Sunday, January 5, 2025

THE LOTUS SHOES

 Welcome to my showcase for THE LOTUS SHOES which is been hosted by HarperCollins and Harlequin 



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the lotus shoes jane yang 


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Lotus Shoes Novel Jane Yang


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the lotus shoes jane yangn


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the lotus shoes jane yang


One


Little Flower



I sat shivering on a low stool in our farmhouse kitchen. The frosty air stung my cheeks and chilled my hands and feet until they hurt. To warm up, I rubbed my arms and legs. Though it never snowed in southern China, this winter in the sixth year of Emperor Guangxu’s reign felt brutally cold. Normally, I would still be curled beneath our patched quilt, but my aa noeng had woken me at first light.


“We are going on an adventure today,” she announced, turning to me with a basin of boiling water. For the first time in months, her thin, pale face broke into a smile. But it wasn’t a proper sparkling smile, like the ones she used to shower on me before my aa de died. This smile looked stiff, and her eyes remained dull.


“I’m taking you to Canton City,” she continued. “Farmer Tang will give us a ride on his cart.” She poured cold water into the basin. I squealed, clapping with delight. I had never been to Canton City, but I had heard all about it from traveling storytellers. Peddlers prowled the streets, selling sugared plums, sweet buns and roasted chestnuts. My belly grumbled at the thought of them, reminding me that I had not eaten since yesterday’s bowl of watery congee. The storytellers also boasted of traveling acrobats, men who swallowed live snakes, and puppet shows.


“Is Little Brother coming too?” I asked.


“He is too young,” she said. “I’ve sent him to our neighbor for the day. This is a mother-and-daughter trip.”


“Why are we going?” “Little girls should not ask questions,” she chided. “Good girls keep quiet, follow rules and obey grown-ups.” Her tone was mild, but her face sagged with misery, frightening me into silence.


She knelt in front of me, cradling my golden lilies in her palms. “Do you remember why I started binding your feet when you were only four?” she asked.


“Because…because…” I shook my head. With a heavy sigh she explained, “Other six-year-old girls in our village wouldn’t start foot-binding until now. Some farming families might even wait until their daughter is seven or eight, if they’re desperate for an extra worker around the house. But that is risky. Do you know why?”


I shook my head again. “The bones might already be too stiff to be shaped. I love you so much that I bound your feet two years ago, as though you’re a little lady, to make sure you get perfect golden lilies so you can be like Consort Yao Niang. Do you remember her story?”


“I do!” Eager to impress her, I merrily recited the bedtime tale she had often told me. “Once upon a time, before the Manchu invaded and when China was cut up into lots of little kingdoms, like a patchwork quilt, there lived an emperor called Li Yu. He loved to see new things. One day he asked his many, many wives to surprise him with a new dance. Everyone tried but no one was good enough except Yao Niang. She wrapped her feet into crescents and danced on her toes!”


“What else?” she quizzed.


I frowned.


She prompted, “The emperor was so impressed that he promoted her to Royal Imperial Consort—”


“Oh!” With a bounce I finished her sentence, “So no other wife could boss Yao Niang around except the empress. All the ladies of the court copied her and soon rich girls across the country started to do the same. Now all re-respectable girls have bound feet. And the most loving mothers make sure their daughters have perfect four-inch golden lilies.”


I expected the rest of my speedy answer would earn praise, especially since I had only stumbled on two characters, but Aa Noeng’s lips trembled. I reached out to hug her, but she shook her head as she straightened her back and smoothed her faded tunic-blouse, ou.


“Even the poorest boy might hope to pass the imperial exams and become a mandarin if he is clever and studious,” she said, “but a girl’s only chance for a better life is through her golden lilies. This is my priceless gift to you. No matter what happens, I want you always to remember how much I love you. You’re my precious pearl. Do you understand?”


“I love you this much too!” I swung my arms behind my back until my palms touched. But she didn’t return my smile.


“Why is it important to have perfect four-inch golden lilies?” she asked.


“To get a good marriage,” I chirped. “Matchmakers and mothers-in-law like tiny feet. Golden lilies are proof of a girl’s goodness.”


“Yes,” she agreed. “Only girls with immense endurance and discipline can get perfect golden lilies. This is what mothersin-law from nice families want for their sons.” She squeezed my hands and asked, “Do you want to marry into a nice family when you grow up?”


“Yes.”


“How do you get four-inch golden lilies?” she asked.


“I must sit very still when you clean my feet and change my bandages.”


“What else?”


“I mustn’t complain when you tighten the bindings.”


“That’s true,” she replied slowly. “But…” After a long pause she said, “You are a big girl now. It’s time you learned to take care of your golden lilies yourself.”


“I’m still little!” I protested, alarmed by her grave tone.


