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496 pages, Hardcover
First published January 5, 2016
The Chaconne was considered by most, including herself, to be one of the most difficult violin pieces to master--a single progression repeated in dozens of dizzying, complex variations. It was emotionally powerful, and structurally near perfect.
His clothes were well-worn, rumpled from days of work and travel, and he seemed unbothered by it even as Sophia fussed with the gown and beat the road dust from the skirt. She had patted on more perfume of some kind, but Etta focused on the scent of him - it was cool breezes and sunshine and rum.
If he thought he was going to grab her, he was going to get every last ounce of New York City she possessed. Etta swung her head around, searching for something sharp.Whoa! Whoa! Trust me when I say that this book was all sorts of surprising. You might have recalled that last week, I read Bracken's Darkest Minds and hated it, to say the least. I'm always willing to give the author another chance, but to be honest, I didn't have high hopes. That's not to mention the blurb being confusing and long-winded as shit. And the premise involves time travel, which is something that's horrifying easy to fuck up in the hands of a poor writer.
She drew the knife up, her chest heaving, body trembling as she pressed it against the other girl’s neck. Instinct overrode logic, compassion, patience. The ugliness that poured through her veins was unfamiliar and frightening.GIRL POWER, YEAH!
Sophia stared up at her, dark eyes widening just a fraction. Then she clucked her tongue impatiently and leaned forward into the blade, until a droplet of blood welled up at the tip.
Before Etta could stumble back, Sophia wrapped her hand around hers, pulling it back a fraction of a centimeter from her throat. Her dark eyes burned with a wild kind of approval. Like Etta had passed an unspoken test.
Etta could feel Sophia’s pulse flutter, light and warm, as the girl drew their hands toward her own throat again, skimming the exposed flesh.
“Here,” she said, “right here. They’ll bleed out like a stuck pig before they can squeal, and you’ll be able to get away. Remember that.”
“They won’t expect it from you,” she continued, “and, fool that I am, I didn’t either. Good for you. I like a fighter. But it won’t do you much good against me.”
“You don’t think I’m good enough, do you?”How do you not love a girl with that kind of spirit?!
“No, duck, no—”
“Don’t call me that!” Etta said, backing out of the office. “Do you realize I don’t even have a friend left? You told me I needed to focus if I wanted my debut. I gave it all up! I don’t have anything else!”
“Etta—Henrietta,” Alice tried, but Etta was past the point of listening, of caring what either of them had to say.
“I’m playing,” she told her instructor, “tonight, and at the debut. I don’t care what you think, or if you believe in me—I believe in myself, and there is literally nothing in this world that can keep me from playing.��
You can do this.I believed her. I believed her actions, I believed her thoughts. The book - and the time traveling - felt natural.
Her mom’s words floated through her mind. Etta can handle this.
She could. She would.
“The best way to explain this is to think of the timeline as a kind of…constant, roaring stream. Its path is set, but we create ripples by jumping in and out. Time corrects itself the best it can to keep later events consistent. But if a small change snowballs into a much larger one, or if a traveler’s actions are devastating enough, it can actually shift the flow of the timeline, thereby changing the shape of the future from that point on.”The romance is not overwhelming, furthermore, the love interest is part black; given the distinct lack of people of color within YA literature, needless to say, I approve.
“Good ideas had in the dark, he thought with a groan, were generally best left there.”
"The Chaconne was considered by most, including herself, to be one of the most difficult violin pieces to master--a single progression repeated in dozens of dizzying, complex variations. It was emotionally powerful, and structurally near perfect. At least, it was when played by her. It should have been played by her."
"Two brilliant pearls rolled together softly, knocking against small, heart-shaped gold leaves. What Etta sincerely hoped were dark blue beads, not actual sapphires, were attached to the small hoops like charms. The gold curved up, etched in meticulous detail to look like tiny vines. Etta could tell by the quality of the metalwork—slightly rough—and the way the designs matched imperfectly, that these had been painstakingly handcrafted many years ago. Maybe hundreds of years ago."