Ballad, Maggie Stiefvater, Flux, 352 pages

(Oct. 27)So it seems that Maggie Stiefvater is one of my favourite authors...ever...to date.

I’m amazed at how much of a 180 Maggie did for me in regards to these two characters. In Lament, I enjoyed Dee and really wanted her to somehow get with Luke (I’m a sap, I know) and I liked James just fine. In Ballad, Dee just annoyed the snot out of me, every time she turned up I just wanted her gone and she really irked me with how she interacted with James. Speaking of James, I fell in love with him even more.

He is such a sarcastic, witty character, smart, funny, doesn’t seem to take crap from anyone and it was fun seeing his interaction with his mom.

The story was intriguing and well written, just like her other two books. She seems to be getting better and better with each book and that just doesn’t sound right because each book has been amazing.

Stiefvater breaks your heart, (there was an actual moment of teary eyes) without getting histerical. It’s this deep ache, I remember it when I finished Lament, and it’s back in full force with Ballad. My heart hurt, literally, throughout the book. It hurt for Dee (despite what I said earlier) it hurt for Nuala at different times despite the fact that she probably would have punched me in the face for it, it hurt for James especially after the incident with Dee (you’ll know).

The secondary characters were awesome as well. A lot of times they just kind of fall by the wayside but James’ roommate Paul was pretty great, and Mr. Sullivan was the kind of teacher I wished I’d had more of (thanks Mrs. Cawvey).

Now for my favourite part...the thing is is that I can literally open the book to any page and find a passage I’d like to share with you. There were so many good moments throughout this book. I will try to keep it short...sigh...

“James?”

My face was nicely smashed into my pillow. Without moving, I pressed my phone against my ear. “Mmmm. Yeah. What”

“James, is that you?”

I rolled onto my back and stared at the pale morning light that striped across the ceiling. I readjusted the phone so that I didn’t accidentally hang up. “Mom, why is it that every time you call my cell phone, you ask if it’s really me? Are there hundreds of other misplaced calls that you’re not telling me about, where you almost dial my number but it’s not quite right and you get guys who are almost me but not quite right?”

“Your voice never sounds the same on the phone,” Mom said. “It souds mushy or something. Are you hungover?”

I felt like throwing up.

I was only spared from hurling by Paul, making his way toward us.

“Dude,” he said. “What the hell.”

I clapped my hand on his shoulder. “That phrase applies to so many things at the moment that I’m not sure which you’re referring to in particular.”