Who—or what—is a nerd? Distinguishing traits? How could you spot one in the wild? With Nerds Gone Wild, Mister Victor tries to answer all these questions.
This is how you write a good book. You take a character—Sadie, in our case—and plop her there, front and center. Backstory? Sure, when and if it becomes relevant, it can be sprinkled throughout the story. Infodump of any kind at the beginning? No. There’s the MC, there’s the (relevant again) setting, and there’s trouble brewing on the horizon. Nothing more is needed.
So, you say winter, you say garden, and your standard reaction would be meh. Winter is the season of bare trees, pines, and rotten leaves, right? Wrong. Gardens are alive in winter too, just in a different way.
Unreliable narrators can make or break a book. There’s no in-between, it’s either a huge success or a huge failure.
What a gift Let’s Get Lost has been. It sat on my Edelweiss shelf, almost unassuming, as if it didn’t want to take up too much space (humanizing books, now? Why, yes), and it caught my eye because of the promise in the title. Let’s Get Lost, it said—neither in the neighborhood nor after making a wrong turn, but truly lost.
Eugene is one of the inhabitants of the Tower, a building complex sealed from the inside. No one gets in, no one gets out, in a quite literal way: doors and windows are bricked, and robots meet people’s needs. It’s a depressing life, justified by the threat of the ongoing pandemic. Or is it?
Transylvania’s History A to Z: 100 Word Stories delivers what it says on the tin. Tiny stories and poems about Transylvania, inspired by the rich history of Romania.
I’ll admit I requested The Book of Tea by mistake. Blame old age, rush, or whathaveyou, but I misread something, I understood something else, and I went in expecting tea-related pictures. Imagine my surprise when those traditional Japanese kettles I was dreaming of never materialized. My tea fields? Sorry, wrong book. Still, my perplexity was short-lived: The Book of Tea turned out to be an informative tale, steeped in history and culture. All in all, a lucky mistake.
I jumped at the chance to read The Kitchen when it first popped into my inbox. 300 pages later, I’m as satisfied as a food critic after a top-notch meal.
The Lyndeckers and, to a lesser extent, the Pennebakers are two parts insane and one part funny, a combo able to pull in anyone gravitating too close to them - starting with the reader.