Hey! This was a great second chapter! We got deep into Christain's mind. And I love the balloon-artist already.
2 CHRISTIAN ABERNATHY
It was the next day that Christian Abernathy, the owner of the Book House, ran into the London balloon-artist outside of Celadon Park. Rather, he ran into the balloon-artist’s cart.
“Whoa, there!” the cart’s owner cried as Christian tumbled to the ground. He caught himself on his bony elbows, but his briefcase and the book he’d been reading went flying.
“Alright there, lad?”
Christian looked up to see a suited, bespectacled black man towering over him. He was bald, but a neat black beard and mustache framed his mouth like a window. For a man whose cart had just been upset, he seemed incredibly personable.
He hauled Christian to his feet. He was nearly as tall as the accountant was, though not so thin; he had the kind of round, sloping belly Christian associated with people who spent a lot of time laughing deeply.
“No damage done?” the balloon-artist asked.
Christian straightened his own spectacles, blushing. His briefcase had popped open, and various accounting forms scattered and drifted along the pavement with balloon-animals from the cart. Three children who had been trailing after their parents shouted in delight and chased after the balloons. The accounting forms, being rather less interesting, were lost to the wind.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Christian stammered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Come now, no apologies,” the balloon-artist said. “It’s not the first time my cart’s been bumped into, and it won’t be the last. The hazards of running a business in the middle of the pavement. Here, let’s get these papers of yours before any more of them decide to fly off and see the EU.”
He bent and began gathering nearby accounting forms. Christian, his eyes following a balloon-monkey that had drifted out of the children’s reach and over the stone wall of the park, said, “But your balloons...”
“I can always make more. There’s nothing like twisting a balloon to calm the soul and lift the spirits.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Christian, as if he had recognized the accountant from somewhere. “You know, I’m from these parts originally, but I can’t seem to place you. What’s your name, lad?”
“Christian Abernathy,” Christian said, “but I only moved here a few years ago myself.”
The balloon-artist didn’t appear to hear the last, however, for he said softly to himself, “Abernathy. Ah.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You live in the Book House, don’t you?”
Christian’s blush deepened and spread to his ears and the back of his neck. He glanced across the street to his house, where the many-windowed front wall allowed a view of the reading-room, foyer, and part of the kitchen.
“I do, yes,” he said. “And, as a matter of fact, I ought to be getting back to it. A pleasure meeting you—yes, a pleasure. Thank you. Goodbye!”
Grabbing his book and briefcase from the pavement, he dashed across the street to the house as the balloon-artist gazed after him thoughtfully with an armful of accounting forms.
It was not that Christian was ashamed of living in the Book House. No, he was proud of it. He had built almost everything within the house himself, out of the vast assortment of books he had collected in his thirty-seven years. He liked to think people could see his handiwork—but, of course, if they could see that, then they could see him. It was a disadvantage, to be sure, but the accountant had grown up in a dark, dingy flat in London and always promised himself that he would someday live in a house filled with windows. Sometimes he thought it was worth the loss of his privacy to have the sunlight warming his lap as he read.
An orange tabby cat twisted around his ankles the moment he closed the front door.
“Scoot,” he said, shoving it away with his foot. The cat purred and rubbed against his leg.
Ignoring it, Christian loosened his tie and surveyed the damage to his briefcase. It wouldn’t close all the way; one of the clasps was broken. And he would have to make more copies of all the forms he’d lost. At least they’d been blank. His own fault, he thought. He ought to have been looking where he was going, rather than walking down the pavement with his nose in a book.
But today was his birthday, and as he was resigned to spending it alone, Christian thought he might at least spend it reading as he pleased. The incident with the balloon-cart, however, had jolted him out of his immersion in the novel. He set the book down the on the table in the reading-room and sat in his reading-chair: a puffy red armchair Christian had upholstered in fake velvet after finding it abandoned outside a flat several blocks away.
He sighed, drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. “Happy birthday to me.”
The orange cat leapt up onto his shoulder, still purring, and began cleaning his hair.
“Stop,” he said. “I mean it. Do you hear me? Cut it out.”
Undeterred by his admonishments, the cat continued to bathe him, purring more loudly than ever. Christian couldn’t help giving a small smile at its persistence.
Through the windows he could still see the balloon-artist. The tall black man was crouched in front of a toddler at the moment, offering her a purple balloon-poodle. The child shrieked in delight, but Christian frowned, perplexed. The balloon-artist and his cart had never been there before, not even this morning when the accountant had left to catch the bus into London for work. Yet every passerby received a dazzling smile, a polite nod, and, if they wanted it, a balloon-animal.
Between customers (adults and children, both), the balloon-artist leaned against the cool stones of the park wall and busied himself with more complicated shapes: a whale, a monkey, a turtle made out of a single green balloon. Once, when he looked up, he caught sight of Christian staring at him and waved. The accountant waved back, but then, embarrassed, retrieved his book from the table and retreated to the study, where he could read out of sight of anyone but his cat.
