Lorna George's Blog, page 5

Book Review: “Uprooted” by Naomi Novik

 

Title: Uprooted

Author: Naomi Novik

Genre: High Fantasy

Rating: ****

 

This is one of those books that’s been on my radar for a while, but for some reason it kept getting pushed down my TBR pile. Having finally gotten to it, I seriously regret the hold up.

I grew up on old, Germanic fairy-tales, courtesy of my Grandma who lived near Hamelin for almost twenty years. She put me to bed with myths and legends of The Black Forest, and the stories of the Brothers Grimm, and not the nice, cutesy versions, either. I found the echoes of those stories throughout Uprooted, worked artfully through the plot, the language, and the characters, and I fell in love.

The premise was one that felt familiar to me as a lover of both folklore and fantasy novels; a plain, village girl who lives on the outskirts of an enchanted and dangerous forest faces an enforced selection day by the local lord to live for ten years in his service. Everyone expects the lord to choose the beautiful, clever, and multi-talented best friend of said girl, but, shockingly, he does not. He takes the awkward, plain girl instead.

It doesn’t sound exciting at all when you say it that way, but trust me, that’s only chapter one, and from there onwards Naomi Novik turns all preconceptions of the plot on their head. The story is dark and woven with magic and mystery, and it kept me guessing throughout. Nothing was how I expected it to be once I got past the safety of that first chapter, and it utterly thrilled me.

For example, the main character, Agnieszka, begins the book being clumsy, messy, and afraid. What I liked most about her progression through the story was that rather than changing these aspects about her until she became more like her best friend, Kasia, she harnesses her flaws in a positive manner instead. By the end of the book she is still clumsy, messy, and afraid, but she embraces these parts of herself and becomes strong in all the very best ways.

Kasia herself was a wonderful side-character who defied my own expectations of what her role in the story would be. It would have been unrealistic to expect that there would be no jealousy between the two girls, given the situation they grew up in together and how it all ended. I was pleased when that jealousy was addressed as something completely natural, and that their relationship only strengthened from the experience.

I had half expected it to be a romance, but was pleasantly surprised to find that while there was a definite sub-plot, that was all. The dynamic between Agnieszka and Sarkan was interesting and I didn’t dislike it, but I was much more invested in the relationship between her and Kasia. I felt like the love between them was so genuine, it was a shame that the romantic subplot wasn’t theirs. Honestly I was disappointed by the missed opportunity, but perhaps that’s just me.

Aside from that, the book was perfect. The pace was quick, the plot gripping, the characters enchanting, and the language beautiful. I’ll definitely be looking up more work by this author.

On World-Building and Cultural Appropriation

Now that The Things You Don’t See is officially out of my hands and just waiting for its launch date, I can start to focus on my new project, Down From The Tower.

Today I’ve been world-building. As mixed up inside as I’ve felt about TRW, I think I learnt a lot in the process of writing it. I got pulled up a lot for my world-building, because a lot of people found the setting of Ilios a boring one. Or at least, one they felt like they had seen too many times in the fantasy genre.

Another thing I was criticised for was the use of real world cultures and names. One person even told me that to use Japanese names was cultural appropriation, which mortified me at the time. It’s a serious issue, and one I would never want to take lightly.

For the record, my reasoning for the use of Japanese, Arabic, and French names in the realm of Ilios was because in a fantasy setting it’s really very difficult to get readers to immediately visualise characters for their varying ethnicities. I felt that the use of these names helped with that.

Now I’m sitting down to create another land, and while this story is going to be set in just one country (and a small corner of it, at that) I started out determined to improve myself.

Making up names can’t be that difficult, right?

Wrong! I’ve tried everything. I went through baby name books and websites, swapping vowels about and rewriting the names with new spellings. I tried anagrams. I tried mashing two or three names together the way you would with shipping names. I even tried . Nothing worked.

The thing is, as a white person it isn’t for me to decide what’s problematic. I don’t get to say if what I’m doing is cultural appropriation or not. That said, writing about a fantasy country in a fantasy world where I want to be inclusive and intersectional, I still can’t help but feel like using non-white names for my characters is the best way to let people know immediately that they are reading about POC.

