The Last Star & Other Stories by D.L. Orton - Review

I've really been enjoying reading short story collections recently and I received a copy of The Last Star & Other Stories by D.L. Orton direct from the author in exchange for an honest review so I was really looking forward to picking this up. 

The Last Star & Other Stories

From Award-Winning Author D. L. Orton comes a funny, thought-provoking, and sensual collection of short stories. Laugh, cry, and linger over these brief but intense glimpses into the lives of a billion-year-old AI, two awkward young lovers, a captive dolphin, an ageing woman, and more. Share the wonder, experience the pain and pleasure, take the journey...

The Last Star
Two beings watch the last star in our universe wink out and discover the answer to how it all ends. And, perhaps, how it all begins.

Just Friends
Friends since they carried Scooby-Doo lunch boxes in second grade, two college students take the awkward, irreversible, and perilous step away from just friends. 

Phoenix
You think your roommate is bad, try living with a practical-joke-playing, drop-dead-gorgeous, celebrity femme fatale. No one is safe from her wiles, least of all you. 

My Kingdom for a Double Espresso
Is sex just a physical thing for guys? You know you're in trouble when your girlfriend tosses that out after you make the mistake of falling asleep on her...

Down in Flames
Personal tragedy played against a background of public disaster leaves one woman stuck in a very personal hell—and hoping for a second chance.

Willing
Right now, at this every instant, you are older than you have ever been—and younger than you will ever be again. There will never be a better time to find love.

The Idiot's Guide to Writing Workshops
(Or How to Review a Manuscript & Not Risk Getting Run Over in the Hotel Parking lot)

The Devil and a Hard Place
After all the time spent apart—all the doubts, all the denial, all the lonely nights—a love that refuses to die draws them back together like darkness and dawn.

My Review

I really enjoyed this collection and I liked that though there was a loose theme of different kinds of love, the stories were all vastly different.

The stories are all well written and though they are short, you don't feel like anything has been sacrificed to fit the short story format.

There were two absolute stand out stories for me for completely different reasons. The first of which is the title story, The Last Star, I found this story absolutely fascinating. It's about the two last sentient beings in the universe watching as the last star dies and they're thinking about their lives and how they spent them and wondering about what will happen next. The end was also extremely satisfying.

The second one that stood out was Down in Flames, this was so very, very difficult to read for two different reasons. The first being the memory of 9/11 and just how many lives were lost and how much it has changed and affected life. The other reason is the personal loss of the woman in the story, it's heartbreaking going through what she goes through as she does. What makes it more poignant is that from what I understand from the annotations is that this is a true story. I find reading anything of this kind very painful and very rarely make it through a story or article about this kind of thing, so the fact I made it the whole way through says a lot about the quality of the writing to keep me reading.

The only story I felt didn't fit was The Idiot's Guide To Writing Workshops, not because it was bad as it is incredibly insightful and amusing, but because I personally don't feel that it feels the theme or tone of the rest of the stories. I did enjoy this story but I would have preferred it in a different collection.

Overall a great collection and one that covers some important topics.

I gave this book 4 stars.

Time For A Short Story by Julia Roberts Blog Tour

Today is my turn on the blog tour for Time For A Short Story by Julia Roberts, which was published by Ripped Books on the 12th of September and is available HERE for download on Kindle. 

Time For A Short Story synopsis

Eloise is still coming to terms with the death of her mother two years previously when she takes a job as a waitress in a tearoom while she is home from university to spend the summer in Guernsey. There she meets regular customer, Josephine, whose hobby is writing short stories. 

English student, Eloise, offers to read some of the stories and is surprised by how good they are. She organises a special ninetieth birthday treat for Josephine but when the elderly lady doesn't show up for her usual Wednesday morning elevenses, Eloise gets a feeling that something is terribly wrong. 
Where is Josephine? And will she ever find out about Eloise's extraordinary act of kindness?

My Review

I have only very recently started reading short stories and I have to say that I am so glad that I have or I might have missed out on this absolute gem of a story. 

Time For A Short Story took me around half an hour to read and it was absolutely wonderful. It made me feel joy through the discovery of new friendships and I'm not afraid to admit that I shed a tear through worry at one point. The story is heartfelt and poignant and incredibly well written. 

The characters are all really well developed for a short story and you really get a sense of who each of the people really are. Each personality stands alone and you really feel for everyone, especially Josephine. Josephine is a wonderful example of seizing the day and following your dreams no matter your age, I really hope I'm as awesome as her when I'm 90! Eloise also stands out as a shining example of how kind and thoughtful youth can be even when they've had a tough time of it themselves. 

