December. Like roast goose and stuffing, or Christmas pudding and brandy butter, it was the perfect combination. There was nowhere I'd rather be when the shop windows gleamed with toys and decorations, and frosty breaths were lit by the low winter sun that painted the Thames golden. London at Christmas was a Dickens novel, a Turner painting, and a Victorian Christmas card all rolled into one, and I adored it.''
‘'London looked so pretty that afternoon, the gray stone buildings warmed by a soft golden sun. Faces glowed beneath the crisp chill in the air. Colourful winter coats and fur-trimmed hats added a dash of elegance to the usually drab streets. Shop windows had been dressed in their finest festive displays and the scent of roasting chestnuts and cinnamon laced the air as I passed the wine merchants and bakeries.''
I am not one for love stories and merriment but this novel is the kind of love story done right and the Christmas tale that is told with warmth, elegance and respect without ever becoming melodramatic.
‘'December arrives with a blanket of thick fog and a flurry of activity as the staff begin their preparations for Christmas. I am reassured by the familiar traditions - the arrival of the trees, the planning of menus, the many cards to be signed - and yet even in these well-worn tasks there is change. I feel my father's steady hand guiding me as I carefully sign my name beneath the Christmas wishes. Elizabeth R. My new signature feels as strange and unfamiliar as the person I have become. Elizabeth Regina. Elizabeth II. Queen.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

  ''On spring days the tall windows let in an ambiance of sunlight and the single classroom of the school swims with brightness, trapped shafts of sun warming the back of her neck as she sits bent over the day's text, the illuminated writing. On rainy days she will gaze out of the smeared window panes to the fields and the fells beyond the school gates. The sky a deep saturated yellow, dark, greyish blue to the west where the weather comes in from rocks with layers of water. The drenched bracken and foliage on the banks of the hill find their own patterns in the wind, and at this distance look alike wet brown velvet. There is mist low in the valley over the river, then mountains, the spine of High Street, and finally mist again, dissolving into nothing.''

As unbelievable as it may seem, it took me more than a year to finish this novel. I started it last November and within a month I decided to put it aside for the time being. Not because I didn't like it. On the contrary. Its power was literally all-consuming and my mental disposition couldn't cope with such emotional tension. This December was the right time to revisit it, finish it and characterize it as the modern-age Wuthering Heights.

''This is a warm night towards the end of the summer in 1936. The stars are brilliant above the fells, many still unmapped, unnamed, though the solar system is being completed. She uncovers her shoulders and waits, hopeful of his insomnia., A new tenderness has led her here, coming from their short separation. During the long days of haying she missed hum, sorry for her demands that he keep away.''

I couldn't help but view Sarah Hall as a contemporary Emily Bronte while reading this masterpiece. We follow a pair of lovers and the community that have to come to terms with life-changing decisions. A man who arrives from Manchester to serve a dubious cause, the destruction of land on the altar of industrialization and profit, is entranced with a young woman, a new Cathy, a wild wraith of the moors...

What follows is an all-consuming brave obsession. An unafraid Cathy to a virtuous Heathcliff, an exquisitely visceral, sensual journey. Sarah Hall is an astonishing writer. She hops from some fo the most electrifying, poetic and realistic erotic scenes to beautiful descriptions of the Lake District and its influence on Jack, the son of the city, a land that has given birth to Jannet's unwavering spirit.

''The season was turning bitter, the short, hot summer had all but bled out. There was a fresh, woody smell in the air and the red bracken was wild over the sheep paths, twisting its stems together in firm, mature knots so that his boots had to rip through as he walked. Warm rain from the summer was gone.''

And then we are given cozy, heart-warming scenes of traditional British Christmas, of mincepies and liquor, carols, lamps on the windows, Nativity figures, evergreen and stories in the dark nights of winter.

But she can tear your heart out with seven lines:

''Still she cried blood. The sight haunted the workers, marched widely through the sub-region of their minds. It was supernatural, they told each other. She was possessed by a spirit, her blood was still living, still being made in the body. It was necromancy, they said, black art. And the rumours became seamed with sorcery. Thunder broke the sky, added to the tension, to the mood of the crowd.''

The final pages contain some of the most haunting, eerie scenes. Paragraphs echoing the last page of Wuthering Heights and the novel is merciless up to its last lines.

This book was Sarah Hall's debut. For me, it is the best work of a unique writer.

''On this night of gathering storm there is no regret. There is only the energy of the half-hidden moon that reaches her, dying over her hands on the detonator, and even the air, littered with the last breath of the dan's god does not move. She is at the edge of a vast universe, where old elements are fused. Like an old wound.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/ 
 

