With so many awesome books coming out lately, and my inability to stop watching book reviews on YouTube, my to-be-read pile keeps getting bigger. And I’m being totally indecisive right now. So, I thought I’d inquire for your help.
I'd like to play a game with all of you booklions out there (or even if you don't like reading all that much) - instead of judging books by their covers, I want y’all to judge books by their first paragraphs. I need help deciding what to read next, because I'm having trouble picking between eight different books. Ahhhh! I need to put myself on a book-buying-ban.
All the first paragraphs from the books below are from the YA genre - it's what I've been in the mood for lately. Fun, adventurous stories that don't make me think too much. Stories in which I can really connect with the characters, even if they're fighting aliens in a post-apocalyptic jungle where no one can speak.
In the comments below, if you would, leave your top three choices for what I should read next:
“You stop fearing the Devil when you’re holding his hand.”
Freddie said this to me, when I was little.
Everyone called my grandmother by her nickname, even my parents, because, as she put it, Freddie, short for Fredrikke was her name. Not Mother, or Grandmother. Just Freddie.
Tana woke lying in a bathtub. Her legs were drawn up, her cheek pressed against the cold metal of the faucet. A slow drip had soaked the fabric on her shoulder and wetted locks of her hair. The rest of her, including her clothes, was still completely dry, which was kind of a relief. Her neck felt stiff; her shoulders ached. She looked up dazedly at the ceiling, at the blots of mold grown into Rorschach patterns. For a moment, she felt completely disoriented. Then she scrambled up onto her knees, skin sliding on the enamel, and pushed aside the shower curtain.
In a town house at a fashionable address on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, every lamp blazes. There’s a party going on – the last of the summer. Out on the terrace overlooking Manhattan’s incandescent skyline, the orchestra take a much-needed break. It’s ten thirty. The party has been on since eight o’clock, and already the guests are bored. Fashionable debutantes in pastel chiffon party dresses wilt into leather club chairs like frosted petits fours melting under the July sun. A cocky Princeton sophomore wants his friends to head down to Greenwich Village with him, to a speak-easy he heard about from a friend of a friend.
So in order to understand what happened, you have to start with the premise that high school sucks. Do you accept that premise? Of course you do. It is a universally acknowledged truth that high school sucks. In fact, high school is where we are first introduced to the basic existential question of life: How is it possible to exist in a place that sucks so bad?
Here is the boy, drowning.
In these last moments, it’s not the water that’s finally done for him; it’s the cold. It has bled all the energy from his body and contracted his muscles into a painful uselessness, no matter how much he fights to keep himself above the surface. He is strong, and young, nearly seventeen, but the wintry waves keep coming, each one seemingly larger than the last. They spin him round, topple him over, force him deeper down and down. Even when he can catch his breath in the few terrified second he manages to push his face into the air, he is shaking so badly he can barely get half a lungful before he’s under again. It isn’t enough, grows less each time, and he feels a terrible yearning in his chest as he aches, fruitlessly, for more.
Blue Sargent had forgotten how many times she’d been told that she would kill her true love.
Her family traded in predictions. These predictions tended, however, to run toward the nonspecific. Things like: Something terrible will happen to you today. It might involve the number six. Or: Money is coming. Open your hand for it. Or: You have a big decision and it will not make itself.
The servants called them malenchki, little ghosts, because they were the smallest and the youngest, and because they haunted the Duke’s house like giggling phantoms, darting in and out of rooms, hiding in cupboards to eavesdrop, sneaking into the kitchen to steal the last of the summer peaches.
The ornate script on the board twisted in the candlelight, making the letters and numbers dance in my head. They were jumbled and indistinct, like alphabet soup. When Claire pushed the heart-shaped piece into my hand, I startled. I wasn’t normally so twitchy, and hoped Rachel wouldn’t notice. The Ouija board was her favorite present that night, and Claire gave it to her. I got her a bracelet. She wasn’t wearing it.
If you would like to see what books these excerpts are from, click on page 2 - but not before you leave a comment! As always, feel free to leave me any book recommendations!
If you got to this page, include the word "dinglehopper" somewhere in your comment :P
Have you read any of these books? What did you think?