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Narrated by Josephine Bailey
Libba BrayUnabridged — 14 hours, 8 minutes
Narrated by Josephine Bailey
Libba BrayUnabridged — 14 hours, 8 minutes
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In this magnificent and mystical follow-up to A Great and Terrible Beauty, Gemma Doyle faces her biggest challenge yet, as she returns to the magical realms on a quest to find the Temple and bind the magic she released in her last adventure. Featuring complex and compelling characters and an intricately woven plot, this riveting fantasy is steeped in Victorian sensibility -- and filled with history, mystery, and spellbinding romance.
"Although Bray's follow-up to A Great and Terrible Beauty feels a bit like a bridge between the launch and the next installment in her series," said PW, "fans of the author's first novel will nonetheless remain enthralled." Ages 12-up. (Dec.) Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information.
Gr 8 Up-The sequel (Delacorte, 2005) to Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty (Delacorte, 2003; Listening Library, 2004) takes up 17-year-old Gemma Doyle's adventures above ground, in Victorian London, and below in the magical Realms, just days after the first book ended. Narrator Josephine Bailey remains consistent and inspired in the range of accents and tones she provides for Gemma, her posh friend Felicity, their whiney classmate Ann, the mysterious and sensual Indian youth Kartik, and the newly introduced characters that include a suspicious new teacher and a patient at London's famous Bethlehem Hospital (Bedlam). Those unfamiliar with the prequel to the current adventures may find themselves a bit lost at the outset, but the flurry of immediate events will soon catch them up as Gemma works feverishly to understand how she can bind the magic running loose in the Realms, whether Kartik is her ally or her deadly opponent, and if her father's moodiness is an expression of the continuing grief at her mother's death or an opiate habit. Added to these Gothic matters is the fact that Gemma must come to terms with her feelings for the young man who pays her court during the Christmas holidays she's spending away from finishing school and in her grandmother's house. Bray realizes the time period not only in her skillfully embedded descriptions of sounds, textures, and smells, but also by evoking the social framework within which Gemma must move, at least while above ground. The Realms, on the other hand, include both other worldly beauty and ghastliness, befitting of hallucinations. Gemma proves her strength and her charity in both arenas.-Francisca Goldsmith, Berkeley Public Library, CA Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
What beastly luck. When Victorian schoolgirl Gemma Doyle smashed the magical realms' runes two months ago (A Great and Terrible Beauty, 2003), she thought she was destroying evil. Instead, she unbound the magic and made it available to any malevolent force. In London for the Christmas holidays, Gemma must bind the power before disaster falls-but bind for whom? The all-female Order, which allowed corruption to enter the realms in the first place? The male secret society of the Rakshana, which wants Gemma dead? Betrayal is in the air, and the backstabbing distrust of London, where any girl or woman might be the evil Circe in disguise, is a far cry from the budding homoeroticism of Gemma's earlier adventure. To make matters worse, Gemma's father has become an opium eater, her erstwhile lover Kartik might be planning her death and her only clues to Circe's identity come from a Bedlamite. While the characters and setting lack the lush richness and depth that made the first volume appealing, Gemma's shivery adventures, lacking easy answers, make for an exciting mystical quest. (Fantasy. YA)
This extraordinary novel moves along at breathtaking speed from beginning to end . . . astounding.”—VOYA in a Perfect 10 Review
“A remarkable fantasy steeped in Victorian sensibility . . . Gemma and her friends are pitch perfect as young women in a world poised for change, uncertain of their places.” —School Library Journal
“Rich social commentary, romance, and adventure, even more sumptuously created . . . teens will long for another sequel.” —Booklist
“Bray provides a satisfying ending, yet she implies a further struggle for power. Fans will want to stay tuned.” —Publishers Weekly
“Gemma’s shivery adventures, lacking easy answers, make for an exciting mystical quest.” —Kirkus Reviews
"Featuring complex and compelling characters and an intricately woven plot, this riveting fantasy is steeped in Victorian sensibility — and filled with history, mystery, and spellbinding romance." —BN.com
"This novel has enough mystery and excitementto thrill the most critical readers." —Children's Literature
A New York Times Bestseller
A USA Today Bestseller
A Publishers Weekly Bestseller
A Book Sense Bestseller
A Book Sense Top Ten Selection
BBYA (ALA/YALSA Best Book for Young Adults)
Colorado Blue Spruce Young Adult Book Award
Iowa High School Book Award
Pennsylvania Young Reader’s Choice Award
Golden Spur Children’s Literature Book Award (TX)
For listeners who relished Bray’s first Victorian fantasy novel, A GREAT AND TERRIBLE BEAUTY, this title will be equally welcome. Josephine Bailey narrates this second story of Gemma Doyle and her boarding school chums with a precise British accent that exudes the atmosphere of Gemma’s aristocratic world. Bailey maintains dramatic tension over the twisting story threads, following Gemma, Felicity, and Ann’s attempts to rid the magical realms of the sorceress Circe. While Bailey’s restrained tones are sometimes too earnest for the complex and mercurial teenaged girls, she never loses control of the long, involved reading. REBEL ANGELS is undeniably a sequel, but Bailey's encore performance animates Gemma's world for all listeners. C.A. © AudioFile 2006, Portland, Maine
| BN ID: | 2940171964610 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin Random House |
| Publication date: | 04/25/2006 |
| Series: | Gemma Doyle Trilogy Series , #2 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
| Age Range: | 12 - 17 Years |
December 1895
Spence Academy for Young Ladies
Ah, Christmas!
