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496 pages, Paperback
First published May 1, 2012
I wrote a final paper back in college with high fever and in the similar NyQuil daze, shaken by raspy cough, breathless with congestion. I got an A-plus on that paper. I could not recall writing a single word of it. Go figure.---------
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'It draws you in. You twist your mind into new shapes. You start to understand Caverna... and you fall in love with her. Imagine the most beautiful woman in the world, but with tunnels as her long, tangled, snake-like hair. Her skin is dappled in trap-lantern gold and velvety black, like a tropical frog. Her eyes are cavern lagoons, bottomless and full of hunger. When she smiles, she has diamonds and sapphires for teeth, thousands of them, needle-thin.'
‘But that sounds like a monster!’
‘She is. Caverna is terrifying. This is love, not liking. You fear her, but she is all you can think about.’
"The city grows, and not just through the effort of pick and shovel. She has been stretching, spreading and contorting to make room for us all, and I think that is why geography no longer makes sense."And now take this place where children know to bolt the doors against the assassins and sniff people to detect a trace of mind-control Perfume - and drop smack into the middle of it an 'odd and terrible child', a maddeningly naive and innocent girl without an arsenal of carefully crafted Faces - a girl whose expressions let you see her innermost thoughts rendering her unable to lie in this cunning nest of snakes that passes for a society. See what happens when she storms through Caverna like a little tornado - just buckle up because it will be a bumpy ride.
He contemplated Neverfell for a few moments through his freckling eyes.
‘Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you’re sane? That you’ve always been sane? That perhaps you’re the sanest person in the city?’
‘I hope not,’ whispered Neverfell. ‘Because, if I’m sane, then there’s something wrong with Caverna, something horrible and sick, and nobody else has noticed. If I’m sane, then we shouldn’t be sitting around talking – we should all be clawing our way out as fast as we can.’
‘I lied to you and it was easy, because you believe everybody means what they say. Everyone’s lying to you, Neverfell. Everyone. And you can’t tell, because you’re just not very bright when it comes to people. Brighten up fast, or you’re done for.’She is unrestrained, wide-eyed, excitable, naive and irritably innocent - even she can see that at times she's quite annoying.
"It was all very well being told that she could do nothing to make things better. Neverfell did not have the kind of mind that could take that quietly. She did not have the kind of mind that could be quiet at all.And yet as we see her scrape her tender trusting soul on the rough edges of her world and grow some tougher protective scabs on her abraded sensitivity, as we see her learn and mature and take responsibility, we realize that the little overexcitable brat with Pippi Longstocking-like red pigtails and 'the attention span of a summer-addled gnat' did that very annoying things she's always been good at - managing to turn us into her friends.
In many respects, poor Neverfell’s overactive mind had coped with her lonely and cloistered life in the only way it could. It had gone a little mad to avoid going wholly mad. To break up the dreary repetition of the day it had learned to skip unpredictably, to invent and half-believe, to shuffle thoughts until they were surprising and unrecognizable."
‘What don’t I understand? I know you’ve been lying to me, probably about lots of things. And I know there are probably plans inside plans inside plans, and I’m just a pawn, and that’s all I ever was. Even back when we first met. And it doesn’t matter, because you’re my friend. You’re my friend and you’re in trouble. All this while you’ve been miserable, and I’ve been too stupid to notice.’
"For Neverfell, it is as if other people are part of her. When she believes they are in pain, it hurts her, like a wound in a pretend limb."All I can say - I want more of Caverna, even without Neverfell. I want to see its madness again, I want to feel its soul, I want to look into the eyes of the Kleptomancer and see what looks back at me. In short, dear Frances Hardinge, if I'm really really (and I mean *really*) good this year, can I at some point expect a sequel in my Christmas stocking that I'm willing to hang up just for this occasion?
CHILD,
THIEF,
MADMAN,
SPY,
which speaks the truth
and which one lies?
Silver caterpillars of excitement writhed round each other in her stomach.
Here is a piece that falls between the chapters, like a coin between paving stones. It is a slice of silence in the middle of the melody. It is a rough and ragged spot, like the frill of stubs where pages have been torn out. There is no point looking for them. They are gone.
Maybe that’s the worst kind of prison – not
knowing you’re in a prison. Because then you don’t fight to get out.
"Zouelle had forgotten how tiring it was listening to Neverfell at full pace, like being bludgeoned with exclamation marks.”