I thought about my Uncle Randolph. How did you decide when someone was irretrievably lost—when they were so evil or toxic or just plain set in their ways that you had to face the fact they were never going to change? How long could you keep trying to save them, and when did you give up and grieve for them as though they were dead? (Page 444)
I have been subjected to impulse buys: that moment when I learned that a certain book existed and I have no idea if any other copy is available in that bookstore or any other bookstore and if I would risk the moment of leaving it behind, never seeing it again, and remembering not reading it at all. A number of books in my collection are good impulse buys, a few I even deem serendipitous. And the rest are rejects, regrets, and resentments.
While there were other celebrities who shared their thoughts online, a number of my friends pointed to you as being one of the few worth being read. Your wit was on point and it was concise—which was so refreshing after seeing wordy tirades.
We listened to their tales of how they started writing and the inspiration for their works, answers on how to overcome depression, writer’s block, and other hurdles, and their opinions about literature, writing, and career choices.
While I am sure that I also bought it to be used for an English class, I forget which class. Although I do remember sharing the book with classmates who smiled and laughed while they read the book, specially during those moments when there was a lull in the discussion.
When I was still in college, one of the classes I took was Children’s Literature. Of course, the usual fare for discussion were mostly rhymes, lullabies, riddles, limericks, and fairy tales—literature meant to induce stupor and fantasy in children. Even then, I believed that Never Land has more than one shadow and that Wonderland has a crypt where they pile headless corpses.
I was in my junior year. And I was in a Mythology and Folklore class. Despite being a Christian school, the university didn’t lack for mythology books. But I wanted my own and one that they did not have.
Your book made me curious about that particular verse, causing me to read the whole chapter, and eventually the whole book. But that wasn’t the only effect it had on me. The cavalcade of seraphim and nephilim introduced me to the world of angelology, symbology, and numerous Christian legends. And I thought only the secular world had folklore.
During the ten minutes we were there, I noticed that the silver stand of shelves was unmanned. Posters reminded people of the rules but no lone crew or professional guard to watch over the goings-on. There was an old man who, after finishing flipping through a novel, reminded a couple of the local kids who raided the collection not to bring any of the books home.
And while it’s not as thick, it proved to be a challenge to open while inside a packed train. Despite the struggle, I have enjoyed reading it. And the quizzical looks I received were quite a bonus!
Found these sometime last week. Originally, they belonged to Cocoy, a friend-dormmate from college, who collected them because his father made a subscription for him; his collection spanned the years from 1996 t0 2002. He gave them to me when he had to return home after graduating. I stored them in a plastic bin and…
Dear Mr. Rick Riordan, Words fail me. That is largely due to the fact that, since I began reading Blood of Olympus—which happened mostly during my supposed bed time—I have been losing so much sleep. Friends couldn’t help but remark on how big my eye bags are. For the record, despite the failure of words,…