The Desolations of Devil's Acre (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #6)

by Ransom Riggs

Sometimes an old photograph, an old friend, an old letter will remind you that you are not who you once were, for the person who dwelt among them, valued this, chose that, wrote thus, no longer exists. Without noticing it you have traversed a great distance; the strange has become familiar and the familiar if not strange at least awkward or uncomfortable. —Rebecca Solnit “The Blue of Distance” A Field Guide to Getting Lost

Others were so manifestly peculiar they’d have had a difficult time living anywhere outside of a circus sideshow or a loop: a bearded girl and her mother, a man in fancy dress who had a parasitic twin growing out of his chest, a freckled girl who had piercing eyes but lacked a mouth.

Reminds me of The Greatest Showman movie. Well, maybe they're actually peculiars? Hmm interesting weird ideas :))

“Enough of this my fault business. That is self-pitying piffle, and helpful to no one.”

“That’s good. Though a modicum of fear wouldn’t hurt, either. It’s the absolutely unafraid who tend to die first, and we need you, dear. We need you badly.”

And then I swear I saw his lip twitch, and I felt a cold charge go through me and hurried out of the washroom.

It gave me goosebumps~

I put my arms around her, hugged her tight. There was a meter somewhere inside me, a confidence gauge, a bravery indicator, and every time I touched her it bounced upward.

awwww

“I trust them about as far as I can throw them,” said Enoch. “Me too,” agreed Bronwyn. Enoch rolled his eyes. “You could throw them a long way.” “It’s true,” she said. “I have a trusting nature.”

hahaha I love this :))

I found the work calming. It helped restore a small sense of normalcy to a world that was teetering precariously.

Desperation could make good people do bad things . . . and morally ambivalent people do really bad things.

Enoch needed no encouragement, but he wasn’t gleeful. There were few things in life Enoch took seriously, but his work was one.

Why every lines about him make me laugh? :))

“Haven’t you got bigger things to worry about?” Enoch shouted over his shoulder as we slipped inside. “Ungrateful slobs!” The doors thundered closed. Enoch slapped the wall in anger. “Why, Enoch, I didn’t know you cared what people thought of the birds,” said Emma. “I don’t,” he said, embarrassed and rubbing his hand. “So it’s fine if you talk rubbish about the birds,” Olive said with a grin, “but if anyone else dares to—” “I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled, and followed the waiting guards.

Oh dear grumpy but cutie Enoch :3

Horace turned his back on Enoch. “Offense taken!”

:)) *giggling*

“As long as we’re dreaming, I’d like to talk to Jesus Christ and Mahatma Gandhi,” said Horace. “I met him once,” Enoch said. “Who? Jesus?” “Gandhi, you twit. He visited the East End once in the thirties. Nice chap.

I can't stop giggling with these two, or anything Enoch's :))

At least now we’re all together, instead of split apart in dozens of different loops. At least now we can fight as one. And we’re not helpless anymore. We have you, and we have Noor. We have a chance.”

“Heroic isn’t the same thing as stupid,” Horace said.

So this loop was a kind of memorial to that lost one, filled with the animated remains of peculiar animals. What a strange, sad place.

We’re all riddled with holes, and there were days when I would’ve done anything to patch mine, if just for a while.

Enoch snorted. “The hour is close at hand,” he repeated in a gravelly voice. “Do all wights talk like villains in a horror film?” Horatio raised an eyebrow at him. “If I still had my tongues,” he said, “I’d slap you with all of them.” Enoch paled slightly and shrank back in his seat.

*laughing very out loud* :))

“I’m not staying here,” Enoch said, “I’m going to slap some sense into the train engineer . .

Goddamn, Enoch! I really want to pinch you right now.

Enoch opened his shirt and out spilled a dozen sandwiches he’d stolen from the snack car.

Seeing Enoch so hopeless scared me. He was insufferable most of the time but unsinkable, too, and until then I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to count on his indomitable spirit.

“Just because no one remembers your name doesn’t mean your life wasn’t worth something.”

“An . . .” Enoch copied his gesture as sarcastically as possible. “Are you sure you aren’t describing an ice cream van?”

Thanks for the laugh (again), Enoch. It was pretty tense until now.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” he called, white-toothed grin gleaming from his hood. He waved a paperback book. “Take your time. I brought a novel!”

In the midst of war and he still got a time to read novel? Definitely my people :)) <3

He was dressed like a tourist in blood-splotched yellow pants and a Hawaiian shirt.

Randomly reminds me of Lilo and Stitch's Dr. Jumba!

We were not superheroes. We were not born fighters, but had been forced into the role. We were simply peculiar.

I loved Olive and her irrepressible optimism. I loved them all.

I loved them all too :)

In the end, our real home had always been one another. And a real home was all I’d ever wanted.