I honestly don’t know what to do for the best, but for the last hour I’ve been scrolling through Egyptian names and questioning myself and my motivations.

No one ever said this was going to be easy, of course, and I would rather try than not. Still, I’m in a quandary. I’d like to take inspiration from cultures throughout history and from around the world, but I don’t know if that’s acceptable.

I guess the important thing to remember is that no matter what happens, no matter what I decide to do, as nerve-wracking as it is to potentially get it wrong, it’s much more important to try.

“The Things You Don’t See” is now officially available for pre-order!

[image error]

You can get yours here ready for the launch on February 4th, and don’t forget, all proceeds will be donated to one of my favourite non-profits, Room to Read.

The Plan!

Well, as some of you will already know, TDR Publishing has decided to close their business. I’m supporting their decision to do so, as a person, but as a writer and author, this has left me without a solid plan.

Until today!

For the time being, while I decide what to do with it, The Redwood War series is being put to one side. I don’t have the money to pay for an editor or illustrator right now, so I’ll need some time to save all that up. I did consider just whacking both books up on wattpad (or somewhere) as it is so you guys can read it, but I wasn’t sure how well received that idea would be? It felt too much like giving up, but I do feel very bad about all of you who have been so patient and supportive whilst waiting for book two, so I may yet change my mind. If you have any thoughts on this, let me know!

Now, as I said the other day, I do have my little poetry collection coming out at the beginning of February, so getting that ready to launch is going to take some time and effort. That said, I do need a project. I need to be busy, or I’ll drive myself mad. Or worse, sad.

A few months ago, I had a strange idea for a story that appealed to my apparently odd sense of humour. It wasn’t fleshed out in any way, but it was a little seed of a story that I really wanted to tinker with. I didn’t, though. Partly because at the time I was going through a lot at home, but also because I know my writing habits well enough to realise that I can’t work on more than one big project at a time. I’m too single-minded, unfortunately. So, TRW needed my full attention, and so I put this little idea into the vault of little ideas, to look at and giggle over, and maybe play with properly at a later date.

Over Christmas I went back to my mum’s place to be with my family, and one evening me and my little sister sat up and watched a film together. We discussed various fantasy tropes, and the difference between traditionally “male humour” and “female humour” yadda yadda… And I opened up my vault of little ideas to share the silly one with her and see what she made of it. She found it as funny as I did, and as we talked about it more and more, the framework for a story started to emerge.

Now, you may not know this about me, but I’m really shite at suppressing myself. It can be pretty irritating -not only to me, but to everyone else as well- because once something starts to matter to me, it niggles away until I do something with it. Usually that means blurting out inappropriate things at inappropriate times, but in this instance it was more like an itch I just wanted so badly to scratch the heck out of, but knew if I started it would only make it worse. I knew I couldn’t work on this and TRW, but I was searching for a way to do just that.

In the end I asked a friend for advice, and subsequently re-prioritised my publishing contract over this new idea. 2017 was going to be the year that I became an author again. The year that Lorna Wrote All The Stuff. At one point, I even thought I might publish three books this year in total! But it wasn’t to be, and as much as I’ve been shot down the past six months, I know in my heart that a moving target is much harder to hit.

So here I am! Moving! I have opened my vault of little ideas, and for the next few months I’ll be working on a short novel, currently going by the title of “Down From The Tower”.

I have a bunch of world-building to do, but I have some good ideas, a very definite plot, and three (maybe four?) characters that need naming!

I’ll update you as I go

Book Launch Update: “The Things You Don’t See”

[image error]

Due for release: February 4th, 2017

All proceeds raised in the sales of this small collection of poems and vignettes will be donated to Room To Read, a nonprofit organisation who partner with communities across Asia & Africa to promote literacy and girls’ education. 

I’m very proud of this little book, and I’m incredibly grateful for all of the support I’ve received whilst working on it. I’m looking forward to sharing it!

“Out Of Your Mind”

Author Note: This is a little story featuring Arun and Naomi as a small birthday gift for my wonderful friend Taija. It was inspired by a comment she made whilst beta-reading for me a long while ago about how she would deal with an unwanted presence in her mind via Bond spell, and after having this song stuck in my own head for the last three days, I thought it would be a fun thing to write!

