Review Praise for Earthbound:“[A] riveting page-turner. . . . With carefully crafted characters and plot, readers will be unable to sort the good guys from the bad. Sure to satisfy romantics, mystery fans, fantasy aficionados, and thrill seekers alike.”—Booklist"Pike's . . . solid writing, particularly in her descriptions, will have readers hooked. Tavia's low-tech revelation via ChapStick works better than any superbattle to convey what's at stake in her life and choices."—Publishers Weekly"It’s usually a good sign when I read the first 30 pages of a book one day and devour the following 300 pages the next. Such was the case with Earthbound, Aprilynne Pike’s superb new young adult novel. It’s a complicated, intoxicating, and surprising ride that I literally couldn’t put down until I read it all."—Christian Science Monitor"[A] promising start to a new series that offers history, romance, and action."—Kirkus Reviews"The premise of Earthbound is enough to give even the most jaded of readers the shivers."—Romantic Times"Readers of supernatural romance will be clamoring for this one."—School Library Journal"A magical, mythical tale, The mystery simmers." –Becca Fitzpatrick, New York Times bestselling author of Hush, HushPraise for Aprilynne Pike's WINGS series:“Wings is a remarkable debut; the ingenuity of the mythology is matched only by the startling loveliness with which the story unfolds.”—Stephenie Meyer, bestselling author of the Twilight saga“Aprilynne Pike’s talent just continues to bloom and I am almost afraid to see how awesome her next book will be.”—Carrie Jones, bestselling author of Need and Captivate". . . fascinating, rich, and romantic, and weaves a great new tapestry of thrilling fantasy.”—isa McMann, bestselling author of the Wake trilogy“The greatest part: the WINGS series reaches the perfect ending. The worst part: it has to end!”—Claudia Gray, New York Times bestselling author of the Evernight series"Mixing a little bit of Harry Potter and a lot of Twilight, Pike has hit on a winning combination. Yet it is her own graceful take on life inside Avalon that adds a shimmering patina sure to enthrall readers.”—Booklist (starred review) “Silky narration, delicious escapism.”—Kirkus Reviews “Pike’s clever and innovative way of reinventing fairy tales and myths to make them her own is wonderful. . . . [The] story is rich in vivid details, action, adventure, and romance.”—Romantic Times (top pick)“The series is action-packed, and the final chapters of the story are no exception. A thrilling page-turner, many readers will read the book cover-to-cover, barely daring to breath.”—VOYA (starred review) Read more About the Author Aprilynne Pike (www.aprilynnepike.com) is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Wings series. She has been spinning stories since she was a child with a hyperactive imagination. When not writing, Aprilynne can usually be found out running; she also enjoys singing, acting, and (of course!) reading books about magic and kissing. Aprilynne lives in Arizona with her husband and four kids. Read more Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. CHAPTER ONEIremember the plane going down. Not the crash exactly, but the moments before—and while it must have been only moments, when I look back, it takes much longer.I was sitting with my forehead pressed against the tiny window, looking through the cloudless air at farms and settlements passing below me, when the engine exploded, rocking the plane into a crazy tilt that tossed me back and forth in my seat. The actual blast was surprisingly quiet— muffled by the insulated fuselage, I imagine—but the billowing clouds of coal-black smoke pouring off the wing were impossible to miss.Every nerve in my body clanged, but my eyes stayed riveted to the roiling smoke that streamed back from the engine just feet from my window. My aching fingers clung to the armrests to hold myself steady as the plane dipped forward, then plunged, the momentum forcing me against my seat.The pop and hiss of hundreds of oxygen masks, springing from the ceiling like venomous snakes, startled my attention away from the smoking wing. Reflexes honed by dozens of droning safety speeches sent hands darting out to grab the oxygen masks, the adults securing their own masks before assisting others.But I didn’t bother with mine.Not even when my mother pushed it at me, her eyes dancing with terror as she gripped my father’s arm so tightly I knew her fingernails must be drawing blood.It was the flight attendant who made me understand. Two of them were standing in the aisle, trying to get everyone’s attention, demonstrating the crash position—like that was going to help. But I focused on the third one. He wasn’t attempting to buckle up or help the passengers; he just stood, his body strangely still amid the chaos, looking out the window, two