I wish I could describe how this book made me feel. It’s almost astronomical, the array of emotions and feelings that emerged straight from the soul as I flipped each page. The detail, the love, the uncertainty - to describe it with the fewest words, it’s magnificently unpredictable.
The characters, each one of them, inscribed something deep within my spirit. The love and bonding between Marie-Laure and her father, Etienne and his demons, and Werner and his sister, Frederick and his birds, and his powerful resentment towards something wrong - his power. Madam Manec with her peach jams and the big pot where she carried all the love. The big museum with its exhibits, all those herbarium sheets and fossils, and the curse of a diamond that was equivalent to eight Eiffel Towers that should've been thrown out into the deep trenches of the oceans long ago, but only an insane would throw eight Eiffel Towers into the unknown. Papa, with his crafty hands, built the whole of Paris with his bare hands. Marie-Laure is so unaware of what everything around her looks like, yet she hears the very minor details. Jutta, the little girl who had a mind of her own, who had words of her own, and her elder brother, who was nothing by himself, who really lived under the shadows of others, had a heart so weak to resent, too weak to fight, that the heart decided to do what everyone else was doing - a heart scared of rebellion. Frau Elena served the abandoned children till her very last breath, showering those nameless breathing corpses with so much love. Von Rumpel and his war - his war with the world, his quest to find the cursed diamond, his greed, his unfathomable hatred, his desire and passion for war and victory, his dying body, his quest for immortality that the diamond is rumored to confer on anyone who possesses it, his selfish greed, his undying fear of the unknown,and, his trembling fear of death.
The depths that this particular book touched are unmatchable. It feels like loose sand slipping through your fingers, and the helplessness that comes with it - the haunting beauty of the magnificent pain of separation, of lost identities, and of lost people. It’s remarkable. Anthony Doerr, you are a genius.
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The African Queen by C.S. Forester (Bantam, 1949)
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still thinking about artoo telling anakin to look for a datajack in his ass
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DEX FEELING GUILTY ABOUT TELLING OBI-WAN ABOUT KAMINO, GIVEN HOW IT LED TO DISCOVERING THE CLONES, WHICH LED TO THE GENOCIDE OF THE JEDI, LED TO A THOUSAND YEARS OF PEACE, REDUCED TO DUSH, THAT HE BLAMES HIMSELF FOR SOMETHING HE COULD NEVER HAVE KNOWN WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.
AND HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW IF HIS FRIEND DIED ON THAT DAY, IF HE PLAYED A PART IN HIS FRIEND'S DEATH, THAT PRECOCIOUS YOUNGLING HE MET ON LEHNARA, OR IF OBI-WAN HAD TO LIVE TO SEE THE MURDER OF HIS ENTIRE PEOPLE AND CULTURE.
HI THANKS STAR WARS I'M GONNA GO FLING MYSELF INTO THE SUN NOW THIS IS TOO MUCH TO HANDLE
(Star Wars: From a Certain Point of View: Return of the Jedi: "The Veteran")
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"The callousness of it all struck Obi-Wan profoundly. Units. Final product. These were living beings they were talking about. Living, breathing, and thinking. To create clones for such a singular purpose, under such control, even stealing half their childhood for efficiency, ..."
"Obi-Wan looked up at the Kaminoan, to see his eyes glowing with pride as he looked out upon his creation. There were no ethical dilemmas as far as Lama Su was concerned, Obi-Wan knew immediately. Perhaps that was why the Kaminoans were so good at cloning: their consciences never got in the way.
Lama Su looked down at him, smiling widely, prompting a response, and Obi-Wan offered a silent nod.
Yes, they were magnificent, and the Jedi could only imagine the brutal efficiency this group would exhibit in battle, in the arena for which they were grown.
Once again, a shudder coursed down Obi-Wan Kenobi’s spine."
Star Wars - Episode II - Attack of the Clones Novelization
by R. A. Salvatore
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Force 10 From Navarone by Alistair MacLean published 1970
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palai pote en kosmō prosōtatō
hode mythos palai en kosmō prosōtatō etukhon.
hēdē telos ekhei. ouden an tonde metaballein poioito.
erōtos kai blabēs mythos estin, hetaireias kai prodosias, tharseos te thusias te kai tou oneiratōn olethrou.
tēs amaurās diaforās metaksu tōn hēmeterōn aristōn te kai kakistōn mythos estin.
tou teleos aiōnos mythos estin.
here's a version of the prologue of matthew stover's revenge of the sith in ancient greek, because he studied greek theater in college and decided that the fall of anakin skywalker deserved a tragic structure (and he was right).
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