The Portable Door by Tom Holt. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
I had never read anything by Tom Holt before, but after watching the movie for The Portable Door, I felt compelled to read the book. It seemed appropriate to do so.
Knowing how I am and what I would feel if I didn’t read the book, I bit the proverbial bullet, carted it, and then eventually made the purchase.
Below is the review I submitted for Amazon:
“I Should Have Read the Book Before Watching the Movie
However, I only found out about the book by watching the movie, so . . . there’s the rub. As phenomenal writing goes with a splash of wit, a dash of sarcasm, and vividly created scenes, The Portable Door (Book 1 of 8), is a fantastic read.
But I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I much prefer the movie versus the book. In the book, it took a while to get to the “good stuff,” and I found myself trying to link one story to another and another to another, and it felt like more of me putting a jigsaw puzzle together than reading a book.
This was not a deterrent, though, just a bit of a challenge.
Around Chapter 8 is where I became quite invested in most of the characters and the author’s way of bringing each of them to light. There is magic, mystery, sexual innuendoes, debauchery, and madness flooding the pages. Once I was into the thick of it, I couldn’t look away.
It’s a great read that has persuaded me to check out the rest of the books in the series.”
I think it’s such an intriguing concept to have a compact door you can just flip out, affix it to a hard surface, open it, and say the name of the place you wish to go, then step through the door and you’re there!
People, that’s far more than magic, that is approved sought-after sanity.
“Do gerbils love?” Paul pondered as he spent what could be his last moments breathing next to the love of his life, Sophie. The two were a pair of hopeless half-wizards and even though their hearts were recently connected, it felt like they had been in love for centuries.
Maybe in a past life? Maybe in a past spell?
Whatever it was, Paul stood there with an invisible rope binding him in place–the slightest movement was an act of severe futility. Would Humphrey turn him into a gerbil, an elephant, a gecko, or the latest edition of Better Homes & Gardensmagazine?
Whatever he was going to be, he wished for the ability to love. And to continue to love Sophie, too. But what would she be? If Humphrey could turn them into anything under the natural sun, what spell would he conjure up for his beloved Sophie?
The dank air of the firm’s office swirled around the hostages as Humphrey laughed maniacally from his throne. A snap of his finger . . . a flush of his lips . . . a slap of his left hand to his right ear and then . . .
*POOF*
They would all waddle like ducks waffling around for a place to find comfort.
As he snapped back to life from his daydream, the bulky image of Humphrey approaching him increased in size. His jowls hung viciously on his face, and his razor-sharp teeth barked out of his mouth.
He gawked at Paul with the intent to do bodily harm and whispered, “Now, where were we, you insolent fool?”
“Gerbils,” said Paul. “Gerbils . . . do they love?”
I am currently reading, The Portable Door by Tom Holt, and a particular phrase in this book (the title of this story) shook something alive in my brain. What you have just read is the product. I am nearly done with the book, and I cannot wait to write the review for it, too!
I’m all abracadabra’d out–the magic seeps in unknowingly these days, and I fear I can’t hold on to it longer than a few moments. The stars grant me a pass to the other side of the moon, and there is where I find growth.
Expectations don’t fill up my list of to-dos, I calmly press through life allowing what will be–it’s acceptance of such things that often reminds me of trial and error. I’ve tried many things–had tons of errors, and yet, I am still here.
The voice speaks. I listen.
I have journeyed for decades, gallivanting amongst comrades and four-legged friendlies, and have found my space in the blue light of newness. I welcome it–its aura embraces me, carries me to places unknown, and I am a bright sunbeam, warming the skies.
Within me, I’ve found things ethereal enough to be contagious, and I regift them annually. I made a vow years ago to live this life as it comes– no need to appear apoplectic when the world is still spinning in the right direction.
Magic meets my lips and I birth a kiss for it–I know where I stand and I am confident enough now to step forward when moving should take place.
The voice speaks. I listen.
And forever, it will be.