“Watch carefully,” she instructed. She unraveled the binding and eased my left foot into the basin of warm water. She massaged away the dead skin on the sole and between my toes. Next she trimmed my toenails and wrapped my foot in a towel before sprinkling alum onto it.


“Be sure to use a generous amount of alum,” she said. “It wards off sweat and itch.”


She wound a length of clean, dark blue cotton around and around my foot. The pressure increased with each layer until my foot throbbed and my eyes ached with unshed tears. I had to use all my willpower not to groan. She continued to wrap the bindings, much more tightly than usual. I tried to pull my foot away. She gripped it harder. “Stay still,” she ordered.


“Aa Noeng,” I cried. “It hurts too much.”


“Hush,” she said. “One day these golden lilies will bring you a good marriage. You will wear silk and live in a house with tiled floors. Best of all, you will never go hungry again.”


My whimpering faded as she continued to talk about the tasty food that would fill my belly when I become a bride in a wellto-do family. Finally, she eased my foot into my best pair of indigo cotton shoes. She pushed the basin toward me.


“Now you must do the same for your right foot,” she said.



Excerpt from The Lotus Shoes by Jane Yang. Copyright © 2025 by Jane Yang. Published by Park Row Books.



About the Book



A muizai is a mistress’s shadow. You are there to do her bidding…



19th Century China. Tightly bound feet, or "golden lilies," are the mark of an honorable woman. When Little Flower is sold as a maidservant to Linjing, a daughter of the prominent Fong family, she clings to the hope that her golden lilies will someday lead her out of a life of slavery.



Not only does Little Flower have bound feet—uncommon for a muizai—but she is gifted at embroidery, a skill associated with women of fortune. Resentful of her talents, Linjing does everything in her power to prevent Little Flower from escaping. But when scandal strikes the Fongs, both women are cast out to the Celibate Sisterhood, where Little Flower’s talents catch the eye of a nobleman, threatening not only her improved status, but her life—the Sisterhood punishes disobedience with death. And if Linjing finds out, will she sabotage Little Flower to reclaim her power, or will she protect her?



Richly atmospheric and profoundly moving, The Lotus Shoes is an empowering tale of two women from opposite sides of society, and their extraordinary journey of sisterhood, betrayal, love and triumph.



About the Author


Social Links


Author Linktree: https://linktr.ee/janeyangauthor 


Twitter (X): https://x.com/JaneYangWriting 


Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/janeyangwriting/ 




Jane Yang was born in the Chinese enclave of Saigon and raised in Australia where she grew up on a diet of superstition and family stories from Old China. Despite establishing a scientific career, first as a pharmacist and later in clinical research, she is still sometimes torn between modern, rational thinking and the pull of old beliefs in tales that have been passed down the family. Jane’s family tales are an inspiration for her writing. She writes stories about women in pre-Communist China, exploring power and class struggles, and sometimes with a dash of suspense, spirits and hauntings.




Friday, October 4, 2024

Crown of Darkness

 

Welcome to my blog tour stop for Crown of Darkness which is been hosted by Bookouture & Second Sky Books 





Book: A Crown of Darkness

Author: Jessica Thorne 
Pub Day:  October 8th 2024

Buy Link(s):  



Rating : 5 

Would I recommend this series ? Yes 

Would I read more by this author ? Yes 


First off like always a big thank you to Bookouture &  Second Sky Books as well as to Jessica Thorne and NetGalley for the invite as well as for letting me read Crown of Darkness , 

Since the very start of this series I've been hooked ,not only by the characters themselves but also because  of the story line , even though this one was a bit of a Rollercoaster with all of the emotions it made me fell, will differently be doing a re read of this series some time down the road .Another thing I loved was the gothic vibes this book as well as the other 2 gave me though out the enter series . 












ABOUT THE BOOK:


The enemy has her. And the man she loves seems intent on using her dark magic to destroy her kingdom…

In the chaos of the magical assault on Pelias,
 Wren has been swept far from home. She is now a prisoner, in the heart of enemy territory. At least she has the man she loves beside her, keeping their passion alive during the cold nights in this unfamiliar place.

Or so she thought…

Finn has changed since returning to his father’s kingdom. Instead of serving the princess he’s proven his loyalty to time and again, he is keeping her under guard in a tower. Desire still lights up his eyes when he looks at her. But is he enamoured by Wren, or her power?

With the unfamiliar castle calling to her dark magic, Wren is fighting every minute to keep her growing power in check. And she struggles to ignore the still-smouldering heat between her and Finn every time their fingers touch – even as he keeps her under lock and key…

Is everything she believed about Finn a lie? Or is he under the influence of the dark power here too?
 And will she have time to figure it out before she’s forced to turn her magic on her own kingdom?

You will not be able to put down this gripping and unputdownable romantic fantasy! Perfect for fans of Sarah J. Maas, Stacia Stark and Rebecca Yarros.








