Brandon Sanderson

Brandon Sanderson —

Many an idle moment;
And many a long night
Have I spent reading a book of yours:
Works of art, instructing me about
Love, honor, hope, redemption,
Heartbreak, betrayal, loss, forgiveness.

Every world of yours is uniquely crafted,
From the breathtaking storms of Roshar,
To the mists that envelop and protect Scadrial.

I will always remember:

The awesome beauty of the Shattered Plains,
The thought of which stirs some deep longing in my heart;

The first time a fantasy novel brought me to tears,
When I reached the climax of The Way of Kings;

How Words of Radiance got me through my comprehensive
exams in Graduate School;

Warbreaker, the first step in a grand adventure with an
amazing book club;

Breathlessly finishing that tome, A Memory of Light,
A thousand pages for a battle!

And Mistborn, the gift that keeps on giving: a meditation on
politics, religion, and hope that continues to inspire me.

Thank you, good sir ! Here’s to many more memories!



“There can be no covenants between men and lions, wolves and lambs can never be of one mind, but hate each other out and out and through. Therefore there can be no understanding between you and me, nor may there be any covenants between us, till one or other shall fall.”

The Venerable Homer

By the Muses and their arts, for whose favour I have so often prayed, I swear that, in making this avowal in writing, I have neither desire to praise myself nor to divide from your work.

What happiness could I benefit from eradicating you from my library? In what could I take more contentment than your work? Your words which even now resound deep within my soul as the drums of glory did for your Akhilleus. May it never be my misfortune to forget your opening line:

“Sing, O muse, of the rage of Akhilleus, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.”

For then, what memory would be left for me?

Your great words, for great they truly are, are seared within my heart with the word CHILDHOOD. By the twelve great gods, I could not even consider forgetting my youth, a time seeming now so far and remote from me; that rosy time of innocence during which my grandfather sang your war-song to my young, eager mind and heart. I could not even dream of any story more passionate, more glorious. I could not even dream of leaving your kingdom of wrath and pride to wander alone in the middle of Northeastern American suburbia, in a peaceful street…in a barren desert, for so it would seem compared to your world.

I swear it again and again by those Muses whose favour you and I so often courted: that without your Iliad, my childhood world would be all the greyer, all the less filled with ancient wonder.


nota bene: This note has been written in the pastiche of an Ancient Greek love letter. The author apologizes for her own ridiculousness.

Juliet Marillier

Dear Juliet,

I was eleven years old when I stumbled upon a display at my local library that contained both Daughter of the Forest and the newly published Son of the Shadows. At the time my reading palate consisted entirely of Harry Potter and historical romance novels. And yes, I do mean romance novels. Like the really bad kind, the kind that my friends and I would read out loud to each other as we hid under the blankets with a flashlight at sleepovers because we couldn’t get over how gross and silly it all sounded. I can’t say what initially drew me to Daughter of the Forest, but I do know that I ended up picking both of the books up because there was a review from the Romantic Times on the book which praised it as being “surprisingly romantic.” I can’t know my eleven year old mind, not entirely, but I can be certain that this review is the reason I decided to give your books a shot.

At 3 am that same night I was awake in my bedroom, pacing back and forth, talking myself through everything that had happened, everything that could happen, and wondering how in the world Daughter of the Forest could possibly have a happy ending and why anyone would call it romantic. Earlier in the day I’d been deeply traumatized by early events in the book but had persevered with that promise of romance, and had somehow become so entirely engrossed in the tale that it wasn’t until the infamous burning day that it even occurred to me that I might not actually be reading a romance novel.  

The sleep I lost that night finishing Sorcha’s journey was absolutely worth it, and I ordered the soon-to-be-published Child of the Prophecy before I even started Son of the Shadows. Since then I have been an avid follower of yours, pre-ordering each book as soon as the pre-order becomes available, and even ordering some books (such as Foxmask) from Australia since the US edition would be released nearly a year after its Australian counterpart.

Daughter of the Forest is the first book, aside from Harry Potter, that I absolutely lost myself in. It sparked my love of the fantasy genre and encouraged me to broaden my reading and writing horizons. But what always gets me about it (and most of your books, honestly), is that no matter how many times I read it I still have the same overwhelming tide of emotions that absolutely stunned eleven-year-old me. My first copy of Daughter of the Forest is filled with post-it notes and the cover on it has long since fallen off from fifteen years of love and avid use. When I read it again several months ago, for what is likely the 500th time, I still cried at some of my favorite parts, still felt that intense need to finish it, to see the story through, to find out what happens next even though I could probably quote the thing line-by-line at this point.

Sorcha and her story marked the beginning of a lot of things for me, and I love that she was the beginning of your writing journey as well. Thank you so much for bringing her to the world, and to my world. Thank you for years of intense love and joy, and for every story you’ve written since then. I never hesitate to name you as my favorite author, and I am grateful every day for that one Romantic Times review which brought you to my life.

Many thanks and all the love,
Rebecca (aka your actual biggest fan)


Happy November, everyone!

You may have noticed that we were awfully quiet for the month of October, especially given our flurry of posts to celebrate Banned Books Week. Well, that was all in preparation for this month, which we are devoting to a special theme here at Backroom Whispering Productions.

In honour of the spirit of Thanksgiving here in America, in which most of our country exists in a spirit of “thankfulness” and, well, gorging on copious amounts of food followed by an insane amount of low-priced shopping — but let’s focus on that thankfulness, shall we? In honour of this grateful spirit, a bunch of us here at BWP wanted to take a brief moment out of our time to say thank you to authors we love. So, each new post this month will be one Whisperer saying thank you to an author that had some kind of impact on them.

We hope you enjoy our little shoutouts to various literary giants, living or dead, whom we love and admire.


TBT 14: Six Of Crows

No Mourners. No Funerals. Yes Waffles! Our own Whisper-Dregs gathered to discuss their thoughts on Leigh Bardugo‘s hit YA fantasy-heist novel, Six Of Crows.


In this episode you heard from:
Madeleine | @madnbooks |
Louisa | @otterbewriting
Rebecca | @rumy91989
Shelly | @shllybkwrm

For listeners of The Book Table, Audible is offering a free audiobook and a 30-day free trial! Sign up at

The Book Table is a podcast from Backroom Whispering Productions. Our theme music is by Mark Wayne.

If you liked this podcast, rate us on iTunes! Or get in touch with us:
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Banned Books Week: Wrap-Up

So, here it is: the end of Banned Books Week. We’ve discussed a variety of topics and hope that our readers are inspired to join the conversation or check out some of the books we’ve recommended. But now it’s time to get a little introspective and think about our own histories with Banned Books Week. Was this the first year we really engaged with Banned Books Week? Have we seen library or school displays of banned books? Do we celebrate by baking a banned book cake and reading Huckleberry Finn out loud?

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