The Glass Spare (The Glass Spare, #1)
A banished princess.A deadly curse.A kingdom at war.Wil Heidle, the only daughter of the king of the world’s wealthiest nation, has grown up in the shadows. Kept hidden from the world in order to serve as a spy for her father—whose obsession with building his empire is causing a war—Wil wants nothing more than to explore the world beyond her kingdom, if only her father would give her the chance.Until one night Wil is attacked, and she discovers a dangerous secret. Her touch turns people into gemstone. At first Wil is horrified—but as she tests its limits, she’s drawn more and more to the strange and volatile ability. When it leads to tragedy, Wil is forced to face the destructive power within her and finally leave her home to seek the truth and a cure.But finding the key to her redemption puts her in the path of a cursed prince who has his own ideas for what to do with her power.With a world on the brink of war and a power of ultimate destruction, can Wil find a way to help the kingdom that’s turned its back on her, or will she betray her past and her family forever?

The Glass Spare (The Glass Spare, #1) Details

TitleThe Glass Spare (The Glass Spare, #1)
ReleaseOct 24th, 2017
PublisherBalzer + Bray
Number of pages336 pages
GenreFantasy, Young Adult

The Glass Spare (The Glass Spare, #1) Review

  • Whitney Atkinson
    April 5, 2016
    this sounds like shatter me 2.0. i'm in.
  • Lauren DeStefano
    February 27, 2017
    I learned I had OCD from watching Maury. At least, I think it was Maury. The mid-90s was the age of daytime talk shows, and now they have all blurred into my memory. What I do remember is this: I was eleven years old, and suddenly my entire world made sense.I’ve heard that mental illness is often genetic. However, this wasn’t the case for me. I was raised as an only child, and whenever I tried to articulate what I was feeling to my parents, I got the distinct impression that I was starting to so I learned I had OCD from watching Maury. At least, I think it was Maury. The mid-90s was the age of daytime talk shows, and now they have all blurred into my memory. What I do remember is this: I was eleven years old, and suddenly my entire world made sense.I’ve heard that mental illness is often genetic. However, this wasn’t the case for me. I was raised as an only child, and whenever I tried to articulate what I was feeling to my parents, I got the distinct impression that I was starting to sound insane, and that if I kept talking this way, I would be sent away. I thought I would decline and decline until any capacity for joy was gone from my mind.I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t anxious about things that hadn’t happened. I can’t remember a day when I didn’t believe I was going to die in some rare and violent way. When I was six, my parents were impressed that I had stopped asking for McDonalds as an after school treat, but the truth is that I believed all food that wasn’t vacuum sealed was poisoned or crawling with toxic germs.The numbers didn’t begin until I was in fifth grade. I’m not sure how exactly it started, but it had something to do with my bedroom window. One day, for no discernable reason, something told me that I had not closed the window properly. So I closed it again. But this time, when the window locked into the frame, something about the sound it made was not right. So I did it again. An itch manifested in my mind. Closing a window was no longer about closing a window. There was something bigger than me, and it was sitting on my shoulders, and it followed me even after I had walked away from the window.Bit by bit, the entire world changed and morphed around this new Thing that followed me everywhere I went. This thing that taunted me mercilessly. It had no body, so I was its body. My hands were made to tap the walls and the tables and the windows a certain number of times. And if I didn’t do it right (which I never did), I would have to do it again, until someone entered the room and my embarrassment won out over my fear, or I was too tired to remember this sequence I had now performed over a dozen times.By the time I was twelve, I no longer remembered what a warm shower felt like. The bathroom tile had a chaotic pattern of little shapes that went in all directions, and I had to make sure my feet aligned with them in a certain way, and if they didn’t, I had to do it again. And then again. The water was always cold by the time I set foot beneath it. Washing my hair was its own particular kind of hell.Coincidentally, this was at the dawn of puberty, when I could blame the amount of time it took to shower and then get dressed on the fact that I was becoming a teenager. I pretended that I had suddenly become obsessed with fashion, that I had tried on a hundred different shirts and that’s why I nearly missed the bus. The truth is that it had taken me all morning just to get both arms into the sleeve of one shirt, because this monster on my back was telling me that if I got it wrong, my house would catch fire and we’d all die in the flames.It wasn’t the kind of thing I talked about. Not in 1996. And especially not since my family was the religious sort, and I had been taught that this sort of thing only happened to people who had yet to atone for some great sin. I knew somehow that this wasn’t that. I knew somehow that no one was going to understand. And I assumed I was the only person in the world to have contracted such a bizarre creature that had managed to zap me entirely of my will.Then an episode of Maury (I think) featured sufferers of OCD. Mind you, this was long before the internet was a thing in my house. I had no way to contact this young woman who couldn’t get out of bed unless the numbers on the clock were even. I had no way to say that I understood, that we shared this monster. I felt at once like I was not alone and the most alone I’d ever been.Even knowing this, I didn’t tell my parents. I didn’t think that they would understand. Instead, I told myself that I would be better. I knew what I had and it was just a matter of not doing it. This sounds excellent in theory but not so much when put into practice.OCD latches on to its host. It locks around their brain like fingers in clay. The clay hardens, and there’s a kind of permanence. Alone with this monster of mine, I began to observe it the same way it had observed me. I took notice of when it seemed to scream for my attention versus when it left me alone. It wanted my attention most of the time, but it got bored enough with