tears rolling down his cheeks.That’s when I knew we were all about to die.And in that moment, my fear melted away and I felt completely at peace. No life flashing before my eyes or sudden aching regrets. Just an overwhelming peace.I relaxed, stopped struggling, and watched out the window as the ground rushed up to swallow me.I stare at the photos in horror. It has to be true; there’s no other explanation. The timing couldn’t be better. Or worse. “She’s gone?” I ask in my iciest voice. I’m not mad at him; I’m mad at myself for not seeing it sooner. I should have. Everything balances on a knife’s edge and this could destroy it all. Or save it. “We’re doing everything we can.” He’s nattering on about their efforts, but I don’t have the patience to listen. I walk over to the window, arms crossed over my chest, staring down at the lush garden below, seeing nothing. Not nothing. Seeing her face. That face I’ve known since almost before I can remember my own. That face I thought I was finally free of. Except now I can never be free. I need her. We need her. It’s difficult not to choke on the bitter irony that after everything she’s done, I need her. Without her, everything will fall to pieces. Worse than it has already. And I almost killed her. CHAPTER TWOTherapy is the epitome of the best and worst of everything in my life. I sit ramrod straight on the couch, tears threatening to spill. I blink, forcing them back. Not because I’m embarrassed—I’ve cried gallons in front of Elizabeth. I’m just sick to death of crying. I don’t like to talk about my parents, but it’s Elizabeth’s job to make me once in a while. Like today. She tried to focus on happy memories, but this time all that did was remind me that they’re never going to happen again. That chapter of my life is over. Gone. Forever. A huge, gaping forever. “Hey,” Elizabeth says, startling me back to her office with an audible gasp. “It could be worse. You could be a brain-injured orphan with a weak leg and be having a bad hair day.” For just a second I stare at her, wide-eyed, trying to decide if the joke is funny or not. But her expression—melodramatic concern with just a hint of true sympathy behind it—cracks through my shell and I start to laugh and swipe at my eyes at the same time.I have, I admit, kind of a weird relationship with my therapist. I theorize it’s because neither of us thinks I’m crazy.She doesn’t even let me call her Dr. Stanley—which is what the diplomas hanging on her wall say—just Elizabeth. At first I thought it was one of those cheap shortcuts adults try to take with teenagers to get them to relax and spill their guts, but Elizabeth seriously squirmed every time I called her Dr. Stanley and after a while I finally switched. Now it comes naturally.“Seriously, Tavia,” Elizabeth says, her voice soft and sober. “It’s not supposed to be easy. I think you’re very brave and that you’re handling things extremely well.”“It doesn’t feel like it,” I admit, shrugging into a black hoodie. I’ve always liked sweatshirts in general, but these days, anything that covers my head—and with it the scar beneath my still-too-short hair—is a distinct preference.“Then trust my professional analysis,” Elizabeth says with a smile as she escorts me through the darkened and empty waiting room. “You’re not walking home, are you?” she asks once we reach the exit. We had to reschedule our regular appointment, so it’s after hours and her secretary—Secretary Barbie, I call her, because her face looks like plastic and she basically never talks to me—has already gone home.“No, Reese is coming.” I usually do walk—on the orders of my physical therapist—but since it’ll be getting dark soon, Reese insisted on picking me up today.I guess that’s fine.True to her organized, punctual personality, my aunt is already waiting for me, her BMW parked right in front of the door. She leans across the car, pushing the passenger door open and giving Elizabeth a little finger wave.“Hey, Tave. How was it?” she asks as she pulls away from the curb, her eyes scanning the road.“It was therapy,” I say, clicking my seat belt. “It was therapeutic.” I lean my head against the passenger-side window, not wanting to talk about it. Therapy is . . . well, it’s personal. And even though I’m immensely grateful to Reese and my uncle, Jay, for taking in a step-niece they hardly knew, they don’t really feel like family.Luckily, Reese takes the hint and flips the radio on as we turn out of the parking lot. She has a never-ending well of patience. For me, at least. Clients on the phone? Not so much.As we drive, I take in the streets around me—Portsmouth, New Hampshire, is one of the United States’ oldest cities and they do a really good job of preserving colonial sites. I’m a closet history nerd, and the first couple of months I was here, I would walk for as long as my injured leg would let