The Girl Who Could See – A Book Review

The Girl Who Could See – A Book Review

I started off my summer by reading the novella The Girl Who Could See by Kara Swanson, a fast paced tale of two friends—one of them imaginary (or so it seems). I love when a book makes you feel as though the story was taking place before you began to read it and would keep going even if you stopped. That’s exactly how TGWCS opens. Fern, our heroine, is locked in an interrogation room. She’s being questioned about her foreknowledge of a catastrophe that happened only hours before. The story is already rolling and the reader is asked to match the speed. The steady beat of the novella kept me turning the page, but it was the concept of having an imaginary friend—when an adult—that really

Interns in Training

Interns in Training

I’m glad you’ve come early. I absolutely insist on prompt time traveling. There are too many perspective interns who think time travel can be done at any hour of any day because, after all, they can always arrive on time at their destination. Foolish. Time travel is dangerous and not to be manipulated. I keep a strict schedule of time jumps for many reasons, but I cannot divulge all of them to you now. We must be off to the year 1415. If you indeed want to intern here at the library, you must learn how to blend into different ages and cultures. You must also have a keen eye for details. A look, an inflection, the movement of an individual in the heart of

The Riddle of the Meteor

The Riddle of the Meteor

Prestor curled his tail around the hill of books behind him and leaned back to read the first sentence again—just in case he had seen in Lewis’ writing something that wasn’t… Among the hills a meteorite Lies huge; and moss has overgrown, And wind and rain with touches light Made soft the contours of the stone. This had to mean something marvelous was hidden in plain sight. A meteorite from beyond the world had landed in the ordinary landscape, and the earth had camouflaged its origin. He felt confident enough to go on to the next sentence. Thus easily can Earth digest A cinder of sidereal fire, And make her translunary guest The native of an English shire. Prestor squinted, his green-gold eyes glowing in

A Dragon in the Book Mines

A Dragon in the Book Mines

D.A.R.K. may have barred the doors to the Humanities Hall, but Prestor had flown around the library long enough to know where to hunt for scraps of manuscripts allegedly written by humans. There were deep shafts in the North Wing that sunk down into small caves known as the book mines. It was in these mines that the keepers of the library banished loose pages and tattered books. Only in very special circumstances and with great ceremony was anything ever discarded. So, for reasons of both value and worthlessness, these fragments piled up in these dark and forgotten places. Prestor was a frequent (and lone) visitor to them. He had a faint memory of finding something with the word “Miracles” in one of them. Whether

A Librarian Starts a War

A Librarian Starts a War

Darcy was breathing easier now; the shock of the time-jump had worn off. And as she followed Madame Lobellia and the ancient Roman in to the inner peristyle, the scent of rosemary hedges amidst burbling fountains dispersed what was left of her self-consciousness. What’s more, the servants were no longer staring at her. Maybe they were used to time-jumping guests. She jotted down this possibility. She’d have to research it later when she was back in her cramped office. Funny, the Library for Dragons was immense, but her office was the tiniest room in the whole place. She was sure of that. Pretty much sure. Maybe there was a broom closet somewhere posing competition. Looking back up from her notes, she was struck by the

When a Roman Owes a Victorian a Favor

When a Roman Owes a Victorian a Favor

They simply weren’t dressed for Ancient Rome. But here they were, walking right up to the front door of some Roman aristocrat’s villa, as though there was nothing else to be done on a Monday morning. Darcy tried to keep up with Madame Lobellia’s quick and confident glide up the steps of the villa’s porch. Upon reaching the top, a Roman servant made an effort to keep them from entering though the bronze doors, but, whether due to his weakness or Madame’s force of presence (and Darcy suspected the latter), he gave a slight bow and let them pass. Once inside the atrium, however, it was obvious why there hadn’t been much trouble getting in. A good size group of visitors on the “petitioner” side

A Victorian in Ancient Rome

A Victorian in Ancient Rome

Madame Lobellia knew her Victorian dress was out of place in Ancient Rome, but she was well acquainted with the feeling of displacement. Darcy, however, was hardly so. Lobellia side-glanced her intern. She could see the girl’s confidence shrinking the further they walked down the Roman road. The girl constantly tugged at her green and tan plaid skirt and then, for no apparent reason, began walking in her heels as if she’d never worn them before. Inevitably, three Romans walked past them in the opposite direction, taking no measures to curb their stares. They said something in Latin and laughed. Darcy winced and Lobellia shook her head. The poor girl hadn’t been away from her Home Year of 1941 for long, only four months. Bringing

Another Way In

Another Way In

Darcy clenched the edge of the shelf and held her breath. She’d never been this close to a dragon, much less a copperhyde. Copperhydes could camouflage themselves against almost any background, but their preferred material was stone—rough, pitted stone, from the Terra Avstra, like the walls around them. Once a copperhyde chose to be seen, though, it dazzled, tail flashing and scales glittering. It didn’t need much light to accomplish this, either. If it wanted, a copperhyde could use a single match to make itself reflect like a beacon in a storm. But there was a catch—and it was a good thing. When copperhydes shut their eyes (which they must do to camouflage), all they see is bright light, so when they blink their eyes