Rosie’s #BookReview Team #RBRT THE SORCERER’S GARDEN by @Dwallacepeach #Fantasy

Today’s team review is from Jessie, she blogs at http://behindthewillows.com

Jessie has been reading The Sorcerer’s Garden by D Wallace Peach

I have a new belief.

The word “entrails” should not be used more often than necessary, possibly never and certainly not more than once a book.

I’m not sure how often “entrails” was mentioned in The Sorcerer’s Garden but it was, per my new belief, too many times.

I am well aware that not everyone has the same beliefs as me (My own husband, for instance, can not seem to grasp the fact that sheets should never be tucked into the bottom of the bed when you go to sleep or your feet will suffocate in the confined space). To each his own. If you are of the type that does like such things, I have a book here for you that is chock full of amazingly detailed, exciting, graphic fight scenes, complete with gushing blood, rolling heads and… entrails.

If you have a similar belief system as I do, I have a book here that is hard to put down. There is a story within the story and when the main character starts showing up in the story within the story, well even a bit of entrails couldn’t stop me finding out what happened next.  And if that sentence confused you a little bit, I understand, it was a little bit confusing, but in a good muddled-for-a-purpose sort of way.

Would I recommend it? Here’s the thing, entrails aside, I didn’t love the wrapping up of the plot. Not the actual ending, that was great, but the part that would have been the Clue master proclaiming “It was Mr Green in the conservatory with the lead pipe!”  Which was sad because the rest of the book was engaging with likable characters and sprinkled with humor. But who knows, maybe it was just me. I always was more of a Colonel Mustard type, perhaps you’ll like it, just watch out for those entrails!

Find a copy here from Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com

Book Description

Recently fired and residing with her sweetly overbearing mother, Madlyn needs a job—bad. In a moment of desperation, she accepts a part-time position reading at the bedside of adventurer and amateur writer Cody Lofton. A near-drowning accident left the young man in a vegetative state, and his chances of recovery wane with each passing day.

Cody’s older brother, Dustin, and eccentric grandmother aren’t prepared to give up on the youngest son of Portland, Oregon’s royalty.

Dustin’s a personable guy, bordering on naïve, and overwhelmed by familial corporate duties and cutthroat partners. Grandmother Lillian’s a meddler with an eye for the esoteric, dabbling in Dustin’s life and dealing out wisdom like a card shark. One innocent conversation at a time, she sucks Madlyn into the Lofton story, dubbing her the princess and bestowing on her the responsibility of both grandsons’ destinies.

And all Madlyn wanted was a simple reading job. 

Uninspired by her self-imposed stack of literary selections, Madlyn opts for Cody’s work-in-progress. Fantasy isn’t her favorite, but with only four chapters completed, reading The Sorcerer’s Garden should be no sweat, right? 

Little does she realize, the story will begin writing itself and, by the hand of destiny, become her own.

About the author

I didn’t care for reading as a child – I preferred Bonanza and Beverly Hillbillies reruns, Saturday morning cartoons and the Ed Sullivan show. Then one day, I opened a book titled The Hobbit.

Tolkien … literally changed my life.
I love to write. It’s a luxury I never expected I’d have time for – life got in the way. You know how that goes – kids, work, chores… sleep. I worked for 18 years in business where amassing coin was the all-consuming objective. It required huge amounts of time and mental energy. And for me personally, it was soul-slaying.

Then on September 11, 2001 two planes flew into the World Trade Center. I was working in Connecticut, about 2 hours from ground zero, and remember sitting in a conference room, watching the second tower fall. 

That tragedy initiated a process of redefinition for me, an evaluation of what was vital and important. Life felt short and precarious, and I started to wonder if it was time to do something that actually mattered. I began to write.

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