• Libba Bray

A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1) Ebook DescriptionA Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1) Book has a good rating based on 194,665 votes and 9,539 reviews, some of the reviews are displayed in the box below, read carefully for reference. Find other interesting books from 'Libba Bray' in the search field.In this debut gothic novel mysterious visions, dark family secrets and a long-lost diary thrust Gemma and her classmates back into the horrors that followed her from India.

(Ages 12+)It's 1895, and after the suicide of her mother, 16-year-old Gemma Doyle is shipped off from the life she knows in India to Spence, a proper boarding school in England. Lonely, guilt-ridden, and prone to visions of the future that have an uncomfortable habit of coming true, Gemma's reception there is a chilly one. To make things worse, she's been followed by a mysterious young Indian man, a man sent to watch her. What is her destiny? And what will her entanglement with Spence's most powerful girls—and their foray into the spiritual world—lead to? I don't know why for so long I just assumed I wouldn't like historical fiction, it's not as if I don't love history - I picked it for one of my A levels in college.

But, I guess it's just one of those genres that sounds tedious and you imagine it to be all oppressed sexuality and prim and properness. Diana Gabaldon forever changed my mind with her oversexed and aggressive depiction of history and it was only a matter of time before I looked towards other works of historical fiction.This book is both everything I expected and also everything I didn't expect. It's set for the most part in a boarding school for educating girls in the art of being 'ladies', or in other words: wives. The girls were expected to be reserved, polite and, most importantly, beautiful. This I was prepared for.

I was also prepared for the customs, superstitions and blatant sexism of the times. However, it never occurred to me that this novel would be simply a 19th century take on a modern school. There's gossiping, bitchiness and bullying of those who are different (in this case, from a lower class).It's a good dose of chick lit as well as a historical book. And that's before we've even gotten to the whole magic/fantasy aspect.

This novel completely transcends genres and does it well. I didn't see the whole other-realm mysticality thing coming but I loved it. The gypsies are awesome as well, we have crazy gypsies, fake fortune-telling I-speak-with-dead-people gypsies, sexy gypsies (don't believe the rumours, 19th century girls didn't just lie back and think of England). And that's another thing I liked: the exploration of the girls' sexualities behind closed doors.

It may not be the most reliable source, the book was written in modern times, but it's easy to imagine that beneath the surface of Victorian society's repressed sexuality, girls probably did talk about 'having' thousands of men: Earls, Dukes, Barons, Princes. Anyway, lost myself on a smutty tangent.

I was saying that I liked the idea of weaving fantasy into history, I'm all for spicing up times gone by.I didn't give it 5 stars because it wasn't quite up there with my other 5 star rated books. I liked it, I loved the many different elements that made the novel hard to categorise and I liked the characters. I always like it when things aren't just as simple as 'she's a bitch' and 'she's a freak' in any kind of genre. I liked how, even though Gemma lost her mother at the beginning, the relationship was still built up throughout. I liked that the protagonist wasn't a pushover, even more so because the novel setting was in a very sexist society. And I love anything with dreams and/or visions. This book is what it is: a young adult novel.That said, it's a very good one.

You can read the summary on the book's page, so I won't go into that here.I loved the juxtaposition of Victorian England, colonial India, and the fairy world. The protagonist doesn't belong in any of them, and she recognizes that, which sets up the whole story: the outsider tries to find her niche.I didn't care for any of the other main characters, mostly because I felt that the protagonist, Gemma, was treading on thin ice by being friends with them. I liked Gemma - I've read reviews that said she was selfish, angry, and petty, and she can be - but what sixteen-year-old isn't?

The friendship between Gemma and the other three girls is based on a desire for freedom as well as the tenuous sharing of secrets - I don't think the girls were ever meant to appear as the best of friends, even on a good day, so the reviews that criticize the friendship being shallow puzzle me. (I mean.well, yeah, right?)I thought the story flowed really well and had enough twists and turns to keep me guessing - it's also a really quick read and I was sorry when it ended as soon as it did. The visits to the fairy realm were really a delight to read - pure escapism for the characters as well as the reader. And not without a dark edge.Finally, it was a little racy, which I thought was pretty awesome for a YA novel. It's hard to write a teenage sexual awakening while so much other stuff is going on, especially without being sordid, cheesy, or flowery. Bray does this really well - and the male love interest is your typical aloof, charming, vaguely dangerous, devastatingly hot, man-of-few-words character. I can hear the swoons of teenage girls everywhere.

Hell, even I sighed once or twice.I'm definitely looking forward to reading the next two books in this series. A Great and Terrible Beauty is neither great nor beautiful, though it is indeed - wait for it! - terrible.The characters are simple and one-dimensional, their actions both petty and selfish. I find it difficult to believe any one of the four girls at the heart of the story cared for one another, much less anyone else. The story meanders, often digressing into lengthy passages that do little if anything to advance the characters or the story.

