‘Pic’ a photo.
Use their emotion; tell their story!
What the Flower Says of Death doesn’t tug at your heartstrings. It forever binds them to Violet as she faces death in more ways than one. The author, Danielle Koste, masterfully intertwines pain, death, and forgiveness with hope, acceptance, and love. Violet must learn to let go of those she loves in order to really live. Past resentment and pain shackle her to an evolving plan to commit suicide on her eighteenth birthday. The breadth of letting go, overcoming family secrets, and accepting the inevitable provides healing beyond the capacity of a therapist. Jack, instrumental to Violet’s earthly existence, comforts and guides her along her journey. As her bucket list receives its checkmarks, glimmers of life seep once again into her broken soul; death puts a new perspective on dying. But choosing life will demand a price she is not ready to pay.
This is one of the most emotionally moving novels I have read in quite a while. It is an absolute page turner but not in the way one might expect. There are no secret agents devising plans. Or super-heroes saving the world. No. This novel goes beyond the surface. It reaches deep into your heart and pulls you with an incessant need to know Violet’s outcome.
A disclaimer for all future readers: TISSUES REQUIRED…MULTIPLE!!
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“If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about, he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them.”
No more needs to be said. 😁
A historical spy-thriller. Explores the keen ability of two women to outmaneuver a world dominated by men. Loved the strong female protagonist! Her grief, pain, and struggles equip her with unique skills and set her upon a destiny to ensure Abraham Lincoln’s survival.
Images of rodents and insects clamoring within the old farmhouse walls sent shivers up Lindsey’s spine. But the agency needed interns, and she needed a degree. The neglected building with its weeds and peeling paint appeared more haunted than livable. The screen door, torn in several places, confirmed her suspicion of co-residing insects. Not bothering to knock, she spoke through the open screen.
“Mrs. Pearl?” She waited for a response and evaluated the interior of the small home through the haze of the screen. Despite the outside neglect, the inside appeared well-kept and inviting. Cozy, almost. No response.
“I’m Lindsey. The agency sent me for your session.” The agency in conjunction with the university provided home assistance for the elderly without family support. Each graduate, required to intern for a six-month rotation within the community, spent a month at a time at various locations whether it be within a nursing home or an individual’s home.
“I’m coming in Mrs. Pearl.” Although tempted to spend the next hour standing on the porch, Lindsey entered.
My absence these many months has been challenging to say the least. To sum up the worst 8 months of my life: my husband deployed for a year, my daughter received a concussion (leading to school struggles), my son passed away March 31st, and 4 of my beloved conures died at the end of April. I do not seek pity or prayers but write this in dedication to my beautiful son as a form of therapy.