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A review by kblincoln
Chime by Franny Billingsley
5.0
Chime is a rare treat.
Don't let the cover fool you, this isn't an urban fantasy with werewolves or vampires or angels, or any other YA darling.
The author has crafted an utterly unique and compelling voice in Briony Larkin.
From the first page, you are dumped head first into Briony's world; an industrialist England outback, the Swampsea, and much like the town swamp itself, the story sucks you in, mires you deep in layers of truth and falsity, and then leaves you to wonder, trying to find a way out.
Briony spends most of her days caring for her twin, Rosy, now that her Stepmother is dead and her father estranged.
But though the swamp calls, and she sees the old ones begging her to write, she has terrible secrets about her Stepmother's death, and her twin's strange, child like ways.
When a young, male border comes to stay at the Larkin family, his easy and winnning ways draw Briony out of the shell she's crafted around herself; a shell woven with lies and half truths and maybe-realities.
Briony's going to need all the help she can get if she's going to save her twin from the swamp cough, brokering a deal with a swamp spirit to keep the swamp from being drained by the town major and fend off the arsenic-crazed advances of the mayor's son.
Pick up the book, read the first three pages. If you don't like the narrative voice of Briony, with her fantastical twist on the world, her snarky, self-deprecating comments, or the local dialect, then don't read the book.
If, like me, you found them an entree into a wonderful world where you are constantly guessing what is real, what is Briony's strange view of the truth, and what memories to trust, then you're in for a wonderful ride.
Reading Briony carries the same challenge as reading Justine Larbalestier's Liar, and the same willy nilly dash into a crazed and dark world a la Dia Reeves' Bleeding Violet; without the bloodcrazedness.
But definitely swampcrazedness.
If that's a word.
Absolutely compelling and enjoyable.
This Book's Food Designation Rating: A huge bacon, blue cheese, and beet salad; a delight as the different layers of strong flavors burst upon the tongue, but if you care for the tang of blue cheese, you won't enjoy it at all.
Don't let the cover fool you, this isn't an urban fantasy with werewolves or vampires or angels, or any other YA darling.
The author has crafted an utterly unique and compelling voice in Briony Larkin.
From the first page, you are dumped head first into Briony's world; an industrialist England outback, the Swampsea, and much like the town swamp itself, the story sucks you in, mires you deep in layers of truth and falsity, and then leaves you to wonder, trying to find a way out.
Briony spends most of her days caring for her twin, Rosy, now that her Stepmother is dead and her father estranged.
But though the swamp calls, and she sees the old ones begging her to write, she has terrible secrets about her Stepmother's death, and her twin's strange, child like ways.
When a young, male border comes to stay at the Larkin family, his easy and winnning ways draw Briony out of the shell she's crafted around herself; a shell woven with lies and half truths and maybe-realities.
Briony's going to need all the help she can get if she's going to save her twin from the swamp cough, brokering a deal with a swamp spirit to keep the swamp from being drained by the town major and fend off the arsenic-crazed advances of the mayor's son.
Pick up the book, read the first three pages. If you don't like the narrative voice of Briony, with her fantastical twist on the world, her snarky, self-deprecating comments, or the local dialect, then don't read the book.
If, like me, you found them an entree into a wonderful world where you are constantly guessing what is real, what is Briony's strange view of the truth, and what memories to trust, then you're in for a wonderful ride.
Reading Briony carries the same challenge as reading Justine Larbalestier's Liar, and the same willy nilly dash into a crazed and dark world a la Dia Reeves' Bleeding Violet; without the bloodcrazedness.
But definitely swampcrazedness.
If that's a word.
Absolutely compelling and enjoyable.
This Book's Food Designation Rating: A huge bacon, blue cheese, and beet salad; a delight as the different layers of strong flavors burst upon the tongue, but if you care for the tang of blue cheese, you won't enjoy it at all.