petersburg in 1917.* feo is a half-wild child who hasn't seen many humans in her life. Twelve-year-old feodora petrovna and her mother marina live in a secluded forest just outside of st. it's dark and stark and sleek and less charming than fierce. (chortle, chortle) it has the same kind of unconventional and bold heroine as Rooftoppers, the same killer prose, but it has much more depth. Rooftoppers was all charm - a magical book with beautifully light prose, unforgettable characters, and a plot like a symphony - all rise and fall and elegance. This book is even better than Rooftoppers. which made me nervous that Rooftoppers was one of those one-hit-wonder flashes of genius the author is never able to replicate. it doesn't have the same sparkle of language or story it feels … dusty. Cartwheeling in Thunderstorms is a fine book, it just doesn't read like it's from the same creative period as the two bookending it. This is all just wild speculation, but Cartwheeling in Thunderstorms just feels like it was written before Rooftoppers and maybe only saw the light of day to tide rabid fans like me over while rundell was writing her next masterpiece. THIS is the book i was waiting for as a chaser to Rooftoppers. This was the kind of cold that you didn't sit down to think in, unless you wanted to be found dead in the same place in May or June.Her wolves, Feo thought, were a bunch of the most beautiful criminals. It took all the sense out of your brain and blew the snow into your eyes until they were glued shut and you had to rub spit into them before they would blink. It was the kind of cold that you booted and kicked your way through.Īnd then there was blind cold.

Then there was hard cold, which was when the ice cold got deeper and deeper until at the end of a month you couldn't remember if the summer had ever really existed. It often came with blue skies and was good for skating. There was ice cold, which might take the skin off your palm if you let it, but probably wouldn't if you were careful. It was Feo's favorite weather: The snow was soft and good for making snow wolves. There was snow cold, which plucked at your arms and chapped your lips, but brought real rewards.

It was fussy and loud and turned your cheeks as red as if you'd been slapped, but couldn't kill you even if it tried. There was wind cold, which Feo barely felt. “There were, in Feo's experience, five kinds of cold.

The wolf wilder by katherine rundell