Author Bio

Jessica Thorne watched far too much sci-fi and read far too much fantasy at an impressionable age. And it was awesome. She writes fantasy and sci-fi romance with a steampunk edge and just refuses to face reality.

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Sunday, September 22, 2024

N THE GARDEN OF MONSTERS

 Welcome to my showcase for IN The Garden of Monsters which is been hosted by HarperCollins and Harlequin |





IN THE GARDEN OF MONSTERS

Author: Crystal King

ISBN: 9780778310570

Publication Date: September 24, 2024

Publisher: MIRA Books


Buy Links: 

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Prologue








Bomarzo, Italy, 1547–1560


It took me years to find Giulia Farnese, but no time at all to win her confidence. I did so with an

unassuming cherry rose tart. It had been nearly a hundred years since I last looked upon her face,

but from the moment she pulled the golden tines of her fork away from her lips and she

looked to me, not her husband, I knew my influence had taken hold.


“You truly are a maestro, Aidoneus,” she said, closing her eyes to savor the sweet, floral flavors.

“And a welcome addition to our kitchen.”


“Madonna Farnese, you flatter me.” I gave the couple a polite bow,

my gesture more fluid than human custom, and turned back to my earthly duties.


“It seems you will eat well when I am gone,” Vicino joked behind my back. “

But don’t eat too well, my beauty, or you won’t fit into those lovely dresses.”


Giulia laughed, and my heart warmed. Oh, she would eat well, I vowed. Very well.


* * *


The next day, as Vicino Orsini gave his wife a peck on the cheek and vaulted onto his horse,

I watched from the rooftop terrace, my gaze lingering on the horizon where earth met sky

—a threshold I knew all too well. Then, with a flick of the reins, he led his men down the road

into the valley. They were headed to Venezia to escort the Holy Roman Cardinal, Pietro Bembo,

to Rome. Afterward, Vicino would depart for Napoli and Sicilia on business for Papa Pio IV.


Jupiter had blessed the region of Lazio with a warm spring, and a week after Vicino left,

Giulia asked me if I wanted to take a walk. I suggested we explore the wood in the valley

below the palazzo

. She readily agreed, which did not surprise me. It was impossible for her to ignore the aphrodisiac

qualities of my food, let alone the timbre of my voice, and the brush of my hand against hers.

The first time she startled at my warmth— no human runs as hot as I—but she did not ask me

to explain. In all the centuries past, she never has. This alone stoked the fire of hope within me.


She led me on a thin path through the verdant tapestry of the forest,

where sunlight, diffusing through the emerald canopy, dappled the woodland

floor with patches of gold. Beneath our feet, a carpet of fallen leaves, still rich with

the scent of earth, crunched softly. We moved through clusters of ancient

evergreen oaks, their gnarled limbs reaching out like weathered hands, and past groves of

squat pomegranate trees with their ruby-hued fruits catching the sunlight and casting

a warm, inviting glow.


Upon reaching a clearing surrounded by several large tufa stones jutting

up through the grass and weeds, I was immediately drawn to one of the stones

embedded in the hillside. The exposed side was round and flat, and it hummed,

a song of the earth, a low vibration that warmed the deepest depths of me.


Giulia could not hear the humming, but she was surely aware of it

in some hidden part of her, for she turned to me then.


“I love this wood,” she said, her arms outstretched toward the


stone. The early morning light brightened her features, making


her blue eyes shine.


“I can see why.”


She twined her hand in mine. “I come here often to bask in the feeling.

The moment I arrived in Bomarzo, I felt like I had been called home, to my true home.

And this wood, this is why. It

re-minds me of a fairy tale, or a place from the ancient, heroic myths.” It was then

that I had the idea.

The stone—

it hummed be-cause the veil to the Underworld was thin there. Perhaps…yes…

if the wood was enhanced, and energy from the darkness was better able to pierce

the surface into this realm I would no longer have to spend years attuning to

Giulia when she reappeared in the world. Instead, she would be drawn closer, and I would


find her faster. It would work. I was sure of it.


“Vicino doesn’t like me walking here alone. Too many

wolves and bears, he says.”


I could sense a wild boar in the far distance, but no wolves or bears.

“I think we’re safe here.” I gestured toward one of the big misshapen rocks.

“Sometimes I like to imagine rocks as mythical creatures. Like that one.

It could be a dragon poised to fight off danger.”


“Ooo, I can see it. The big open mouth, ready to take on any wolf, or even a lion.”

Her enthusiasm was exactly what I had hoped for.


I waved my arm toward the large, round, smooth rock be-hind it. “

And that should be a great big orco, with a mouth wide open. And it eats up

and spits out secrets.”


“An ogre that spits out secrets?” Giulia laughed.


“Oh yes. This orco would tell all. Ogni pensiero volo.”