I really enjoyed this story and I thoroughly recommend it to everyone. Julia Roberts writing is beautiful and so easy to read. I was sad when the story came to an end as I wanted to see what happened next in everyone's lives, though this is a perfect snap shot of one summer involving a few lovely people. It proves that friendship can transcend a difference in ages.  

I give Time For A Short Story a big 5 stars and I would 100% recommend a read! 

Don't forget to have a look at the rest of the blog tour at the following places:

To check out Julia's other books, click on the links below:

Life's A Beach And Then...

If He Really Loved Me

and her latest novel It's Never Too Late To Say...

Extract from Speak Gigantular by Irenosen Okojie

Today I am very excited to bring an excerpt from Speak Gigantular by Irenosen Okojie which is being released tomorrow (15th September 2016). I hope you enjoy! 

Walk With Sleep

On the morning of her audition October counted thirty women in the cold, narrow audition hallway, imagining wax figures of everybody melting on a conveyor belt that stopped each time a figure flattened. She sat wringing her hands nervously, every now and again looking at the white audition room door at the far end of the hallway. It swung open each time an actress walked out, creaking loudly in satisfaction. At the opposite end, the water machine chugged, dampening the sounds of heels clicking in the various rooms. Large head shots of famous, successful actors and actresses lined the walls. October watched each one take a bite from the same piece of cake that never finished before passing it on.  Then sated, the actors’ bodies leaned forward threatening to leave their frames to wander the long hallway mockingly.

She’d gone to twenty five different auditions in the last month and hadn’t gotten one central role. Not one. Only features as an extra in Eastenders, Holby City and Coronation Street. She was planning to try her luck with theatre more to see how that panned out. She’d visited The Tricycle Theatre a few times, starring at their posters, drinking at the bar and waiting for the actors to emerge from their heady nights of performance.

She took a deep breath, now the conveyor belt surrounded her, the wax figures had disappeared but the actresses in various states of undress held items October recognized; a pair of torn period stained tights, a pale parasite that had begun to grow tiny legs on her bedroom window sill at nights, her mother’s gold ring she’d had to sell to help pay rent months back. She blinked the image away and the women were all back in their seats again, restless, adjusting their costumes, checking their reflections for silences in small make up mirrors. She took another deep breath, aware of every leg uncrossing, every panicked whisper, every body leaning towards an invisible, darkening line. She ran her lines over in her head. She knew them but it helped to keep her calm doing so.  When the heavy set woman with the severe bun called her name, waving a clipboard, October stood up steadily, sensing the eyes of the other actresses on her but not the faintest of smirks on some of their faces.

The audition room was a plain, underwhelming experience; white walls, a wooden floor, an open skylight. The producer and director of the drama, both men and a surly looking chestnut haired, grey eyed woman sat behind a table. They got brief pleasantries out of the way before indicating she should start. October gave her interpretation of the scene she’d been sent; a pirate battling on the seas, his tormented love, a reckoning on an unnamed Caribbean island. Her audition lasted ten minutes; she searched their faces expectantly after her last line. They thanked her for coming, smiling politely, expressions unreadable. Then the director stood, ushered her to one side.

His lanky frame momentarily blocked her view of the others. “You were very good.” He offered flatly. “Erm… This is awkward. The part, it wasn’t written for a black woman.”

October pulled her arm back, the small embers of anger flickering. “It didn’t say that in the casting call. Some of it is set on a Caribbean island, I don’t understand. Why can’t I play a pirate’s wife? You’re the director. Doesn’t your decision stand?” Her voice rose then. Behind the table, the producer and the woman looked everywhere but at her, shifting awkwardly.

“I’m sorry, my hands are tied. I’m only telling you because I feel it’s cruel not to. You really are very good and very attractive. Good luck.” He said, face flushed, already turning his back.

Later, she passed through Deptford market feeling angry and frustrated. From the Sense charity shop doorway, she spotted the Betty Boop t-shirt on the rack. The last one, rumpled a little from all the hands that had decided to pass on it. Stepping into the shop, she felt herself already reaching for it and the bitter wind whipping her items from the audition conveyor belt all around her.  

