It is the first book I read by Banks and I found it incredibly well-written. I really believe that the clue is in its title, that is, to what extent we are complicit in what happens to us. Probably it is one of the best genre fictions I have ever read. The landscape is given so vivid that I thought I was travelling in the Scottish mountains. As a natural reader, I was really moved in a peculiar way when I found myself to be a part of this book. There is a story, coherency and emotion in the book. At the same time, what impressed me a lot were the many flashbacks that the hero had in his earlier life. There is an informal tone in the book and sometimes even direct. The identity of the murderer is not revealed till the end of the story. We meet …show more content…
Place The place is a remote one probably in the forest. There is darkness and rain while the whole description is so vivid. There are two different characters in this plot, the one that we can see, and the other who is hidden. “The Mercedes estate comes grumbling down the drive, splashing in the dark puddles under the dripping trees. Suddenly a thunder ceased the quietness of the night. He could not recall such a blooming night but he had to finish what he had started.” “You watch him unlock the front door to the cottage. Twice. Me was reading on my sofa when suddenly I heard footsteps in the kitchen. I was shaking in my shoes…Maybe it was my imagination”. “He enters, turning on the hall light and closing the door. I could not breathe. I definitely was not alone. I froze. I set aside the book, trying to hear but….” “A light comes on at the back of the cottage, in the kitchen. Yes, I could feel eyes on me. If I had a weapon... Yes, I need a weapon. Maybe a knife….But how I would reach the kitchen? Then I saw a shape in the front window. A reflection…I looked carefully…It was
“It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mourning notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro, down its whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the glittering circlet.
“We walked through a high hallway into a bright rose-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house” (7).
The window was cold to the touch. The glass shimmered as the specks of sunlight danced, and Blake stood, peering out. As God put his head to the window, at once, he felt light shining through his soul. Six years old. Age ceased to define him and time ceased to exist. Silence seeped into every crevice of the room, and slowly, as the awe of the vision engulfed him, he felt the gates slowly open. His thoughts grew fluid, unrestrained, and almost chaotic. An untouched imagination had been liberated, and soon, the world around him transformed into one of magnificence and wonder. His childish naivety cloaked the flaws and turbulence of London, and the imagination became, to Blake, the body of God. The darkness lingering in the corners of London slowly became light. Years passed by, slowly fading into wisps of the past, and the blanket of innocence deteriorated as reality blurred the clarity of childhood.
THE PAST :.. In days gone by, the four species managed to live in perfect harmony. Witches, werewolves and vampires lived in secret, blending in with the humans on a daily basis - and the humans remained completely in the dark about their existence. It was after thousands of years of living this way, whilst everything was completely normal, that a small group of vampires decided that they’d had enough. They spent months devising plans.
“The room was silent. His heart pounded the way it had on their first night together, the way it still did when he woke at a noise in the darkness and waited to hear it again - the sound of someone moving through the house, a stranger.”(4)
The narrator describes his frightening and sad surroundings, which reflect his state of mind caused by the death of his dear friend. The narrator opens his sad tale with “Once upon a midnight dreary” and later offers, “it was in the bleak December.” He describes his chamber as containing “many quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore” and his fireplace as “each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.” With such images as the old musty books and the dying fire, a mood is set that represents the lonely and frightened state of mind of the narrator. Later, he sees curtains moving without a window open, and hears someone tapping on his chamber door. We begin to see that the narrator is losing touch with reality because he is deeply depressed by of the ...
“It had got dusk, and the moon looked over the high wall of the court, causing undefined shadows to lurk in the corners of the numerous projecting portions of the building. I set my burden on the house steps by the kitchen door, and lingered to rest, and drew in a few more breaths of the soft, sweet air; my eyes were on the moon, and my back to the entrance, when I heard a voice behind me say-“
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
The underrepresentation of Latinos in mainstream media is a significant issue faced by the US today. Despite comprising 19.1% of the US population, the representation of Latinos in the media is still minimal. This lack of representation leads to unfortunate consequences including stereotyping, discrimination, and the exacerbation of interethnic tensions. The underrepresentation of Latinos in television is an issue that our nation faces because, on television, a Latino is rarely portrayed. According to a study titled "Race And Representation On TV: The Influence Of TV Status On Latino Identities," “It has been observed that most American TV media has taken on a format that concerns itself primarily with White, middle to high-income family situations.
I saw her powder her nose. When she finished, she closed the box, stood up again, and walked over to the lamp once more, saying: "I'm afraid that someone is dreaming about this room and revealing my secrets." And over the flame she held the same long and tremulous hand that she had been warming before sitting down at the mirror. And she said: "You don't feel the cold." And I said to her: "Sometimes." And she said to me: "You must feel it now." And then I understood why I couldn't have been alone in the seat.
As the family was getting ready for dinner a man who claims he once lived in the family home asks if he could look around outside of the house. Without knowing his intentions the mother becomes worried exclaiming that he could be anyone, a thief, a mentally disturbed person or even a murderer, because of how fear of the unknown is terrifying when imagination gets involved, fear overcomes her, making her imagine the worst possible scenario. “I wasn’t the one who opened the door to that man in the first place,’ the mother said, coming up behind the father and touching his arm. Without seeming to know what he did the father violently jerked his arm and thrust her away (Oates 76).” This quote shows how the strange man coming into their home, interrupting their ordinary life puts the parents on edge, resulting with an argument between the two of them and the father becoming aggressive toward the
A lit, hand painted, oil lamp now hung on a hook beside the door. The door was open, and he could hear the sound of chatter and laughter and the smell of freshly cooked food floating through the house. Suddenly there were footsteps in the passage, and then the door opened a little wider. A head popped in, then just as sudden it disappeared.
The first few lines call attention to the frost forming on the window, and the narrator hears an owl’s cry. This is our narrator’s first encounter with nature and thus begins his departure into a meditative state, in which “he contemplates the natural world outside the cottage, with the ocean, the forests, and the hills” (Constantakis). His attention is drawn back to the dying fire, which he then compares himself to. He claims that he and the fire are alike “for he sees his own thoughts as fluttering and inconsistent as well” (Constantakis).
Just around 10:30 p.m. Martha Jones prepared herself to get ready for bed. Brushing her teeth, washing her face, and getting into the appropriate clothing. She couldn’t seem to get something off of her mind, she had noticed that for the past couple of days that a strange man dressed in all black had been following her. Tonight the strange and mysterious man followed her home just walking on the opposite side of the street as her, not letting his eyes off of her watching as she enters her home and shutting the creaky door behind her.