Thursday, 31 March 2016

Laini Taylor's 'Strange The Dreamer' Cover + Prologue Reveal!


Today is an exciting day for Laini Taylor fans! First off, if you have yet to read her 'Daughter of Smoke and Bone' trilogy, do please make your way to the nearest bookshop or library and get that reading underway, because it's without a doubt one of my favorite fictional worlds.

But today is all about Laini's new duology, 'Strange The Dreamer'! If you haven't heard anything about it yet, here is the teasing blurb we have at the moment:

Strange the Dreamer is the story of:

the aftermath of a war between gods and men
a mysterious city stripped of its name
a mythic hero with blood on his hands
a young librarian with a singular dream
a girl every bit as perilous as she is imperiled
alchemy and blood candy, nightmares and godspawn, moths and monsters, friendship and treachery, love and carnage.

Welcome to Weep.

Laini's website offers a bit more of information, and I am absolutely in love with the concept: "There was a war between gods and me, and men won. The few surviving children of the gods have grown up in hiding, dreading the day they know must come: when humans find them, and end them.
That day is at hand."

Added it to your TBR yet? Here, let me make it easier for you!

Today was the cover reveal for both the US and UK editions of the book, being released this September by Hodder & Stoughton, and they managed to make me even more curious about how this plot is going to be unfolding.

Here they are, in all their glory! UK on the left, US on the right.


Gorgeous, aren't they? I can't wait to have a copy of it and see how it looks like physically! (and possibly pet it quite a few times. Am I the only one feeling like it's going to be one of those books? No? Carry on then.)

But the goodies do not stop here! Have an exclusive look at the book's Prologue:

On the second sabbat of Twelfthmoon, in the city of Weep, a girl fell from the sky.
Her skin was blue, her blood was red.
She broke over an iron gate, crimping it on impact, and there she hung, impossibly arched, graceful as a temple dancer swooning on a lover’s arm. One slick finial anchored her in place. Its point, protruding from her sternum, glittered like a brooch. She fluttered briefly as her ghost shook loose, and then her hands relaxed, shedding fistfuls of freshly picked torch ginger buds.
Later, they would say these had been hummingbird hearts and not blossoms at all.
They would say she hadn’t shed blood but wept it. That she was lewd, tonguing her teeth at them, upside down and dying, that she vomited a serpent that turned to smoke when it hit the ground. They would say a flock of moths had come, frantic, and tried to lift her away.
That was true. Only that.
They hadn’t a prayer, though. The moths were no bigger than the startled mouths of children, and even dozens together could only pluck at the strands of her darkening hair until their wings sagged, sodden with her blood. They were purled away with the blossoms as a grit-choked gust came blasting down the street. The earth heaved underfoot. The sky spun on its axis. A queer brilliance lanced through billowing smoke, and the people of Weep had to squint against it. Blowing grit and hot light and the stink of saltpeter. There had been an explosion. They might have died, all and easily, but only this girl had, shaken from some pocket of the sky.
Her feet were bare, her mouth stained damson. Her pockets were all full of plums. She was young and lovely and surprised and dead.
She was also blue.
Blue as opals, pale blue. Blue as cornflowers, or dragonfly wings, or a spring—not summer—sky.
Someone screamed. The scream drew others. The others screamed, too, not because a girl was dead, but because the girl was blue, and this meant something in the city of Weep. Even after the sky stopped reeling, and the earth settled, and the last fume spluttered from the blast site and dispersed, the screams went on, feeding themselves from voice to voice, a virus of the air.
The blue girl’s ghost gathered itself and perched, bereft, upon the spearpoint-tip of the projecting finial, just an inch above her own still chest. Gasping in shock, she tilted back her invisible head and gazed, mournfully, up.
The screams went on and on.
And across the city, atop a monolithic wedge of seamless, mirror-smooth metal, a statue stirred, as though awakened by the tumult, and slowly lifted its great horned head.

 I mean...


Isn't that the most awesome, intriguing, curiosity peaking start to a story that you have ever read?


Will September come already??


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 Laini Taylor is the author of the National Book Award Finalist Lips Touch: Three Times, as well as the novels Blackbringer, Silksinger and the NYT bestselling trilogy Daughter of Smoke and Bone. She lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband, illustrator Jim Di Bartolo, and their daughter.


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