I made my hands look like a fluttering bird.


She wore a wide grin. “All thoughts fly! How perfect. But if he eats up

secrets, there should be a table inside this orco. It could be his tongue.”


As we wandered through the wood, dreaming up new lives for the

monstrous rocks left eons ago by a force of nature, I was delighted

o see how invested she was in the game.


“There are so many stones,” she said, clapping her hands together. “

We could make a whole park of statues. I will write Vicino tonight.”


I did not expect it would be quite so easy. Usually it took a long while to

convince Giulia of the merit of my ideas. But the pull of the Underworld was strong

here and my influence was far greater than it would have been in Paris, or some backwater

hill town in the wilds of Bavaria or Transylvania.


On the walk back, she paused by another enormous stone that jutted out of the

ground, the size of a giant. She leaned against it. “Can you keep a secret?”

she asked coyly.


“Of course.”


“This secret is only for you.” She leaned forward and grasped the edge

of my cloak, pulling me toward her. Our lips met and she melted into me.



In the years following, as Vicino began work on the garden, a change was palpable in the air.

Each evening, as the twilight deepened, a subtle energy began to emanate from the heart of the valley.

I found contentment not just in the evolving grove, but also in my closeness to Giulia

. Our time together, so abundant and intimate, felt different. I had never waited so long

to make my attempt, but I nurtured this earthly bond, knowing it was essential

for the garden’s growth.


The day finally arrived when Vicino ushered Giulia into the heart

of the Sacro Bosco—the Sacred Wood—the name he had fondly bestowed upon the garden.

As she crossed the threshold, I sensed it—a strengthening of our connection, more profound

than ever before. It was time.


That night, the chicken with pomegranate sauce I prepared was met

with Giulia’s usual lavish praise, although I knew she took in the single

pomegranate seed garnishing the dish as a courtesy, not a desire for the fruit.

As she savored each bite, I felt a loosening in the ethereal shackles binding

her heart. A vivid, red-hued hope blossomed within me.


Post dinner, I retreated to the palazzo’s highest balcony

my gaze drawn to a nascent light in the wood below. The light, though barely perceptible,

was imbued with a power that seemed to bridge the realms of mortal and divine.

A faint green

uminescence that whispered of unwanted things to come. It pulsed like a

languid heartbeat,

beckoning to something—or someone.


I was immediately compelled to find Giulia. Amidst the soft murmur of the

salon where she played with her children, I enveloped her in my senses and the flower of

hope within me withered. Her heartbeat, steady and unsuspecting, echoed the rhythm of the garden’s glow.


Excerpted from In the Garden of Monsters by Crystal King © 2024 by Crystal King.

Used with permission from MIRA/HarperCollins.







Social Links:

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Author Bio: 


Crystal King is the author of In The Garden of MonstersThe Chef’s Secret

and Feast of Sorrow, which was long-listed for the Center for Fiction’s First Novel Prize and

was a Must Read for the MassBook Awards. She is an author, culinary enthusiast, and

marketing expert, and has taught at multiple universities including Harvard Extension

and Boston University. She resides in Boston. You can find her at crystalking.com.





Book Summary:


A Goodreads Most Anticipated Historical Fiction Book of Fall 2024

“A sinister romance and hypnotic Gothic fairytale—surreal and luscious with a

fascinating twist on the story of Hades and Persephone.” —Jennifer Saint,

bestselling author of Ariadne

A woman with no past. A man who seems to know her. And a monstrous

garden that could be the border between their worlds…

Italy, 1948

Julia Lombardi is a mystery even to herself. The beautiful model can’t remember

where she’s from, where she’s been or how she came to live in Rome. When she receives an

offer to accompany celebrated eccentric artist Salvador Dalí to the Sacro Bosco—

Italy’s Garden of Monsters—as his muse, she’s strangely compelled to accept.

It could be a chance to unlock the truth about her past…

Shrouded in shadow, the garden full of giant statues that sometimes seem alive

is far from welcoming. Still, from the moment of their arrival at the palazzo,

Julia is inexplicably drawn to their darkly enigmatic host, Ignazio. He’s alluring yet

terrifying—and he seems to know her.

Posing for Dalí as the goddess Persephone, Julia finds the work to be perplexing,

particularly as Dalí descends deeper into his fanaticism. To him, she is Persephone,

and he insists she must eat pomegranate seeds to rejoin her king.

Between Dalí’s fevered persistence, Ignazio’s uncanny familiarity and the agonizing

whispered warnings that echo through the garden, Julia is soon on the verge of unraveling.

And she begins to wonder if she’s truly the mythical queen of the Underworld…

THE LOTUS SHOES

 Welcome to my showcase for THE LOTUS SHOES which is been hosted by HarperCollins and Harlequin  Buy Links HarperCollins: the lotus shoes ja...