  ‘'The fields were edged with hawthorn, bare of leaves yet still throwing thorny sprays up to the blue December sky. The haw berries were flat crimson like the dead blood of the year, but the rosehips were a sign of hope, little lamps shining from the hedgerows. A fat robin watched from a fence post, its eye bright with curiosity, and in a thicket of oak, the glossy leaves of the holly gleamed like a secret. When the frost was hard, we slipped and slid across the frozen brown ruts left by the plough and the whole world glittered crazily, buzzards crying overhead. Sometimes the mist hung low, and we walked in silence across the fields, listening to the dripping of the trees, the muffled sound of horse hooves from the lane. Ahead of me, girls rising out of mist like wraiths, then disappearing.''
A girl is running in the moors, under the lowering sky, her hair loose like dark water in the wind. She appears through the fog, a solitary spectre full of the ruggedness of the Yorkshire moors. A ghost girl filled with endless love for her land, her perfect place on Earth.
‘'Sometimes a place imprisons your mind, your spirit, and there is no telling why.''
This girl will not be dissuaded by those who love to narrate their cautionary tales to alter her nature. You could not blame a beast for following its own nature'', she replies as she finds solace in the isolation of the moors, the mystery of the fig, the tender silence of the graveyard as she wanders among the tombstones. The frost at her window is her calmness. Are these fingers tapping? Begging to be let in?
‘'How strange we must seem to God, looking down on us. The earth He gave us stretches in all directions, is full of riches, yet all we do is run around in the same little circles, like poor little mice scratching an existence.''
Emily cannot be cooped up between two walls. She wants to feel the wind on her face, to meet the drifters of the moors, people at the periphery of society. Men like her immortal creation. Heathcliff. The hypocrisy of the affluent, especially against young women who are despised by members of their own sex is repulsive. The fate of a breeding mare who submits to her husband is worse than death. She won't speak unless she has to. Empty talks are not for her. Hers is the gift to create dark wonders. 
‘'I have a mind of my own, am not some puppet for you to play with.''‘'I am here.''
Karen Powell creates an ode to the greatest mind in World Literature As Haworth comes alive in front of our eyes, so is Emily's personality unfolded to almost frightening perfection. Her Emily is my Emily. Her Emily is THE Emily to those of us who cannot describe our adoration for her and her masterpiece in plain words. Using the images of windows, candles, branches, abandoned estates, and the haunting presence of a mysterious man who keeps crossing Emily's path, Powell foreshadows the birth of the greatest novel ever written. Wuthering Heights. The Sinister Bible of Literature.
‘'I've always believed that Satan must have set out to be a good angel but could not help himself. It was not in his nature. I want my hero to be just as bad as compelling. If he cannot have what he wants, then the whole world must pay for his suffering, his pain.''
Do you know what Karen Powell's greatest gift is? Yes, she writes in an extraordinarily visceral and lyrical manner. She communicates the character and feelings of the Bronte family to perfection. She paints the Yorkshire land with words to invite us into Emily's world. However, no writer has ever managed to describe Emily's feelings for the creation of Heathcliff with the kind of accuracy and directness that make you believe she has held a seance to converse with the spirit of Emily. In our days, the ones who speak ill of him and Wuthering Heights, who deem him as ‘toxic' - because this is a fashionable word and they know no other- are mainly women serving a political leftist agenda. Unaware of the term ‘anti-hero'. Unaware of how to differentiate between the males they read in one of their sex-crazed romances and thrillers (soon to be turned into a MAJOR MOTION PICTURE...) and two people who loved each other not wisely but too well. The ones whose...sensitivity a.k.a. illiterate and brainless existence need trigger warnings to even read the newspaper. Well, guess what? You'll always be the mindless minority. 
This wild, uncompromising woman, this wraith of the moors wrote ONE book. One! And gained immortality by creating THE most beautiful, dark, perplexing, complex, shattering novel in the History of Literature. What exactly have YOU done with your life?
Those who deny her power are advised to leave the marches, have a shower and try to at least finish primary school.
The best novel written about the best writer who ever graced the Earth.
‘'It is late. Hours since Papa would have locked the front door for the night. But look, there is the glow of a candle upstairs, coming from my bedroom window.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/




 

  ‘'What are you looking for?''
Libraries. A place of safety, of comfort, of shared silence. The place of our childhood and youth. A place of change. Where your levels of self-doubt and your low self-esteem give way to newly-found dreams. Where we understand that what we deem as ‘mundane' and ‘routine' is our personal, unique success. Where children's books become a beacon of light.
‘'In a world where you don't know what will happen next, I just do what I can right now.''
Five people learn to appreciate the simple pleasure in life, the small victories, the small steps towards a new day. Guided by Sayuri and Nozomi and bonus gifts that symbolise the change that is to come.
Chapter I - Tomoka: A young woman, frustrated and insecure, slowly discovers that the ingredients for a happy life are simple and much more attainable than we think.
Chapter II - Ryo: Ryo works as an accountant but has always wanted to open his very own antique shop. The enterprise is risky and our narrator is afraid of new beginnings. Too nervous, too apprehensive, and the problem with us conscientious people is that we trust nobody. And rightfully so, if you ask me. Everyone will disappoint you in the end. Everyone but God but that's another discussion. Having to deal with co-workers who prefer to paint their nails (or are glued to their phone judging from my personal experience...) than do their job is torment. And Ryo is waiting for this One Day. A visit to the library will help him realise the importance of Today.
I saw myself in Ryo in more ways than I can count...
Chapter III - Natsumi: Starting during the period before Christmas, we turn time back to a sultry August and Natsumi. Frustrated by the way motherhood is viewed in the corporate world, disappointed by her husband's attitude, angered at the inability and unwillingness of our society to accept that a woman may actually desire both a family and a successful, meaningful career. Her deep love for Literature will lead her to a path she never thought possible.
I adored the observations on the Moon as reflected in Religion and Mythology, our first victory in being born, on change, and the importance of reading in our lives. This chapter is pure perfection.
Chapter IV - Hiroya: A 30-year-old man who has never worked in his life and lives with his poor mother contemplates his presence in the ‘artistic' world. And blames everyone but himself...Typical of the idle...
I did not enjoy this chapter at all. Mangas irritate me to no end, the so-called theory of Evolution does not work for me (if you think that the beauty and wisdom of our planet are not God-given, you are heathens and irreversibly stupid...) and people like Hiroya are parasites. End of story.
Chapter V - Masao: Life after retirement can be both exciting and scary. Intimidating it certainly is. Masao tries to find a new meaning, a new purpose, creating his own ‘anthology' of moments, learning to appreciate what each new day brings.
Fairy tales hide the essence of Life's deeper meaning and Michiko Aoyama gives us a plethora of sweet, small pieces of wisdom throughout her heart-warming novel. Characters appearing briefly in a chapter become protagonists in the next. A world interlinked. The urban setting is vividly described and ALSO cats! It's Japanese Literature, of course there would be cats. 
I adored the comment on birth through the eyes of the newborn -simply extraordinary- and the focus on how a book is a living organism that acquires a new life in the hands of each reader. Bookshops and libraries will never die as long as the human race exists. Technology or no technology, readers know how to rescue the very thing that gives meaning to our lives. 
We breathe in dreams, that's the one thing that defines our humanity. We are waiting and waiting for this One Day. But what happens if we lose a very important Today that will never return?
One of the most healing novels you'll ever read.
‘'The Earth goes around.We gaze at the moon, illuminated by the sun.Feet on the ground and facing the sky, we go forward, changing as we do. In order to deliver a larger truth to the person looking down on an open page.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

 A necessary guide to accompany you on a trip to London, THE original Metropolis. Vividly written with a deep love for the British capital, it leaves no stone unturned in discovering the hidden corners that make London one of the most fascinating cities on our planet. I would welcome more illustrations but as it stands, this book is essential for every Anglophile's library. 

