If you’re new to my reviews and don't know, let me catch you up to speed: I am in love with words written by A.G. Howard. I mean. Obviously. There, I said it. I’m almost positive that I would read an instruction manual titled How to Unclog Your Toilet With Your Pinky Finger if A.G. Howard wrote it (although, Anita, please don’t take this as an invitation to write said instructions--that was a weird statement even for me and I am sure I should talk to a therapist about it or whatever and I'm probably bluffing.) and I'd give it about four-hundred stars out of five. I'm not really kidding, the woman could write "Hello, I'm A.G. Howard," and I'd probably give it the highest rating imaginable after just casually passing her my wallet.
Needless to say, I went into The Architect of Song with high hopes that only a few modern day authors have earned from me. I was excited, firstly, because of its plot and the fact that it wasn't a young adult novel. It's exciting seeing one of your favourite authors expand through the genres and in A.G. Howard's case she does so effortlessly and proves how severely underrated she is. There was something instantly classic about The Architect of Song that felt familiar yet undeniably its own--readers who love prose that is highly detailed, indulgent and poetic, will positive swoon over the glorious way this story is told.