As the story progresses, drawing to its predictable and dissatisfying conclusion, it becomes clear that Ms Bray has mistaken style for subtance and that her prose is not stylish enough to support this belief.Most offensive, however, is the racial and sexual content within the book. The male lead (a young man from India) is sexualized and fetishized for his 'exotic' appearance and culture; other Indian characters are shown as either submissive or violent.

The Romani people wandering the schoolgrounds suffer from even greater stereotyping: the men are portrayed as slovenly, ignorant, and sexually aggressive towards the white schoolgirls; the women are docile and suitably mystical.Her treatment of the female characters is also questionable. Though these Victorian girls wander about with decidedly un-Victorian sensibilities and though Ms Bray makes a weak attempt to decry the injustices of a society so quick to condemn the expression of feminine sexuality, the story itself does not support this modern take on the Victorian era. The girls submit to their male counterparts or pine helplessly from a distance.

Sexual and romantic relationships between men and women often contain obvious and disturbing power imbalances (or violent undertones). The relationship between the four girls is emotionally shallow and deeply petty, motivated by mutual dislike and composed of backstabbing and bullying tactics. And though Ms Bray is quick to condemn the indignities and horrors of an arranged marriage, she is also quick to condemn her protagonists when they dare to act instead of react. It's a confusing mix of self-righteous pulpit pounding and misogyny, with the end result being I wanted to put my fist through the admittedly lovely and eyecatching cover.My one relief is that I had the sense to borrow this from the library instead of buying it outright. I do not recommend it.

'Lily Trimble is quite beautiful, isn't she?' I say by way of trying to make pleasant small talk with Tom, a seemingly impossible task.' An actress,' Tom sneers. 'What sort of way is that for a woman to live, without a solid home, husband, children? Running about like she's her own lord and master.

She'll certainly never be accepted in society as a proper lady.' And that's what comes of small talk.Part of me wants to give Tom a swift kick for his arrogance. I'm afraid to say that another part of me is dying to know what men look for in a woman. My brother might be pompous, but he knows certain things that could prove useful to me.' I see,' I say in an offhand way as if I want to know what makes a nice garden. I am controlled.

'And what does make a proper lady?' He looks as if he should have a pipe in his mouth as he says, 'A man wants a woman who will make life easy for him. She should be attractive, well groomed, knowledgeable in music, painting, and running a house, but above all, she should keep his name above scandal and never call attention to herself.' He must be joking. Give him a minute, and he'll laugh, say it was just a lark, but his smug smile stays firmly in place. I am not about to take this insult in stride.

'Mother was Father's equal,' I say coolly. 'He didn't expect her to walk behind him like some pining imbecile.' Tom's smile falls away. And look where it's gotten us.' It's quiet again. Outside the cab's windows, London rolls by and Tom turns his head toward it. For the first rime,I can see his pain, see it in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, over and over, and I understand what it costs him to hide it all.

But I don't know how to build a bridge across this awkward silence, so we ride on, watching everything, seeing little, saying nothing.' Gemma' Tom's voice breaks and he stops for a moment. He's fighting whatever it is that's boiling up inside him. 'That day with Mother why the devil did you run away? Bobcat skid steer serial number lookup. What were you thinking?' My voice is a whisper.

'I don't know.' For the truth, it's very little comfort.' The illogic of women.' 'Yes,' I say, not because I agree but because I want to give him something, anything. I say it because I want him to forgive me.

And perhaps then I could begin to forgive myself. Did you know that'his jaw clenches on the word-' man they found murdered with her?'

'No,' I whisper.' Sarita said you were hysterical when she and the police found you. Going on about some Indian boy and a vision of a a thing of some sort.' He pauses, rubs his palms over the knees of his pants. He's still not looking at me.My hands shake in my lap. I could tell him. I could tell him what I've kept locked tight inside.

Right now, with that lock of hair falling in his eyes, he's the brother I've missed, the one who once brought me stones from the sea, told me they were rajah's jewels. I want to tell him that I'm afraid I'm going mad by degrees and that nothing seems entirely real to me anymore. I want to tell him about the vision, have him pat me on the head in that irritating way and dismiss it with a perfectly logical doctor's explanation. I want to ask him if it's possible that a girl can be born unlovable, or does she just become that way? I want to tell him everything and have him understand.Tom clears his throat. 'What I mean to say is, did something happen to you? Did he are you quite all right?'

My words pull each other back down into a deep, dark silence. 'You want to know if I'm still chaste.'

