I liked the blurring of worlds between the literary and our own and the many and varied sections in Spec Ops, but ultimately it was the dual love stories of Jane and Edward and Thursday and Landen that gave the book its heart and pushed me over the edge.
I spent a couple of hours tonight reading Rudyard Kipling poems looking for the perfect epigraph for Ashes of a Black Frost and I believe I’ve found it. If it still sounds good to me tomorrow then I’ll feel confident, and if by a week I can’t imagine anything else then I’ll know for sure.
I dug up my copy of Darkness last night, because I wanted to reread it. I have nearly all my books in thirty boxes, stacked four high. Would you like to guess which box it was in? The last one. Naturally. Damn, why are things always in the very last place you *can* check? Why couldn’t it have been in the first box?
On the other hand, during the search I unearthed about seven other books I wanted to read, so it wasn’t a total loss.
Ah yes, the inverse rule of finding things – it’s always in the last box which naturally is buried under a ton of other stuff. But then you do find other things you weren’t even looking for. The same thing happens to me when I look through my junk drawer in my kitchen.