Strange the Dreamer

by: Laini Taylor
The dream chooses the dreamer, not the other way around--and Lazlo Strange, war orphan and junior librarian, has always feared that his dream chose poorly. Since he was five years old he's been obsessed with the mythic lost city of Weep, but it would take someone bolder than he to cross half the world in search of it. Then a stunning opportunity presents itself, in the person of a hero called the Godslayer and a band of legendary warriors, and he has to seize his chance or lose his dream forever.
What happened in Weep two hundred years ago to cut it off from the rest of the world? What exactly did the Godslayer slay that went by the name of god? And what is the mysterious problem be now seeks help in solving?
The answers await in Weep, but so do more mysteries--including the blue-skinned goddess who appears in Lazlo's dreams. How did he dream her before he knew she existed? And if all the gods are dead, why does she seem so real?
In this sweeping and extraordinary new novel by The Sunday Times bestselling author Laini Taylor, the shadow of the past is as real as the ghosts who haunt the citadel of the murdered gods. Fall into a mythical world of dread and wonder, moths and nightmares, love and carnage.
Welcome to Weep. {cover copy}
I cannot explain to you how impacted/invested I am by/in this story. I loved Lazlo so much. I am dying to know what happens next. This world Taylor has built is incredibly cool. I wish I could explain more why I am so insistent on finding out what happens or why I should have, but did not, expect a certain thing to happen. All I can say is that I was so loving where the story was going and then was so thrown off by where it headed, but in the best way, and I am honestly just so worried for the characters and what is going to happen next. Please someone get me on a list for an ARC for the sequel. I need it. Like maybe more than food.

On the second Sabbat of Twelfthmoon, in the city of Weep, a girl fell from the sky. {first line}
"It had felt like calligraphy, if calligraphy were written in honey..."

"...dust lay thick on books undisturbed for years. He disturbed them. It seemed to him that he awoke them, and they awoke him."

"The library knows its own mind... When it steals a boy, we let it keep him."

"Lazlo couldn't have belonged at the library more truly if he were a book himself."

"Life won't just happen to you, boy...You have to happen to it."

"He held in the word like a mouthful of fire."

"Beautiful and full of monsters?" / "All the best stories are."

"And that's how you go on. You lay laughter over the dark parts. The more dark parts, the more you have to laugh. With defiance, with abandon, with hysteria, any way you can."

"He had loved the library, and had felt, as a boy, as though it had a kind of sentience, and perhaps loved him back. But even if it was just walls and a roof with papers inside, it had bewitched him, and drawn him in, and given him everything he needed to become himself."

"I think you're a fairy tale. I think you're magical, and brave, and exquisite. And... I hope you'll let me be in your story."


• yet • {last word}