Before

Haji jumped after the thing inside him wouldn’t stop growing.  For years he’d fed it; samosas, curries, koshary, gin.  At sixteen he’d stepped back from the mirror when his mouth looked unrecognizable, cruel, super imposed. School meant trying to sit still in lessons pretending he didn’t feel disconnected from his limbs.  He took to carrying a wind up man in his pocket which he’d place on the playground floor during breaks, starring at in deep concentration, trying to find the centre of its movement as though it would reveal something. Girls would giggle at the edges, finger their pleated grey skirts saying “Are you okay Haji? You’re acting funny”

“Go away.” He’d retort, barely glancing their way. Listening for more important things, a second heartbeat he was sure was winging its way to his lean, rangy frame.

“Why don’t you disappear? You’re a weirdo.” The girls would snap, narrowing their eyes, reducing him to a tiny flint as they stomped off before breaking into fits of laughter again, coddled by the headiness of youth.

On Wednesday the 26th February his life came crashing down, a broken mauve eggshell on the black and white kitchen floor. The photo of the boy he once was with a laughing woman rested on the counter top. The wooden frame still greasy from an incident where he couldn’t feel his arm; he’d been shelling prawns when that horrible, murky feeling came, grabbing at the photograph as though it was a lifeline.  It irked him that he had no memory of the photo, only that they were happy. He picked up his egg shell with trembling fingers. dumped the fragments in the detachable head of the blue bin a purgatory for all the wind up men that had accompanied him over the years. He brushed his teeth, downed a glass of orange juice. His gums bled from years of trying to cut through doorways blocked by barbed wire with his mouth. He didn’t close the fridge door, shut the windows or check the plugs were turned off but the cobwebs in the ceiling corners had a magic about them, tiny trampolines for the small fleet footed to crash through.  The chipped purple door of flat 49b slammed shut.

Outside, the air was cold on his skin. The sky snatched facial expressions, swirling them grey. Haji observed the scenes around him, a man paying a bike messenger outside a tall, soulless office block, laughter between two charity fundraisers shaking their orange buckets at the traffic lights, a shop shutter door opening; it’s slow, mechanical sound reverberating in his ears.

At Bank station the platform was hot. People avoided each other’s gazes. Their voices were locusts scratching his throat. The time was 11am. The clock had hands on its face. This made him laugh. Made him wonder what it would be like to have fingers and limbs sprouting out of faces. The station was one cavernous passage, churning out passengers bearing faded bruises from 5am till 1am daily.  The feeling of sadness continued, holding his body hostage. For ages he’d felt nothing, was numb. He simply functioned. He thought about the tube train. How it ran through tunnels, heartbeats, chests. Through guts that grew comets and tongue’s twinned the flame. The tube transported worlds intersecting. Oily spillage slipped through its programmed doors.  The tube brought deliverance. The rumbling train approaching presented an exit. The sound of shutter doors trapped in his ears and the train wheels screeching seemed to be in collusion. To Haji the driver was an angel in disguise who could change at any moment in his neat, private carriage. Haji’s right arm went dead first. He leapt in front of the train just as his left arm was about to, making the woman standing behind him in the cream Mac jacket gasp for breath. Everything and everyone shrunk, reduced to deflated things orbiting in the distance, the past. He landed inside the void, the thud of his fall splitting the driver’s head, leaving miscellaneous anxieties there to torment him for months.

A Single Drop Of Perfect Blog Tour - Jessikah Hope Stenson

A Single Drop Of Perfect is a collection of five short stories and I think each one is definitely its own drop of perfect.

This is Jessikah's debut collection of stories but you would never tell with the maturity and quality of her writing. Each story is crafted wonderfully and there is so much detail that you don't feel lacking in anything even though the story is short. Sometimes in collections of stories, there are maybe one or two that you don't feel hold up with the rest, but that is certainly not the case with this collection.

Each story has characters that you can relate to on some level and you can certainly imagine yourself in their places in some of the stories at least. The characters are very human and you feel like you know them as you follow their story.

I think the stand out story for me was Wounds in which an eight year old girl suffers a dog attack, but there is so much more to it than that. As a mum myself I really empathised with Helen the main character and would have probably acted in the exact same way in the same situation. In fact I may not have acted as calmly!

I also really think What Isla Did stood out as well, the story unravels around you and as you're reading you realise more and more about what has happened, It really gets it's hooks into you.

A Single Drop of Perfect is wonderfully written quick read that will surprise you with each story. This is a definite recommendation from me.

I gave this book 5 stars on Goodreads.

Don't forget to check out the rest of the blog tour!

As part of the blog tour I received an e-book copy of A Single Drop of Perfect directly from the author.

Photo Credit https://www.facebook.com/JamesAlexanderHallPhotography/