Hello everyone,
Here is a new list of books that you can choose from to write your posts on. Included are the rest from the last list and some new choices suggested by Lady Arwen and the Dodge. The order will progress in the same way as before, unless otherwise stated. Try to pick the books that you haven't read, so that you will have a fresh opinion and be able to discover new favorites. I will take off the books as we go along.
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
Roughing It - Mark Twain
All Creatures Great and Small - James Harriot
The Hobbit - J.R.R. Tolkien
The Bronze Bow - Elizabeth G. Speare
Little Britches - Ralf Moody
Johnny Tremain - Esther Forbes
Around the World in 80 Days - Jules Verne
The Spectre Bridegroom - Washington Irving
Shadow Hawk - Andre Norton
Two Gentlemen of Verona - William Shakespeare
North to Freedom - Anne Holm
Pinocchio - Carlo Collodi
That should keep us busy for a while. Thank you for participating in our search for good literature!
Thanks again,
The DC Board
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
New Booklist
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Comedic and Tragic poems
Hey DC folks,
Unfortunately, I've been too busy to seriously read anything, much less a book on the book list, so if you would, please skip my turn. Hopefully next time around I will have read something to post on.
Meanwhile, I have two short poems for you.
How To Tell the Wild Animals
by Carolyn Wells
If ever you should go by chance
To jungles in the East,
And if there should to you advance,
A large and tawny beast,
If he roars at you are you're dyin'
You'll know it is the Asian Lion.
Or if some time when roaming round,
A noble wild beast greets you,
With black stripes on a yellow ground,
Just notice if he eats you.
This simple rule may help you learn
The Bengal Tiger to discern.
If strolling forth, a beast you view,
Whose hide with spots is peppered,
As soon as he has lept on you,
You'll know it is the Leopard.
'Twill do no good to roar with pain,
He'll only lep and lep again.
Though to distinguish beasts of prey
A novice might nonplus,
The Crocodiles you always may
Tell from Hyenas thus:
Hyenas come with merry smiles;
But if they weep, they're Crocodiles.
And the second:
Oh Captain! My Captain!
by Walt Whitman
Oh Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won:
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart! The bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Oh Captain! my Captain! Rise up, and hear the bells;
Rise up -- for you the flag is flung -- for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths -- for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain, dear Father! This arm beneath your head,
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are cold and still;
My Father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object done;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Unfortunately, I've been too busy to seriously read anything, much less a book on the book list, so if you would, please skip my turn. Hopefully next time around I will have read something to post on.
Meanwhile, I have two short poems for you.
How To Tell the Wild Animals
by Carolyn Wells
If ever you should go by chance
To jungles in the East,
And if there should to you advance,
A large and tawny beast,
If he roars at you are you're dyin'
You'll know it is the Asian Lion.
Or if some time when roaming round,
A noble wild beast greets you,
With black stripes on a yellow ground,
Just notice if he eats you.
This simple rule may help you learn
The Bengal Tiger to discern.
If strolling forth, a beast you view,
Whose hide with spots is peppered,
As soon as he has lept on you,
You'll know it is the Leopard.
'Twill do no good to roar with pain,
He'll only lep and lep again.
Though to distinguish beasts of prey
A novice might nonplus,
The Crocodiles you always may
Tell from Hyenas thus:
Hyenas come with merry smiles;
But if they weep, they're Crocodiles.
And the second:
Oh Captain! My Captain!
by Walt Whitman
Oh Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won:
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart! The bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Oh Captain! my Captain! Rise up, and hear the bells;
Rise up -- for you the flag is flung -- for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths -- for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain, dear Father! This arm beneath your head,
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are cold and still;
My Father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object done;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
The Man Who Was Thursday - Revistited
Hello everyone,
Welcome to our first long termed discussion. Our book is "The Man Who Was Thursday," by G.K. Chesterton.