  ‘'A woman drew her long black       hair out tightAnd fiddled whisper music on      those stringsAnd bats with baby faces in the          violet lightWhistles, and beat their wingsAnd crawled head downward      down a blackened wallAnd upside down in air were     towers Tolling reminiscent bells, that    kept the hoursAnd voices singing out of empty   cisterns and exhausted   wells.''                           -The Waste Land                                    T.S.Eliot
This is not the glorious, Christmassy, crystal-clear world of The Nutcracker as we have come to know it from E.T.A Hoffman's original story. This is a Gothic world where chocolate resembles blood, where the moon is black, where the Fairy is the Devil and the Kingdom of Sweets is Hell.
And this book is much better than the original. In fact, it is a masterpiece.
‘'Fallen angels, old pagan gods, animal spirits...it matters not which mythology you hunt through, you will find the same thing: creatures who despise mankind. They await our downfall, speed it along when they can. They seek vengeance upon us.''‘'For what?''‘'For being shut out of the light.''
One of the most fascinating quotes I've ever read!
Two sisters are fighting over a man. The Light and the Dark, creations and pawns of Godfather Drosselmeyer. The heart of our story is Natasha, the Dark Sister, the one who has the brains and the courage to stand her ground. To seek justice and vengeance, to commit what one may deem as unethical acts to make others face their sins. She faces ordeals where there should be none, starting with the hatred of her empty-headed sister whose only worth is measured in beauty and sexual prowess. 
‘'You are the dark sister. You always see. You're doomed to see.''
She is kind to those who are viewed as nothing more than ‘servants' and fiery against the ones who pollute the world with their presence. She faces mirrors of darkness, figures lurking behind her, disturbing her peace of mind. She faces screaming women and threatening ornaments. Most importantly, she faces the thwarting of her childhood dreams. She faces pure wrath at a time when dead bodies of young men are washed ashore, an era of upheaval. She is one of the most fascinating characters I've ever encountered in a novel, the creation of an extraordinary literary mind.
‘'Who knew what trees really thought,, long after we had taken them for pleasure and use, twisting them into shapes never intended? Who knew what memories even the dead wood might hold?''
Erika Johansen created a novel that reminded me of Goya's Pinturas Negras. It is twisted and poignant and moving, a world of dark fairytales, of the eternal fight between Good and Evil, exceptionally portrayed. The writing is outstanding, the characters step out of the pages and parade before the reader's eyes. The dialogue is almost poetic and Natasha is the perfect guide to a story that goes so much deeper than a simple fairytale. Johansen touches upon themes that concern us all, commenting on mental health, repercussions and consequences and moments that changed the course of History in the most violent and vilest manner. I think we all know what comes to mind when we read the following quote:
‘'There is no revolution for man, not really. I have observed your kind since the dawning. They mean well. They wish to slay monsters. But murder begets murder, and so your heroes invariably become monsters themselves.''
Rich in beautiful, evocative descriptions, brave, elegantly dark. The last few pages chronicling the butchers of the Russian Revolution and their communist nightmare are outstanding and frightening. The setting of New York during the book's final part is heart-warming and fascinating. The ending is PERFECTION.
‘'Thank you to the teachers, who do the most important job there is.''              Erika Johansen
I have read hundreds of books. I have never encountered the tiniest example of gratitude from a writer to teachers and the sentence above warmed my heart. Therefore, thank you so much, Erika Johansen!
‘Whose blood is that?', I asked. ‘All of them, child.' She gasped, her breath beginning to falter now. ‘Pharaohs, Romans, Vikings...If you dug deep enough, you'd find Cain himself in there. This is the record of my dealings, and I give it to you.'
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

  ‘'Big river, calling him to thenorth.Big sky, calling him to the west. Land of many rivers, land of many mountains, land of many forests. How far did it continue? Nobody knew. Not for certain. High above the eagles, only the sun on its huge journey westward could ever see the whole of it.''
Edward Rutherfurd is a master of Historical Fiction. He is a writer who communicates the time and place to perfection, an artist who communicates the feelings of his vast cast of characters to such an extent that you are able not only to recall their names with ease but their personality, their ideals and course in life as if they were people you have met in daily life, relatives, friends, family. I have yet to read another writer's books whose 1500+pages go by like a breeze in the course of four days. And when it comes to Historical Fiction, I am an expert in the genre, thank you very much.
‘'When there is a little breeze, listen to the voice of the wind sighing in the pine trees. Then you will hear me.''
A wampum belt becomes the beacon in the epic story of the true capital of the USA, New York. The Metropolis, the Modern Goddess, the Land of Dreams and Hopes and Chances and Sorrows. Paying the utmost respect to the history of the city, her people, their religions (and Rutherfurd has always been a writer who treats Christianity with absolute respect unlike other writers...), we are gifted a monumentary journey within the heart of the modern world. Divided into five chapters, dedicated to a specific era, guided by British, Dutch, Italian, Jewish, Puerto Rican families, the entire history of New York passes before our eyes. 
‘''[...] that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.''           Abraham Lincoln
Along the families that are the heart of the novel, meet Henry Hudson, Captain Kidd, Andrew Hamilton, George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Enrico Caruso, Rockefeller, and a multitude of characters that shaped the USA and our world as we have come to know it. Visit Niagara Falls, the Empire State Building, the Islands, Brooklyn, Manhattan, Gramercy Park, Central Park, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Fifth Avenue, the Statue of Liberty, the Flatiron Building, the Museum Mile. Marvel at (my favourite) brownstones, feel the buzz, the multiculturalism that defined the city, its almost anarchic personality, the Arts, the Opera, the musicals, the literary scene and the hypocrisy of the old money families. Divided and united in its differences, New York is the result of God's absolute inspiration.
‘'When the invitation to the Seder was recited, not in Hebrew but in Aramaic, it stuck him with great force that, of course, these were exactly the proceedings that Jesus must have followed at the Last Supper. And as he considered the crisp New England Episcopalians he knew so well, he wondered how many of them truly understood the rich Middle Eastern texture to which their own religion belonged.''
1664: The British and the Dutch, divided by religion, united by ambition. The birth of Manhattan, the customs of the Native Americans, the slaughter they suffered, the nightmare of slavery.
1735-1790: Glimpses of Boston and Philadelphia through the eyes of spirited young women, the Quakers, the War of Independence (brought to mind the exceptional film The Patriot with the one and only Mel Gibson).
1825-1896: The bond between London and New York, the Civil War,  the battle of Gettysburg, and Lincoln's famous address, the end of slavery, the impact of the Great Famine of Ireland, the immigrants, the Riots of 1863, the rising of Wall Street.
1901-1987: A new century is seen primarily through the eyes of an Italian family. The tragedy of the Triangle factory, the Great War, the Crush of 1929, WWII, the Jewish immigrants facing constant anti-semitism, the Civil Rights marches, the Vietnam War, the drugs, the assassinations, the seismic political changes on both sides of the Atlantic.
2000-2009: The boom of the economy, the threat of the Y2K bug, the unimaginable tragedy of 9/11.The fear and hope of a new world rising...
New York is waiting for you, safe in the hands of an exceptional writer.
P.S. To the ‘lady' who called the novel ‘trash Historical Fiction'': Excuse me, (not really...) your favourite writers are Nora Roberts and Kristin Hannah. Are you EVEN SERIOUS? The only thing that is trash is your opinion and your reading taste. Or, rather, your lack of it. So shut up!
‘'Let us have faith that Right is Might, and in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to doo our duty as we understand it.'' Abraham Lincoln
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