The very mention of the holiday conjures such precious, sentimental memories for most: a tall evergreen tree hung with tinsel and glass; gaily wrapped presents strewn about; a roaring fire and glasses filled with cheer; carolers grouped round the door, their jaunty hats catching the snow as it falls; a nice fat goose resting upon a platter, surrounded by apples. And of course, fig pudding for dessert.
Right. Jolly good. I should like to see that very much.
These images of Christmas cheer are miles away from where I sit now, at the Spence Academy for Young Ladies, forced to construct a drummer boy ornament using only tinfoil, cotton, and a small bit of string, as if performing some diabolical experiment in cadaver regeneration. Mary Shelley's monster could not be half so frightening as this ridiculous thing. The figure will not remind a soul of Christmas happiness. More likely, it will reduce children to tears.
"This is impossible," I grumble. I elicit no pity from any quarter. Even Felicity and Ann, my two dearest friends, which is to say my only friends here, will not come to my aid. Ann is determined to turn wet sugar and small bits of kindling into an exact replica of the Christ child in a manger. She seems to take no notice of anything beyond her own two hands. For her part, Felicity turns her cool gray eyes to me as if to say, Suffer. I am.
No, instead, it is the beastly Cecily Temple who answers me. Dear, dear Cecily, or as I affectionately refer to her in the privacy of my mind, She Who Inflicts Misery Simply by Breathing.
"I cannot fathom what is giving you such trouble, Miss Doyle. Really, it is the simplest thing in the world. Look, I've done four already." She holds out her four perfect tinfoil boys for inspection. There is a round of oohing and aahing over their beautifully shaped arms, the tiny woolen scarves—knit by Cecily's capable hands, but of course—and those delicate licorice smiles that make them seem overjoyed to be hanging by the neck from a Christmas tree.
Two weeks until Christmas and my mood blackens by the hour. The tinfoil boy seems to be begging me to shoot him. Compelled by a force larger than myself, I cannot seem to keep from placing the crippled ornament boy on the side table and performing a little show. I move the ugly thing, forcing him to drag his useless leg like Mr. Dickens's treacly Tiny Tim.
"God bless us, every one," I warble in a pathetic, high-pitched voice.
This is greeted by horrified silence. Every eye is averted. Even Felicity, who is not known as the soul of decorum, seems cowed. Behind me, there is the familiar sound of a throat being cleared in grand disapproval. I turn to see Mrs. Nightwing, Spence's frosty headmistress, staring down at me as if I were a leper. Blast.
"Miss Doyle, do you suppose that to be humorous? Making light of the very real pain of London's unfortunates?"
"I—I . . . why . . ."
Mrs. Nightwing peers at me over her spectacles. Her graying pouf of hair is like a nimbus warning of the storm to come.
"Perhaps, Miss Doyle, if you were to spend time in service to the poor, wrapping bandages as I once did in my own youth during the Crimean War, you would acquire a healthy and much-needed dose of sympathy."
"Y-yes, Mrs. Nightwing. I don't know how I could have been so unkind," I blabber.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Felicity and Ann hunched over their ornaments as if they were fascinating relics from an archeological dig. I note that their shoulders are trembling, and I realize that they are fighting laughter over my terrible plight. There's friendship for you.
"For this you shall lose ten good conduct marks and I shall expect you to perform an act of charity during the holiday as penance."
"Yes, Mrs. Nightwing."
"You shall write a full account of this charitable act and tell me how it has enriched your character."
"Yes, Mrs. Nightwing."
"And that ornament needs much work."
"Yes, Mrs. Nightwing."
"Have you any questions?"
"Yes, Mrs. Nightwing. I meant, no, Mrs. Nightwing. Thank you."
An act of charity? Over the holiday? Would enduring time with my brother, Thomas, count toward that end? Blast. I've done it now.
"Mrs. Nightwing?" The sheer sound of Cecily's voice could make me froth at the mouth. "I hope these are satisfactory. I do so want to be of service to the unfortunate."
It's possible that I shall lose consciousness from holding back a very loud Ha! at this. Cecily, who never misses an opportunity to tease Ann about her scholarship status, wants nothing to do with the poor. What she does want is to be Mrs. Nightwing's lapdog.
Mrs. Nightwing holds Cecily's perfect ornaments up to the light for inspection. "These are exemplary, Miss Temple. I commend you."
Cecily gives a very smug smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Nightwing."
Ah, Christmas.
With a heavy sigh, I take apart my pathetic ornament and begin again. My eyes burn and blur. I rub them but it does no good. What I need is sleep, but sleep is the very thing I fear. For weeks, I've been haunted by wicked warnings of dreams. I cannot remember much when I awaken, only snatches here and there. A sky roiling with red and gray. A painted flower dripping tears of blood. Strange forests of light. My face, grave and questioning, reflected in water. But the images that stay with me are of her, beautiful and sad.
"Why did you leave me here?" she cries, and I cannot answer. "I want to come back. I want us to be together again." I break away and run, but her cry finds me. "It's your fault, Gemma! You left me here! You left me!"
That is all I remember when I wake each morning before dawn, gasping and covered in perspiration, more tired than when I went to bed. They are only dreams. Then why do they leave me feeling so troubled?
