Alcatraz vs. the Evil Librarians (Alcatraz, #1)

by Brandon Sanderson

So there I was, tied to an altar made from outdated encyclopedias, about to get sacrificed to the dark powers by a cult of evil Librarians.

Grandfather? The man had to be lying, of course. I don’t even have parents. Why would I have a grandfather? Now, looking back, I realize that this was a silly thought. Everybody has a grandfather—two of them, actually. Just because you haven’t seen them doesn’t mean they don’t exist. In that way, grandfathers are kind of like kangaroos.

I kept glancing at the steering wheel, trying to sort out exactly what mechanism was controlling the vehicle. In my world, vehicles don’t drive themselves, and men like Grandpa Smedry are generally kept in small padded rooms with lots of crayons.

Neither my mother nor my dog dies in this book.

So, when people try to give you some book with a shiny round award on the cover, be kind and gracious, but tell them that you don’t read “fantasy,” because you prefer stories that are real. Then come back here and continue your research on the cult of evil Librarians who secretly rule the world.

A clever person can make anything turn to his advantage, no matter how much a disadvantage it may seem at first.

Grandpa Smedry smiled. “Ah, lad. This war we’re fighting—it isn’t about guns, or even about swords.” “What is it about, then? Sand?” “Information,” Grandpa Smedry said. “That’s the real power in this world. That man who held a gun on us earlier—he had power over you. Why?” “Because he was going to shoot me,” I said. “Because you thought he could shoot you,” Grandpa Smedry said, raising a finger. “But he had no power over me, because I knew that he couldn’t hurt me. And when he realized that…” “He ran away,” I said slowly. “Information. The Librarians control the information in this city—in this whole country. They control what gets read, what gets seen, and what gets learned. Because of that, they have power. Well, we’re going to break that power, you and I. But first we need those sands.”

You see, that is the sad, sorry, terrible thing about sarcasm. It’s really funny.

I was coming to realize something very difficult. I was slowly accepting that the way I did things—the way my people did things—might not actually be the best way. In other words, I was feeling humility. I sincerely hope that you never have to feel this emotion. Like asparagus and fish, it’s not really as good for you as everyone says it is. Selfishness, arrogance, and callousness got me much further than humility ever did.

As Plato once said that his friend Socrates once said, “I know that I’m right because I’m the only person humble enough to admit that I’m not.” Or something like that.

Authors write books for one, and only one, reason: because we like to torture people.

Determination—true determination—is more than simply wanting something to happen. It’s wanting something to happen, then finding a realistic way to make certain that what you want to happen, happens.

If you are anything like me—clever, fond of goat cheese, and devilishly handsome—then you have undoubtedly read many books. And, while reading those books, you likely have thought that you are smarter than the characters in those books. You’re just imagining things.

“Wasing not of wasing is,”

Spook easter egg