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Post something you've read that made you say "wow" (1 Viewer)


Senior Member
hummmm, recent wows:

Kittens in the Boiler by Delphine Lecompte
Rust and Bone by Craig Davidson
The Dog Fighter by Marc Bojanowski


Senior Member
"We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown."

I'm sure all of you are familiar with this poem by T.S. Eliot. This last stanza is my all time favorite.


Senior Member
Death Scent by Robin Jarvis really made me sit back and say: "This is awesome!"

Even if the story and writing may not be the best (It's a young person book and I'm no critic so I wouldn't really know seeing as how I didn't mind the Da-Vinci code back when I read this). But the illustrations done by the author made me love this book to no end, I wish I'd taken better care of my copy.


God's Debris, by Scott Adams. Yeah, the guy who does Dilbert. When I was told that the book would "blow me away", I was unconvinced. Ten minutes into reading it, I couldn't stop. I ended up reading it in one sitting (it isn't all that long), and I enjoyed it to such a degree, I emailed Scott Adams to tell him how much I liked it. He even said thank you.


Senior Member
probably da vinci code by dan brown just for the intricate and long winded mystery and puzzle throughout the end of book

little prince by saint exupery for its originality

Turn The Page

Senior Member
"But the object that most drew my attention, in the mysterious package, was a certain affair of fine red cloth, much worn and faded....It had been wrought, as was easy to perceive, with wonderful skill of needlework....This rag of scarlet cloth,- for time and wear and a sacrilegious moth had reduced it to little other than a rag,- on careful examination, assumed the shape of a letter. It was the capital letter A. By an accurate measurement, each limb proved to be precisely three inches and a quarter in length. It had been intended, there could be no doubt, as an ornamental article of dress; but how it was to be worn, or what rank, honor, and dignity, in by-past times, were signified by it, was a riddle which...I saw little hope of solving.And yet it strangely interested me. My eyes fastened themselves upon the old scarlet letter, and would not be turned aside. certainly, there was some deep meaning in it, most worthy of interpretation, and which, as it were, streamed forth from the mystic symbol, subtly communicating itself to my sensibilities, but evading the analysis of my mind....
"...I happened to place it on my breast....It seemed to me then, that I experienced a sensation not altogether physical, yet almost so, as of a burning heat; and as if the letter were not of red cloth, but red-hot iron. I shuddered, and involuntarily let it fall upon the floor."

- Nathaniel Hawthorne
(excerpt from "The Custom House")

Turn The Page

Senior Member
If this is so, if to read a book as it should be read calls for the rarest qualities of imagination, insight, and judgment, you may perhaps conclude that literature is a very complex art and that it is unlikely that we shall be able, even after a lifetime of reading, to make any valuable contribution to its criticism. We must remain readers; we shall not put on the further glory that belongs to those rare beings who are also critics. But still we have our responsibilities as readers and even our importance. The standards we raise and the judgments we pass steal into the air and become part of the atmosphere which writers breathe as they work. And influence is created which tells upon them even if it never finds its way into print. And that influence, if it were well instructed, vigorous and individual and sincere, might be of great value now when criticism is necessarily in abeyance; when books pass in review like the procession of animals in a shooting-gallery, and the critic has only one second in which to load and aim and shoot and may well be pardoned if he mistakes rabbits for tigers, eagles for barndoor fowls, or misses altogether and wastes his shot upon some peaceful cow grazing in a further fields. If behind the erratic gunfire of the press the author felt that there was another kind of criticism, the opinion of people reading for the love of reading, slowly and unprofessionally, and judging with great sympathy and yet with great severity, might this not improve the quality of his work? And if by our means books were to become stronger, richer, and more varied, that would be an end worth reaching.

- Virginia Woolf


BeautifulDisaster said:
"Outlander" and the rest of her series by Diana Gabaldon. Has anyone else read these?

This is one of my favorite set of books. I also love Into The Wilderness by Sara Donati and the bookings for this set. Very well written. There is also a cameo of a character or two from Outlander in it.


