On the "New York Times"-bestseller list for more than 52 consecutive weeks, this edition includes an excerpt from the much-anticipated sequel and an interview with Riggs. It's an unforgettable novel that mixes fiction and photography in a thrilling reading experience.
A mysterious island. An abandoned orphanage. And a strange collection of very curious photographs. It all waits to be discovered in Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, an unforgettable novel that mixes fiction and photography in a thrilling reading experience. As our story opens, a horrific family tragedy sets sixteen-year-old Jacob journeying to a remote island off the coast of Wales, where he discovers the crumbling ruins of Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. As Jacob explores its abandoned bedrooms and hallways, it becomes clear that the children who once lived here - one of whom was his own grandfather - were more than just peculiar. They may have been dangerous. They may have been quarantined on a desolate island for good reason. And somehow - impossible though it seems - they may still be alive. A spine-tingling fantasy illustrated with haunting vintage photography, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children will delight adults, teens, and anyone who relishes an adventure in the shadows.
Ransom Riggs is the acclaimed director and screenwriter of the Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters viral video book trailer (named Best Book Trailer of the Year by Amazon.com!). He's also the author of Quirk's Sherlock Holmes Handbook. He is a screenwriter and filmmaker by trade. This is his first novel.
one of the coolest, creepiest YA books "PopSugar" "" a thrilling adventure full of fascinating photographs "Colchester Sun" a remarkable novel . fantastical without apology, and heart-wrenching without dramatics . Ransom Riggs ensures you'll lose yourself in every tenebrous word. Zimbio.com a thrill ride. "Marshall Independent" Miss Peregrine s Home For Peculiar Childrenis a wonderfully original and inventive book with colorful characters, a mysterious tale woven together with threads of historical relevance, and incorporating unforgettable vintage photographs which bring the story to life. Geeks of Doom "This peculiar parable is pure perfection." "Justine "magazine A tense, moving, and wondrously strange first novel. The photographs and text work together brilliantly to create an unforgettable story. John Green, "New York Times" best-selling author of "Looking for Alaska" and "Paper Towns" With its "X-Men: First Class"-meets-time-travel story line, David Lynchian imagery, and rich, eerie detail, it s no wonder "Miss Peregrine s Home for Peculiar Children" has been snapped up by Twentieth Century Fox. B+ "Entertainment Weekly" Peculiar doesn t even begin to cover it. Riggs chilling, wondrous novel is already headed to the movies. "People" [A] thrilling, Tim Burton-esque tale with haunting photographs. "USA Today Pop Candy" Readers searching for the next Harry Potter may want to visit"Miss Peregrine s Home for Peculiar Children." CNN You'll love it if you want a good thriller for the summer. It's a mystery, and you'll race to solve it before Jacob figures it out for himself. "Seventeen " Riggs deftly moves between fantasy and reality, prose and photography to create an enchanting and at times positively terrifying story. Associated Press Got a tweener child with a taste for creepy horror and time-travel stories? Send them "Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children."" McClatchy Wire Service It s an enjoyable, eccentric read, distinguished by well-developed characters, a believable Welsh setting, and some very creepy monsters. "Publishers Weekly""" An original work that defies categorization, this first novel should appeal to readers who like quirky fantasies. Riggs includes many vintage photographs that add a critical touch of thepeculiar to his unusual tale. "Library Journal" His premise is clever, and Jacob and the children are intriguing characters. "Booklist" Readers will find this book unique and intriguing. "School Library Journal" Somewhat reminiscent of Jack Finney s"Time and Again," Rigg s first novel is enchanting highly recommended. "Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine" In a time when so much summer entertainment seems to be more of the same, "Miss Peregrine s Home for Peculiar Children"is a pleasant surprise a story that is fresh and new, engrosses and grips, and provides enough clues so that the ending makes sense and seems thoughtful. "Popmatters.com" Brace yourself for the last 70 pages of relentless, squirm-in-your-chair action. I loved every minute of it. "Cleveland Plain Dealer" Though technically a children's book, "Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children"is more Grimm's than Disney, and Riggs images, dropped like bread crumbs, could lead audiences of any age happily down the path of its spellbinding tale. "Florida Times-Union" Hands down, this is one of the best books of recent years...both creepy and terrifyingly delicious. "Forces of Geek" "From the Hardcover edition.""
