by Maggie Stiefvater
Scholastic Press
October 18, 2011
416 Pgs
Some race to win. Others race to survive.
It happens at the start of every November: the Scorpio Races. Riders attempt to keep hold of their water horses long enough to make it to the finish line. Some riders live.Others die.
My Rating: 5 – Loved it! For so many reasons.
I love a good horse book. I read The Black Stallion over and
over and still own most of the series including the Island Stallion. I grew up on Thowra, the Silver Brumby, and galloped around our walled garden in Bexleyheath, Kent. So
when I saw some reviews stating that “if you like horses, you’ll like Scorpio
Races”, I was all over it.
The Scorpio Races is not at all what I expected and nothing
like those other (wonderful) books. It’s as wild and faery and otherworldly as
something Maggie would write after werewolves and devious musical fairies. The
horses are not horses except for the she’s-bigger-than-a-pony Dove. They’re
dangerous, flesh-eating, frightening snake-like things that carry the deep
ocean with them wherever they go. They gave me the willies!
(No spoilers beyond what might help suck you into this book.)
Sean Kendrick was amazing as a person, as a representative
of that wild beach, half on the island, half in ocean. Puck Connolly is the
island impersonated. Their love for the crazy island and the horrible legends
bring such a longing for “home”, it aches. I am (delightfully) irritated with
Sean’s uncompromising love for Corr, I want to yell at him that Corr is an
unsteady thing to put so much of his LIFE into. I want to shake Puck’s brother,
Gabe, and make him communicate with his growing siblings. I want to hug Puck
and tell her I believe in her, but maybe she better listen to everyone. I
seriously want to throttle Benjamin Malvern for being so selfish and heartless.
And I love Maggie for making me feel so strongly about all of them.
There are hidden writing gems everywhere, phrases that fit
too beautifully. They made me stop, pull out of the story and think of marking
my book with underlining, which I never do. I wish I had because I need to
quote some of those, now. I should have learned to read with a notebook or a
better memory. If you read this book… no, I mean, WHEN you read this book, and if
you care about delicious wording, have something to write on handy. I’ll be
rereading it someday, so I’ll survive.
Few things bothered me, I’ll list
both of ‘em.
Hopping POV’s between Sean and Puck was both good and bad,
or rather, it wasn’t so much the POV’s, maybe, as the depth. Although I was
granted space inside both of their heads, I wasn’t completely inside either. There’s
a level of anticipation maintained with that style, but also a buffer of
separation. That buffer seemed to grow as the book progressed which led to the
space in the middle where I wasn’t getting any closer to the characters and
they weren’t getting any closer to the race and I wondered what we were doing.
The blanket acceptance of Fate and resignation also had something to do with
that. It was depressing. And buffering. (I don't like buffering.)
I really wished Puck would grow interested in the cappaill uisce personally. There were so
many questions she didn’t ask that drove me crazy. How could she watch Sean’s
tricks with stuff up his sleeves and tying patterns of knots in Corr’s mane and
not ask questions about it? He traced Corr's veins, for cryin’ out
loud, and no one responded besides giving him reverent space?! (Ok, she did ask
about spitting, but there was so much more!) I just couldn’t imagine being in
her place and not yearning for some of what Sean had. Well, not and be true to
Puck’s self of being the island of
Thisby, you know? The cappaill uisce
are a part of the island and the explanation of her parent’s aversion wasn’t
enough for me. She can’t be herself and have nothing to do with them forever. I
don’t think. (Sequel?)
To sum up, I loved the island, the background characters,
the cliffs. The romance was perfect between the two main characters, as in, true
to themselves. Sean & Puck were both great and frustrating at the same time,
consistently. The Cappaill Uisce
totally freaked me out, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but did not remind me of
horses in the way my horse-lovin’ side would have enjoyed. Which was a good
thing.
Maggie Stiefvater:
All of my life decisions have been based around my inability to be gainfully employed. Talking to yourself, staring into space, and coming to work in your pajamas are frowned upon when you're a waitress, calligraphy instructor, or technical editor (all of which I've tried), but are highly prized traits in novelists, musicians, and artists (I've made my living as one of these since I was 22).
I now live an eccentric life in the middle of nowhere, Virginia, with my charmingly straight-laced husband, two small kids, two neurotic dogs who fart recreationally, and a 1973 Camaro named Loki.
I'm an avid reader, an award-winning colored pencil artist, and play several musical instruments, including the Celtic harp, the piano, and the bagpipes.