'If you want to put it so plainly, yes.' Now I see that it was ridiculous of me to think he wanted to know what really happened. He's only concerned that I haven't shamed the family somehow. 'Yes, I am, as you put it, quite all right.' I could laugh, it's such a lieI am most certainly not all right. But it works as I know it will.

That's what living in their world isa big lie. An illusion where everyone looks the other way and pretends that nothing unpleasant exists at all, no goblins of the dark, no ghosts of the soul.Tom straightens his shoulders, relieved. The human moment has passed and he is all control again. 'Gemma, Mother's murder is a blight on this family. It would be scandalous if the true facts were known.' He stares at me. 'Mother died of cholera,' he says emphatically, as if even he believes the lie now.

'I know you disagree, but as your brother, I'm telling you that the less said, the better. It's for your own protection.' He's all fact and no feeling. It will serve him well as a doctor someday.

I know that what he's telling me is true, but I can't help hating him for it. 'Are you sure it's my protection you're worried about?' His jaw tightens again. 'I'll overlook that last comment.

If you won't think of me, of yourself, then think of Father. He's not well, Gemma. You can see that. The circumstances of Mother's death have undone him.' He fiddles with the cuffs on his shirt. 'You may as well know that Father got into some very bad habits in India. Sharing the hookah with the Indians might have made him a popular businessman, one of them in their eyes, but it didn't help his constitution much.

He's always been fond of his pleasures. His escapes.' Father sometimes came home late and spent from his day. I remembered Mother and the servants helping him to bed on more than one occasion.

Still, it hurts to hear this. I hate Tom for telling me. 'Then why do you keep getting him the laudanum?' 'There's nothing wrong with laudanum.

It's medicinal,' he sniffs.' In moderation'Father's no addict. Not Father,' he says, as if he means to convince a jury. 'He'll be fine now that he's back in England. Just remember what I've told you. Can you at least promise me that much? 'Yes, fine,' I say, feeling dead inside.

They don't know what they're in for at Spence, getting me, a ghost of a girl who'll nod and smile and take her tea but who isn't really here.The driver calls down to us. 'Sir, we'll be needin' to pass through the East, if you want to draw the curtains.' 'What does he mean?'

We have to go through the East End. Oh, for heaven's sake, the slums, Gemma,' he says, loosening the curtains on the sides of his windows to block out the poverty and filth. 'I've seen slums in India,' I say, leaving my curtains in place. The carriage bumps its way along the cobblestones through grimy, narrow streets. Dozens of dirty, thin children clamber about, staring at us in our fine carriage.

My heart sinks to see their bony, soot-smeared faces. Several women huddle together under a gaslight, sewing. It makes sense for them to use the city's light and not waste their own precious candles for this thankless work. The smell in the streetsa mix of refuse, horse droppings, urine, and despairis truly awful, and I'm afraid I might gag.

Loud music and yelling spill out onto the street from a tavern. A drunken couple tumbles out after. The woman has hair the color of a sunset and a harsh, painted face. They're arguing with our driver, holding us here.' What's the matter now?' Tom raps against the hood of the carriage to spur the driver on. But the lady is really giving the driver what for.

We might be here all night. The drunken man leers at me, winks, makes an extremely rude gesture involving his index fingers.Disgusted, I turn away and look down an empty alley.

Tom's leaning out his window. I hear him, condescending and impatient, trying to reason with the couple in the street.But something's gone wrong. His voice grows muffled, like sounds heard through a shell held to the ear. And then all I can hear is my blood quickening, thumping hard against my veins.

A tremendous pressure seizes me, knocking the air from my lungs.It's happening again.I want to cry out to Tom, but I can't, and then I'm under, falling through that tunnel of color and light again as the alley bends and flickers. And just as quickly, I'm floating out of the carriage, stepping lightly into the darkened alley with its shimmering edges. There's a small girl of eight or so sitting in the straw-covered dirt, playing with a rag of a doll. Her face is dirty, but otherwise, she seems out of place here, in her pink hair ribbon and starched white pinafore that's a size too big for her. She sings a snippet of song, something I recognize faintly as being an old English folk tune. When I approach she looks up.'

Isn't my dolly lovely?' 'You can see me?' I ask.She nods and goes back to combing her filthy fingers through the doll's hair. 'She's looking for you.' 'She sent me to find you.

Libba Bray

But we have to be careful. It's looking for you, too.' The air shifts, bringing a damp chill with it. I'm shaking uncontrollably. 'Who are you?' Behind the little girl, I sense movement in the murky dark.

I blink to clear my eyes but it's no trick the shadows are moving. Quick as liquid silver the dark rises and takes its hideous shape, the gleaming bone of its skeletal face, the hollow, black holes where eyes should be. The hair a tangle of snakes. The mouth opens and the rasping moan escapes. ' Come to us, my pretty, pretty 'Run.' The word is a choked whisper on my tongue.

