MOONRISE Giveaway!

I am a big fan of YA author Sarah Crossan, the brilliant author of One, The Weight of Water, Apple and Rain, and co-author of We Come Apart (which I reviewed earlier this year). In September, Sarah’s much anticipated new novel Moonrise is due to be published and I have teamed up with the folks at Bloomsbury Australia to do a special Moonrise Proof Giveaway!

I am currently about halfway through this brilliant story, written in Sarah Crossan’s signature verse style and I can’t wait to share the book love with you.

ABOUT MOONRISE

The astonishing new novel from Carnegie Medal, CliPPA Poetry Award, YA Book Prize and CBI Book of the Year Award winning author Sarah Crossan. 9781408867822

They think I hurt someone.
But I didn’t. You hear?
Cos people are gonna be telling you
all kinds of lies.
I need you to know the truth.

Joe hasn’t seen his brother for ten years, and it’s for the most brutal of reasons. Ed is on death row.

But now Ed’s execution date has been set, and Joe is determined to spend those last weeks with him, no matter what other people think …

From one-time winner and two-time Carnegie Medal shortlisted author Sarah Crossan, this poignant, stirring, huge-hearted novel asks big questions. What value do you place on life? What can you forgive? And just how do you say goodbye?

 

ABOUT THE GIVEAWAY

I have ONE proof copy of Moonrise to giveaway. To enter the giveaway all you have to do is email inwordsandink@gmail.com with the Subject Line “Moonrise Giveaway” and includes the following:

  • Your Name
  • Your Mailing Address
  • Why you want to read Moonrise in 25 words or less

Entries will close Friday 18th August at 5pm (AEST) and the winner will be announced shortly after on Twitter (@haylesnew) before being contacted directly.

Please note: This giveaway is restricted to Australian residents only. No international entries will be considered.

I can’t wait to see your entries and share the Moonrise love with you all!

Good luck!

 

© Hayley New 2017

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A Bold Yet Bittersweet Verse: A Review of Crossan & Conaghan’s ‘We Come Apart’

 

When We Come Apart was released in March, there was a lot of buzz about it online. It was constantly coming up on my twitter feed and was dominating discussions of Young Adult fiction online. Needless to say I was curious.

So when I received a copy of the book in a surprise bundle of books from Bloomsbury Australia, I couldn’t resist reading it as soon as possible. And believe me when I say, I was not disappointed.

We Come Apart makes something new out of Young Adult fiction. Authors Brian Conaghan and Sarah Crossan made the bold move of writing the whole book in verse, a form usually reserved for poetry or plays. In choosing to write a book for teenagers and young adults in this form, Conaghan and Crossan have opened up an opportunity for these young audiences to read something in verse without being hindered by the presumption that it is going to be beyond their reach or even ‘boring’ as many young people view Shakespeare or most poetry to be. Instead, We Come Apart brings a relatable story for young people to new life, by challenging the ways we tell our stories.

The book itself is a relatively easy and fast read, not only because of the sparse and carefully chosen language, but also because of the story itself. Jess and Nicu are the kind of people we all know – the girl who pretends she doesn’t care to hide how much she does care, and the immigrant boy who wants more than what his old life could offer him. Personally, I found Nicu to be the most interesting character to read through. His chapters were often the ones with the most beautiful language choices, even hidden in the markings of his struggles with English as his second language. It is Nicu who gives us the book’s title, and the meaning behind it. It is Nicu who breaks our hearts. And it is Nicu who will probably stay with me long after Jess.

In saying that though, Jess’ storyline is not without incredible writing. There is a lot hidden in her narrative, and I wish I could know what she does after the last page. We leave her with a whole uncertain future ahead of her and when I finished the last page, I wanted to know what happens to her just as much as I wanted to know what happened to Nicu. For me, it reminded me a lot of the last pages of John Green’s The Fault In Our Stars – it conjured the same feeling of wanting to know, yet feeling like knowing what happens next would ruin what just happened on the page. I was incredibly emotionally invested in this story, and for me, that is the mark of a great book.

This is a book I would recommend to all teens, especially those who have previously struggled with poetry, plays or any other verse. We Come Apart is striking and beautifully composed, and I wish more authors were willing to be bold in their choices while writing YA Fiction. I applaud Sarah Crossan and Brian Conaghan for being bold and making something incredible out of it.

 

9781408878866

 

We Come Apart (Bloomsbury, $17.99) is now available in all good book stores. As always, INWORDSANDINK encourages its readers to buy from, and support their local independent book stores.

