V itibaren Tomaryny, Poland
In volume 2, we learn more about the school’s history. Classes are suspended indefinitely, after Millie’s body turned up in Volume 1. Only 40 students are left behind at the school, plus Ms. Anu, the only teacher left at the school, and the vice-principal, Mrs. Skeener. All of the girls who went missing (23) mysteriously show up, coming in from the bushlands. I liked this volume a lot better than the first one, and found it moved a lot faster than volume 1. It was definitely a lot more creepy than volume 1…and mostly importantly, we learned about the students that vanished. The first group of students vanished when the school first opened, along with the headmistress at the time…and Mrs. Skeener was the sole survivor of that incident. She lost her twin sister, and her aunt, who happened to be the headmistress. This is why Mrs. Skeener didn’t want Amber and Jeannie to be there, especially since their aunt is the current headmistress and got them into the school. We also learned that Ms. Anu went to the school, and had a friend who vanished. There’s all kinds of crazy connections going on, and I’m really curious as to how they’ll all play out. The artwork was about the same as it was in the first volume, and it’s definitely creepy, especially the way the school is in the middle of nowhere, and is surround by the bushland. The school is definitely isolated, and it’s no surprise weird things happen, and that the school has a weird past. My Rating: It gets a 4 out 5. I’m really glad I decided to read this volume, and I can’t wait for the next one!
I am most undeniably a hypocrite. After hating If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, this month I read and enjoyed two books clearly influenced by that annoying quagmire of literary pretension. Part of me feels I should reread Calvino and discover a new appreciate for his works, but the part that wins out is the one that instead tries simply point out all the ways Cloud Atlas is a superior work to its literary ancestor. And what I find to be the main difference is while both authors excellently utilize the language of the genres they toy with, Mitchell manages to actually write a page turner. And why bother writing in a genre if you can't bother to make it fun? But this book isn't merely a reclamation of "genre" as "literature" (I'm looking at you McSweeney's [and all your ironic facial hair:]). Mitchell offers a rumination on the role social norms determine our language and our identities. Not a light literary load for six pot boilers, but it never feels heavy.