Monday's post was a musical tribute to the book by Alex at The Paperback Piano which is just unspeakably beautiful.
Tuesday's stop was gorgeous Dear Reader Hannah, founder of Luna's Little Library, who engaged in a fairly awe-inspiring chapter by chapter breakdown of her reactions to the book - sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes spoilery (you have been warned!)
On Wednesday Laura Patricia Rose contributed a fashion spread of just the loveliest outfit (that I would definitely wear) inspired by the book. Bird belt inspired by Bingbing: 10/10.
Thursday we were blessed with Charlotte from Wonderfully Bookish Blog's beautiful, atmospheric and spoiler free image/mood board which is a very interesting insight for me, personally, into the visual impressions a reader might glean from my writing.
And we're closing the week out with Kirsty's endearingly nerdy yet gorgeous Anagrammatical Shenanigans (that's the only term I feel is fitting).
BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE!
The blog tour continues right up until release day, so I will be rounding up again next Thursday as part of my release day post. I urge you not to wait that long to check these fantastic posts out, though - I'll be sharing and RTing during the week and I'd love it if you did the same to build excitement and buzz, not only about the book's publication but also our fantastic #UKYA blogging community.
And as if that wasn't enough excitement, my lovely publisher Walker Books are currently running a super exciting giveaway on Twitter - you can win not only a copy of the book but also a stunning Chinese calligraphy brushpainting set. UK Dear Readers can win by following them here:
EXCITING COMPETITION ALERT! Want to win a copy of 'The Hand, The Eye & The Heart' by @ZMarriott alongside a stunning calligraphy set? Follow & RT to enter! By entering this competition you confirm that you accept our terms & conditions of entry (see t&c link in bio). pic.twitter.com/JJ44GvAl3i— Walker Books (@WalkerBooksUK) March 27, 2019
If you're not in the UK then you should definitely be checking back here on release date for a post about the book's journey and also a new, international giveaway which maaaaaay be of interest...
I've been getting messages on Facebook and Goodreads asking me if I'll be doing any signings for this book, so even though I've been banging on about this non-stop I feel it behooves me to remind everyone again that I'll be in London the week the book's release - on the 8th of April, right after my birthday! - to chat about the book (and other awesome books) with a raft of awesome, award-winning and bestselling authors at Waterstone's Piccadilly. We will also sign copies! AS MANY COPIES AS YOU WANT. Book tickets now so as to avoid the sad, frowning grey unicorn of disappointment!
Finally, perhaps it is time for another NEW and EXCLUSIVE SNIPPET of my precious book baby? Don't mind if I do, muffins! Read below the cut:
“You
are sure you are well enough to be up?” Father asked gently as Mother knelt
opposite him at the end of the low dining table. The servants glided silently
around us, casting long, flickering shadows on the red silk walls, arranging
platters of steamed rice, stewed meat and stir-fried greens, soft steamed buns
and soup.“I can have the maid bring you a tray in your room.”
“Of
course! I am not ill – it was only standing up so suddenly,” she said, as
bright as shards of broken glass. I could almost see their glint in the soft
lantern light. The servants finished laying the table and departed, the last
one drawing the screen door shut behind him with a soft click.
My
heart was laden in my chest. She isn’t
going to tell him.
Mother
had not confided in me. She hadn’t told anyone. But though I may not understand
my Mother, or she me, I did know her. The fearful hope I glimpsed on her face
was as obvious to me as a declaration, even if I had not observed the telltale
signs of sickness in the mornings, the slight puffiness in her face, the way
she had been eating picked plums by the jar...
Looking
conscious of the awkward pause, she reached for her wine cup. “I should have
been more careful. Leaping around that way was foolish. A woman of my years
knows better – ” she cut herself off with a tiny choke, and took a sip from her
cup.
Yes,
I knew her, and I knew the thoughts behind that expression.
I can do it this time. That was what she was thinking. I can do it. No longer would the
townsmen look at my Father with confusion and pity, wondering why he refused to
take a second, more fruitful wife. She knew he would never do it while she
lived, that he would view it as a betrayal even if no one else judged it so. He
had never blamed her. But their eyes did. Only one boy in the house! Only one
boy for the war hero! The waste of it!
She
had never once said it to me, but I had seen her think it many times: You
should have been a son. Why couldn’t you have been a son?
If only I were a son.
“I
am glad that you are well,” Father said. “Now, what of you children? You are
all very quiet today. What have you been up to?” His cheer was less brittle
than Mother’s, but no less feigned.
He
wasn’t going to say anything either. We would sit here, and eat, and pretend
everything was normal. That the red-sealed scroll was not tucked neatly into
his belt pouch. That he had not just received the equivalent of a death
sentence from the army.
The
Leopard’s men did not fight with honour. They did not take prisoners or negotiate.
They were butchers, and if my Father went to fight them he would die. That was
the reality.
I
heard the dry swallowing noise as Da Xiong, beside me, visibly struggled to
speak, then shook his head, bowing his shoulders over his bowl. Xiao Xia
frowned at him, finished chewing a dumpling, and said: “What was that big noise
today, Father? Zhilan said you were going to a meeting! Who with?”
“Xiao
Xia – ” Mother began.
“Is
that bad Leopard man coming here? I think you should fight him. Then he would
run away.” My little sister nodded wisely and slurped her soup.
“That’s
enough,” Mother said, too late.
Xiao
Xia’s face crumpled in confusion. “Why – ”
Da
Xiong’s finally looked up. “I’m sorry, Father.”
“For
what?” Father asked calmly. His refusal to comprehend was like a stone wall,
and Da Xiong quailed before its blankness. His head bowed further and he said
no more, although the words were splattered before us for all to see. I’m sorry I’m not big enough. I’m sorry I’m
not old enough. I’m sorry I can’t take your place.
And
Da Xiong didn’t know the worst thing. He didn’t know what Mother might do, if
this pregnancy ended like so many others, in miscarriage, or a heartbreaking
stillbirth. What she might do if she failed, for the last time – and Father
was... gone.
She
had nearly done it once before.
The
doctors said she had not been in her right mind, that the loss of two late-term
pregnancies within a year had unbalanced her humours and temporarily stolen her
reason. But I would never forget the sight of her face, calm and determined,
hair and clothes perfectly neat, as my panicked Father wrestled the cup of
poison from her hand.
It
had taken all his strength to do it.
“Father,”
I said, making sure that my voice was utterly calm, that my face was composed
and my gaze even. “I realise that you do not know the new Emperor well – ”
“That
unnatural woman,” Mother muttered, apparently from habit. She kept her voice
just low enough that Father could pretend not to hear it, just as he always
did.
I
cleared my throat and went on, hands clenching into an icy knot under the table.
“But surely your exceptional service under her husband would win you some
recognition. If you were to write to her, or visit court perhaps, and explain
your state of health – I have heard of exemptions being granted in some cases.
Just for a few years. Until Da Xiong is old enough to carry the family honour.”
My
Father gave me a long, serious look. My lead-weight heart seemed to plummet
through my ribs to the pit of my stomach.
“Drink your soup.”
The
rebuff was kind, but unmistakeable. Da Xiong’s small hand found mine under the
table and squeezed for an instant before it darted away again.
We
sat. We ate. We did not talk anymore.
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