by Maggie Stiefvater
How do you describe a book that’s become part of your heart? You put part of yourself back on the page.
You don’t just read The Scorpio Races, you step through the pages and onto the small island of Thisby. You stand on the rocky cliffs and smell the salt of the dark Atlantic as it blows through the fields. You meet the hardy and peculiar people who put down roots in a place more people choose to leave than stay. But the heart of Thisby is not only defined by its stark environment and inhabitants, but also the magical water horses that call the island their home.
Every October the water horses climb out of the water and the race season begins. The changeable magic of the island draws in many visitors from the mainland. Many men forfeit their lives to race each year, we might not know their reasons beyond the thrill of danger. But as we follow Kate ‘Puck’ Connley and Sean Kendrick through the month of race preparations we learn as much about their lives as their reasons for choosing to ride. This November 1st, they both have everything to lose.
I was gifted The Scorpio Races for my birthday in 2013. Inhaled this book while holding an infant, and during hours stolen in the night. Back then I was reading a lot of books with the aide of a u-shaped pillow and the excuse of a sleeping babe. While I enjoyed and reread a lot of books from that time, I don’t think I can say I’ve read any as many times as this book. This book became my escape, my comfort read. I would often read it after Christmas, just a couple months shy of being truly seasonal, to decompress from all rush at work and home. In Thisby, nothing is rushed unless the sea demands it. The world soaks through you. It has sunk into my soul.
As much love as I have for this book, I believe this year was the first time I read it without any frantic energy due to mom brain or holiday burn out… and I managed to love it even more. The richness of the setting. The nuances of the characters. Side plot details that I should have never missed before. There’s just something about experiencing yearning when it is far simpler yet deeper than what most people dare to dream about. The want of happiness knowing it will be forever tempered by an unforgiving landscape. It reminds me of home. It lives in my bones.
“The truth is, until you know any different, the island is enough. Actually, I know different. And it’s still enough.”
The Logistics:
This is YA all the way. I would have no problem handing this to a teen or a tween with a high falutin vocabulary. There is some death, of both people and animals. Spice? There is no spice. We're talking longing Mr. Darcy hand-flex style.
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