Author: Jennifer Silverwood
Genre: Paranormal Romance, Fantasy Romance, Chick-lit, Urban Fantasy
Format: Paperback
Publisher: SilverWoodSketches
Buy: Paperback Kindle Smashwords
Number of pages: 322
Word Count: 131, 325
Cover Artist: Najla Qamber
Amie Wentworth writes paranormal romances, not because she is looking for a degree in ectoplasm, but because she’s got bills to pay. Ever since her parents’ car crash, she has been led a reclusive life and trusted books more than people. Not even a letter from her long-lost uncle, begging her to visit, gives Amie incentive for anything other than ire – until she is stabbed in an alley and brought back to life by a mysterious stranger.
After crossing the Atlantic to her father’s homeland, Amie is dragged into the very sort of tale she is used to selling. Silver Hollow is a place of ancient traditions and supernatural dangers, where everything is the opposite of what it seems and few escape sane.
To make matters worse, the man who saved her life keeps turning up and her would-be-murderer is still at large.
But when she comes face to face with the ugly truth, will she too be sucked into her father’s madness? Or will she discover that madness is just another name for honesty?
Jennifer Silverwood is one of my online besties and reading a book by a close friend was both unusual and incredibly cool! Every time something mind blowing would happen in the book, I had to fight the urge to bombard Jenn with questions and rant about what I thought of this, and why I hated that. And when the end came rolling in, I was very close to writing her a huge email about how much I loved this book!
Silver Hollow began with such a Southern air, with barn parties, friends with the accent, the funny sayings and the whole shebang. As it continues, Amie (our main character) get’s plucked from the only place she has ever known (or so she believes) and is planted under the castle roof of her Uncle Henry. Who she has resented and ignored since her parents death.
The beginning of the book though usual does really draw you in. And it’s not only because of the events occurring but also because of Jenn’s writing style. It’s different and carries a sort of Jane Austen flare. That Jane Austen flare sort of confused me when the book started. Instead of imagining the 21st century, I sometimes titled towards the 17th century, and then it was a short cycle of that until Amie’s departure from the States and to the UK, which then made the writing style, fit it perfectly. I cannot blame Jenn for trying to keep the writing as consistent as possible throughout the book.
For the characters, I absolutely loved Uncle Henry. He was so sweet, funny and the type of fatherly figure everyone needs in his or her life, even if it’s just his or her Uncle. Amie was a wonderful character to follow and held all the traits a protagonist should have, including the annoying bit (but only sometimes). I was surprised to find out that a lot of the characters came from legends and myths we have all learned about in movies, shows, cartoons, etc. I was literally jumping for joy when I found out Emrys’ (Amie’s guardian) background and who he really is. Eddie, on the other hand, I was confused about. I somehow thought Eddie was a little boy and if I didn’t know the characters before I started the book, I wouldn’t probably realize he was a full-grown man until near the end of the book. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been reading the book in a span of 3 weeks and ended up missing some details or if it was the way the characters in the book depicted him. They all kept on calling him ‘boy’ and treated him a lot like a kid rather than a full-grown man. After, I figured out he was an adult male, I let out a sigh of relief and said, “Now, that makes a lot more sense”.
The best thing about Silver Hollow was how magical and beautiful the world was. It was filled with so much sparkle, vibrance, magic and at the same time darkness. Likewise, Silver Hollow can be called a paranormal or a dystopian book but somehow I feel as if it needs to have a genre of it’s own, maybe a genre that was called Wonderland. That is the only word that can describe the world Jennifer Silverwood has written for us. It’s incredible and it definitely makes up for the few flaws the book has.
Furthermore, the only real flaw I found was how the details of the book were confusing. I had to reread a lot for me to be able to get what was being described, or said. Once the roughness of the details are flattened out and simplified, Silver Hollow will be a perfect read for all. It was a vibrant, dark, and beautiful story about mythical creatures, legends, self-discovery, trust, love, family, responsibility, and so much more.
Jenn, you are awesome! :)
Jennifer Silverwood was raised deep in the heart of Texas and has been spinning yarns a mile high since childhood. In her spare time she reads and writes and tries to sustain her wanderlust, whether it's the Carpathian Mountains in Transylvania, the highlands of Ecuador or a road trip to the next town.
After attending three different universities without managing to square a degree, she decided to the next logical thing; become a writer. Always on the lookout for her next adventure, in print or reality, she dreams of one day proving to the masses that everything really is better in Texas.
She is the author of the Heaven's Edge series and Silver Hollow. To stay tuned, please have a gander at her website: http://jennifersilverwood.com
Blog | Website | Facebook | Twitter- @JennSilverwood | Tumblr | Goodreads | Amazon | Smashwords
Home stretch, Wentworth! You’re almost there and you didn’t even last a week in track.
She grinned, touching the end of the feather sticking out of her robe pocket. This was her biggest mystery and most intriguing find. She wondered if any of the books Henry had put in her bookcase could shed some light.
Amie squinted and gasped when the distant candle light winked out of existence. The corner shadows literally moved to stand in front of her, blocking her vision. Confused and more than a little freaked out, Amie decided to just plunge through the gap. It had to be a trick of the eyes. She’d been awake most of the night, after all.
When she impacted the shadow, she realized too late it was hard as a brick wall. Within seconds she was flipped onto her back, the breath knocked out of her and the candelabra pooling wax onto the floor beside her head. She was too frightened to shout, flashbacks of the night she was attacked penetrating her mind. So she flinched when the shadows shifted and drew into her candle’s light to reveal the impression of a face.
Amie threw up her hands and scrambled backwards when the shadow reached to touch her. “Don’t come any closer! Get away from me!” she hissed, afraid to scream and wake the house. A part of her was still convinced this was a figment of her troubled imagination. Shutting her eyes, she willed the spirit to flee, then froze in terror when it spoke.
“Forgive me for startling you. I only intended to be certain ye were real, flying about the castle in yer nightdress as if ye had all the golems of the world at your back.”
“Your voice…” she whispered, blinked up at the source of the deeply masculine voice. “I feel like I’ve heard that before.” When he chuckled at her words she frowned, so he explained.
“I’ve been told a great many things by maidens far uglier and others with only a reflection of your true beauty, but never this. Tell me,” he said after a tense pause, where she focused on the reflection of her candle’s flames dancing in his black orbs, “what reason should a blood-filled woman have in the West Wing this night, lest she be a wight?” He was mocking her yet her curiosity won over her frustration.
“What’s a wight?” she asked and could have sworn his eyes shifted colors, from black to red to silver and then brilliant blue.
“A walking specter, milady, doomed to haunt its resting place forever.”
“I’m not a wight,” she said. For a long moment he said nothing, only peered intensely over her, until she felt the blackness would swallow her whole.
“Then neither am I, Jessamiene Wenderdowne,” he whispered, drawing back into the darkness. Amie’s heart was pounding, her blood racing. He shouldn’t have been able to leave so quickly. There were no other rooms past hers, no alcoves she had uncovered, or hidden passages to escape into. Yet as soon as his whisper was nothing more than a memory and his face had left her candle’s glow, she knew she was truly alone.