Short-listed for California Young Reader Medal (Young Adult) 2016
Short-listed for Iowa Teen Award 2015
"Yes, J.K. Rowling has said "Harry Potter" is done, but take heart. There are other books that might solve your need for more magic..."Miss Peregrine''s Home for Peculiar Children" is a magical option for saddened Potter fans." --CNN " Miss Peregrine''s Home for Peculiar Children
The New York Times Best Seller
Prologue I had just come to accept that my life would be ordinary when extraordinary things began to happen. The first of these came as a terrible shock and, like anything that changes you forever, split my life into halves: Before and After. Like many of the extraordinary things to come, it involved my grandfather, Abraham Portman. Growing up, Grandpa Portman was the most fascinating person I knew. He had lived in an orphanage, fought in wars, crossed oceans by steamship and deserts on horseback, performed in circuses, knew everything about guns and self-defense and surviving in the wilderness, and spoke at least three languages that weren''t English. It all seemed unfathomably exotic to a kid who''d never left Florida, and I begged him to regale me with stories whenever I saw him. He always obliged, telling them like secrets that could be entrusted only to me. When I was six I decided that my only chance of having a life half as exciting as Grandpa Portman''s was to become an explorer. He encouraged me by spending afternoons at my side hunched over maps of the world, plotting imaginary expeditions with trails of red pushpins and telling me about the fantastic places I would discover one day. At home I made my ambitions known by parading around with a cardboard tube held to my eye, shouting, "Land ho!" and "Prepare a landing party!" until my parents shooed me outside. I think they worried that my grandfather would infect me with some incurable dreaminess from which I''d never recover--that these fantasies were somehow inoculating me against more practical ambitions--so one day my mother sat me down and explained that I couldn''t become an explorer because everything in the world had already been discovered. I''d been born in the wrong century, and I felt cheated. I felt even more cheated when I realized that most of Grandpa Portman''s best stories couldn''t possibly be true. The tallest tales were always about his childhood, like how he was born in Poland but at twelve had been shipped off to a children''s home in Wales. When I would ask why he had to leave his parents, his answer was always the same: because the monsters were after him. Poland was simply rotten with them, he said. "What kind of monsters?" I''d ask, wide-eyed. It became a sort of routine. "Awful hunched-over ones with rotting skin and black eyes," he''d say. "And they walked like this!" And he''d shamble after me like an old-time movie monster until I ran away laughing. Every time he described them he''d toss in some lurid new detail: they stank like putrefying trash; they were invisible except for their shadows; a pack of squirming tentacles lurked inside their mouths and could whip out in an instant and pull you into their powerful jaws. It wasn''t long before I had trouble falling asleep, my hyperactive imagination transforming the hiss of tires on wet pavement into labored breathing just outside my window or shadows under the door into twisting gray-black tentacles. I was scared of the monsters but thrilled to imagine my grandfather battling them and surviving to tell the tale. More fantastic still were his stories about life in the Welsh children''s home. It was an enchanted place, he said, designed to keep kids safe from the monsters, on an island where the sun shined every day and nobody ever got sick or died. Everyone lived together in a big house that was protected by a wise old bird--or so the story went. As I got older, though, I began to have doubts. "What kind of bird?" I asked him one afternoon at age seven, eyeing him skeptically across the card table where he was letting me win at Monopoly. "A big hawk who smoked a pipe," he said. "You must think I''m pretty dumb, Grandpa." He thumbed through his dwindling stack of orange and blue money. "I would never think that about you, Yakob." I knew I''d offended him because the Polish accent he could never quite shake had come out of hiding, so that would became vood and think became sink . Feeling guilty, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. "But why did the monsters want to hurt you?" I asked. "Because