me, exploring the monuments and markers and museums. It feels fitting, somehow—a city mired in its past, me trapped in my own.And the whole city is so beautiful. I love old buildings—they just don’t build them the same way anymore. There’s a grace and beauty to them that society has lost. No matter how elegant the whole deco thing is supposed to be, there’s something in the hand-carved intricacies of colonial architecture that sets off a mourning within me for what once was.My favorites are the occasional perfectly preserved eighteenth-century houses nestled amid modern homes in a normal neighborhood. Like a treasure, hidden in the sand, just waiting to be discovered. It’s hard to find them while driving around at the breakneck speed Reese favors, because they’re usually set back from the road and often sheltered by the leafy canopy of an ancient tree. But when I walk alone, I look for them. I’d love to know the stories behind them, but I’m too nervous to go knock on some stranger’s door.I take pictures instead and make up stories in my mind. I swear I have about a thousand photos on my phone. I wish . . . I wish I could sketch them, paint them.But I haven’t been able to draw since the accident.Still, something about these old homes soothes me; calls to me, almost. I pull out my phone and scroll through to one of the pictures of my favorite house and zoom in, trying to imagine painting the wooden slats in watercolors, the hint of sheer curtains I can see through the windows.“I got stuck on the phone until just before I had to pick you up.” My brain slowly realizes that Reese is talking to me. “I didn’t think you’d mind.” She looks at me expectantly.“I’m sorry, I . . . what?” I shove my phone in my old red backpack. I’m afraid spacing out is my specialty these days.I didn’t used to be like this.“Do you mind if I stop by the store for milk? We’re out,” Reese repeats, turning the radio down a little lower.I dolefully consider the snooty, locally grown, organic food store Reese frequents. Great. “Can I wait in the car? My—my leg is sore,” I lie.Sort-of lie. It’s been three months since I got out of the cast, but shattered is the word my doctors used to describe the breaks both above and below my right knee. Something like that takes time to bounce back from, even without taking into account my decreased gracefulness since brain surgery last year.At least that’s what the physical therapists keep telling me when I get discouraged.A wrinkle appears between Reese’s brows for just a second before she accepts my excuse. “Sure thing—I’ll only be a few minutes.”She leaves the car running. As soon as she’s out of sight, I turn the heater up and lean my head against the window.The edges of the parking lot still have a few mounds of slate-gray snow that haven’t quite melted, but it won’t be long. Green blades are poking through last year’s crinkly brown grass and tulips are popping up all over town.At least it’s not hailing, like yesterday.It’s that almost-spring time of year—jacket weather, not overcoat weather. But the weather has been weird all year. In February all the snow melted and the newscasters were predicting drought and heat waves. But two weeks later three feet of snow dumped on us in a single night. Once the snowplows finally dug themselves out and cleared the roads, everything more or less went back to being winter. But still, it’s been a strange few months.I pull my jacket a little tighter around me, remembering the couple days we had below zero—not to mention the killer ice storm right before— and hold my hands out in front of the vents. Other than the hoodie, I’m not really dressed for winter. I should probably wear something other than my old tank tops and screen tees, at least until summer, but that would require going shopping and I don’t like spending money that isn’t mine. Even if Reese says her money is my money. I’m going to have to break down and buy a new pair of jeans soon, though—these ones are pretty threadbare at the knees. Because I’m tall and fairly thin, but with very long legs, I always have trouble finding jeans that aren’t too short. So when I do, I wear them to shreds, which is about where this pair is sitting now.As my fingertips warm, I scan the slowly darkening street, letting my gaze linger on a house across the road. It’s painted a cheery red and has a whole bed of maroon and gold tulips in front of the veranda. A little girl is sitting on the porch, playing with a doll. I smile when I see she’s dressed in a cute old-fashioned dress and pinafore—not unusual, here. In towns as old as Portsmouth, there’s always some kind of reenactment going on, usually of the American Revolution. This little girl looks great. Authentic.Well, her clothes are probably a little too brightly colored and those curls are undoubtedly from a curling iron, not overnight curling rags, but