  ‘'It's my belief that knowledge of traditional stories can impart an enchanted sense of significance to the landscapes and townscapes in which they're set. If the sharing of these Gloucestershire tales may contribute in some way to the appreciation of the county's specialness and a deeper caring for its communities and landscapes, then I shall be well pleased.''        Anthony Nanson
Anthony Nanson invites you on a journey to the heart of Britain's history. A land of myths, legends, ancient magic and Christian mysticism, a land of passionate lovers, misguided ambitions and dark comeuppance. Told in the unique, wondrous voice of an absolutely brilliant storyteller, these folk tales will remain with you, lingering in your mind, narrating vices and virtues we can all relate to regardless of space and time, rich in elegant sensuality and a deep love for Nature.
‘'On an isle in the river's East Channel ancient stones lurked among the willows, and a woeful wailing shuddered through the earth as if to give vent to sorrows beyond sharing. Guarding the island's muddy shores were nine hideous women, in robes of black, with manes of grey hair straggling wild and knotted to their knees- the Nine Hags fo Gloucester.''
A young prince must kill a giant to marry his beloved. The Devil tries to trick others, disregarding the fact that he is always the most stupid creature imaginable, an idiot, ensnaring other idiots. A traveller finds refuge from a snowstorm in a strange inn.
I mean, come on. Read this haunting description and tell me that THIS is NOT perfection...
‘'There was no one about downstairs, neither landlord, nor servant, nor guest. Empty chairs behind empty tables. The fire's embers smouldered in the hearth. Outside, the night air was shiveringly crisp and chill. Silver starlight illuminated the black sycamores beside the inn and the swell and hollow of the hills and valleys below, all blanketed with snow.''
An elm stands witness to a tragic death and a divine punishment in a haunting story that will break your heart. Sky-ships are flying over Bristol, a pious nun becomes the innocent prey to a heathen, a mysterious woman haunts a village, requiring fresh flowers on her grave. A wife commits the ultimate sacrifice to save her beloved, and two lovers are only united when death comes, persecuted by a hateful, barbaric man. Learn the beautiful story of St Kenelm of Mercia and witness a child's ordeal to save his baby sister, aided by a magic cat on Christmas Eve when the animals acquire human speech. I adored the story of The Buckstone and the Britannic Palace, a tale from the mists of the Roman times and the union of the British and the Romans under the One, True God. (And what a film this story would make!!!).
In Kempsford, a haunting song signals the appearance of Lady Maud as her bitter story echoes through the centuries. In Stroud, a living, breathing man is taken to his own funeral, and a girl from the Cotswolds is led to her doom as the seventh bride of a mysterious man in a wonderful rendition of the legend of Bluebeard. The Wish Bottle is an enchanting, moving contemporary folk tale as a father does everything in his power to save his dying daughter. Just take a look at the following extract:
‘'So Dick followed the bottle's trail across America, the price of purchase steadily decreasing each time it had moved on. The man in Pittsburgh had wished for the love of a woman he'd adored for twenty-five years, but mostly people had wished for huge amounts of dosh. Dick felt a bit sheepish that his own wish - the second one- had been so predictable and that he'd asked for so modest a sum. The amounts these American had wished for had increased the money supply soo much that the whole country was suffering inflation. There were exceptions, of course. A woman in Dallas had wished she'd never lose her books. A boy in Thermopolis, Wyoming, had wished for an endless supply of chocolate. A pastor in Tuscon had wished to know for sure whether God really exists. A hippie in Marin County, California, had wished that the land around her little commune would never get ruined by development.''
The tale of The Unchristened Baby will make you cry your eyes out as a heartless priest sees Jesus' light in his heart when a woman begs him to baptise her dead infant. The collection ends with a modern tale of two Australians who find themselves in the middle of a strange haunting in an inn in the Cotswolds. 
Anthony Nanson and Kirtsy Hartsiotis have written the wonderful Gloucestershire Ghost Tales, published by The History Press. With this volume, Nanson has created one of the most beautiful, unique instalments in the beloved series. Full of legends, myths, truish stories about the mythical past of the Great Albion, Gloucestershire Folk Tales is a pure, must-have.
‘'For sure, children ought to be able to play in the woods without danger, and people need to cultivate gardens and crops without them getting trashed. But can't a balance between these impulses be found? Can't the dream of true wilderness be restored in some part to this island?''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

