Godspeed, by Febraury Grace

Godspeed is the first review that I’ve posted, and it may well be the last.

Since I began writing, I’m sad to say my tolerance for poor writing has diminished.  Perhaps this is due to the endless hours spent honing one’s words in attempt to gain a perfection they will never attain. Perhaps it’s due to nothing more than my tolerance for having my time wasted decreasing, as realization of time’s precious nature grows….

Whatever the reason, it is seldom that I find myself enthralled by a work of such exceptional quality as “Godspeed”, by February Grace.  Thus, this review.

What is Godspeed about?  If what you seek is a synopsis, you won’t find it here – if that is your desire this is not the place for you.

Godspeed, is many things, highest amongst them {least in my opinion} it is a literary marvel.  Throughout the novel, February Grace holds true to the imagined time within which it occurs {Godspeed is far more real than “is set” could convey}.  Her sentences deliver thoughts that are profound, complex, yet always consistent.  Sometimes, they require you to slow down, backtrack, calm your beating heart with a deep drawn breath… and read them, again.  When this occurs, the timepiece of your soul strives to overstep its bounds in its eagerness to answer the pleas of the characters, each of whom are dear.  February Grace states the most complicated thoughts in a fashion that makes you appreciate them, and the chance of a reprieve a re-read grants.

I suffer from heavy feet, capable of cracking the fragile shell of disbelief’s suspension. The slightest jar and my overly critical mind leaps to the fore, ever eager to draw me away from the fantasy world each novel strives to be.  All too often, skeptical mind overcomes willing heart, and renders the remainder of whatever novel an exercise in criticism, not escape.  Simply stated, Godspeed is so exceptional my critical mind never stood a chance.  Oh, it tried – eagerly pointing out a missing word  here, an out of place one, there.  Yet I disregarded my mind completely, scoffing at its vain attempt to distract me from paradise.  That, is what Godspeed is, an oasis of contentment in a sandy sea of also ran.

What is Godspeed?  It’s a marvelous escape into a cruel, yet more perfect world – for where else could such passion stand a chance?  It’s a story of delightful tragedy, for in its tragedy the seeds of love are sown, and take root.  It’s a tale of romance rewarded, and denied.  It’s about love lost, and gained.  It’s an imagined world so real, its readers find themselves dwelling there.  It’s of life recovered, and life lost.  It’s not happy, yet its joy overwhelms.  It’s of mystery, and mastery.  In a world of irrelevant star ratings, Godspeed shines as bright as the sun and eclipses them all.

In short, Godspeed is the next book you should read.  What are you still doing here?  Go!

Only when you reach Godspeed’s end, and are able to place it aside {if only for a time} would I have you venture back, and sample my work – perhaps you’ll find similar satisfaction, likely not.

P.S. I met February Grace on Twitter, a few short days ago, we exchanged a few words and in her I recognized… something very special.  I hope she enjoys this little tribute.  You can follow her @FebruaryGrace.

About C.G.Ayling

Musing misuser of words, lover of lyrical literature, author, occasional contrary thoughts. An honorable man’s name, in memoriam.
This entry was posted in Reviews and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Godspeed, by Febraury Grace

  1. I am truly speechless. Thank you, so very much, for living in that world for awhile.

    I, and my characters, all thank you for it.


    • C.G.Ayling says:

      Something I could not eloquently convey was my distress as each chapter drew to a close, thus bringing me closer to the end. What a wonderful, sorrowful feeling, knowing the end of something special draws closer with each read word.
      While I was reading Godspeed, my wife stopped me, asking “What are you reading?” Without a word, I handed her my daughter’s Kindle. A few moments later she glanced up and murmured, “This could be something you wrote…” I turned away, lest she discern my pride.
      In truth our writing styles are similar, though utterly different. I seldom use first person, or should I say, till now I seldom have… Is not imitation, the sincerest form of flattery?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *