The Book of Lost Things

It is not often when reading that genuine shivers of fear race through my veins, not fear for myself, but rather the characters facing known or, to them at least,

unknown dangers. When this does happen it is usually because their is a story, a world, that I have come to believe truly exists somewhere in the universe.

Normally when I read a book, the characters in that story cease to be simple words on a page and instead transform into real, living, breathing individuals who have graciously allowed me into their lives if only for a brief period of time. Usually though, once I have finished reading their story they turn back into words within pages and live only as a memory in my mind. But sometimes, I stumble across a character whose life and world are so incredible that I know that even once I reach that last page and am no longer allowed to follow their footsteps, they are still out there in another world - walking, talking, breathing, existing. I have to believe that, because the alternative is simply to devastating to consider.  Out of all the books I have read, very few have the honor of holding such a special place within my heart. "The Book of Lost Things" by John Connolly has just surpassed the odds and made that list.

Quite some time ago, I had mentioned on this blog the awesome service the Brooklyn Public Library offers readers, that by filling out an online form with books and authors you've loved - and those you haven't - a librarian then creates a reading list of recommendations just for you. Weeks ago, I decided it was high time that I actually use that list for something other than just looking at. It was time to pick a book to read. "The Book of Lost Things" was the one that seemed most intriguing to me so, decision made, I skipped down to my library to get it. Of course, at the time I  was already deep into the pages of a several other books so it sat on my bookshelf for a few weeks before I was free to open the cover and see what excitement it's pages could offer. And, as you may already have guessed, I love it.

The story is captivating, enthralling, and has all the elements of what it takes for me to fall in love with a book. There is magic mixed with reality, there is darkness, the stories of Snowhite, Sleeping Beauty, Rumpilstiltskin and others are peeled back to reveal the sometimes awful truth behind their legends, there is fear destroyed, and love discovered(although in this case not the romantic kind). And of course there are words set together in such a way that my heart grows calm with their truth or my imagination explodes with the possibilities they promise. Needless to say, I highly recommend this book to anyone, but just in case you never get a chance to delve into it's pages - or you just need a little more encouragement - here a few of my favorite passages...


"And David could tell, by looking at her face as she read, whether or not the story contained in the book was living inside her, and she in it, and he would recall again all that she had told him about stories and tales and the power that they wiled over us, and that we in turn wield over them."

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"The window seat was David's favorite place in which to read. The books still whispered and spoke among themselves, but he was now able to hush them with a single word if his mood was right, and anyway they tended to remain quiet while he was reading. It was as if they were happy once he was consuming stories." 

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"And in the dark corners of his dreams, a shadow capered, and it threw its crooked hat in the air with glee."

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" 'We all have our routines,' he said softly. 'But they must have a purpose and provide an outcome that we can see and take some comfort from, or else they have no use at all. Without that, they are like the endless pacings of a caged animal. If they are not madness itself, then they are a prelude to it.' " 

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"How could he explain his sense that the Beast was familiar to him, that there was a corner of his imagination where the creature had found an echo of herself?"

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"She was very cold, colder even than when she had lain in her open coffin, so cold that the touch of her was painful to him. It numbed his lips and stilled his tongue, and his breath turned to crystals of ice that sparkled like tiny diamonds in the still air."

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"Snow sparkled in the eternal dusk, and icicles hung like frozen tears from the bushes and the trees." 

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"And the Crooked Man heard her dreams, because that was where he wandered. His place was the land of the imagination, the world where stories began. The stories were always looking for a way to be told, to be brought to life through books and reading. That was how they crossed over from their world into ours. But with them came the Crooked Man, prowling between his world and ours, looking for stories of his own to create, hunting for children who dreamed bad dreams, who were jealous and angry and proud. And he made kings and queens of them, cursing them with a kind of power, even if the real power lay always in his hands. And in return they betrayed the objects of their jealousy to him, and he took them into is lair deep beneath the castle..."