hey—that’s what modern conveniences are for. A smile steals across my face as I realize the doll is even that old-fashioned rag type.Her cute little chin jerks up and I see a man walk out of the house to join her on the porch.Not a man, I guess. Too young to be her dad. I only see a wisp of his face, but he looks about eighteen, same as me. Maybe a tad older. Reenactments must be a family affair in the red house because he’s dressed in a navy-blue jacket and has a tall hat atop golden blond hair that’s pulled back at the nape of his neck.He’s nice to look at; I won’t complain about that.Sadly, his luxurious hair is probably a wig. Most people aren’t hard core enough to actually grow it out. And the ones who are; well, they’re a little scary in their own right.As the guy crouches by the little girl, I wonder why breeches went out of style. Let’s just say they look amazing from the back. I arch an eyebrow in appreciation and squint to get a better look, glad the Beemer has dark-tinted windows and I can enjoy my little eye-candy feast in private. It seems like my moments of casual contentment are so few and far between these days.The guy stands with the little girl’s hand in his. Showtime, I suspect.As if sensing my laser-focused gaze, he pauses, then turns. My mouth goes dry when he stares pointedly in my direction.He can’t see me, can he? The tinting on Reese’s car windows is almost a mirror from the outside. But his eyes stay focused and widen in an expression of surprise I can make out even from here.He takes a few steps in my direction and I clench my fists as his eyes burn into mine. I’m certain he can’t know I’m here. How . . . ?On the second step he stops and looks back at the little girl, who’s gripping his hand and pulling him back. He pauses, hesitates. He looks at the girl for a moment, then back at the car, his expression conflicted.I can’t look away, even though I feel warmth rushing to my cheeks. From this distance I can’t tell what color his eyes are, but they pin me in place and it takes a few seconds to realize I’m holding my breath.A sudden chime from my phone shatters the silence and breaks the spell. I look down to see a text pop up labeled Benson Ryder.All done?“Perfect timing,” I mutter. But I can’t suppress a smile as I jet off a quick response.I had friends back in Michigan—in my former life, as I tend to think of it—but they were casual. My art was my life, and friends tended to pull me away from that. At-school friends, I guess. When Reese and Jay told me I’d have to cut contact with everyone in Michigan to keep my location a secret from the media, I admit I wasn’t sad to give them up. They felt . . . frivolous.Benson, is . . . well, it’s just different. I see him almost every day. We text a lot. Have long phone calls sometimes.And he knows. Everything.No one else does.Being the sole survivor of a major disaster leads to attention. Questions. And that means having to remember—the pain, the surgeries, the shaky memories.My parents.It’s easier to lie, to just tell everyone I broke my leg in a car wreck. No one questions it. Sometimes they tell me I’m lucky to be alive.The people who say that have never lost anyone close to them.My doctors know what happened, my physical therapist, Elizabeth, and of course Reese and Jay, but no one else. Fewer people to leak my location to the media, who would love to swoop in and grab an exclusive story, even months after the fact.Well, I told Benson too. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say Benson worked it out of me. Not exactly unwillingly. The closer I got to Benson, the more I wanted to tell him. To stop lying. When it finally came out, it was a huge relief. It was nice to tell the truth. Especially to someone I chose.I haven’t mentioned to Reese that I spilled it all to him. I don’t know if she’d be mad or not—it’s my life, after all—but the fact that I’m not sure is reason enough for me not to tell her.Besides, Benson will keep my secret.Sometimes I think I need him—need our easy camaraderie—and that scares me.Everyone I’ve ever needed in my life is dead.As soon as I hit send, my eyes dart back to the tall boy on the porch with the little girl, but they’ve gone in. I try to shake off the bizarre melancholy that has enveloped me. I stare at the house—wishing, I guess, for the strangers to reappear—and just as I blink, something flashes over the door. I open my eyes wide, but the flash is gone.No, not completely gone—Almost like a shadow in my peripheral vision, so faint I have to blink a few times to make sure I see it, a shape glitters just above the door. A triangle.And for reasons I can’t comprehend or explain, my heart begins to race. Read more
G**L
Loved the fast pace and all the mystery and unique supernatural element