  ‘'The jack-o'-lanterns grinned and frowned and scowled and leered. They seemed to be staring at Tommy. Every one of them.Their mouths were agape, little pointy teeth bared. None had the blunt, goofy dental work of ordinary jack-o'-lanterns. Some were equipped with long fangs.Staring, staring. And Tommy had the peculiar feeling that they could see him.''
‘'By day the marsh was a place of filtering, shifting patches of sunlight,cypress and live oak bearded with Spanish moss, velvety brown cattails that would bust into clouds of white snow if you smacked them against the back of your friend's head, ad unfounded rumors of quicksand pools full of skeletons and treasure.
At night, the lanterns took over.''
‘'The streets are filled with shouters tonight, one the same as another. Listen to the voices all over the neighbourhood, music against the sounding board of silence and the chill infinity of the afternoon.''
The Whitby Experience (Simon Clark): A couple goes to Whitby for their dream Halloween getaway but the woman finds herself in the middle of a nightmarish custom. Extremely creepy with a heavy dose of Robert Aickman aura.
Gone (Jack Ketchum): A woman whose daughter was lost years ago faces the fear of the trick-o-treaters in a story that demonstrates the prejudices of a neighbourhood.
Yesterday's Witch (Gahan Wilson): Sometimes, the rumoured witches turn out to be real, frightening, dangerous witches.
A Short History of Halloween (Paula Curan): Concise, informative, and entertaining.
‘'Swirling dry leaves maybe swept along in the wake of passing ghosts. The feeling that, on this one night, absolutely anything could happen.''
Criswell Conquers the Alien Elvis-Nappers (Tom Piccirilli): Full of coziness, pop art references and an homage to the legendary Stanley Hotel.
‘'And when the music began to weep it filtered through the night, through wind, and across the street to ten-year-old ears. The three women held the night, or pressed it back. The young woman wept above her keyboard, wept with her keyboard. the two older women simply held each other and wept.''
1942 (Jack Cady): A sad Halloween story about two mothers, a sister and the ones who died so we could be free.
Out of the Dark (David B.Silva): A boy that tried to trick Death has become a man whose wife is seriously ill. But can you trick Death twice? And if you do, what prize will be asked of you?
A Redress for Andromeda (Caitlin R.Kiernan): A mysterious tale that falls into the Folk Horror genre. Very cryptic and memorable.
The Circle (Lewis Shiner): A group of friends meet to honour their Halloween tradition of reading their very own horror stories. But what happens when the story written by an absent enemy becomes a frightening reality? So creepy and unique!
Pay the Ghost (Tim Lebbon): Two parents try to find their daughter who went missing one Halloween night. The ‘ghost' demands its payment. This story would become an excellent, albeit menacing, film.
‘'I've never seen any of you before today.';‘'Not true'', said another voice. ‘'After our fathers, you're the second most important man in our lives.''
This was insane. ‘I don't know any of you!''
‘'You should.'' Another voice - were they trying to confuse him by talking from different spots in the room?
‘'Why?''
‘'Because you killed us. [...] Some political appointees decided that we weren't people and that was that. Pretty much like what happened to East European Jews back in World War Two. We're no even afforded the grace of being called embryos or fetuses. We're known as ‘products of conception.' What a neat, dehumanizing little phrase. So much easier to scrape the ‘products of conception' into a bucket than a person.''
Buckets (F.Paul Wilson): A ‘doctor' who has been involved in abortions aka. the murder of a hundred babies receives his comeuppance. And get that in that empty head of yours: Abortion is a crime and killing babies is NOT Healthcare, pink-haired bimbos.
Eyes (Charles L.Grant): A murdered boy returns to haunt the man who killed him. His father.
Deathmask (Dominick Cancilla): Better be careful with your children lest you lose them soon...
‘'He noticed the moon was high in the trees now. It still appeared to be a bloated sphere of pale harvest-orange, but it would be casting off the colour as it continued its journey skyward. Memories reach out for him like opened window curtains touched by the nightwind. The smells and sounds of the evening seduced him, carrying him into the mist of a time long ago, but not forgotten. he found himself longing for the innocence and the industry of childhood, forgetting the fears and terrors that nightly accompany most kids to their beds.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

 A comprehensive, entertaining guide to the supernatural hiding and hauntings (and there are so many...) of the United Kingdom. From the buzzing metropolis of London to the remotest corners of Scotland, there are famous spectres and many contemporary hauntings to satisfy the curiosity of the paranormal afficonado.

I wasn't aware of the Welsh myth of the mountain that grew so angry during the Crucifixion of Christ that split in two nor did I know about the rare spirit of the two-headed ghost, the headless dog or the strange footprints like the ones found in Devil and the ghost of a mermaid. In Scotland, there is the angry spirit of the brownie that foretold the death of the master of the house at the Battle of Culloden. On moonlit nights, one can hear the Highland bagpiper lamenting the glories of the past. Did you know about the A75 road that is haunted by a literal army of ghosts, from animals to knights, to disembodied cries and attacks on cars? I had never read about Major Weir and his story was downright creepy...But I did know about Bloody Mackenzie and his attacks around the area of Greyfriars Kirkyard cemetery. Not to be neglected, the Orkney Islands and the Shetland Islands are home to some of the most terrifying Scottish ghosts.

From pubs to churches, to highways, castles, landscapes, buildings, the UK is a treasure trove for lovers of the paranormal and this guide is absolutely necessary to your collection. 

