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320 pages, Hardcover
First published August 26, 2014
So this was what passion felt like! This was what prompted lovers to take wild risks. I understood now how invincible Romeo and Juliet had felt.Maybe she's born with it...Maybe it's Twilight...only worse.
“You’re not real, are you?...Alive,” I clarified, impatient for the answer.He needs an invitation to enter.
“No.” He sighed. “But you already knew that.”
“Do you see it as an invasion?” he asked with a wry smile. “You invited me in.”He haunts her room.
I took him in from head to foot, only then realizing that he’d appeared in my room without coming through the door.He is over 100 years old.
“I certainly don’t feel young,” he replied. “Perhaps because I’ve had a century and a half to dwell on my mistakes.”And he doesn't want her to suffer his cursed existence.
“Chloe, you have a whole life to live. Mine is a half-life, lurking in shadows, trapped by the past. I have nothing but an illusion to offer. I won’t ruin the life of someone I love.”
He was tall and broad shouldered, with dark gold hair tousled by the wind and a slender body.SEVEN REASONS WHY TWILIGHT IS SUPERIOR TO GHOST HOUSE
It was years before I realized I was alone in my abilities. I would sometimes wonder why me?She is almost an orphan. At the beginning of the book, her mom died. Her dad doesn't care, and she is sent off to live with her grandmother, where she is pretty much unsupervised throughout the entire fucking book. Do whatever! Sneak out! Who cares! It's a vacation! She doesn't even have to go to school! People?! Who are people? She's alone all the fucking time to chill with ghost boy Alex.
May’s eyes shone. “You can do a great deal. More than all of us combined.”But then again, Bella never fell in love with a man with golden hair.
I could just make out the bold sweep of golden hair that accentuated his fine-featured profile.2. The main character talks and thinks like a 13 year old
Maybe all this has been a figment of my imagination. Maybe I’m really a patient in a psych ward and this is just a fantasy I’ve created in my head. Maybe I never left America. Maybe my name isn’t even Chloe. Okay…this train of thought isn’t helping.Call me unforgiving, but when a character is almost 18, claims to be absurdly intelligent, and blessed with special special abilities, it is pretty reasonable of me to expect her to talk, like, you know...an intelligent 18 year old?
Alex stops, his blue eyes startling in the sunlight, strands pushed away from his noble forehead like a mane of gold.3. Alex is an 18th century Ken Doll, with neither a penis or a brain
“We’re not ready, Chloe,” he answered. “We should wait. I wouldn’t want you doing anything you might regret…even in a dream.”OH MY GOD, IT'S HALO ALL OVER AGAIN. The main love interest doesn't have a dick. He is so fucking pure, he might have worn one of those purity rings if they had existed back then. To be fair, everyone sorta wore purity rings internally when he was alive, because virginity was the shit in the 19th century, but this is Alex, this is a guy who cheated on his own brother with his brother's wife. BUT NOOOOOO. IT'S PURITY CHASTITY ALL THE WAY WHEN IT COMES TO CHLOE.
“Good God,” his eyes widened. “Why do you carry images of harlots on your person?”And the sad thing is that Chloe doesn't even disagree that they're harlots. Alex is such a fucking prude (coming from the 19th century), yet he thinks nothing of coming into Chloe's room and being alone, *gasp* UNCHAPERONED with her at night. So fucking contradictory.
His wheat gold hair was tousled and took on a pale sheen in the moonlight.4. There is overwhelming insta-love and the MC
It might be imprudent and it might be irrational, but something was happening here, even if I couldn’t find a label for it. Time and space dissolved around me, and I felt like I’d been waiting all my life for Alexander Reade to show up.You'll take my word that there's insta-love, right? I mean, I could include all the quotes I have marked down for the luuuuurve, but then again, I can't be quoting half the book. Let me just reassure you that it exists, and there's lots of it. The main characters are like OMG WE ARE MEANT TO BE DESPITE THE FACT THAT YOU ONCE LOVED SOMEONE MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF AND SO MUCH THAT YOU'RE HAUNTING THE HOUSE IN WHICH SHE LIVED IN FOR 150 YEARS BECAUSE YOU'RE TIED TO HER!111ONE!!1
It was as if my whole life was now contained in this house and its grounds. I wasn’t even sure I would remember how to place an order at Coffee Bean or navigate traffic on the 405.THE HORROR THAT IS GHOST HOUSE.
He was wearing the long fawn coat I’d seen once before and his golden hair was swept boldly away from his face.5. There is a completely unnecessary love triangle...at least Twilight waited til book 2
“But the thing is, Chloe…” He bit his lip. “I think I might be falling for you. I wouldn’t take a chandelier for just anyone.”P.S. A chanderlier literally fell on him, impaling him, and almost killing him. But it's all good because Joe did it for the love of Chloe.
“Joe never stops talking about you.” Joe’s mother smiled through her tears. “You must be very special.”She likes Joe! She loves Alex! What's a girl to do?!?!??!!!1
I knew it was Alex, by the way he held himself, stiff and upright with the straight fall of gold across his face.6. There were at least relevant female characters in Twilight. Ghost House is about CHLOE CHLOE CHLOE
Sam’s voice on the other line was shrill and demanding. I could just picture her wearing the puppy-dog pout she always wore when she wasn’t happy about something. It was a face her dad had trouble resisting. Recently it had scored her both a new car and a pair of Louboutins.She is so much better than her friends, and she only hangs out with them because...well, because there's no other option. But the implication is there. Chloe is superior to every girl or woman in the book.
I wasn’t sure how the conversation had turned into me consoling them. Sometimes I had to wonder how they’d come to be my closest friends.Her grandmother is a bossy, icy British bitch, the equivalent of Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced Bouquet) from Keeping Up Appearances. The old housekeeper, well...
