Emily

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Kindred
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The Fair Fight
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Between You & Me:...
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The Quick by Lauren Owen
The Quick
by Lauren Owen
read in August, 2016
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Victorians and gothic horror: great, great fun to read, although also rather sad. I'm very happy to have discovered this. Pleasantly laid-back writing style, too - my only quibble is that it's a little difficult to follow all the rapid POV changes, e ...more
Emily is on page 62 of 523 of The Quick
The Quick by Lauren Owen
The Quick
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The Quick by Lauren Owen
" Victorian, I mean, not Edwardian! This is meshing very nicely with my current Penny Dreadful obsession. "
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The Wild Robot by Peter  Brown
The Wild Robot
by Peter Brown
read in August, 2016
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Wall-E + Bambi + Big Hero 6, kind of. Sweet robot story.
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Kitchens of the Great Midwest by J. Ryan Stradal
Kitchens of the Great Midwest
by J. Ryan Stradal (Goodreads Author)
read in August, 2016
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Maybe only 3.5 stars, but I liked it quite a bit more than Sweetbitter, even if it's a little more Oprah-y. I would have loved another Eva-POV chapter at the end, but the way it is worked fine, too.
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Kindred by Octavia E. Butler
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The Fair Fight by Anna Freeman
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The Wild Robot by Peter  Brown
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Elisa Albert
“Fuck you, by the way, couples at couples tables at weddings who don’t go out of your way to engage with that one couple who doesn’t know anyone.”
Elisa Albert, After Birth

Patrick O'Brian
“The weather had freshened almost to coldness, for the wind was coming more easterly, from the chilly currents between Tristan and the Cape; the sloth was amazed by the change; it shunned the deck and spent its time below. Jack was in his cabin, pricking the chart with less satisfaction than he could have wished: progress, slow, serious trouble with the mainmast-- unaccountable headwinds by night-- and sipping a glass of grog; Stephen was in the mizentop, teaching Bonden to write and scanning the sea for his first albatross. The sloth sneezed, and looking up, Jack caught its gaze fixed upon him; its inverted face had an expression of anxiety and concern. 'Try a piece of this, old cock,' he said, dipping his cake in the grog and proffering the sop. 'It might put a little heart into you.' The sloth sighed, closed its eyes, but gently absorbed the piece, and sighed again.

Some minutes later he felt a touch upon his knee: the sloth had silently climbed down and it was standing there, its beady eyes looking up into his face, bright with expectation. More cake, more grog: growing confidence and esteem. After this, as soon as the drum had beat the retreat, the sloth would meet him, hurrying toward the door on its uneven legs: it was given its own bowl, and it would grip it with its claws, lowering its round face into it and pursing its lips to drink (its tongue was too short to lap). Sometimes it went to sleep in this position, bowed over the emptiness.

'In this bucket,' said Stephen, walking into the cabin, 'in this small half-bucket, now, I have the population of Dublin, London, and Paris combined: these animalculae-- what is the matter with the sloth?' It was curled on Jack's knee, breathing heavily: its bowl and Jack's glass stood empty on the table. Stephen picked it up, peered into its affable bleary face, shook it, and hung it upon its rope. It seized hold with one fore and one hind foot, letting the others dangle limp, and went to sleep.

Stephen looked sharply round, saw the decanter, smelt to the sloth, and cried, 'Jack, you have debauched my sloth.”
Patrick O'Brian, H.M.S. Surprise

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