Welcome to Litsy!

The world ends when the meteors come. Heather, with her newborn twins tries to create a new life for her family in the ruined city as the nearby mountain calls to her.

I‘m not sure how I feel. Was the prose beautiful & lyrical? Yes. Was it a story about stories, & how they shape us & our world? Yes. Did I have to take this in small chunks because every section left me feeling confused & gutted. Also yes. A story of devastation & hope. 🌕🌕🌕🌗🌑

This book had me all over the place. The stories within stories, the truth about new parenting feelings... all of it. It was a good book written by a local, in a city not far from me.

So strange, but good. A fairytale interspersed with an end of the world adventure. I think “monster” ie the centaurs, we‘re placeholders for anyone unusual or different.

I am posting one book per day from my to-be-read collection. No description and providing no reason for wanting to read it, I just do. Some will be old, some will be new - don‘t judge me I have a lot of books.
Join the fun if you want. This is day 203.
#bookstoread
#tbrpile
#bookstagram

Possibly not the best book to read after a year of a pandemic, but gosh what a good one. Stories within stories within stories that all spiral around each other until firmly linked. Like a modern fable with thorny darkness, enduring sadness, and just enough hope not to be a tragedy.

What a wild ride. This felt like a fairytale fever dream and I cannot recommend it enough. Super interested in reading more by Leduc!

In this fabulist tale, a woman with cerebral palsy falls in love with a centaur. There‘s magic in the soil of a planet fed up with human greed; a heroic lesbian couple helping the survivors of an apocalyptic meteor shower; a young woman who had been waiting for a lung transplant; and a fox who wants to be a mother. It‘s a surprising, carefully crafted, poignant story of love and grief, seeded with brief original fairy tales. #CanadianAuthor

She drew herself, a wide-eyed 12-year-old, one leg shorter than the other, her feet twisted and bent. Her mouth open in a silent scream.
She drew herself now. Her father‘s eyes, her father‘s smile. The uneven legs and lopsided shoulders that were entirely her own.

The mountain told him that humans lived the way that comets shot across the night sky—bright and burning, falling, gone. If you blinked, they disappeared.

(Photo: meteorite captured on my neighbours‘ nest cam)

He told her fairy tales … Fairies who lived in the salt mines beneath the mountains, long ago, who coated themselves with salt crystals before mating. That one sounded familiar—an old wives‘ tale her father once told her, about elders who threw salt across a doorway to ask good things into a woman‘s life.
“Stories are never just stories,” her father had said. “There‘s always a kernel of truth hidden deep within the words.”