All the Birds In the Sky by Charlie Jane Anders - An Odd Beauty

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Can I say it was. . . interesting? No, that’s not descriptive or accurate enough in any way. So what was it? Strange, yes. One of those books that should be tasted, but not devoured. It’s like, as I was reading it, I loved it but not enough to sit for hours and loose myself inside of it. I was always conscious of the time I spent reading it, time that was always worth-it, but, still, time that was palpable. I felt it. I felt it pass me by as I felt it run through the pages of this book.

Every now-and-then, I found myself pulled out of the story by the poetry and the random weird truths that popped up. “We [humans] made machines, the way spiders made silk,” is one line that stopped my reading eyes. Another, perhaps my favorite, “Color returned to the world, cone time replaced rod time.” I’d stare for a second, write down the words, contemplate their beauty and then move on. The story felt weirdly choppy near the end, but not so bad that I couldn't finish the book. It’s a story you invest in, the way the characters invested time and energy and their very souls to the causes they found most admirable, an admirable trait in itself——one I wish I had more of, but that’s for another post, I’m getting ahead of myself, let’s get back to the point.

Is All the Birds in the Sky perfect? No. In the way that no book is perfect, even deep in the hearts of those who proclaim they are. Strange and wonderful? Yes. Worth reading purely for the poetry and the sense of Time (not time)? Yes, absolutely.