Sara Furlong Burr's writing is wildly imaginative and filled with snark and wit. The characters are brilliantly developed throughout the story making them come alive in settings described with such imagery that you feel a part of the story. Enigma Black is filled with twists and turns that will leave you guessing all the way until the end (don't worry, this is a spoiler free zone).
Personally, this first book sets the stage for the series to join the ranks of The Hunger Games in my mind. Even though it is a young adult book, it has the ability to draw in audiences of all ages. If ever there was a book that should be made into a movie, I am voting for this one!
Dystopian/ Sci-Fi
Date Published:11/21/12
When she was just seventeen, the course of Celaine Stevens' life was permanently altered with
the murders of her father, mother, and brother in one of a series of mysterious and violent
explosions occurring across the country. Struggling with picking up the pieces, she's haunted by
the memory of that day and her promise of retribution against those responsible for her misery.
But just as she seems to be getting her life back on track, an encounter with a mysterious stranger
promises her the vengeance she desires, ultimately turning the former target into the assassin.
However, as she soon learns, all choices come with consequences. And the consequence of her
choice threatens to destroy the very fabric of her being
the murders of her father, mother, and brother in one of a series of mysterious and violent
explosions occurring across the country. Struggling with picking up the pieces, she's haunted by
the memory of that day and her promise of retribution against those responsible for her misery.
But just as she seems to be getting her life back on track, an encounter with a mysterious stranger
promises her the vengeance she desires, ultimately turning the former target into the assassin.
However, as she soon learns, all choices come with consequences. And the consequence of her
choice threatens to destroy the very fabric of her being
The automatic door was now more manual than automatic. I
banged on it with my fists, attempting to do the job the explosion had been
unable to accomplish. When that failed, I braced a leg on one side of the frame
and, with my aching arms, attempted to pry the door open like a human crow-bar.
No luck. After a couple more minutes of kicking, smacking and invariably
flipping the door off, I realized that what I was doing was not going to work.
Undeterred, I scanned the rubble for an idea. A piece of scaffolding stuck out
like a sore thumb within the concrete. Lunging towards it, I prayed it would be
suitable to pry the door open. Just as I bent down to grab it, I felt one hand
on my shoulder and another one around my waist, attempting to pull me back.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” A man whirled
me around to face him. His eyes were wild, his hair gray from soot. He appeared
to be a security guard or an officer of some sort. It was too hard to tell
based on what was left of his tattered uniform. “There’s nothing left. Do you hear
me? The ramp is gone. You’re going to get yourself killed trying to go out
there.”
Even though I heard the words he spoke, they made absolutely
no sense to me. What did he mean when he said the ramp was gone? It had been
there just twenty minutes ago. Deciding that the good officer must be crazy, I
broke away from him and proceeded onward in my quest to pry the door open,
grabbing the piece of scaffolding from its concrete tomb.
“No!” he screamed at me again, lunging to restrain me.
I’d had enough. As much as I didn’t want to do it, I felt
like I had no other option but to disable the officer, as reasoning with him
was clearly not going to work. Raising my arm, I forcibly swung it back,
striking him in the chest. The force of my elbow to his rib cage caused him to
release his grip on me enough to where I was able to break away. Once free, I
whirled around, swiftly kicking him in the legs as hard as I could in the hope
that it would incapacitate him long enough for me to pry the door open.
Fetching the metallic bar from the rubble, I jammed it
between the seal and the frame of the doorway, pushing it with all my strength.
At first, it put up an admirable fight, but after several solid jabs it finally
conceded defeat, slowly squeaking open. Smoke — thicker and black in color — poured
into the store from the outside, sending me into another coughing fit. Holding
my breath, I gave the bar a few more solid pushes until enough room opened up
for me to squeeze my entire body through the door. Through the clouds of smoke,
I took off down the crumpled concrete. In the suffocating fog, snowflakes
stabbed my face like tiny daggers, grinding salt in my wounds.