God, she was creepy, with her crumpled body and shadowy eyes. I knew I was being unkind; she was probably just old and tired. What did I know about her life and its hardships?That might have been cute if she had truly believed she was being unkind, but the entire book emphasizes how old and thin and creepy Miss Grimes looks. It feels less observant. More malicious. Spiteful.
Alex is wearing a ruffled shirt, and his burnished gold hair is pulled back in its usual ponytail.7. In comparison, Stephanie Meyer can actually write
Through the glass panel of the door I caught a flash of a figure striding by in a dark coat, his tangle of golden hair falling over his eyes.
“But I don’t want to go!” It came out more petulant than I intended.
“But our whole lives are here! We don’t need a holiday and I think you mean vacation.”
Grandma Fee gripped my hand, the only sign of emotion she allowed herself to show in public. Don’t get me wrong; she wasn’t unfeeling. She was just British.
“Only five thousand miles,” Gran said briskly. Was that a British attempt at humor?
He was tall and broad shouldered, with dark gold hair tousled by the wind and a slender body.
He looked different than anyone I’d ever seen before. He was handsome, but not in the run-of-the-mill, captain-of-the-football-team kind of way. He had a more gut-wrenching beauty, with his straight, fine features, pale skin and full lips. He looked like a prince from some faraway land you might find in a book. But his eyes were most startling, the clearest shade of cornflower blue, with just a hint of sadness that couldn’t be concealed.
I could just make out the bold sweep of golden hair that accentuated his fine-featured profile.
When our eyes met, the connection was inexplicable, overwhelming and impossible to ignore. It felt like there were currents swirling in the air, binding us together. Although we barely knew each other and came from opposing dimensions, I felt strangely comfortable with him.
As I drank in the details of his face, I could feel the distance between us closing. It might be imprudent and it might be irrational, but something was happening here, even if I couldn’t find a label for it. Time and space dissolved around me, and I felt as though I’d been waiting all my life for Alexander Reade to show up.
The first thing saw was Alex’s face, so radiantly beautiful, it was hard not to feel like the wind had been knocked out of me all over again.
“You know something,” he replied thoughtfully, “I believed my connection with Isobel to be something that happens only once in a lifetime, an experience never to be replicated.” I felt my heart sink into my stomach, but I nodded anyway. “Until you showed up.” His words hung in the air like a magic spell.
I noticed that his tousled hair was the colour of milk chocolate and his smile was contagious. He was tall and loose limbed with broad shoulders, the sort of guy who was comfortable in his own skin.
He nodded. “You clearly have a gift.”
“I’ve never encountered a girl like you, Chloe,” he said. “You’re quite remarkable.”
“Good God.” His eyes widened. “Why do you carry images of harlots on your person?”
"Her skin is the color of moonstones and the nails on her long fingers are polished gems."
~Thank you HarperCollins Australia for sending me this copy!~
“The sky had changed color to a streaky mauve, scattered with stars like glittering rocks.”
“..the moon still hanging in the sky like a pale sickle, I knew it had to be the early hours of morning..”
“Her skin is the color of moonstones and the nails on her long fingers are polished gems.”
“Inside, dark wooden beams ran across the ceiling. In the stalls stood solemn horses with glossy coats and liquid brown eyes.”
— Are you scratching your eyes yet?
“When our eyes met, the connection was inexplicable, overwhelming and impossible to ignore. It felt like there were currents swirling in the air, binding us together. Although though we barely knew each other and came from opposing dimensions, I felt strangely comfortable with him.”
— Yeah right. *ignores*Do I even need to talk about the romance? I'm not going to pretend I'm disappointed with the instalove. It's bound to happen. If the over-the-top description won't clue you in while reading, I don't know what will. The attraction didn't make any sense and only served to provide drama and angst. I had to endure reading about a depthless relationship I couldn't even care about.
“As I drank in the details of his face, I could feel the distance between us closing up. It might be imprudent and it might be irrational, but something was happening here, even if I couldn't find a label for it. Time and space dissolved around me, and I felt like I'd been waiting all my life for Alexander Reade to show up.”
— Please hold my hair while I gag.
“...But his eyes were the most startling, the clearest shade of cornflower blue, with just a hint of sadness that couldn't be concealed.”
“He was tall and loose limbed with broad shoulders, the sort of guy who was comfortable in his own skin. I thought I could see a trace of sadness in his eyes, the sort of thing only I picked up when meeting someone for the first time.”
— What made you such a speshul eye-reading snowflake, Chloe?
Grandma Fee gripped my hand, the only sign of emotion she allowed herself to show in public. Don’t get me wrong; she wasn’t unfeeling. She was just British.
"Things will get easier,” she said. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but trust me, I’m speaking from experience. When my mother died it really hit me for six.”
The expression was unfamiliar but I knew what she meant.
I figured it was a reference to cricket, which we didn’t follow in America on account of it being the world’s most boring sport.
Why was everything little with these British people? Little chats and little ideas and little freaking cups of Earl Grey tea.
“Only five thousand miles,” Gran said briskly. Was that a British attempt at humor?
You can go horseback riding or play in the woods. And if you’re very good, I’ll take you for tea and scones in the village.”
...squinting curiously over my shoulder at the Twitter page on the screen.
"What’s this silly little sign?” she [Gran] asked.
"That would be a hashtag.”
"What’s it for?”
"Well, um, it’s sort of…it’s meant to…”
"See, even you don’t know!” she said triumphantly. “Honestly, I’ll never understand why people feel the need to share what they’re having for lunch or what the person next to them on the train is wearing. It isn’t even remotely interesting.”
You do know I’m vegan, right?" [Chloe said]
"Don’t be so ridiculous,” she [Gran] scoffed. “You’re not a hippie.”