Thank you toK. L. Laettnerfor allowing me to gift a poem to you. This one was a bit challenging, and I truly appreciate that. Also, this gift poem is my 1,000th post here at A Cornered Gurl.
To learn more about Your Poem From Me: The Giving Cause, click here.Let me write a poem for you. I can give it life.
She never thought a woman could break her heart…
It started off playful, little gifts of love presented in cards, letters, and candy. Before the light of a new day, Fairy Godmother Honore fell madly in love with the forest’s most popular warrior. She fixated on her smile, her voice, her laugh, and her words. She imagined the two of them coursing through the Land of Timeless Hope, hand-in-hand. Camille…
Honore said her name and the flutters in her heart stirred without fail. Camille… the world stopped. Camille… everything that was meaningful faded into the background, was put on hold or canceled. Fairy Godmother Honore had found love. She found a reason to retire and give up casting spells that created a life of happiness for others. It was time to shine a light on her own. It was time for stepping into the center and being the focus. It was time for a welcomed peace.
But, her fantasy was one-sided. The hope of embracing love at the reins never matured for Honore. Camille was a bolt of lightning, busy luring hearts but never falling for them. She was a madwoman, casting spells of her own. With eyes of thunder, a head full of fiery hair, lips that summoned the seas, and a body brickhoused to perfection, Camille used what she had to engage others in indescribable ways. She was her counterpart’s downfall.
Unbeknownst to her, Camille’s ways were invisible until Honore wanted to reveal her feelings to The Warrior. She wanted to tell her of the love that danced around in her heart for months. She built up the courage, gathered every ounce of pride, and swatted away every question the village threw at her.
“But, she’s a woman. Why, Honore?”
“Are you THAT desperate?”
“Can your heart not find its true love in a man?”
Fairy Godmother Honore ignored their cries. Love was bigger. It catapulted her into a confident realm.
On a day when the sun sat highest in the sky, Honore wrote a love letter to Camille. She attached an old poem written in her honor and placed them both in a handmade basket where she added fresh fruits, a box of chocolate, and granola. Honore waved her wand over the basket, said the crafted love spell, and sent it on its way.
It arrived at Camille’s doorstep just before a break in the clouds. A knock cracked violently across the door. Camille was sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast when the knock shook her. “A visitor? At this hour?” She went to her door, pulled it open, and stared at the open forest with no one around. Her eyes shifted downward and there it was, Fairy Godmother Honore’s gift of love. Camille scooped up the basket and hurried inside. She tore into the contents and grabbed the letter.
As she read it, a boiling pit formed in her stomach. Her body ached. A headache tapped at her temples and caused her to blink quickly. She read the last words of the love poem wrapped in the letter. “If you will be so willing to let my love, love you, it would be an Honore.”
No signature. No other hint of the sender. But, Camille knew who her pursuer was… “an Honore.” She scribbled a few words onto the back of the letter. It was a declination of declinations. “You are a Fairy Godmother. Love… Love deserves more than spells or chants or being twisted into something it is not. I am not a project, Honore. I won’t be willed, least of all, by you.”
She summoned her errand boy and had him swiftly take the basket back to the Fairy Godmother. Honore met the boy just as soon as his hand began to tap the hardwood door. He stood there, eager to finish his task. Honore snatched the basket, gave the boy a shilling, and sent him on his way. In the silence of her home, she dug into the basket and pulled everything sent off back out.
The letter…It laid there, crumpled and out of place. She read the letter… But, what now? Honore turned it over to read Camille’s words. A fitful sting struck her heart and dollops of tears poured from her eyes. “I am not a project, Honore. I won’t be willed, least of all, by you.” Fairy Godmother Honore sat with those words for hours. She washed her hair with them. She cried with them. She lolled throughout the house with them.
But what about the gifts, the cards, the hints? Everything that Camille had gifted her, was it all a dream? And then it hit her.
Honore had been lured by Camille specifically for this reason–to learn that there are no spells for true love. Two hearts must meet, be in sync, and work together as one.
She never thought a woman could break her heart. But, she needed it.
A Cornered Gurl 
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