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A review by beckyrendon
After the Fall by Giana Darling
5.0
I'm dead!!!!
Here lies Giana Darling, or what is left of her rotting carcass after her readers find her. I would like to offer my condolences to her family, but I'm pretty sure I will be raising a pitch fork with the lynch mob, so sorry not sorry.
Giana's life was cut short in only the way a true reader can appreciate. She died for her craft. I'm sure it would warm her heart to know that crazy fans love her characters enough to steal her, tie her up, shout terrible things about her, beat her, and possibly kill her. What you don't realize is that Giana asked for it. Yup, that's my defense. Your Honor, she did despicable and heinous things to our hearts, minds, and emotions. It wasn't our fault. Think of us a survivors of emotional abuse and realize it was the only way.
While we do life in prison without parole, I want you to know. It really isn't my fault. Giana MADE me fall for a smiling angel with darkened wings. His halo of golden curls enough to distract me from the grease staining his wings. That Fallen angel became a light in my world and she tried to take him from me.
All crazy, obsessed fangirling aside...Giana Darling killed pieces of me I'm not sure I'll be able to resuscitate. King is an incredible dichotomy that lures in its prey, seduces you, and then makes you the most pliant of worshippers. The way this book went had me stalling. I put it down, walked away, and tried to busy myself so I wouldn't have to read exactly where it led me.
I sobbed. I raged. I lost my ever loving sh!t. But my anger is only being abaiting by hope. I may want to string Giana Darling up but the most torture I would offer is tarring and feathering ...or maybe tickle torture (I mean that in non-creepy totally torturous way).
After the Fall is a heartbreaking, mind twisting in despair, love intensified book. It's not for the faint of heart. Now, I'm going to cry some more and then go read King's poems.
Btw, the ones in this book were intense and destructive to my already fragile heart. I can only imagine the masochistic glee I will experience reading them.
Here lies Giana Darling, or what is left of her rotting carcass after her readers find her. I would like to offer my condolences to her family, but I'm pretty sure I will be raising a pitch fork with the lynch mob, so sorry not sorry.
Giana's life was cut short in only the way a true reader can appreciate. She died for her craft. I'm sure it would warm her heart to know that crazy fans love her characters enough to steal her, tie her up, shout terrible things about her, beat her, and possibly kill her. What you don't realize is that Giana asked for it. Yup, that's my defense. Your Honor, she did despicable and heinous things to our hearts, minds, and emotions. It wasn't our fault. Think of us a survivors of emotional abuse and realize it was the only way.
While we do life in prison without parole, I want you to know. It really isn't my fault. Giana MADE me fall for a smiling angel with darkened wings. His halo of golden curls enough to distract me from the grease staining his wings. That Fallen angel became a light in my world and she tried to take him from me.
All crazy, obsessed fangirling aside...Giana Darling killed pieces of me I'm not sure I'll be able to resuscitate. King is an incredible dichotomy that lures in its prey, seduces you, and then makes you the most pliant of worshippers. The way this book went had me stalling. I put it down, walked away, and tried to busy myself so I wouldn't have to read exactly where it led me.
I sobbed. I raged. I lost my ever loving sh!t. But my anger is only being abaiting by hope. I may want to string Giana Darling up but the most torture I would offer is tarring and feathering ...or maybe tickle torture (I mean that in non-creepy totally torturous way).
After the Fall is a heartbreaking, mind twisting in despair, love intensified book. It's not for the faint of heart. Now, I'm going to cry some more and then go read King's poems.
Btw, the ones in this book were intense and destructive to my already fragile heart. I can only imagine the masochistic glee I will experience reading them.