Gotcha! Guess you'll have to buy the book now. (More) No spoilers! Listen, my home slices. Among you are the MAKINGS of avid Vampire Academy/Bloodlines—and by happy extension Richelle Mead—fans. But, until you know desperation and undergo several accounts of humiliating behavior as a result of that desperation, then—and I hate to be the bearer of bad milk—you’re not QUITE there yet. All that scrounging of courage and that dignity that was tossed aside paid off immeasurably, and because it’s not enough to just say ‘this is written by Richelle Mead’ followed by ‘duh’ or ‘nuff said,’ I’m going to tell you why.
Gosh, I loved this book. I didn’t enjoy it all the way through, but I loved it nonetheless. It’s hard to enjoy a book when you’re waiting for it to CHEW your heart up and spit deadsauce back out! You see, I stubbornly refused to concede the fact that The Indigo Spell by Richelle Mead is in fact part of another series and isn’t obliged to follow the same pattern as it’s Vampire Academy counterpart. Anybody who’s read Shadow Kiss knows just what the Hades I’m talking about. So throughout the first quarter of the book I was wound tight in anxiety and COULD NOT relax my face muscles. Hyperventilation was just a couple of hiccups away.
Somewhere along the way, however, the OBVS occurred to me: This really is a different series, with its own character and plot developments (it took three books, but I’ve gotten there). No matter how much I try to squeeze Mead into a slot as a writer, she slaps me with an unexpected twist on her way out. And that’s when I slowly relaxed… into the agonizing denial of what’s right in front of our intrepid, arguably observant Sydney Sage.
This is probably my favorite book in the series. It threw acid on my expectations and reinforced my trust in Mead’s ability to tell a story. I let myself forget how intricately twisted are her plot strings so that we alone can’t untangle the truth until she gives us what we need when she’s good and ready. Resign yourselves to being at least one step behind AT ALL TIMES. And, wow, the simplistic elegance in her writing brings forth SO MUCH; we’re talking detail, depth, and dimension penned into one darn near edible page.
Hopper, Jet, dragon, AYE there’s just so much here in The Indigo Spell by Richelle Mead. Description, description, DESCRIPTION. Have I ever mentioned to you lately how much I ADORE the way Mead takes it upon herself to describe THE PERFECT AMOUNT during those scenes that can potentially raze self-control, blood pressure, and focus on all tasks of life? Future Mr. Sydney has bumped up his wooing tactics to the point where he has more than satisfactorily earned lifelong BEDMENOW status—a most prestigious title. Sydney’s relationship with him reaffirms the differences between this series and VA, and yet it retains that familiar sense of deep, abiding love that arises from acceptance and friendship as well as a STEAMY DESIRE for pants-less moments together. You guys, a hickey just got sexy.
Thank you, CLEAR AND SUNNY SKIES, that the Bloodlines series has backed away from the trend of life-sucking cliffhangers and has stuck to these subtle setups for COMPLETE DISASTER instead. So much less stressful. Characters left in imminent danger more suited VA’s style; these final moments not only make sense, but also promote better health and relative safety. And because of those pre-ending pages, if I never saw another slice of cheesecake I WOULD STILL BE ELATED. Which is cray in itself, but still scarily true.
I received an ARC of this title from a publicist at Penguin Teen/Razorbill.
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