My eyes worked to focus in the direction I’d left my
parents’ vehicle. I walked carefully down the pavement, looking for the
familiar sight of the garage. I should have been there by now; this walk was
taking entirely too long. The smoky haze slowly became less and less dense the
further out I walked until a wayward gust of wind blew past me, punching a hole
into the unknown. What it revealed was a scene I hadn’t expected.
Instead of the familiar ramp, I found myself standing on the
edge of a ledge with the rest of the city spread out before me. Sirens
surrounded me. I shielded my ears with my bloodied hands. A strange sound
approaching from above drew my attention to the helicopter that was circling
the mall. The hurricane-force wind it generated pushed my broken body in all
directions. Did I take a wrong turn? Was I that disoriented?
No, I wasn’t. This was where I’d left my parents and Jacob.
They had been right here waiting for me. A thought occurred to me then; a
thought that rendered my delicate stomach as fragile as an egg shell. Taking in
a deep breath, I staggered to the edge of the cliff, peering over the edge to
see what I had feared and somehow already knew would be there.
5 Reasons to Write Dystopian
I
consider myself an eclectic writer in that the genres for the stories I’ve
written tend to vary, from romance, science-fiction, dystopian, political
thriller, paranormal, adult, young adult, and chick-it. In fact, my first
novel, Enigma Black, is four of those aforementioned genres all rolled into
one. But, if you were to hold me down, kicking and screaming, after careful
thought, I would tell you that the increasingly-popular dystopian genre is by
far my favorite type of novel to write. Why? I’m glad you asked because I just
so happen to have five reasons why I prefer to write dystopian novels:
1. Better
world building. A dystopian setting offers a literal world of
possibilities. Whether your literary world is governed by anarchy, oppression,
a disease that forces its inhabitants to
live in seclusion, forced pairings, or generalized fear, the dystopian genre
allows you more of a creative liberty (in my opinion) to multiply the darkest
fears buried in the deepest recesses of your mind and bring them to life on
paper.
2. More
kick-butt female protagonists. From Katniss in The Hunger Games to Tris in Divergent,
dystopian novels are rife with strong female main characters who make wonderful
role models for young women, and have more honorable traits for others to
emulate, such fearlessness and strength (as opposed to selfishness and a
dependence upon others to save the day).
3. Because
rainbows and sunshine get old. I, for one, don’t want to read a novel where
everything is hunky-dory all of the time nor do I always want there to be a
happy, sugar-coated ending. I want there to be tension; I want to feel a sense
of impending doom amidst a world I can’t seem to figure out. And you get all of
that in the dystopian genre, making it one of the more exciting genres to both
read and write.
4. You
can stack other genres on top of it. There is so much more you can work
into a dystopian novel. You can have an epic romance, an alien invasion, a
political thriller, or even a horror story (think zombies), all set within a
dystopian environment. Really, the world’s your oyster when it comes to the
dystopian genre, allowing you to be a tad more creative with less restrictions
than some of the other genres impose.
5. Heroes
rise from oppression. One of the things I love most about the dystopian
genre is the ultimate banding together of those who oppose it. Alliances are
made, heroes are born, and a darn good story usually ensues as a result.
Author Bio:
Sara "Furlong" Burr was born on February 1, 1982, in Kalamazoo, Michigan. At an early age,
when it became apparent she wouldn't have the luxury of skating through life on her looks
or athletic prowess, Sara found her true passion in writing. While in fifth grade, she wrote
her first "novel"(whose name escapes her at the moment) about five friends who win a trip to
Hawaii. At ninety-something pages, it was her crowning achievement during her childhood (you
may now begin drawing your own conclusions on how sad a childhood Sara actually had).
After focusing much of her adult life on her family and career as a paralegal, Sara found the
voices in her head becoming unrelenting and she returned to her true passion. Currently, she's
working on the sequel to Enigma Black entitled Vendetta Nation. She's also tossing around ideas
for a chick-lit book about two ill-fated lovers (Lord, help her).
When she's not writing, Sara enjoys reading (pretty much a given), attempting to garden,
shopping (prerequisite to being a woman), and spending time with her family and friends who
somehow manage to tolerate her numerous disappearances propagated by infrequent bouts of
inspiration.
Contact Links
Twitter: @Sarafurlong
