Deadhouse Gates

A compendium of emotional thesaurus was 'Deadhouse gates'. 

If roller coasters could be published, they'd be this book. To say that it was fun, intelligent, invigorating would almost be as real and peripheral as saying water is tasteless.

Deadhouse Gates was a dynamo, constantly charging itself into gears of fantastical lengths and zooming inside of a reader's system combining pangs of anxiety, laughter, confusion, confoundment, marvel, fear, revulsion, hatred, love. It was shocking, sad with the ability to make you want to break a pane of glass with your head or weep your eyes out to the point of dehydration.

Imagine cramming a galaxy of characters, stories, relations, connections into a coherent thought and putting it out into words and paragraphs so spellbindingly delicious that to miss out on them would be almost criminal. A surge of crack or should I say 'durhang' like ability seeping out of this book that numbs a reader to all happenings in the real world, for the world of Deadhouse Gates and its characters feels so wonderful that you'd almost wish you were on board, applauding your favourite characters to ascension. 

The description of events that would be impossible to put in meaningful words let alone interesting ones were so arresting, all consuming that it was flabbergasting. 

So on point and riveting were all the battle scenes, the description of military tactics, aches of sorcery and contused pangs of losses that you'd be tearing your hair out in anticipation or yelling out words of encouragement to characters of such remarkable bravery that'd  leave you humbled and cowering with disgust at your own self.

Deadhouse Gates is easily one of the best books out there and so complete is it in itself that you can forgive yourself for not reading anything ever.