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Spellman’s eyes returned to Orway, burned into him. “Don’t worry. Like mine, your death will be painless. The blowing out of a flame in a dark room.”
When the man shuddered and closed his eyes, the nurse started to cry.
Have you ever witnessed something so unbelievable, it skewed your entire perception of reality?
This world no longer looked the same to me, as if an invisible layer had been ripped off the surface. There was nothing left but dread, an eerie feeling of foreboding that came in every breath. I couldn’t shake it. There was a reason the Han’sharri showed us what they did.
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For such a spiritual book, Simple Act behaves like a solid action thriller. Moving at a fine clip, the plot never lets readers get either bored or overwhelmed. There is just enough character development, just enough setting, just enough of everything—Veligor has a fine sense of balance. A multiplicity of threats keeps the hero on his toes even as he struggles with higher philosophical and metaphysical matters, none of which are dwelt upon so long that the reader loses interest, in between walks downtown in his beloved Portland.
I am a convicted murderer, and I’m guilty. I try to mitigate, no malice aforethought, self-defense, all that shit. You needed to know that first because I’m telling this thing, and I get to be in it—but I’m not the story. The story is a man named Vincent, and although it takes place in a prison, it’s mostly not about an escape. Mostly.
‘Who dares summon me to this Earth? Who dares wake me, the mighty Miffalon, from my sleep?” Small lightning bolts zigged and zagged around his head. Evelyn got the feeling he was enjoying this perhaps a little too much. “Who dares ask me, a creature of unspeakable evil and power, to come forth and—’
‘Cut the crap, would you?’ Evelyn said. The smoke made her eyes water.
Miffalon stopped, then stared down at Evelyn. She wasn’t one of the regulars. Which was interesting, because he didn’t get so many new customers anymore.
There’s not a lot to say about Edwin Abbott Abbott’s Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions that hasn’t already been said. Like Greg Egan’s Orthogonal trilogy, it’s entertaining story wrapped around a mathematical model of the world wildly different from the one its readers live in.
Energy flowed from his hand into her breast. The woman didn’t seem to notice. Her elastic skin said mid-forties while her spray tan argued for twenty-something. Her clothing style suggested she commanded great wealth, but she said nothing of value as she yakked into her cell. Marcus sighed and went back to vacuuming. The woman didn’t know about the stage-two cancer eating her breast, and now he felt positive she never would.
Ultimately, intense world building makes The Exile’s Violin a success. Between exotic cities and frozen factories, Jacquie and her sidekick Clay seem to move through a world that is at least half travelogue. Readers will enjoy the meticulous details of each locale, particularly during the many dramatic battle scenes.
His father would seek interpreters, Reverend McGahey down at the church, old Dan Patrick, maybe even Mom. He would do everything in his power to understand, to act on that understanding. But that had gotten his old man loads of unnecessary stress and a drinking problem to accompany him as he watched the world wind down. He was as unhappy as anyone.