A Soul As Cold As Frost: 1 (The Winter Souls)

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The only upside in the whole mad seeming scheme? A handsome mysterious boy who's been following her around with a warning on his tongue, determined to protect her - Zane. I approached sluggishly to keep it from springing away, and I crouched to study the specimen while my mind raced with explanations based on things I’d read in books. Hoisting my book bag from the slush, I followed the animal in long strides, imitating the chimney across the street with my puffs of visible steam.

I would rather stay in for the month of December and have my grandmother read us boring old Christmas tales to spare us the holiday drama. My father used to roll his eyes at Sylvia’s collections and had always found excuses to leave the room to avoid my aunt. It was one of the memories that came easily in this house.I’ve had my eye on this book for two Christmas seasons but never have the time at that festive season to read anything. So, as soon as the audiobook came out, I jumped at the chance to immerse myself in a delightful Christmas read out of season. It didn’t dampen my experience. I really liked this book as a change of pace in my normal reading. I knew going into it that it was filled with Christian things and I personally enjoyed trying to find the comparisons. I am sure that I missed plenty. This is how Helen's magical journey to Winter begins. A fast paced adventure with hurdles at almost every corner, full of bravery, epic battles, sacrifices, prayers, hope and quite a bit of fun. Burly eyebrows framed hard silvery eyes that gleamed like dimes. My gaze shot to where my aunt still hadn’t come out of the bakery.

I rubbed my eyes, questioning what in the world was going on with me when a Toooot! blasted through the space, bringing a startled scream from my throat. Alarmed customers stared, taking in my dripping wet coat and soggy-butt pants. Jennifer Kropf has a poetic style of writing that slides like hot chocolate down the throat, warm and gooey in a good way. There is an abundance of adjectives throughout that occasionally distracted me from the action but otherwise the writing is solid. Her prose is ideal for a Christmassy read, strongly reminiscent of Narnia, with solid world-building and vivid settings.

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I enjoyed this story as both a reader and a writer. I couldn't help but admire the author's handiwork and made quite a few mental notes of how I might approach my own writing. Hide it! The girl snapped at the sight of me holding it up like a beacon. I’ll confuse them while you get away. No time to waste, Trite. Blink twice and chase the train! A twinkle lit the girl’s eyes.

In all innocence, she is handed an orb by a strange woman who bumps into her one frosty evening and illuminates her Trite eyes to another, impossible world taking place around her. This seemingly innocuous incident becomes the catalyst for Zane, a disillusioned Patrolman, to give her his whole attention, especially as the realisation strikes him she is the last Carrier of Truths and therefore requires his protection. These two realistic characters are rich in personality, contrasts and undeniable attraction. Something was seriously wrong with me, and there was no chance I’d be bringing it up with these people who stuffed themselves with spiced bread and hot turkey and declared their opinions with loud voices. Because even though I sat in a room crowded with relatives, I felt the familiar pang of being alone. Same as I did every year during the holidays when I woke up to the cold bite of winter and relived the ache of bad memories that came with it. I didn’t go in right away; I stole a look around and swallowed, worried I’d been followed. But I saw nothing—nothing but regular vehicles, regular lampposts, regular pine trees covered in regular snow.I lifted my mitten but before I could ask what the rush was about, the girl shoved something into my palm: a glass ball about the size of a tennis ball. My only other critique is that the scenes seemed a little jumpy and random at times. Maybe it was purposeful and meant to be another quirky part of the story and the world, but I personally think I would've liked a streamlined approach more. Mara Rouge ("bitter red", huh?) was a sly and intimidating antagonist, one who was surely inspired by C.S. Lewis' White Witch and Hans Christian Andersen's Snow Queen. I do really wish that the Quarrel of Sword and Bone had lasted longer and that we could've seen more of the mental and spiritual war that Mara Rouge was supposed to wage on Helen, but this is just a small shortcoming in the grand scheme of things.

My muscles seized, lurching me to a halt. I thought I was dreaming, but I couldn’t peel my stare away, even though all I could think about was running for my life. The figure appeared over my sprawled frame in snow-powdered boots with silk laces that gave off the potent scent of sweet spices and pending excuses. He or she was a solid shadow against the sun burning through the yellowish fog overhead. Please note that I listened to an audio copy of this book. This means that some spellings of names and places may be incorrect. Never in my sixteen years of life had I believed in things unseen until that day. I had never created an imaginary friend as a child or believed in ghosts or the work of angels. But on that cold December afternoon, everything I knew went up in a gray cloud of smoke.

I jumped in surprise when the still haze erupted into a volcanic blanket of white flakes, littering the end of the street and temporarily eating a streetlamp before it calmed. A hand emerged to pull the scarf down, revealing the distinct face of a girl who looked younger than I’d assumed. Despite her ruggedness, she had a soft mouth. This is a story I enjoyed reading but it was really hard for me to finished it. This book is a fantasy, action story. The author really respected and follow this two genre but it also (although I haven’t seen anyone talking about it) has mystery which in my opinion was written in a very specific way for the reader to really see every scene and every character as a suspect. Antique streetlamps illuminated downtown, prismed in every direction like hovering confetti. Carols blared from the speakers of a newspaper stand whose buzz-like radio sound muddied the familiar melody of Jingle Bells and swallowed most of the other noise in the street. Buildings hosted glassy bouquets of scarlet, green, and gold ornaments, but it was difficult to enjoy the splendour of the season in this bitter flash-freeze. As though summoned by the girl’s lunacy, a horn-like blast echoed down the city street, and I whipped around in alarm.