Ok, here is a summery of the book:
"In a surreal turn of the century London, Gabriel Syme, a poet, is recruited to a secret anti-anarchist taskforce at Scotland Yard. Lucian Gregory, an anacrchist poet, is the only poet in Saffron Park, until he loses his temper in an argument over the purpose of poetry with Gabriel Syme, who takes the opposite view. After some time, the frustrated Gregory finds Syme and leads him to a local anarchist meeting-place to prove that he is a true anarchist. Instead of the anarchist Gregory getting elected, the officer Syme uses his wits and is elected as the local representative to the worldwide Central Council of Anarchists. The Council consists of seven men, each using the name of a day of the week as a code name; Syme is given the name of Thursday. In his efforts to thwart the council's intentions, however, he discovers that five of the other six members are also undercover detectives; each was just as mysteriously employed and assigned to defeat the Council of Days. They all soon find out that they are fighting each other and not real anarchists; such was the mastermind plan of the genius Sunday. In a dizzying and surreal conclusion, the six champions of order and former anarchist ring-leaders chase down the disturbing and whimsical Sunday, the man who calls himself "The Peace of God"."
Ok, now here are some questions that we are to discuss:
1. Who was your favorite character and why?
2. What is the point of the story?
3. Who and what do the characters represent -if any?
4. What is the purpose of the "secret council" and who is Sunday?"
5. What was interesting or engaging about the book?
5. What was not interesting or boring about the book?
6. What is your general opinion of the story, style of writing, characters, themes... etc.?
I can't wait to hear from you! Thanks for participating!
Thanks a million,
The DC Board
"Don't you see we've checkmated each other? [...] I can't tell the police you are an anarchist. You can't tell the anarchists I'm a policeman." ~Gabriel Syme
Welcome to our first long termed discussion. Our book is "The Man Who Was Thursday," by G.K. Chesterton.
Ok, here is a summery of the book:
"In a surreal turn of the century London, Gabriel Syme, a poet, is recruited to a secret anti-anarchist taskforce at Scotland Yard. Lucian Gregory, an anacrchist poet, is the only poet in Saffron Park, until he loses his temper in an argument over the purpose of poetry with Gabriel Syme, who takes the opposite view. After some time, the frustrated Gregory finds Syme and leads him to a local anarchist meeting-place to prove that he is a true anarchist. Instead of the anarchist Gregory getting elected, the officer Syme uses his wits and is elected as the local representative to the worldwide Central Council of Anarchists. The Council consists of seven men, each using the name of a day of the week as a code name; Syme is given the name of Thursday. In his efforts to thwart the council's intentions, however, he discovers that five of the other six members are also undercover detectives; each was just as mysteriously employed and assigned to defeat the Council of Days. They all soon find out that they are fighting each other and not real anarchists; such was the mastermind plan of the genius Sunday. In a dizzying and surreal conclusion, the six champions of order and former anarchist ring-leaders chase down the disturbing and whimsical Sunday, the man who calls himself "The Peace of God"."
Ok, now here are some questions that we are to discuss:
1. Who was your favorite character and why?
2. What is the point of the story?
3. Who and what do the characters represent -if any?
4. What is the purpose of the "secret council" and who is Sunday?"
5. What was interesting or engaging about the book?
5. What was not interesting or boring about the book?
6. What is your general opinion of the story, style of writing, characters, themes... etc.?
I can't wait to hear from you! Thanks for participating!
Thanks a million,
The DC Board
"Don't you see we've checkmated each other? [...] I can't tell the police you are an anarchist. You can't tell the anarchists I'm a policeman." ~Gabriel Syme
Friday, July 24, 2009
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
Hey People,
I am very sorry for the long delay in the arrival of my post. Well let's get down to buisness. The book I read was 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, by Jules Verne. It is the story of Professor Pierre Aronnax, his servant Conseil, and a Canadian harpooner named Ned Land. Together they set off on a mission to kill a disasterous sea creature. They run into some problems along the way,and the rest of the story is their crazy adventure 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. I hope I don't sound to much like i'm selling something.