  ‘'This is my destiny,'she declared. ‘Just you watch, Kitty. I'll set that stage on fire.''
We know that the world of Theatre is fascinating, mystical, terrifying. We know that actors are mercurial, chaotic, obsessed with their calling. Yes, Jenny knows but she has no choice. Her family needs her and, after all, costumes are HER obsession. Not to mention that her ‘protector', Mrs Dye, is such a nice woman!
Oh, Jenny, Jenny...What have you got yourself into?
Prepare to have your mind, free time, and life taken over by a book. Laura Purcell's ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE!
Yes, all capital letters because I CAN!
Where to begin? The setting, the imagery, the plot, the characters? We're talking pure perfection here. A rainy summer welcomes you once you open this astonishing book and transports you to a vibrant, dirty, lusty London. Follow the lead of two brilliant women and become part of the haunting world of Theatre. Jenny and Lilith, named after the controversial figure of the Hebrew culture. The disobedient, the profane, the one driven by her own principles. Jenny is responsible for her costumes, creating a persona, forming a facade right from the start. Stereotypes are strong here, after all. Actresses are women of ‘loose morals'. Even marrying into the business will have you marred in the eyes of society. Lady Macbeth, Cleopatra, Margaret. Women who defied the rules and became symbols of ‘Evil'. Cautionary tales. 
But what salvation is there when you willingly make a pact with the Devil? When all you have left is quoting plays? That's all your obsession drives you at and Hell is murky...
The writing is glorious, sumptuous, terrifying. From the very start, we are given shocking, dark moments and some are quite hard to stomach. BUT! Laura Purcell turns even the goriest of scenes into sheer, frightening poetry. I adored the way Mythology was inserted in the narrative. The Muses and the Sirens, Mercury, Eurydice, the connections with the Underworld. Mythology is a dark place and Theatre rises up to the challenge. The heart of the book lies in the story of Macbeth, the Cursed Play (which never fails to remind me of the hilarious circumstances taking place in an extraordinarily funny Blackadder episode...) 
‘'I must pay my pound of flesh...and there is no Portia to save me.''
There is guilt, and death, and obsession. We can be Lady Macbeth and Lady Macduff at the same time. We can sacrifice everything for one touch of glory, for a career. You become ‘unwomanly', ‘unsexed' and there is a heavy price to pay. Along with the extraordinary plot, Laura Purcell doesn't refrain from touching difficult themes, from the ‘kept' and ‘fallen' woman to abortion. However, your heart will be captivated by the setting with a playhouse, an otherworldly land of darkness, superstitions, and raw emotions. Some believe that Theatre is all about lying and pretending. Far from it. Theatre changes you and lures you into revealing aspects of a self you didn't know you were hiding inside. Theatre hovers between this tangible world and a land created by poets and Muses and spirit. I loved the reference to the tradition of the Ghost Light, the notion that a light must always remain within an otherwise dark theatre for the spirits of the actors who have passed away. My dad was an actor and can verify that this custom was more than alive even in our time. 
A plot, no matter how ingenious it may be, cannot work independently of its characters. And my God, what characters we have here! Lilith is FASCINATING! I loved her, I want an entire novel about her. Jenny was a refreshing character. Obnoxious and a bit irritating at first, she is no naive young girl (the kind we have often met in Gothic Fiction.) She knows what she wants, she sees right and wrong, and tells it like it is. Mrs Dyer starts as a character you wonder about and slowly becomes the utter fiend she is. Oscar is a charming young man without being superficial. The cast is beyond perfect, the dialogue is brilliant!
My review is all over the place but this novel absolutely floored me. I fell in love with it, I am its slave for eternity. Laura Purcell is one of my absolute favourite writers, I would read her shopping list and consider it poetry, I have read every single novel of hers and adored it but The Whispering Muse is a supernatural, otherworldly experience. 
As if that wasn't enough, the Acknowledgments section had me wailing in tears. Laura Purcell, why are you so perfect?
‘'Do you think you could tell the difference between the Muse and the Siren Song? One a divine voice calling you to create and the other a lure, pulling you down to destruction? What if...what if they sound precisely the same?''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

  ''Dark everywhere. Creepers grew up the windows. Even in summer, darkness.Candles. Torches on window ledges, with dead flies and beetles and tarnished silver dishes.The old men died there. Preserved. Time wrap, like a fairy story. Thickets and thorns grew round. Light coming through the windows, filtered through leaves and branches, green, as if were under sea.''

The Travelling Bag: A dark story of a war between scientists, obsession, injustice and revenge.

Boy Number Twenty-One: A lonely boy with a highly problematic family befriends a new classmate. But Andreas is mysterious, almost elusive and a school trip to Cloten Hall reveals a haunting past.

Alice Baker: There is a new co-worker in the office and she is quite bizarre. Silent, observant, speaking in riddles. Soon, a strange odour starts disturbing her colleagues and unexplained phenomena escalate into a dubious crescendo. This story was simply perfect and had a Shirley Jackson atmosphere.

The Front Room: A family takes a Sunday sermon far too seriously and invites a ghastly old lady into their house. What follows is a nightmare in one of the most terrifying and excruciatingly irritating stories I've ever read!

''Every morning mist rose and hung over the river after a cold night and when it runed milder for a day or two, the choking fog rolled over the city, muffling sounds, blurring the outlines of buildings and tasting fol in the mouth and nostrils, so that everyone went about with their faces half-covered in mufflers.. Braziers burned at the street corners, where the hot chestnut and potato sellers rubbed hands stiff and blue with cold. Traffic crawled along the Strand to Fleet Street, headlamps looming like great hazy moons out of the mist.''

Printer's Devil Court: A bunch of stinking atheists, wannabe-doctors dismiss The Ressurection of Lazarus and try to bring the dead back to life. What they get is what they deserve.

‘Tell me', I said, ‘I will try to help you. Are you looking for a particular grave? That of a parent perhaps? A loved one? Let us look together, though we had really better do it in the daylight.'She sank to the ground and bent her head. ‘My own...' she said.'
 

  ‘'A wind comes down from the hills and breaks through the oaks. Behind me, Guardbridge throws a series of flawed shadows, creating patches of darkness where none should exist. And as I stand there I feel suddenly watched.''
So, you are about to follow Annie in her new life in Guardbridge, a life away from painful secrets. You are about to travel to Yorkshire. You are about to step into a story of darkness and sorrow and obsession...A tale of black feathers left by the spirits of the tormented dead and omens of impending doom. A tale of bravery and resilience. A story of betrayal.
‘'By lunchtime the rain has turned again to snow and a storm is blowing off the moors, sending spindrift whirling at the windows; smoke coughs from the chimney flues and taints the air.''
Annie's world is one of falling snow and shadowy skies. As the moor entices and threatens with its wintry light, its wildness, its sorrowful wind so does Guardbridge. A place that promises a new start and threatens with its locked doors and dark corners where spirits abound. The light finds it hard to escape the ‘'lowering sky'' and the creaking willows and birches are silent witnesses of a painful past. 
Don't look up. Faces are staring at you from empty windows. Don't turn around. There are spirits in the mists and the moor is treacherous...
Tread carefully. There are ravens, flying away, their squawking a mysterious lament.
Be careful what you hear. There is so much whispering in this house...
Don't fear the darkness and do not leave the candle by the window unless you want a spirit tapping on your window. 
In Rebecca Netley's world, you will feel the wind and the rain on your face. You will smell the damp air, and the musky aroma of the moor, you will follow unknown footsteps in the thick darkness of the night, you will watch the gloomy light and the bleakness of a winter's day through your blurry window. You will come across characters to be loved and characters to be hated. You will converse with ghosts.
If you want to read a book whose atmosphere is the finest after Wuthering Heights, Rebecca Netley is there to cater to your needs. The Black Feathers is the perfect continuation of the legacy started by Emily Bronte. I don't think there is a greater compliment than that. 
Quite simply, one of the most haunting and atmospheric books you will ever read.
‘'Mist has come down about the house like the film of an eye, but high up a moon, blown to fullness emerges behind the chimneys. There is a drumming of wing beats and the sky darkens as a swarm of birds descends to the copse with muffled caws, settling on branches and knocking flakes of whiteness to the ground. They gather on the roofs and the oaks shudder with their calls.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

