Author: February Grace
My Rating: 2 of 5 Stars
“What is a heart if not the ultimate clockwork?”
Abigail’s young life was saved by the kindness of strangers: Schuyler Algernon, the man who found her collapsed on cold city streets, and Quinn Godspeed, the doctor who risked everything by breaking the law to keep her fragile heart beating.
As the truth about what she’s become and her feelings for her saviour overtake her, Abigail is forced to ask what constitutes life, living, and what dark secrets are contained within Godspeed’s past and the walls of Schuyler’s house.
To describe it in one word, and quite acutely, I’d call Godspeed nebulous. And not the kind that comes to my mind as I automatically associate nebulous to stars, all hazy and twinkling and diamonds in the sky. It’s wanting from east to west to down south. It’s the kind of book that makes me garrulous and indolent simultaneously. Fact: I feel like egressing my detestation of LEGO®, but I can find neither an aesthetic way nor any kind of devious opening to input it into the review. (But fear not, if itch comes to desperation, I can always do an off-topic ‘review’, presumptuously expecting you all to be okay with it.)
Our no-name(you’ll figure it out if you read the book, that should be incentive enough) heroine is cast away(!), lost in this morphing, cruel high school of a world(!) and she falls dead. Almost, sorta. Bring in our silver-haired Dr. Frankenstein- rendition and he saves our young, naive, forlorn MC with a clockwork heart. Fact: it’s not steampunk. The most disgruntled through the entirety of the novel I was, was when Thunder, Water, Lightning, and bippety-boppity-boo both failed to show up, and in lieu, solar energy made an appearance. That’s a feeble premise right there, considering the book’s set somewhere in the huge period that is the Industrial Revolution(it’s all very unspecific), maybe mid-t-late 1800’s, because that’s what the writing style, the very formal and old-fashioned, the kind that you don’t expect from our 1900’s gals. Same goes for the location, which remains a mystery but alludes(methinks) to London, or simply my overworked my mind that, by default, makes everything old London-ish. Evidence(to support my theory): Mention of a clock tower. I know, absolutely irrefutable. I suppose the fact that the story(or lack, thereof) takes place inside one house makes it redundant, but refusing redundancy can be a faux pas.
Abigail was an enigma of sorts to me, not the interesting kind- she was pretty much a cave with no personality(but other caves do, too(have you ever noticed how differently they all howl)). She had the annoying habit of explaining every nuance of action and meaning behind every word. In fact, so did one of the other characters. Which makes it kinda obvious that it’s the author’s own quirks, at which I’d also add that most of the story came across as affected by the author, not Abigail, at which point I’d point out that it maybe due to the whole Abigail-no-person-cave-thesis. Case in point:
“Leave him for now,” Schuyler advised, reaching over and patting me gently on the hand. “I am certain that there is no way you could have prevented upsetting him, and you had no knowledge of the fact that the subject would upset him. So you have nothing to apologize for.”
Definitely not moving on.
What also fascinates me about Abigail is her ease of acceptance of Schulyer’s homosexuality. In fact, she’s so accepting that she doesn’t even view it as something untoward, she accepts it so easily that there’s no need of even viewing it as acceptance. Now kudos and all would be hers, if only I could just wrap my not-too-tiny-nor-too-large-perfectly-shaped-thank-you-genes(there’s a friend of mine who has this huge triangular head(but he has no brains)(wonder what he stuffs in there)(probably spare pasta, he loves that)) head. This comes from a girl from the olden times[see above] who used to believe that your death was decided by God before you were born. But hey, empty caves bring surprises! And then also starts to shelve the eccentric doctor’s book shelves correctly, and claims not to know the pattern which begs the question: did she actually memorize the placement of all those books? Freaky-freaky!
All I had to say about the writing I have, except sometimes it’s taken too far, inflated too much, and in general, I scream,”Come on!”
“Like a kitten who has had his stolen ball of wool yarn taken from his grasping paws?”
“Do not we all.”(Hint: Requires contraction, or I will blow a gasket.)
There are a few editing problems, grammatical mistakes, but the one glaringly obvious and needing to be addressed is the miscalculation in ages. One of the side characters- Jib- is said to appear a few years younger than another- Penn. Someone else goes on to mention that he is 17 yrs old while Penn, later on, himself states that he is sixteen. Unless Penn is really a middle-aged auntie(just one of the few I know) in disguise, I don’t see any reason why he’d lie about his age. Occam’s Razor: author made a mistake and everybody skipped it.
All of them other people in the story were fake, too. Every scene or conversation, even about a certain other character in peril, comes about to the doctor, the doctor, the GODDAMN DOCTOR! Every scene, look, sign, word, emotion if for him, about him. The famous doctor inevitably disappoints, though. Some claim him to be a broken man, with a heart too dangerous or some cliche, and he turns out to have a Bluebeard-type secret. However, he remains a good, kind soul who gives and gives and hurts for I know not what, like some others proclaimed. Oh luv, I don’t like you!There is no story except Abigail going,”Thank you, kind sirs, thank you for letting me stay. Oh my, what will I do when I get well enough to be thrown out. Lordie, I love him so much, how can I possibly love him more?
I love him most- you don’t!” That’s the whole gist of the story, except tone down the whiny because our MC’s not got enough in her to even whine and annoy the fuck out of me. Strangely enough, I have the feeling some folks out there might actually like it; I can’t ascertain the reason. In relation, I must inform you that for the duration of the blog tour, the price of Godspeed is reduced.
Review copy provided by… I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you.
February Grace is a writer, artist, and poet who lives in Southeastern Michigan. She sings in key, plays by ear, and is more than mildly obsessed with colours, clocks, and meteor showers. GODSPEED is her debut novel.
Disclaimer: I am not hosting it, and am not responsible in any case. And it’s worldwide.
Winners will get
1 x $20/£10 Amazon Gift Card
3 x ecopies of Godspeed
Aside: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, WORDPRESS?! YOU FUCKING KEPT LOSING THIS POST AND I AM BEHIND 4 HRS BEHIND IN MY LIFE! THE FUCKING FUCK?!