The thing is growing, slithering ever closer. The howls and moans inside it making every cell in my body go ice-cold. A scream inches its way up my throat. If I let it out, I'll never stop.Heart pounding hard against my ribs, I say again, stronger, 'Run!' The thing hesitates, pulls back.

It sniffs at the air, as if tracking a scent. The little girl turns her flat brown eyes to me. 'Too late,' she says, just as the creature turns its unseeing eyes toward me.

The decaying lips spread apart, revealing teeth like spikes. Dear God, the thing is grinning at me. It opens wide that horrible mouth and screechesa sound that loosens my tongue at last.' In an instant I'm back inside the carriage and leaning out the window, yelling at the couple. 'Get out of the bloody waynow!'

I shout, snapping at the horse's rump with my shawl. The mare whinnies and lurches, sending the couple rushing for the safety of the tavern.The driver steadies the horse as Tom pulls me down into my seat. Whatever has possessed you?' 'I' In the alley, I look for the thing and don't find it. It's just an alley, with dull light and several dirty children trying to steal a hat from a smaller boy, their laughter bouncing off stables and crumbling hovels. The scene passes behind us into the night.'

I say, Gemma, are you all right?' Tom is truly concerned.I'm going mad, Tom. I was simply in a hurry.' The sound coming out of my mouth is a cross between a laugh and a howl, like the sound a madwoman would make.Tom eyes me as if I'm some rare disease he's helpless to treat. 'For pity's sake! Get hold of yourself. And please try to watch your language at Spence.

I don't want to have to collect you only hours after I've deposited you there.' 'Yes, Tom,' I say as the carriage jostles back to life on the cobblestones, leading us away from London and shadows.CHAPTER FOUR'There's the school now, sir,' the driver shouts.We've been riding for an hour across rolling hills dotted with trees.

The sun has set, the sky settling into that hazy blue of twilight. When I look out my window, I can't see anything but a canopy of branches overhead, and through the lacework of leaves, there's the moon, ripe as a melon.

I'm starting to think that our driver must be imagining things, too, but we crest a hill and Spence comes into glorious view.I had expected some sweet little cottage estate, the kind written about in halfpenny papers where rosy-cheeked young girls play lawn tennis on tidy green fields. There is nothing cozy about Spence. The place is enormous, a madman's forgotten castle with great, fat turrets and thin, pointy spires. It would take a girl a year just to visit every room inside, no doubt.' The driver stops short. There's someone in the road.'

Who goes there?' A woman comes around to my side of the carriage and peers in. An old Gypsy woman. A richly embroidered scarf is wrapped tightly about her head and her jewelry is pure gold, but otherwise, she is disheveled.' Tom sighs.I poke my head out. When the moonlight catches my face, the Gypsy woman's face softens.

'Oh, but it's you. You've come back to me.' 'I'm sorry, madam.

You must have mistaken me for someone else.' 'Oh, but where is Carolina? Where is she? Did you take her?'

She starts to moan softly.' Come on now, missus, let us by,' the driver calls. 'There's a good lady.'

With a snap of the reins, the carriage jostles forward again as the old woman calls after us.' Mother Elena sees everything. She knows your heart! 'Good lord, they've got their own hermit,' Tom sneers. 'How very fashionable.' Tom may laugh but I can't wait to get out of the carriage and the dark.The horse draws us under the stone archway and through gates that open onto lovely grounds.

I can just make out a wonderful green field, perfect for playing lawn tennis or croquet, and what looks like lush, overgrown gardens. A little farther out lies a grove of great trees, thick as a forest. Beyond the trees sits a chapel perched on a hill.

The whole picture looks as if it's been standing this way for centuries, untouched.The carriage bounces up the hill that leads to Spence's front doors. I arch my neck out the window to take in the full, massive scope of the building. There's something jutting up from the roof. It's hard to make it out in the fading light. The moon shifts from under a bank of clouds and I see them clearly: gargoyles. Moonlight ripples over the roof, illuminating bits and piecesa sliver of sharp tooth, a leering mouth, snarling eyes.Welcome to finishing school, Gemma.

Learn to embroider, serve tea, curtsy. Oh, and by the way, you might be demolished in the night by a hideous winged creature from the roof.The carriage jangles to a stop. My trunk is placed on the great stone steps outside the large wooden doors. Tom raps with the great brass knocker, which is roughly the size of my head.

While we wait, he can't resist giving his last bit of brotherly advice.' Now, it is very important that you conduct yourself in a manner befitting your station while at Spence. It's fine to be kind to the lesser girls, but remember that they are not your equals.'