me when I was writing my little stories in my notebook. It also seemed to leave me alone when I was blasting music from my Walkman. I guess it wasn’t a big fan of Jewel.For a while at least, I was able to tell stories of people who Were Not Me. I wasn’t present, and therefore nothing that plagued me was present.There were times, over the years, in which I tried to put what I was experiencing into my writing. It just never seemed to make sense on the page. Conclusion? Write about other things. Feel better for a while. Repeat.By my late teens and early twenties, the OCD had calmed considerably. I credit this on the stability of my life at that time. Things were a bit more predictable. A bit safer. And the monster, as a result, had quieted. But it was still present every day, in some small way that was imperceptible unless one knew where to look.When I wrote my first book, Wither, I was twenty four and life was a bit tumultuous. It was my escape, as ever, from myself. I enjoyed writing it and will forever be grateful for the things it has brought me. In the years to follow, I have told more stories and they have all meant something different and special to me.When I wrote THE GLASS SPARE, however, I was in the worst state of my life to date. It was as though I woke up one morning and had become a magnet for all the little Things I’d managed to avoid over the years. The monster was back and it had grown some muscles. It knew I was bigger and stronger than I’d been when I was twelve, so it had grown bigger and stronger to match me, wit for wit.I spent four months in my bed. I barely slept, and when I did, I dreamed of panic attacks and woke up to panic attacks. A relative brought me groceries, sometimes leaving them on the porch because my anxiety was such that I could not face another human being unless I had just taken a dose of my anxiety medication. I wasn’t sure if I had lost myself completely, or it I was the most myself I had ever been. I’m still not sure, because anxiety is so braided into every fiber of me, if someone were to reach in and pull it out, I would collapse into a heap of skin and bones with little sentience remaining.This time, I could not separate myself from my writing. My story was not about a girl with mental illness. It was about a girl who woke up one morning to discover that everything she touched would turn to stone. “This is not a metaphor,” I told myself. “Metaphors are a cliché.” Eventually I came to terms with it being a metaphor. Whatever you want to call it, there is a very real chance that writing this story saved my life. It gave me a place to put all of those things poking at me, trying to make me break. And when that monster reached for me, I grabbed it by the neck and slammed it into the page.Writing this story was not a cure. I still have OCD. I still have anxiety. Sometimes I hyperventilate and speed past the highway entrance and circle the block so I can work up my nerves. Sometimes I sit in my car and cry because I can’t work up the courage to leave the driveway. Sometimes there’s triumph and sometimes there’s failure.But every day, there’s a place to put it.Even though THE GLASS SPARE emerged from a dark time for me, and even though my memories of writing it are sometimes too horrible to address, I did not want to write a story wherein the truth was a burden. It is not, traditionally speaking, a story about mental illness, and quite possibly, only I would see the accidental metaphor. Wil turns all living things to stone with a touch, and as she gets stronger, whatever is causing it gets stronger too. Her mother counts and taps things in threes and fives. Her brother loses himself in the logic of Why Things Happen as a means of coping with what he can’t control.I wanted to write a fantasy where readers could fall in love, and cry, and celebrate, and mourn. I wanted to write a story that was honest. A story where what I struggle with doesn’t disappear, but rather, it manifests into something that makes sense to me, and will maybe make sense to someone else out there. I’ve got this monster on my back, and I needed somewhere to put it.
  • Jodi Meadows
    September 28, 2016
    I absolutely loved the worldbuilding in this one, and the way things are always more complicated than they first appear.
  • Juliet-Camille
    April 7, 2016
    A new Lauren DeStefano!!!!!!A new Lauren DeStefano!!!!!!A new Lauren DeStefano!!!!!!A new Lauren DeStefano!!!!!!A new Lauren DeStefano!!!!!!A new Lauren DeStefano!!!!!!
  • Alyssa Calloway
    May 18, 2016
    Lauren DeStefano has become an auto-buy author for me and this sounds SO GOOD.
  • Beth
    November 14, 2016
    Brilliantly crafted, this fantasy will make you believe in magic. Only someone with a heart of stone will be able to turn away from Wil's story.
  • Cindy ✩☽ Savage Queen ♔
    February 25, 2017
    Still love the synopsis, but the cover is kinda meh...
  • Tez
    January 10, 2017
    10th January 2017: Reason for adding to wishlist: Bit iffy about adding, and I may change my mind at any time. Enjoyed the author's first trilogy. Haven't read her second trilogy (though it's on my wishlist). Decided to skip her middle grade books (MG books don't suit me). On the downside, I was told off for sharing pre-order links for her novellas in the past. That was weird.
  • Avery TheLibrariansDaughter
    February 7, 2017
    Wil created the crystal gemsDoes that mean Wil is a gem?I hope she's Peridot.
  • Cody Roecker
    April 4, 2016
    I keep adding all of these Lauren DeStefano books to my TBR, and I still have yet to read one. They all sound so good I just need to pick them up! This is one I can particularly get behind!!! Excited!
  • Kyria Draper
    May 28, 2016
    I have read every Lauren DeStefano book and LOVE them.I cannot wait for this!!!!!
  • Erica
    March 28, 2016
    Sadly, I kicked Lauren off my favourite-authors list a while back. Her work became sloppier and sloppier with each new release, and I can't, in the name of good literature, continue to hope for better. I will still read her work, maybe, but I will not buy any more of her work, until she puts actual effort into the storytelling.
  • ♠ Tabi ♠
    April 6, 2016
  • Kara Terzis
    March 28, 2016
    I absolutely LOVE Lauren DeStefano's writing, and this sounds INCREDIBLE.
  • Stephanie (Bookfever.♥)
    March 30, 2016
    I NEED this book! ♥
  • Amber ~ The Reading Addict
    March 13, 2017
    A new book by Lauren DeStefano? A banished princess and a kingdom at war?
  • Kali
    May 9, 2016
    2017? :(
Write a review