Hellooo! I do not have an FAQ but I should because I do indeed get this question a lot (which is totally fine).
Firstly, thank you for saying “similar air” instead of “books like these” because the former is a much more reasonable request and otherwise the book-comparison algorithm in my brain-area would have given me nothing but hateful error messages and probably insults and maybe some spontaneous combustion.
But given that you were kind enough to use the preferable word choice and prevent the countdown to my mindsplosion, here is a list:
*Holly’s upcoming YA book The Darkest Part of the Forest is also perfect and you will love it, but it’s not out until January.
I hope this helps and I will probably make myself a handy FAQ to keep this list going as I think of more.
The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater
Talk about u n t h i n k a b l e
y o u a n d m e, I mean.
I’ve been all over the world. More than one country for every year that I’m alive. Europe and South America and - the highest mountains and the widest rivers and the prettiest villages. I’m not saying that to show off. I’m just saying it because I’m trying to understand how I could have been so many places and yet this is the only place that feels like home. This is the only place I belong. And because I’m trying to understand how, if I belong here, it hurts so much?
No one knew his name to curse or extol, so I spoke it softly, beneath my breath.
“Aleksander,” I whispered. A boy’s name, given up. Almost forgotten.
Black is the color that is no color at all.
Black is the color of a child’s still, empty bedroom. The heaviest hour of the night-the one that traps you in your bunk, suffocating in another nightmare. It is a uniform stretched over the broad shoulders of an angry young man. Black is the mud, the lidless eye watching you every breath, the low vibrations of the fence that streches up to tear the sky.
It is a road. A forgotten night sky broken up by faded stars.
It is the barrel of a new gun, leveled at your heart.
The color of Chubs’s hair,
My name is Celaena Sardothien. But it makes no difference if my name ’s Celaena or Lillian or Bitch, because I’d still beat you, no matter what you call me.
Happy Birthday Numa (aka theheiroffire go follow her amazing blog). I’m so sorry if this is completely irrelevant to the fandom but i wanted to try do an edit for a not so popular fandom of yours so i hope you like it and hope you’ve had an amazing day!!
THE KIRKUS REVIEW FOR BLUE LILY, LILY BLUE
I CANNOT BREATHE
"Please don’t do this," he said. "Kestrel, you don’t know. You don’t understand."
"I see things quite clearly." She began to walk to meet her father, in whose eyes she had, at last, done something to make him proud.
"You don’t," Arin said.
She pretended not to hear him. She watched the white sky dissolve into snow and shiver apart over the laden sea. She felt icy sparks on her skin. The snow fell on her, it fell on him, but Kestrel knew that no single flake could ever t o u c h them both.
She didn’t look back when he spoke again.
"You don’t, Kestrel, even though the god of lies loves you."
You remind me of her sometimes.
they were never scared of the kids who might die, or the empty spaces they would leave behind. they were afraid of us - the ones who lived. [1/10 books/epics/myths]
t h e c l o c k w o r k p r i n c e s s
“I think that’s the mercy of this island, actually, that it won’t give us our terrible memories for long, but lets us keep the good ones for as long as we want them." - The Scorpio Races, Maggie Stiefvater