They do say better late than never right? I read this as soon as it came out but I'm just now reviewing it. Sorry, for that because it's a great novel, the start of a new supernatural/paranormal series that I really loved! First there is a unique sort of romance. Well, there is a triangle of sorts but, not really. You can tell where Tavia's interests lie. As always, the book blurb is totally misleading. I'll clear it up.Tavia has been the only survivor of a plane crash. In order to avoid publicity, her aunt and uncle keep that secret and she is not allowed to contact her friends at home. She is in New Hampshire, home is Michigan. Benson, her crush, is something that has developed just over the last few months as she's been visiting the library. He helps her with her studies as she is basically homeschooling herself. So it's not like she's liked him since the fourth grade or anything, in fact, it has only been a month since she finally came clean about who she actually was and that she realized she was falling for Benson. But now, there is this strange boy that disappears right in front of her, who dresses in period costume and feels like he's someone she should know, someone she misses. And she's not sure if she should tell anyone about him or keep him to herself. There, I should have written the blurb.Tavia, is a unique character. She is orphaned, broken-both physically and emotionally, damaged. All of a sudden she starts seeing this boy in period costume and these silver symbols on buildings. Is she being stalked? Is she just seeing things? Or, from the strain of everything, is she losing her mind? Tavia (rhymes with cave not mauve thank you author for working that into the book) is cautious in not jumping to conclusions. She has a therapist that she talks to, but everything in her urges caution with this boy. She was headed to an art school interview with her parents when the plane crashed and so she hasn't been able to even doodle since then. Everything she loves has been ripped from her in that plane crash. Everything familiar has been taken from her. Even her hair from the brain surgery they did and a little act of frustration on her part is foreign to her. She looks in the mirror and doesn't know who she is anymore. But this is not a young woman that feels sorry for herself. She wonders why she survived. How she survived. But she doesn't feel sorry for herself. She walks to the library despite her limp. She does her schoolwork at the library. That's where she met Benson, he's a library intern. She walks to physical therapy. She goes to therapy. She endures bloody and graphic nightmares. All without complaint. She really tries to feel connected and grateful to Reese and Jay the only relatives she has left. And then this weird boy comes into her life and everything she's known since the accident begins to unravel. And still, Tavia plays it smart. Except for one major mistake. And it makes all the difference.To say that Tavia is a well developed character is understated. From every limp to every doodle to every thought, you understand every thing about her. Benson, as somewhere between a main character and a secondary character is a little murky. You don't know if you can trust that he's on Tavia's side as it becomes clear that there are sides. And then there are Reese, Jay and Elizabeth, Tavia's therapist. They all seem to want her to get better, have her best interests at heart, but there is a question again about their loyalty.There is non-stop action after a certain point and it's hard to keep up. The supernatural element is one that is unique. The boy that Tavia is drawn to is explained believably and what might be construed as a love triangle goes away. The ending is a brutal battle between Tavia and her foes and it isn't completely clear who survives and who doesn't, except, well, Tavia or there wouldn't be a series. But that isn't the end. There is one more chapter that sets up the next book. No cliffhangers, (Thank You) but great potential for the next in the series. I cannot wait for the next book!!There is a great romance in this, history, action, mystery and a fabulously unique supernatural element I haven't seen in my previous reading in YA. The writing is to the point with enough detail for you to picture where you are and what's going on and the characters' state of mind, but leaves you room to fill in the blanks.
A**S
Confusing but ended great!
I bought this book because I love Aprilynne Pike and after reading it, I still love her! She didnt disappoint me at all.I have to admit, I got confused with some of the story and maybe even a little bored at one point, but then it all took shape and I was sad the story had ended! Now Im excited for book two but I have to wait until next summer!Ive read hundreds of books and this one was so original with the story line it was like taking a breath of fresh air.This is a series I recommend you read, you wont be disappointed.