***

‘Twenty-two bottles of milk on the wall, 

Twenty-two bottles of milk.

If one of those bottles should happen to fall,

Twenty-one bottles of milk on the wall.’

Arun’s feet were wet.

‘Twenty-one bottles of milk on the wall, twenty-one bottles of milk…’

He hadn’t exactly expected to be in this situation, but still.

‘If one of those bottles should happen to fall…’

The king’s boots shouldn’t leak.

‘Twenty bottles of milk on the wall.’

He caught himself flinching, but whether from the freezing bog he and his men were being led through, or the song stuck in his head, he honestly had no idea.

‘Twenty bottles of milk on the wall, twenty bottles of milk…’

Swallowing back an agitated sigh as the next, repetitive verse started over, he spared the small woman leading their group a quick glance before gritting his teeth and looking away again. He didn’t want her to know she was annoying him. He wasn’t even sure she knew he could hear her, but the cold tug of humour on the Bond every time she started a new verse made him think she knew exactly what she was doing.

‘Seventeen bottles of milk on the wall…’

She had been counting down from ninety-nine, which possibly wouldn’t seem like very much at all under normal circumstances. It wasn’t a long measure of time, when all was said and done, but it was driving him slowly crazy.

‘Eleven bottles of milk on the wall…’

She was downright infuriating. He knew he had annoyed her that morning –in fact, his entire existence seemed to annoy her no end- but this was another level of petty entirely. She wanted him out of her head, she wanted to Bond severed, and she had no understanding of how impossible that was. It seemed she was going to try and drive him out of her mind through sheer madness.

‘Eight bottles of milk on the wall…’

Well, good luck to her. She would have to give up eventually, and that would happen long before the Bond ever broke. She would realise it sooner or later.

‘If one of those bottles should happen to fall, five bottles of milk on the wall.’

Sooner, he hoped.

‘Three bottles of milk. If one of those bottles should happen to fall…’

He was cold, he was wet, he was tired, and he had long since had enough of Ffion. Why was it always so miserably dark and damp? Arun just wanted to go home, to feel warm, and for his life to be back under his own control again.

‘One bottle of milk on the wall, one bottle of milk….’

As it was he was just as stuck here as Naomi was with the Bond spell tying their minds and lives together.

‘If one of those bottles should happen to fall…’

He supposed that he should set an example and deal with it with as much dignity as he could muster.

‘Ninety-nine bottles of milk on the wall!’

“Always The Side-Character, Never The Protagonist”

I am so easy to please.

Pastel sunrises, vibrant sunsets

Shooting stars, and fairy lights

The first fallen leaf of autumn

The first green shoots of spring

Blue sky, thunderstorms,

Fireworks, and sparklers

The smell of the ocean

The smell of freshly made coffee

The smell of freshly cut grass

Random acts of thoughtfulness

Unexpected compliments

Cooking for people I care about

Someone else initiating a hug

Genuine concern and interest

Laughter, company, and affection

When someone texts me first:

“How are you?”

“I saw this and thought of you!”

“Do you want to get coffee?”

“Happy new year!”

I am so easy to please

It hurts me that hardly anyone tries.

Coming Spring 2017: “The Things You Don’t See”

[image error]

I’m pleased to announce that I’ll be publishing a collection of poems and short stories in Spring 2017.

It’s not going to be anything too thrilling, but anyone who has enjoyed the bits and pieces I’ve shared on the “Romancing Lorna” tag on my website and on tumblr will possibly like this, too.

I’ll be donating all proceeds to a domestic violence charity, but so far I haven’t decided which one.

Watch this space

On Wobbly Writing Confidence

So those of you who’ve been with me for a while will have seen the steady decline of my faith in my book. I used to love it, even though I knew it was cheesy and definitely only going to appeal to a handful of people. I published it anyway, firm in my belief that as long as I enjoyed it, it didn’t matter in the slightest what anyone else thought. So what happened?

It started on the day I got my paperback proof in the mail. No wait. It was further back… That was just the day I noticed there was a problem.

Okay, so there was someone very important to me who wouldn’t read my book. I asked over and over, through all stages of the writing and editing process, until they became annoyed with me and told me off for nagging them. It hurt my feelings, but -as I so often do- I let it go.

