48-Hour Book Challenge Finish Line

For this year's challenge, I read 20 hours and 30 minutes total. This included:

• 3 complete novels (Voyage of the Basilisk, I'll Give You the Sun, Portrait in Sepia)
• 2 non-fiction books partially (Darwin and the Barnacle, Quack This Way)
• 3 hours and 45 minutes of an audio book (Furies of Calderon)
• Half an hour of social media time

Quack This Way, by David Foster Wallace and Bryan A. Garner

DFW: ... You find certain writers who when they write, it makes your own brain voice like a tuning fork, and you just resonate with them. And when that happens, reading those writers--not all of whom are modern...I mean, if you are willing to make allowances for the way English has changed, you can go way, way back with this--becomes a source of unbelievable joy. It's like eating candy for the soul.

"Mr Arthrobalanus" by Simon Carnell (from Darwin and the Barnacle)

Distinctively deviant,

you're an angel

dancing on the pinhead of yourself,

I'll Give You The Sun, by Jandy Nelson

Because what if it's Jude who has it? Why wouldn't that be the case? She surfs waves as big as houses and jumps off anything. She has skin that fits and friends and Dad and The Sweetwine Gift and gills and fins in addition to lungs and feet.

She gives off light. I give off dark.

(PORTRAIT, SELF-PORTRAIT: Twins: The Flashlight and the Flashdark)

*****
I wish I hadn't done a lot of things I did back then.

I wish going into that closet with Brian was the worst of it.

The right-handed twin tells the truth, the left-handed twin tells lies.
(Noah and I are both left-handed.)

Portrait in Sepia, by Isabel Allende

In our family we serve tea when a situation is slightly uncomfortable, and since I feel self-conscious almost all the time, I serve a lot of it.

The Voyage of the Basilisk, by Marie Brennan

(After all, it has been so very long since there was any satisfying scandal about me. I find that respectability grows wearisome after a time, when one is accustomed to being a disgrace.)

48-Hour Book Challenge Starting Line

Starting now, at 7:45 AM with The Voyage of the Basilisk by Marie Brennan!

Darwin and the Barnacle, by Rebecca Stott

In his own writing he knew that if he chose the wrong word or a clumsy inflection, the walls would fall, the picture fade, the evidence collapse. It took so much time to get it right, these words poised delicately against each other within a single sentence, patterned, balanced, holding the reader's trust for a moment longer, just to carry him or her, like a bridge, through to the next claim. If the reader accepted this claim, would she or he accept the next? How far would readers travel with him? Would they be converted? What would it take to get them to see through his eyes?

Earth Flight, by Janet Edwards

"All my life, I've heard the jokes on the vids about the Handicapped being ugly. Even knowing I was no different from norms, it still had an effect. I really am different now. People will look at me and see..."

"They'll see you're stunningly lovely." Fian took my arm and tugged me across to a mirror. "Look at yourself, Jarra!"

The Martian, by Andy Weir


Yes, of course duct tape works in a near-vacuum. Duct tape works anywhere. Duct tape is magic and should be worshiped.

Black Dove, White Raven, by Elizabeth Wein

These are just stories, you know. They are part of what we are, but they are not the real thing. All this year I have been thinking, What would White Raven do? And today, every time I thought it, I just didn't care what White Raven would do. So today I've just done what I would do. I've just done what I think is right.

I'm not going to stop making up stories. But I'm thinking they are not always just a maze to get lost in so you can run away from real life. They can just as well be maps to help you navigate.

Fire Study, by Maria V. Snyder

You asked how I can be so calm. I don't have time not to be. I would like to grieve and worry and carry on, but that doesn't achieve results.

Magic Study, by Maria V. Snyder

"Living is a risk," I snapped at him. "Every decision, every interaction, every step, every time you get out of bed in the morning, you take a risk. To survive is to know you're taking that risk and to not get out of bed clutching illusions of safety."

Poison Study, by Maria V. Snyder

A complete understanding of Valek's ill temper snapped into my mind. He had expected me to betray him and the Commander. How could he have believed that? I wondered. Didn't he know me at all? Anger, disappointment and relief warred in my heart. I was unable to propel any words past my throat.

Paper Towns, by John Green

I just like listening, just loafing on the grass. And I decide that if we get there on time but don't find her, that's what we'll do: we'll drive around the Catskills and find a place to sit around and hang out, loafing on the grass, talking, telling jokes. Maybe the sure knowledge that she is alive makes all of that possible again--even if I never see proof of it. I can almost imagine a happiness without her, the ability to let her go, to feel our roots are connected even if I never see that leaf of grass again.

Skin Game, by Jim Butcher

His hand moved from my head to my shoulder, and he murmured, "Lord of Hosts, be with this good man and give him the strength to carry on."

I didn't feel anything mystic. There was no surge of magic or power, no flash of light. Just Michael's quiet, steady strength, and the sincerity of the faith in his voice.

Michael still thought I was a good man.

Unbowed, by Wangari Maathai

Trees are living symbols of peace and hope. A tree has roots in the soil yet reaches to the sky. It tells us that in order to aspire we need to be grounded, and that no matter how high we go it is from our roots that we draw sustenance. It is a reminder to all of us who have success that we cannot forget where we came from. It signifies that no matter how powerful we become in government or how many awards we receive, our power and strength and our ability to reach our goals depend on the people, those whose work remains unseen, who are the soil out of which we grow, the shoulders on which we stand.

Fire, by Kristin Cashore

"You're good at love," she said simply, because it seemed to her that it was true. "I'm not so good at love. I'm like a barbed creature. I push everyone I love away."

He shrugged. "I don't mind you pushing me away if it means you love me, little sister."