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I've been absent from reviews for a long time, perhaps the longest in all those years I've been sharing my thoughts on books. My greatest fear has always been that I'll lose my imagination, that my dreamer's wings will break and that dreary reality will deprive me of all the things that brought me happiness and are associated with fantasy. And, in part, it happened. I let my stress, my frustration, my anger, my fatigue that are now my daily companions consume me, darken me, smother me, leave me a husk of my former self. Adult life is not easy. But when it is entwined with terrible workload, and an environment that keeps demanding more, colleagues that wish for your fall and make you regret being nice, it eventually takes its toll on you. Life became about surviving another day, finishing the tasks at hand, sleeeping and eating away all your problems. I read books, I found my temporary reprieve, but the need to talk about them stayed dormant, dusted in the confines of my soul. And then Sorcecy of Thorns came. It stirred a chord that hadn't played its melody for a while, it filled me with the insatiable need to share, to talk, to be passionate and find my voice. At first glance, it's a typical YA read, with the magic and the romance you expect and may find anywhere nowadays. What made it special, what awoke me from my stupor, was that it's a book dedicated to the love of books. Sorcery of Thorns felt as if the love for reading, the excitement of starting a new book, the smell of paper and ink, the yearning to live inside a story that has transported you to magical realms, the marvel of beatiful covers, the reverence of caressing the pages, the smile that takes over your face when you hold it in your hands and feel at home took shape and form and transformed into the second novel written by Margaret Rogerson.

It's a book about libraries coming alive, sinister grimoires, malevolent and belevolent sorcerers, hungry demons, necromancy, ancient conspiracies and in the center of it all a librarian who wields her sword and fights for a better world. Haven't we all thought that books are more than inanimate objects? That they are portals, friends, confidands? Personally I can't remember all those times I apologised to a book for dropping it or tearing its cover, or screaming at it in frustration. In Sorcery of Thorns, books that are mistreated become Maleficts, monsters of paper spitting ink. They have feelings, conciousness, the ability to choose between right and wrong.

❝ It was always wise to be polite to books, whether or not they could hear you.❞

In my review of An Enchantment of Ravens, I mentioned that I felt the touch of magic of Margaret Rogerson's writing but it didn't engulf me. In this one, I was sizzled by its green inferno. This book palsated with energy, it was fast-paced, hooking, and the sarcasm and caustic humor that laced the narration and the dialogues in conjunction with the moments my heart swelled with tenderness made it a delectably addictive read. Elisabeth was such an endearing heroine, her passion and resolution helped her crack the snarky exterior of Nathaniel Thorn, sorcerer extraordinaire (and distant cousin to William Herondale, judging from his retorts and the constant broody banter), and, with the addition of Silas, they became a wonderful team in the quest to defeat evil. Margaret found the perfect balance between romance and adventure, she mixed sinister with innocent, she rattled Elisabeth's world but her open mind and kind soul saved her and everything she held dear.

After I finished it, cheeks wet with tears and heart surprisingly full, I couldn't help but drown in gratitude towards Margaret Rogerson, because with her own sorcery, a sorcery of thorns and roses, of courage and sacrifice, she broke down the dam made of hopelessness and veil of despair that had enveloped my soul. It is a debt I will never be able to repay; thanks to her, magic is within my grasp once more.