Now for what I thought of it. Well to tell you the truth... I wasn't crazy about it. I am a huge fan of Jules Verne but, I didn't really like this one. I thought it was incredibly boring, there was barely any movement in the story, there were parts I liked but not many. The beginning was especially boring, there was way to much info and not enough excitement. Before I finish I just want to say that I don't want to discourage you. please read lots of Jules Verne including this one, He's a great author, in fact one of my favorites. Thanks for listening.
$ A. Dodger $
Recommended 3/5
I am very sorry for the long delay in the arrival of my post. Well let's get down to buisness. The book I read was 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, by Jules Verne. It is the story of Professor Pierre Aronnax, his servant Conseil, and a Canadian harpooner named Ned Land. Together they set off on a mission to kill a disasterous sea creature. They run into some problems along the way,and the rest of the story is their crazy adventure 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. I hope I don't sound to much like i'm selling something.
Now for what I thought of it. Well to tell you the truth... I wasn't crazy about it. I am a huge fan of Jules Verne but, I didn't really like this one. I thought it was incredibly boring, there was barely any movement in the story, there were parts I liked but not many. The beginning was especially boring, there was way to much info and not enough excitement. Before I finish I just want to say that I don't want to discourage you. please read lots of Jules Verne including this one, He's a great author, in fact one of my favorites. Thanks for listening.
$ A. Dodger $
Recommended 3/5
Monday, July 20, 2009
The Raven
Here is an amazing piece of poetry, that everyone should be required to read, in my opinion. It is rather dark, gloomy and depressing, but it is irresistibly good.
The Raven - by Edgar Allen Poe
[First published in 1845]
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,
'Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.
'Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."
'But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Ok.... Now that is just downright creepy. Did you find yourself reading faster and faster? TD
The Raven - by Edgar Allen Poe
[First published in 1845]
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,
'Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.
'Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."
'But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Ok.... Now that is just downright creepy. Did you find yourself reading faster and faster? TD
Monday, July 13, 2009
Beautiful Dreamer - revisited
Ok,
Here are several musical versions of the poem "Beautiful Dreamer," by Stephen Foster which I have previously posted.
#1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtgklHQ52WE
#2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B3WDhd4oAyY
#3. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8upNzshEidg
#4. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7INEy-yoeg
I have to say that number 4 is my favorite. The Beatles definitely put a different spin on it. Anyway... which one do you guys like?
Here are several musical versions of the poem "Beautiful Dreamer," by Stephen Foster which I have previously posted.
#1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtgklHQ52WE
#2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B3WDhd4oAyY
#3. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8upNzshEidg
#4. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7INEy-yoeg
I have to say that number 4 is my favorite. The Beatles definitely put a different spin on it. Anyway... which one do you guys like?
Saturday, July 11, 2009
The Ransom of Red Chief
Hello Everyone!
This is my first post on this blog!
While reading "The Ransom of Red Chief," by O. Henry, (of whom I am an enthusiastic fan) I could not help but notice the amount of humor implemented throughout the story. It is definitely written solely for the amusement and enjoyment of the reader.
It is a story about the adventures of two robbers and a boy who they have kidnapped for ransom. However, they have absolutely no idea who they are dealing with, and soon the tables are turned and it becomes a story of life, death, and unimaginable torture... Kind of. To tell more would indeed be a crime, seeing as I have already said too much.
Indeed, go find this story at once and do yourself the honor of reading it.
Rated 4/5
-jumpingfrog
This is my first post on this blog!
While reading "The Ransom of Red Chief," by O. Henry, (of whom I am an enthusiastic fan) I could not help but notice the amount of humor implemented throughout the story. It is definitely written solely for the amusement and enjoyment of the reader.
It is a story about the adventures of two robbers and a boy who they have kidnapped for ransom. However, they have absolutely no idea who they are dealing with, and soon the tables are turned and it becomes a story of life, death, and unimaginable torture... Kind of. To tell more would indeed be a crime, seeing as I have already said too much.
Indeed, go find this story at once and do yourself the honor of reading it.
Rated 4/5
-jumpingfrog
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