Shades of Milk and HoneyBook - 2010
Shades of Milk and Honey is exactly what we could expect from Jane Austen if she had been a fantasy writer: Pride and Prejudice meets Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell . It is an intimate portrait of a woman, Jane, and her quest for love in a world where the manipulation of glamour is considered an essential skill for a lady of quality.
Jane and her sister Melody vie for the attentions of eligible men, and while Jane's skill with glamour is remarkable, it is her sister who is fair of face. When Jane realizes that one of Melody's suitors is set on taking advantage of her sister for the sake of her dowry, she pushes her skills to the limit of what her body can withstand in order to set things right--and, in the process, accidentally wanders into a love story of her own.
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When I find a new author I enjoy, it feels something like starting a new romance. I will often become infatuated and go on a jag, reading their books almost exclusively until: a) I have read everything they’ve ever written or b) I get excited about something/someone new. I am currently on a Mary Robinette Kowal jag. My son had “Ghost Talkers” on his holiday wishlist, and since he and I… (more)
From Library Staff
Shades of Milk and Honey is the perfect magical companion to Pride and Prejudice. In Kowal’s world, magic is called glamour, and it is one of the most sought after abilities for any proper lady. Here enters Jane. She is a young girl with a natural aptitude for glamour but not nearly as beautif... Read More »
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I dream of a day when it is possible to move images from one location to the next without the human effort of clasping tight to keep the folds from unraveling. Were that possible, then a gallery could be created so that arts such as these were not only the provenance of the wealthy, but that all men might be lifted up by exposure to this, the most ephemeral of arts.... I imagine a day when it will be possible to create an image in one place and have it be seen instantly in another." (p. 164)
The room had vanished, its walls replaced entirely by arching trees; the ceiling, a sky overhead which shimmered with the light of stars and the moon. The trees rustled in response to a conjured breeze, which carried with it hints of jasmine and the pleasant, spicy scent of loam. The brook, which had so entranced her at the ball, continued its babbling, but now it was accompanied by birdsong from a nightingale that sat on one of the tree branches, singing its melody at exactly the right volume to be unobtrusive in a gathering. (p. 143)
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