Then came the day of the proof copy. My Jo March moment! The day I’d been dreaming of since I was eleven years old and wanted to be an author. Here it was at last, solid in my hands and beautiful and everything I ever wanted in life. My book.

I was so excited, and it was very early in the morning. Not disgustingly early, but around 8am. Of course, that didn’t mean anything to me on this day of days. Everything I’d been working so hard for was finally coming together!

I cried and laughed as I opened the packaging, and it’s highly possible I shrieked a little when I got my hands on the book at last. I ran upstairs to share my news and excitement, but my important person was angry. I had woken him up and he’d had a late night. He didn’t so much as give my book a second glance and he only congratulated me dully hours later when he got up and had a shower.

I didn’t realise it at the time, but something shrivelled up inside me that day. From that tiny seed of a moment grew an entire forest of thorny vines, choking me over time until I felt nothing for my work except utter shame.

Still, I plugged away, determined to succeed. I promoted the book as best I could, and I worked hard on the sequel. I gained some thoughtful and wonderful reviews, the long-time dream of fanworks, and ran several successful promotions.

One day my important person asked to read it. I was so thrilled, I wanted to cry. I gave him his own paperback copy and waited patiently. I waited impatiently. I waited and waited until months later it drove me to the point of asking him if he’d had a chance to look at it yet.

“I tried,” he shrugged. “But I couldn’t get past the first chapter.”

As I write that, I can still feel the pain in my chest. I can still feel the swell of anger and heartbreak rising up in my throat, and the burning of tears in my eyes. Nothing in my life has ever hurt me like that moment did.

I never told a soul.

The promotions stopped. The sequel fell apart. I no longer pushed for reviews. I practically begged people not to read it.

I stopped believing. In everything. The book was worthless garbage, and so was I.

It was only a fluke that my book was found by the CEO of the small press that offered me a contract. It brought some life back to my old dreams, and the influx of love and congratulations that followed from readers buoyed me in ways I can never express.

Still, though, I’m insecure about my book. It’s being edited, and when I’m asked I try and fob people off to make them wait for the second edition. It’ll be better, I tell them. It’ll be better, I hope. Because I still have no faith in it, or in myself, and that’s a hard thing.

That important person isn’t a factor in my life now, but the damage he caused still remains. I want to scrub all of the poison he left in me away until there’s nothing left, but it’s hard. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it, but I’m trying.

I guess the point in sharing this is partly to explain when and why I fell out of love with Naomi’s story to those faithful readers who ask me often and send words of encouragement to me, but also as a warning. A cautionary tale for the other artists out there.

If you love someone who doesn’t care about the things that matter most to you, they don’t love you.

You deserve better. And so do I.

“Kind”

“You’re too kind for your own good!” My boss chastises me, causing my mouth to open and close without a sound for a few seconds while I try to work out how to respond.

“Urgh, why are you so nice?” Asks my best friend over a glass of wine. She knows me well, so it’s only gentle teasing, but I immediately feel myself get defensive and flustered anyway.

“You seem like you have a nice personality.” A customer comments at work, and I’m not quite quick enough to stop the immediate snort of disbelief that escapes my mouth.

“You’re like a lovely ball of light, you’re always so kind to everyone!” Says the young girl, and I dismiss this one with an eye-roll and a dry comment. She doesn’t know any better.

“You’re one of the nicest people I know.” He says quietly, and I can tell he means it, but I sweep it aside with an awkward joke and a quick change of topic. Hours later, I still feel bad about it.

“You need to stop being so damn likeable!” My colleague laughs, and I protest loudly that I’m not, I’m not at all, and one day everyone is in for a shock when they realise the truth.

“You’re such a good person.” Another friend tells me, and I feel my face heating up, because it isn’t true. I tell her so, but she doesn’t believe me. No one ever does, and I can’t understand why.

“Don’t get involved,” my mum cautions over the phone when I tell her about someone I know who needs help. “I know what you’re like. You’ll try to fix them and you’re the one who will get hurt in the end. You always do.”

A week later, I’m calling her again and crying, because she was right.

“You’re too kind for your own good,” she sighs. “But that’s just who you are, I suppose.”