  ‘'The past never dies. Humans die. But then what?''
App-arition: A widow buries her husband. Her sister introduces her to an app that will supposedly call her and text her, just as he did when he was alive. And then, slowly, layer by layer, we uncover Bella's marital life and the secrets she has been harbouring. An outstanding story. And I LOVED Bella.
‘'On that walk to West 10th Street I noticed nothing. An anonymous man in a crowded city. We pass through one another as though we are ghosts. The city itself a kingdom of the lost.''
‘'How long is the night when it does not end?''
The Old House at Home: Set in New York on Halloween's night, the gathering of a group of paranormal investigators steps on the metaverse of avatars and hauntings.
Ghost in the Machine: A woman tries to create an improved avatar of her dead husband but things rarely go according to plan. A darkly humorous tale with faint traces of Shakespeare's The Tempest.
‘'Spitalfields is ghost-friendly. The place is low-lit at night, there are always candles and I had the fireplace grates fitted with flame gas-fires. So, in the evening, in the winter, the wood panelling glows, and the floorboards shine, and there is no TV, only the quiet sound of me and a book.''
JW1:Strange Meetings: Winterson narrates her personal experience of a domestic ghost. So atmospheric!
The Spare Room: A woman moves to a charming house after her divorce. Still clinging to the time with a husband who didn't love her, she notices strange happenings in the spare room. A tender, haunting story of complicated love and letting go. Extremely atmospheric, like a quiet October night.
‘'But everyone grows older. Time's arrow shoots shorter. Autumn comes.''
A Fur Coat: A couple who works in a circus (among other things...) is giver a six-month free residency in a cottage, part of a rather significant estate The moment they step foot in the house, everything changes. Johny starts behaving like a drunk brute, Max is literally attacked by a fur coat. A frightening, dark tale told via Max's perspective.
Boots: The point of view changes to focus on Johny and the power that starts overcoming him once a pair of boots is given to him by a man named Edwin. These are the origins of a dreadful tale. 
Both stories communicate two voices full of darkness and despair in one of the most memorable pieces I've ever read, faintly reminiscent of The Turn of the Screw, a token of Winterson's outstanding talent. You read it with a heavy heart. The Door: A wedding is going to take place in a castle. The groom is separated from his bride-to-be, honouring tradition, unperturbed by the barman's tale of haunting love and tragedy. But the darkness is thick, the moonlight weak, the wind sorrowful and there are footsteps in the corridor. And a door that leads nowhere...
JW2:Unexplained: Death omens, and your loved ones being always with you...
‘'Life is not a movie', she says, ‘and God is not a special effect''.
No Ghost Ghost Story: Winterson describes the sorrow of the one who has to stay behind when the person you love is gone in heart-shuttering writing. What happens when all you want is a ghost that refuses to come? Think of Heathcliff waiting for 20 years by the window... 
This story contains some of THE MOST BEAUTIFUL sentences you will ever read.
The Undiscovered Country: The continuation of the previous story, told from the perspective of the deceased.
Canterville and Cock: I can think of far worse jobs than being a ghost tour guide. Right? Yes, but it's not the same when the hauntings you invite people to are staged and fabricated. That's what a self-named illusionist does in Berkshire, and now an ‘ingenious' idea of a tragic ghost story from the 1960s is about to become real. 
And I mean literal reality...A hilarious, modern-day Topper story.
JW3:All the Ghosts We Cannot See: Some things are invisible, yet standing right there in front of us.
‘'What we do or don't believe makes no difference. In the end it is what it is.''
Thin Air: A group of friends are honouring their annual, New Year's tradition of withdrawing from the modern world, a ski resort as their shelter. But winter calls for ghost stories. And this is the story of a very tangible spirit. P.S. Loved the Sherlock Homes tidbits.
‘'Endless rain. Warming cold and cooling warm delivered the city over to a strange and spectral vision of itself. Buildings loomed out of the mist. On the streets, people materialised from nothing, too close, too sudden, their bulky bodies in winter wrappings like travelling mummies, then, just as suddenly, they disappeared, unravelling, so it seemed, in grey bandages of fog. Look behind and there's no trace.''
Fountain with Lions: A bittersweet, winter's tale of Life and Death. Simply beautiful.
‘'Some people like to say that when we die we are going home. But it's a strange home. We never visit it, until we do, and when we do, we never return.''
Night Side of the River: A woman experiences a strange encounter while on a boat party in the middle of the Thames. The best way to end an exquisite collection. Do yourselves a favour. Read a good book... Read Jeanette Winterson.
‘'Every night I want to be Heathcliff with Cathy tapping at the window. I want to be Hamlet on the windy battlements. I want the Flying Dutchman to dock. I want what everyone who has lost someone wants: a visitation. Every second, someone dying is promising to come back from the dead. Every hour, waiting for it to happen, someone living notches up another hour lost.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

 You absolutely need this book in your life if you want to call yourself a ‘true' reader. Spanning continents, cultures, personalities, Jen Campbell communicates the unique feeling of being a reader and the proud owner of a bookshop. Large, small, famous, obscure. It doesn't matter. From Greece to Mongolia, from France to Singapore, from the USA to Nigeria, this volume is a true homage to the Bookshop, the most sacred space after a church.

''We've always used stories as a way to pass on our history, as a way to explain things in life that we don't understand. We use them to make us feel connected to everything around us, and to help us escape to another time and place.Bookshops across the world are full of these stories.From travelling booksellers and undercover bookshops, to pop-up stalls and community hubs, walking into another zone. These places are time machines, spaceships, story-makers, secret-keepers. They are dragon-tamers, dream-catchers, fact-finders and safe places. They are full of infinite possibilities, and tales worth taking home.Because whether we're in the middle of the desert or in the heart of a city, on the top of a mountain or on an underground train:having good stories to keep us company can mean the whole world.'‘Jen Campbell 

 Down in the WoodBare brown branches against a blue sky(And Silence within the wood),Leaves that, listless, lie under your feet,Bold brown boles that are biding their time(And Silence within the wood).Spring has been fair in the fashion of youth,Summer with languorous largesse of love,Autumn with passion that passes to pain,Leaf, flower, and flame – they have fallen and failedAnd Beauty – bare Beauty is left in thewood!Bare brown branches against a mad moon(And Something that stirs in the wood),Leaves that rustle and rise from the dead,Branches that beckon and leer in the light(And Something that walks in the wood).Skirling and whirling, the leaves are alive!Driven by Death in a devilish dance!Shrieking and swaying of terrified trees!A wind that goes sobbing and shivering by ...And Fear – naked Fear passes out of the wood!

