Tag Archives: Death

Fun.: We Are Young

20 Mar

Love the song, though I can’t fathom why a band would want to put a period at the end of its name. Anyone know what Fun.’s reasoning was?

*Update: Apparently, Fun.’s original band name was Fun – without the period – but a Swedish Death Metal band of the same name told them to change it. So they did.

Check out these other songs I like!

The Book Thief

12 Mar

The Book Thief by: Markus Zusak

The Book Thief is a searingly original book, and I say this for three reasons:

The Book ThiefFirstly, the story is told by Death, who makes for a surprisingly compassionate and eloquent narrator. He reveals bits of the future to the reader, and yet, that doesn’t take away any of the novelty or emotion of reading those scenes when they do take place.

Secondly, it’s a Holocaust story told from the perspective of  a young German girl – not exactly a typical viewpoint. 

Lastly, the writing itself is very unique, with asides by Death and imagery that walks off the pages. Here’s an example:


As he looked uncomfortably at the human shape before him, the young man’s voice was scraped out and handed across the dark like it was all that remained of him.

The Book Thief is a wonderfully-written, emotional book that I highly recommend.

Check out some of my other book reviews!

Nothing to Envy

26 Dec

Nothing to Envy – Ordinary Lives in North Korea by: Barbara Demick

Nothing to Envy

Because it’s an eye-opening look into a modern country that’s been plunged into the Dark Ages.

Because you can’t appreciate what democracy is until you see what it isn’t.

Because it’s very relevant considering Kim Jong Il’s death.

Because it’s non-fiction and you’ll feel much smarter for reading it.

Because as disturbing as this video is, after reading the book you’ll find it even more disturbing:

Just A Dream

16 Dec

It was just a dream. I say this because I hate stories where, in the end, you find out none of it really happened. So I’m letting you know. It was just a dream. But still.

Somehow, I was back in sixth grade. There was a school trip to some museum or other. We had just come out of the building. The sun was still out, it was probably nearing summer, or not yet winter.

The museum was near the water. It might have been a river or bay or the ocean, even. But there was a low wall, with a substantial ledge, and quite a drop to the water below. Looking down, I could see the water slapping against jagged rocks, the spray bursting and falling.

Then we were on the ledge, my friends and I. You know how dreams are, you just sort of end up in places. You don’t really travel.

So we were on the ledge. Sitting. Our backs to the water.

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Rascal Flatts: What Hurts The Most

24 Nov