The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater

As much as I love the supernatural, I've come to accept its limitations. There are only so many supernatural beings that are cool enough to be readable; vampires, shape shifters, angels/demons, fairies... Whatever flavor of supernatural creature you're dealing with doesn't matter. The truth is what it is; you can't make zombies sexy no matter how hard you try. Or for that matter, goblins, ghouls, or anything that aids in the manufacture of shoes.

But what if the supernatural you're dealing with isn't supposed to be cool or sexy or hell, even acceptable? What if the supernatural creature is something untamed, unknowable, but intrinsically natural? What if the story isn't about smart dialogue, sexy heroes battling evil, or beautiful girls falling for forbidden loves? What if it's about home, and family, and pain and growth? What if magic isn't about incantations, spells, and gothic lace? What if it's about the world, the actual physical world, offering up its most wild and beautiful and terrifying example of raw impossible power?

The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater is not the kind of book I read. It's not the kind of story I write. It is a wholly unexpected example of brilliant storytelling, and improbable, glorious intensity. I will forever be a fan of Miss Stiefvater's, all though I will likely never read another of her books. I would hate for the spell to be broken.