For me this year anyway I would have to say " Kite Runner" - it was simply perfect. Last year was "Empire Falls"- this is the kind of book I would like to write.

kad barma

most of my "wows" are song lyrics, a bunch are from poetry, a few from my favorite short stories, and a precious handful from longer forms like novels.


for fatalism:
if california slides into the ocean / like the mystics and statistics say it will
i predict this motel will be standing / until i've paid my bill
-- warren zevon, desperados under the eaves

for insult:
she said that she was working for the abc news
it was as much of the alphabet as she knew how to use
-- elvis costello, brilliant mistake

for humor:
candy / is dandy
but liquor / is quicker
-- ogden nash, reflections on ice-breaking

for poetic satire:
had alexander not been alexander, he would have been diogenes; and the duc assured his antagonist in taking leave, "que s'il n'eut ete de l'omelette il n'aurait point d'objection d'etre le diable".
-- edgar allen poe, the duc de l'omelette


Senior Member
I really enjoyed the book that was written about Dale Earnhardt Sr. It made me laught and cry. It was done well, and had alot of good information.
I also like the book about Dale Earnhardt Jr's rookie year in NASCAR. Started with his frist Daytona 500 start and ended with the 2001 Daytona 500 where he lost his Dad. It shows what a NASCAR driver goes though on and off the track.

Turn The Page

Senior Member
The Highway Into and Out of a Tanzanian City, in Darkness and in Light
By Verlyn Klinkenborg

I want to tell you about the road that leads out of Arusha, Tanzania, a city not far from Mount Kilimanjaro that is well-known as a place where tourist safaris begin. There is nothing special about that road, except that I was recently on it twice — driving into the city and driving back out again a week later. There are roads like this one everywhere, going into and out of cities around the world. The scenes strobe past, and the only problem is finding a frame of reference.
The plane landed after dark — an absolute equatorial threshold around 7 p.m. — and so the first time I was driven down the road into Arusha I had to imagine everything that lay beyond the reach of the headlights. I was riding with a French photographer, whom I had just met, and we spent the next 40 minutes watching our own blindness. Sometimes we could see tassels of maize just beyond the ditches, sometimes a tree in dark blossom.
Again and again, the lights caught people walking along the side of the road — past the edges of the fields and in the dusty track beside the asphalt. They were not hastening. Some wheeled heavily loaded bicycles. Many carried five-gallon plastic buckets, in every way those buckets could be carried. Some were dressed up, with surprising formality, for the evening ahead, although why the formality surprised me is a good question. They came into view for a second or two and then vanished. As for the country beyond them, it might have looked like anything — like savannah, like forest, like the canals of Mars.
For many people, the road into Arusha is their first glimpse of Africa, as it was mine. It is, if nothing else, a reminder of the power of artificial light to shape our idea of the world around us. That entrance in the dark isn't meant to be symbolic — it isn't meant to be anything, in fact — but it perfectly echoes the state of what I knew when I landed at Kilimanjaro International Airport. I had only a few scraps of information, a few familiar images, to set against a darkness that is simply the blankness of my own experience.
A week in Tanzania doesn't really change anything, of course. But it does allow time for the lights to go up a little.
A couple of days ago, I got to see that road again in the afternoon sun. The thin arterial life I had imagined was nowhere to be seen. In daylight the roadside was a city in itself. Around some places — a cafe with a television and a chalkboard outside saying England/Ecuador — a crowd of men stood talking and waiting for the World Cup match to begin. Here was a stack of boards and poles under shelter — a small, local version of the lumberyards on the far side of Arusha. Here were zebu cattle grazing along the road, as well as lean Holsteins tethered by the nose to a stake in the ground. A small plantation of bananas stood beside a yard for making cement blocks, which neighbored a butcher shop painted over with images of the animals to be killed there, which neighbored, in turn, a gas station called "House of Lubricants."
I knew, from flying over Arusha, that this long thin strip of asphalt leading out of town was merely the confluence of all the footpaths that trailed away into the fields and, ultimately, the bush. The highway gave the illusion that people were walking and hauling carts in a long line, grateful for the directness of the main road to Nairobi. The reality, I suppose, is that they merged and exited on foot and that the real directness lay in their own purposes.
If I could, I would tell you, one by one, the names of all the shops and businesses we passed — those that had signs. I would explain, if I knew the answer, just why the women who had set out their vegetables for sale had set them out just there, in a spot where it looked as though no one would ever come by. I'd like to know where everyone was going and why they were going there, and what they were talking about as they sat beside a stream that came down from Mount Meru. I'm going to think for a very long time about the difference between the gazelle I saw a cheetah kill and the young goat that strayed onto the highway and was killed by a car, while the flock stood in the ditch and two young boys looked wildly at each other.
I know now that there are three men in every truck in Tanzania, and that each truck has a name across the top or bottom of its windshield. My favorite is a tanker I saw. It was called "Breaking News," and behind the three men in the front hung an American flag.


Senior Member
Edgar Allen Poe makes me say WOW no matter what I read.. I am not sure if he is sick minded or just very talented


I first read "Jurassic Park" when I was ten and it had such a striking impression on me. It was my first novel and I loved everything about it - the subject, the technology, characters, and settings. I've read it several times since then. It still makes me go "wow".