If you think that the word “chills” refers to ghosts, haunting and various Halloween-y paraphernalia, this collection is not going to satisfy you. This autumnal volume in the seasonal Agatha Christie collections is dedicated to various crimes and shady actions set in the “-ber” months, the tranquil, sleepy and suspicious 91 days of Fall.

A strange love triangle, a customer who is not where he should be, a lady who doesn't know what to do with her money, a woman who hears voices in the dark, a suicide on November 5th, a woman who seems to have escaped from the fairy lands. Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, Mr Quin, Tuppence and Tommy are here to accompany a cozy night.

‘There's a lot of magic about tonight,' she said. ‘Don't you think so? 

  ‘'Some things are better left unsaid.''
A collection of short stories that easily falls into the genre of Literary Fiction, dealing with themes that vary from the ‘writer's soul' to the bond between family which can be so strong and yet, so fragile. A volume that kept me hooked - with the exception of a couple of rather mediocre moments - and will definitely appeal to the seasoned lovers of the Short Story genre.
How to Tell a Short Story: A couple tries to compose a short story and succeeds in using very cliche imaginable.
‘'He knew he'd died at three o'clock in the afternoon of Wednesday, July the 29th, 1988, the moment he woke up in the room that he'd come to hate.''
Blue: A heartfelt, moving account of death and the sweetness of a world seen with unusual clarity. A truly bittersweet story.
Harvest: A woman tries to cope with her husband's death by obsessively digging her garden.
Fidelity: A story about the process of becoming a short story writer in college. And infidelity...
Invisible Children: A festival of (bad) music, drugs and stoned lunatics provides the ground for repressed feelings to resurface. Do you tell the truth when you have the chance?
Chemistry: The longest story in the collection is a lifeless account of a good-for-nothing family who are the epitome of the atheistic parasites that live at our expense. A useless ‘mother', a hideous New-Age, stinking feminist of a ‘daughter' and a son who tries to find himself, surrounded by sex-obsessed maenads. A horrible piece of ‘writing'. 
Hunters in the Forest: From smelling feminists we move on to macho idiocy. Three friends believe that a hunting trip in the forest makes up for all the human decency they're obviously lacking. 
Brothers at the Beach: Two estranged and remarkably different brothers decide to spend their summer holidays together, with their families. Words of unspoken and unbearable tension are brewing like the indecisive days of late summer. Quietly haunting, this story makes use of themes we have encountered befire but anages to invoke strong emotions. 
Rapture: A father of two watches his daughter play in an indoor play arena. Having to care for his infant son while being vigilant and in conversation with the mother of a boy seem a bit too much for him. A story about fatherhood (a subject that our modern ‘values' have decided to overlook...) and the struggle of being the ‘'protector'' which culminates in a memorable (and semi-traumatic) end.
Generation to Generation: The colourful characters of a tower seen through the eyes of a very sympathetic man whose life won't be completed until he and his wife become parents. Or so she would like him to think...Many layers and many themes can be found in a story that perfectly captures the spirit of the modern family and the financial struggles of our age.
Blood Moon: An idyllic evening on a Greek island is viciously disturbed by a horrible act of violence. But the heroine of the story is not one to be intimidated. Although I think that trigger warnings are stupid (as stupid as the ones who ask for them...), I must say that one needs to be cautious with this story for it is rather disturbing. 
Cinema: This story was the most disturbing, in my opinion. A mother leaves her son in a cinema. One film ends, another begins, and the boy is there, unattended, waiting...
Through the Tunnel: A teenage girl has to face her mother's approaching end and the difficulties of changes, sexual awareness and insecurity.  A touching tale without being melodramatic.
Very interesting Author's Note.
P.S. We are tiiiiiiiiiired to read that ‘'short stories isn't your cup of tea.'' Nobody cares. Go away. Shut up. Read a ‘romance', instead. Idiots.
‘'We drank some more cool beer in the still autumn evening, and looked out over the lights and the traffic in the churning urban ocean below. There are so many of us, that's what's so hard to get your head around. A multitude of floundering creatures, plunging, lunging, towards our misbegotten destinies.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

  ‘'Life can be full of difficulties and challenges - those stings of a nettle, those lurking rabbit holes. But by taking that unknown path - by embracing the spirit of being eighteen - the rewards can be manifold. Who knows what sun-dapple orchards or gently flowing streams await?''
‘'And as you pull open the door, and head down the stairs to join the others, you step forward into the rest of your life. Ready for whatever the future may hold. Ready for whatever is written in the stars.''
In this outstanding book, you will have dinner with queens, historians, thespians, fashion designers, scientists, adventurers, doctors, poets, writers. You will have dinner with people like you and me whose fate became synonymous with Britain's destiny. You will come to understand that at eighteen we thought we could change the world. Some of us succeeded in doing just that. Others wanted to ‘just be adults, finally'. And we managed to do so. At eighteen, the world is there for the taking. 
Alice Loxton is an amazing writer. The freshness of her narration, the vividness with which she breathes life into larger-than-life personalities, the way her writing makes everything and everyone so approachable is nothing short of outstanding. She is a treasure for Britain, and for all of us who adore History told not in a textbook ‘voice' but in the spirit of our time. She makes History come alive in the most striking way possible.
From the Venerable Bede to Geoffrey Chaucer, from Empress Matilda to Elizabeth I, from Horace Nelson to Mary Anning, from Elsie Inglis to Vita Sackville-West, from Richard Burton to Vivienne Westwood, eighteen Britons await for you to discover them in all their early adult glory in a book that will captivate your heart.
‘'Without further ado, this is a story of young people who made their mark and played a part in the story of Britain. Hold onto your party hats. It is much more surprising, exciting and impressive than you might expect. This is a snapshot of Britain through the eighteen-year-olds who have sculpted it. This is what it means to be British. This is what it means to be eighteen.''
Many thanks to Pan Macmillan and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.