we weren''t like other people. We were peculiar." "Peculiar how?" "Oh, all sorts of ways," he said. "There was a girl who could fly, a boy who had bees living inside him, a brother and sister who could lift boulders over their heads." It was hard to tell if he was being serious. Then again, my grandfather was not known as a teller of jokes. He frowned, reading the doubt on my face. "Fine, you don''t have to take my word for it," he said. "I got pictures!" He pushed back his lawn chair and went into the house, leaving me alone on the screened-in lanai. A minute later he came back holding an old cigar box. I leaned in to look as he drew out four wrinkled and yellowing snapshots. The first was a blurry picture of what looked like a suit of clothes with no person in them. Either that or the person didn''t have a head. "Sure, he''s got a head!" my grandfather said, grinning. "Only you can''t see it." "Why not? Is he invisible?" "Hey, look at the brain on this one!" He raised his eyebrows as if I''d surprised him with my powers of deduction. "Millard, his name was. Funny kid. Sometimes he''d say, ''Hey Abe, I know what you did today,'' and he''d tell you where you''d been, what you had to eat, if you picked your nose when you thought nobody was looking. Sometimes he''d follow you, quiet as a mouse, with no clothes on so you couldn''t see him--just watching!" He shook his head. "Of all the things, eh?" He slipped me another photo. Once I''d had a moment to look at it, he said, "So? What do you see?" "A little girl?" "And?" "She''s wearing a crown." He tapped the bottom of the picture. "What about her feet?" I held the snapshot closer. The girl''s feet weren''t touching the ground. But she wasn''t jumping--she seemed to be floating in the air. My jaw fell open. "She''s flying!" "Close," my grandfather said. "She''s levitating. Only she couldn''t control herself too well, so sometimes we had to tie a rope around her to keep her from floating away!" My eyes were glued to her haunting, doll-like face. "Is it real?" "Of course it is," he said gruffly, taking the picture and replacing it with another, this one of a scrawny boy lifting a boulder. "Victor and his sister weren''t so smart," he said, "but boy were they strong!" "He doesn''t look strong," I said, studying the boy''s skinny arms. "Trust me, he was. I tried to arm-wrestle him once and he just about tore my hand off!" But the strangest photo was the last one. It was the back of somebody''s head, with a face painted on it. I stared at the last photo as Grandpa Portman explained. "He had two mouths, see? One in the front and one in the back. That''s why he got so big and fat!" "But it''s fake," I said. "The face is just painted on." "Sure, the paint''s fake. It was for a circus show. But I''m telling you, he had two mouths. You don''t believe me?" I thought about it, looking at the pictures and then at my grandfather, his face so earnest and open. What reason would he have to lie? "I believe you," I said. And I really did believe him--for a few years, at least--though mostly because I wanted to, like other kids my age wanted to believe in Santa Claus. We cling to our fairy tales until the price for believing them becomes too high, which for me was the day in second grade when Robbie Jensen pantsed me at lunch in front of a table of girls and announced that I believed in fairies. It was just deserts, I suppose, for repeating my grandfather''s stories at school but in those humiliating seconds I foresaw the moniker "fairy boy" trailing me for years and, rightly or not, I resented him for it. Grandpa Portman picked me up from school that afternoon, as he often did when both my parents were working. I climbed into the passenger seat of his old Pontiac and declared that I didn''t believe in his fairy stories anymore. "What fairy stories?" he said, peering at me over his glasses. "You know. The stories. About the kids and the monsters." He seemed confused. "Who said anything about fairies?" I told him that a made-up story and a fairy tale were the same thing, and that fairy tales were for pants-wetting babies, and that I knew his photos and stories were fakes. I
Shop Now. Enjoy Now. Pay Later.
Pay in four simple instalments, available instantly at checkout.
All you need is:
1) An Australian credit or debit card; 2) To be at least 18 years of age; 3) To live in Australia
To see Afterpay's complete terms, visit https://www.afterpay.com/en-AU/terms
Own it now, pay later.
The smarter way to pay for what you want today.