K**R
Interesting and addicting
This book was absolutely perfect, it keeps you flipping trough the pages and leaves you in anticipation for the second book. I really loved the characters in these books and watching them develop in their own personal ways. The breaking and binding of bonds, and the struggle of the world on Tave's shoulders. The book was very well written and I can promise that you'll be impressed.
A**R
Promising Start to New Series from Aprilynne Pike
Okay...I had a difficult time rating this book, and kept going between 3 and 4 stars. I decided to round up because I do want to read the next one, and there were just a couple things that I didn't really like about this new novel by Aprilynne Pike.So to start, the overall story was interesting and new. I thought the paranormal/supernatural element was unique and very creative on Ms. Pike's part. I was left guessing about the type of supernatural the characters were until everything was revealed. I had some thoughts about where this book was going, but it is entirely new, which is something I liked. The other thing that I really enjoyed about this novel was that it was a giant mystery. I've always enjoyed books where the characters have to put the clues together, and basically are going on a kind of "treasure hunt" to reveal the final mystery. The story keeps you on your toes, with some action sequences throughout the novel, but I'll get to why this was also a problem later in my review. I found this to be a marked improvement over the last Aprilynne Pike book, Life After Theft, and this was more on par with how I remembered her writing in her Wings series. While I definitely didn't like this novel as much as I liked Wings, I still think this is an interesting premise to a start of a series.This leads me to the things I didn't like about the book (or just kind of felt eh about). This is a major set up book. I mean the story doesn't really even start till the end. And as soon as it really gets good, the next thing you know, the story's over and you want the next one (which is slated for Summer 2014). It's not terrible in ways of set up books... in fact, it's quite good. However, I felt there was a lot of times the book dragged, and scenes could have been cut out.Another thing I didn't like was the love triangle. I know I shouldn't compare books, but since the books are by the same author, I think it's okay in this situation. In Wings, the love triangle was thrilling and I loved/hated it. The love triangle here is just blah. I wasn't anything special or anything to become excited about. While I understand the insta-love with Quinn (and it'll be okay for you too after reading why there's that insta-love later in the story), I still wasn't totally sold on it. Also, there's kind of an insta-love with Benson. It literally goes from zero to sixty in the course of a sentence or two, and I just couldn't buy it. It just all seemed very forced to me, and I couldn't get into it. However, I will give major credit to Ms. Pike...I have no idea who Tavia is going to end up with in the end. Usually, there's a pretty clear winner from the very beginning of a series, but that's not really the case in this novel. In this way, I'm interested in seeing where the love triangle goes. I just hope it gets better in the following books.Finally, I didn't like the reveal of everything. This is more of a personal preference, but I don't like when all of the information is dumped on the reader over the course of a scene/chapter. I like when the information is slowly revealed throughout the novel, and then by the end, everything makes sense. You (and the characters) have a better sense of where the story will go and what exactly is going on in the world you were introduced to during the novel. With this novel, everything is just dumped on the reader, and since this is a new concept/world, I got a little confused. After re-reading a couple sentences, I understood everything better. However, I wish that the information could have been relayed over the course of the novel, or even just over a couple of chapters that were spread out. There was just too much at once.Overall, this is a promising start to a new series. While it won't be as good as the Wings series, I have high hopes for it. Aprilynne Pike knows how to write a great, thrilling story. I'm looking forward to learning more about the world and how it develops in the next book. I would recommend reading it, but I think the next book will be the ultimate test of how good this series will be. Happy reading!3.5 stars
A**R
Can't put it down
WOW - I got sucked into this immediately. I haven't finished it yet but I'm hoping it's a series or that there is a least a sequel.
K**R
Cool
Totally cool... exciting, radical! Recommended for ages 13 to 15...I mean it's romantic, adventurous, upbeat....I can't wait to read the rest!!
M**O
love
good series, liked it a lot, good read and its enjoyable and nice. highly would suggest that you read these books
J**2
Great read!
I loved this book and look forward to the next in the series. It had many twists and turns I didn't expect.
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