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336 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 10, 2017
“Tell the story of Frost, Dunyashka. Tell us of the frost-demon, the winter-king Karachun.”
“In Russian, Frost was called Morozko, the demon of winter. But long ago, the people called him Karachun, the death-god. Under that name, he was king of black midwinter who came for bad children and froze them in the night.”
“You must remember the old stories. Make a stake of rowan-wood. Vasya, be wary. Be brave.”
“Before the end, you will pluck snowdrops at midwinter, die by your own choosing, and weep for a nightingale.”
“I am only a story, Vasya.”
Haunting. Riveting. Entrancing.
"I want to save you, Vasilisa Petrovna," he said. "I will save you all. There are dark forces that you do not understand."Vasilisa "Vasya" Petrovna lives during the "old Russia" - back when fairy and folk tales were not legends.
To his surprise, and perhaps to her, she laughed.
I am here because the house is here. If the house weren't here, I wouldn't be eitherSoon, Vasya's gentle childhood - spent conversing with the domovoi and the vazila (who guards the stables) - is put to an abrupt end.
A soft voice and a bent head were more fitting when a woman addressed a priest. This girl stared at him brazenly in the face with fey green eyesOverall, I really enjoyed this one and have already checked out the sequel - I'm so, so curious to see what happens next!
“All my life,” she said, “I have been told ‘go’ and ‘come.’ I am told how I will live, and I am told how I must die. I must be a man’s servant and a mare for his pleasure, or I must hide myself behind walls and surrender my flesh to a cold, silent god. I would walk into the jaws of hell itself, if it were a path of my own choosing. I would rather die tomorrow in the forest than live a hundred years of the life appointed me.”
➽ a e s t h e t i c
➽ c h a r a c t e r s
➽ t h e m e s
“You are too attached to things as they are,” said Morozko, combing the mare’s withers. He glanced down idly. “You must allow things to be what best suits your purpose. And then they will.”
“People living in the Middle Ages, in an environment as harsh as Northern Russia, were intimately acquainted with the weather. Their lives literally depended on it. In The Bear and the Nightingale, the weather is pretty much a character in and of itself, personified, in a way, by the various spirits that populate the novel. Every action and event in the book is some way tied to the land: heat, bitter cold, snowstorms, fires.”—Katherine Arden
“I have never seen Tsargrad, or angels, or heard the voice of God. But I think you should be careful, Batyushka, that God does not speak in the voice of your own wishing. We have never needed saving before.”
“All my life,” she said, “I have been told ‘go’ and ‘come.’ I am told how I will live, and I am told how I must die. I must be a man’s servant and a mare for his pleasure, or I must hide myself behind walls and surrender my flesh to a cold, silent god. I would walk into the jaws of hell itself, if it were a path of my own choosing. I would rather die tomorrow in the forest than live a hundred years of the life appointed me.”
“Where greater virtue fails, the lesser must do its poor best,”
I would walk into the jaws of hell itself, if it were a path of my own choosing.
❝ There was a time, not long ago
When flowers grew all year
When days were long
And nights star-strewn
And men lived free from fear ❞
❝ But seasons turn
The wind blows from the south
The fires come, the storms, the spears
The sorrow and the dark ❞
❝Wild birds die in cages.❞
❝We who live forever can know no courage, nor do we love enough to give our lives.❞