Ghosts

The young man woke up, and got ready for another day of dealing with the ghosts.

Book Reviews—The Magicians Trilogy

Wow.

Just, wow. I’ve just finished reading The Magician’s Land, Book 3 of the Magicians trilogy, and I am feeling overwhelmed. Reading the first book in the series, I did not expect I would grow to love the last one this much, or that I would feel so strongly about it. This series is excellent in so many ways.

I usually write my book reviews focusing on one book at a time, even when it’s a series. However, it’s impossible to review any part of the Magicians trilogy individually. It is a story that requires the reader to look at it as a whole, and that’s what I’ll try to do here. Before we start, let me just clarify there are no plot spoilers here, though I will speak clearly of character growth. If you can’t stand any kind of spoilers, I recommend reading the books before reading this, though make sure you read as far as the second book before giving up.

Sentimentality and Hogwash

My relationship to poetry isn’t very complicated. In fact, it could quite easily be summarised into four words: I’m rubbish at it.

I’ve made no secret of my main purpose writing on this blog: to improve my skill at writing so I can do a better job when I decide to start a novel. I still haven’t gotten to the point where I feel comfortable trying to write a short story again, but words come more easily to me now than they did a year ago; that’s been quite nice. Let’s say, then, that as a small step towards the larger goal of exposing myself by trying to write a story, I’ll try writing poetry today. I know it won’t be good, just as my dialogue and stories aren’t very good, but hopefully it’ll help me lose my fear of showing the flaws in my writing ability.

(Also, when I say I’ll try to write poetry, I mean I’ll start trying to write poetry and end up with something that reads more like overly sentimental prose. It’s a start)

One Day Closer

Sometimes I forget I wasn’t alive two years ago.

There was someone that looked a little like me, with much shorter hair of course, walking around and going by a different name. They weren’t really alive though; they were an empty shell, spent and tired. I feel bad for them now. Even after we somehow got free of depression, the world still felt subdued, and there was always something missing. I tried filling that hole with books, which helped distract from the pain a little, but didn’t do much to make things better. I also tried filling that hole with religion, which just made everything so, so much worse. Finally, I tried filling it with other people, and that was a giant dumpster fire.