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A review by breylane
The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern
5.0
i'm not sure if i really loved this book (likely) or if the last two duologys i read were just so bad that it made this one shine extra bright (also likely).
the writing is so beautiful. so detailed and expressive. even if nothing happened during the whole story i wouldn't have cared because i was so absorbed.
a few quotes from the book that i especially liked and want to be able to come back to: (going to mark them as spoilers even though i don't really know that they are...)
and a cream-colored sweater that looks as though it spent as little time as possible in the transition from sheep to clothing
Little pot lights in the ceiling cast uniform puddles of light from one end of the table to the other where there is an empty chair upholstered in navy blue velvet that probably looks like the one he is currently tied to because it feels like the type of room where the chairs would match.
Through his headache he can hear soft classical music playing. Vivaldi, maybe. He can’t tell where the speakers are. Or if there are no speakers and it is wafting in from outside the room. Or maybe the Vivaldi is in his imagination, a hallucinatory musical complication from a mild head injury. (good example of repetition v last book)
Tragedies intricately poured from bottles of wine and sipped thoughtfully with melancholy and fine cheeses.
Zachary places a single bee on each of the woman’s open palms and leaves her alone to think whatever thoughts statues think when they are alone underground and covered with bees.
“Meoowrrr,” the cat remarks, in approval or dissent or indifference. Zachary brings the key and the lamp farther down the hall and the cat and the darkness follow.
“Like I’m losing my mind, but in a slow, achingly beautiful sort of way.”
Dorian smiles at the statement, despite the truth of it or because of it.
A large open hall filled with firelight and books, dark wood beams and windows covered in frost. It smells of spiced wine and baking bread. It is comforting in a way that defies words. It feels like a hug, if a hug were a place.
I knew I felt like we were right at that place where you go from being regular friends to help-you-move-dead-bodies friends but we weren’t quite there yet, like we needed to do one more side quest together and earn a few more mutual approval points and then it would be something a little more comfortable, but we hadn’t figured out our friendship dynamic entirely.
Something hits his ankle, soft yet insistent, and he looks down to find the familiar, squished face of his Persian cat.
“Hey,” he says. “How’d you get down here?”
The cat does not reply.
“I heard you were looking for me.”
The cat neither confirms nor denies this statement.
The cat pushes its head against Zachary’s leg again, nudging him in the other direction.
“Are you coming?” Zachary asks the cat.
The cat does not reply, but it also does not move. It sits and calmly licks a paw.
Zachary takes a few steps forward, moving closer to the ridge. The cat does not follow.
“You’re not coming?”
The cat stares at him.
“Fine,” Zachary says, though it is not what he means. “You can talk, can’t you?” he asks.
“No,” says the cat. It bows its head and turns, walking off into the shadows, leaving Zachary staring dumbly after it.
the writing is so beautiful. so detailed and expressive. even if nothing happened during the whole story i wouldn't have cared because i was so absorbed.
a few quotes from the book that i especially liked and want to be able to come back to: (going to mark them as spoilers even though i don't really know that they are...)
Spoiler
Disoriented and woozy, his mind a second behind his body, like pulling himself through crystal-clear mud. As though he’s still drunk but doing it wrong.and a cream-colored sweater that looks as though it spent as little time as possible in the transition from sheep to clothing
Little pot lights in the ceiling cast uniform puddles of light from one end of the table to the other where there is an empty chair upholstered in navy blue velvet that probably looks like the one he is currently tied to because it feels like the type of room where the chairs would match.
Through his headache he can hear soft classical music playing. Vivaldi, maybe. He can’t tell where the speakers are. Or if there are no speakers and it is wafting in from outside the room. Or maybe the Vivaldi is in his imagination, a hallucinatory musical complication from a mild head injury. (good example of repetition v last book)
Tragedies intricately poured from bottles of wine and sipped thoughtfully with melancholy and fine cheeses.
Zachary places a single bee on each of the woman’s open palms and leaves her alone to think whatever thoughts statues think when they are alone underground and covered with bees.
“Meoowrrr,” the cat remarks, in approval or dissent or indifference. Zachary brings the key and the lamp farther down the hall and the cat and the darkness follow.
“Like I’m losing my mind, but in a slow, achingly beautiful sort of way.”
Dorian smiles at the statement, despite the truth of it or because of it.
A large open hall filled with firelight and books, dark wood beams and windows covered in frost. It smells of spiced wine and baking bread. It is comforting in a way that defies words. It feels like a hug, if a hug were a place.
I knew I felt like we were right at that place where you go from being regular friends to help-you-move-dead-bodies friends but we weren’t quite there yet, like we needed to do one more side quest together and earn a few more mutual approval points and then it would be something a little more comfortable, but we hadn’t figured out our friendship dynamic entirely.
Something hits his ankle, soft yet insistent, and he looks down to find the familiar, squished face of his Persian cat.
“Hey,” he says. “How’d you get down here?”
The cat does not reply.
“I heard you were looking for me.”
The cat neither confirms nor denies this statement.
The cat pushes its head against Zachary’s leg again, nudging him in the other direction.
“Are you coming?” Zachary asks the cat.
The cat does not reply, but it also does not move. It sits and calmly licks a paw.
Zachary takes a few steps forward, moving closer to the ridge. The cat does not follow.
“You’re not coming?”
The cat stares at him.
“Fine,” Zachary says, though it is not what he means. “You can talk, can’t you?” he asks.
“No,” says the cat. It bows its head and turns, walking off into the shadows, leaving Zachary staring dumbly after it.