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204 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 26, 2019
“But—” Miranda floundered. “Caliban has no language. We—I mean, my father—taught him everything he knows. The name of the sun and moon, and the stars. He knew nothing of these, before we came.”
“Do you believe his mother knew no poetry? That she never whispered or sang him to sleep? Ask him, Miranda. His mother wrote, or spoke her truths to him. Language isn’t bound in books. It’s in hands and tongues and looks just as surely as in holy scripts. Caliban has a language. It’s you who ignore its import, his greater meaning.”
"What is it, to be happy? I hardly know my own mind, after so many years alone, with only my father as a guide, and he so often plunged me into darkness. Who knows what I do out of fear, and what out of love? Half my life is lost, my history submerged.”If I'm in Miranda's PoV for most of the book, I want a far stronger sense of her personality.
“What must you never do, when dealing with the Devil, girl? Turn your back to him, and give him time. Time, and books, and the sanguineous sea.”