Thank you once again to Bloomsbury Australia for sending me a copy of Sarah Crossan and Brian Conaghan’s We Come Apart for review. Whilst I was sent the book for reviewing purposes, I was not in any way paid or financially obligated to write this review.

 

 

© Hayley New 2017

FRAGMENTS

I

I am curled up in the storm shade of afternoon

about to clap its hands

into night.

My fingers run the cracks in the purple-grey,

not lilac, not lavender,

just some ghost of purple,

though I suppose these walls were lavender once.

I am a shadow

a printed copy of yesterday

and today,

carved out in hollow light

and freckled with empty sleep.

 

II

I feel like someone has taken a spoon to my insides

and scooped all the human bits out,

hollowed my abdomen,

reaching in,

sucking out my organs,

with a long paper straw,

my heart an uncorked bottle of pumping red

sitting on your shelf

next to my freshly plucked eyes

fogged up with stills from inside my head.

 

III

I am hyper aware of my mouth,

its bright red flare

shooting sparks across the space

between us and the heavens,

my rosebud lips in full bloom,

petals spilling from my mouth,

blowing in the wind

as I peel aphids from my skin.

I sing of sea and salt and air

pickling time,

flying feathers across champagne skies

into my hair,

catching leaves and branches

as I tumble through the thorny undergrowth

and out onto the sand.

My paper tongue flitters uncomfortably

as I scribble my name in the shoreline,

the thorny breath of sitting too long in silence

pricking my throat

as I sit alone and wait

for them to hear me.

 

                                                                                                 IV

                                                                                                     I found a cavern

                                                                                                     filled with fireflies,

                                                                                                     their yellow-green light

                                                                                                     all wrong.

                                                                                                     Why are there fireflies

                                                                                                     in my gut

                                                                                                     when my eyes are carved in darkness?

 

V

I am filled with the break of white light,

dipped in the honey of early morning sun,

and sinking my pen into her velvet skin sky,

striping out my fading dreamy head

in inky echo of her tongue

across my sea-salt bones –

I am morning.

 

© Hayley New 2016

The Sea

The sea

staring with unblinking eyes,

sucking on the bleached bones

of driftwood skeletons

stripped and mangled

and thrown against the shore

sticky with sand.

 

The sea

nibbling on the toes

of feet that are too cold

for the ocean to keep

in its mouth

for more than a moment

at a time.

 

The sea

licking at her skin,

washing her of the grime

of two tides ago,

slipping its gums

across her hair,

staining them seaweed

and shell.

 

The sea

chopping at her memories

of brilliant midnight blue,

scattering them in salt

and swallowing them whole

for safe keeping

with other sinking objects.

 

The sea

shining bright against the moon,

slinking slowly forward,

teeth glistening,

devouring god’s lost objects

strewn across the shore.

 

© Hayley New 2016

Yawn

This poem is the third and final poem in the ‘Involuntary’ poetry cycle. 

 

The night stretches out behind me

long and oval and deep deep blue

until it echoes black.

The siren call of midnight

hours ago

and minutes away,

I am not tired

though my eyes protest

as my aching feet scream for bed

for more comfortable shoes

next time, next time.

My mouth opens wide,

a dark train tunnel

sending me home,

the ridges of the roof

train station tiles,

my voice an empty platform.

The sweet taste of sunrise

sings in my throat,

my lips stretched so wide

I birth the dawn

from the fullness

of the night before.

 

© Hayley New 2016

Blink

This poem is the second in the ‘Involuntary’ poetry cycle. The remaining poem in the cycle will be published on INWORDSANDINK soon.

I see everything,
the brightest light on a harsh day
keeping my eyes
squinted,
sharp,
but I see everything,
until my eyes scream.
My lids are forced closed
by the sun’s arms,
stronger than my will.
I fight, my eyes swimming
against the tide
of tears spilt in this war
with light.
I see everything
and then, nothing.

© Hayley New 2016

Hiccup

This poem is the first in the ‘Involuntary’ poetry cycle. The remaining two poems in the cycle will be published on INWORDSANDINK soon.

An invisible man keeps kicking me
repeatedly
in the chest,
right under my ribs,
pushing air from my lungs
in vengeful misdeed,
the loud catch of it
echoing through my throat,
my ears,
the room.
Eyes turn and ears prick up.
The invisible man laughs
and kicks again.
My body ricochets with the force
of yet another kick
and another.
I try to drown him.
As the water pours down my throat
I feel him wriggle,
attempting to avoid the torrent,
the squirming uncomfortable in my chest.
I continue to drink.
Soon enough, he stops.
Somewhere inside, his brother wakes,
revenge in his eyes
and set in his heart,
biding his time
until he too takes a swing
at my insides.

 

© Hayley New 2016