Darkness fell as he sat at his desk with the book in his hands. The house was silent except for the steady ticking of the cuckoo clock in the reading-room. This time last year, Christian’s father had been alive and filled the house with laughter that was shockingly deep for a man so skinny. He’d come to the Book House to celebrate his son’s thirty-sixth birthday, which was (though Christian didn’t know it) when the trash-collector had caught a glimpse of him through the front windows: tall, thin, and ginger, as casual in dress as his son was formal. Six months later, he’d had a stroke, another one of many people Christian had seen buried too young. His mother. Uncle George. Joel Kinneman. At least his father had outlived them; he’d made it to sixty-two.
In the silence of the Book House now, Christian felt his absence keenly. He arose and went to the cabinet in the corner to dig through his father’s old collection of vinyls. The corners of his mouth turned up as he thumbed through them. Classic rock, his secret pleasure. He felt it was unbookish to enjoy it; he ought to have been more interested in classical music, but he couldn’t help it that he found Bach and Schumann dull. He put a Pink Floyd album on the record player and returned to his seat to finish his book. He had just turned to the last page when the doorbell rang.
Hey! This was a great second chapter! We got deep into Christain's mind. And I love the balloon-artist already.
I honestly am a little freaked out by how similar Christian Abernathy and my character Terence Coon are alike. Your physical description of Christian is very similar to that of Terence as well as his character. Like Christian, Terence lives alone in a strange house with only a cat for company. I have to say, I'm really diggin this story so far. I can see you certainly have lots of chapters for me to read!
Just a comment, since you have plenty of reviews on this anyway 
I love the last paragraph, how he's ashamed of his taste in music because it's "unbookish". I can understand that 
Hey again! Here for chapter two in this Pokemon-themed Review Day, as promised.
Your style and tone is great, as well as grammar and punctuation, which is wonderful because typos/errors usually take the reader away from the story. I wrote down a couples notes as I read along, so I'll start from there.
Celadon Park
Rather, he ran into the balloon-artist’s cart.
“Whoa, there!” the cart’s owner cried as Christian tumbled to the ground. He caught himself on his bony elbows, but his briefcase and the book he’d been reading went flying.
Christian’s blush deepened and spread to his ears and the back of his neck.
Between customers (adults and children, both), the balloon-artist ...
He felt it was unbookish to enjoy it ...
Pink Floyd
Yo!
So I really liked this chapter. It introduced us to the book man himself, and we got a little more detail about this mythical house. Honestly, I think you have some details misleading about the house. I had the impression it was just made of books, floor, ceiling, everything. To some extent it is, but in other ways it is not. For instance, he isn't sitting on a book throne, he's sitting on a chair. He has plates and silverware. He has a clock and probably a bed, also not made of books.
Because of all of these little things, I think a more accurate description would be "to all outward appearances, everything is made of books. You don't talk about his table like it's made of books, and you also don't talk about
A) How does he maintain the book's shapes?
B) How do the books stay up?
C) How big is the place?
D) Are any of the books cut to shape things or are they all un-tampered-with?
E) Are any of the books glued, nailed, or supported with other hardware?
It's one thing for our omniscient narrator to tell us the entire thing is made of books, aside form some impractical things, and another for him to go sit at a desk that you don't describe as made with books, when you say the furniture IS made of books. Books aren't really that strong as a building material without glue, nails, and other such things, so how did it happen?
Also, if he lived in the house while it was being created, did he live in a glass house for a while, or had the books already been collected to make the book house?
How does he keep the books preserved?
Of course, answering All of these questions at once would be ridiculous. This isn't a documentary about a house made of books, it's a story about a man who lives in a house made of books, and how he gets OUT of it.
Because of this, I think it's a bit distracting to have the book house as the forefront of concentration so early in the book. I think instead of giving us the option to puzzle over all this information, just tell us it's a house Mostly made of books to those peering inside, and we'll stop asking questions.
What do you think?
"There’s nothing like twisting a balloon to calm the soul and lift the spirits." = "I just love strangling rubber that might pop in my face any minute to calm down."
Again, I have chills. This is a rare book, where it is wonderful even if I can't quite put my finger on why.
The reactions were realistic and fit what little we know of Christian Abernathy. And the balloon artist seems like a friendly, happy fellow. I love the descriptions. 'He watched as the balloon maker offered a monkey to a small girl' simple, and the kind of thing I would do. It flows, and is a comfortable story so far. I genuinely love this story, and like the small cliffhanger. To chapter three!!
Oh wow, I do believe we hadn't heard of Christian's father being in the novel before the editing? It makes him living alone seem a lot sadder, especially when he is talking to himself and saying happy birthday to me.
So far, I'm approving of all the changes made.
Timmy here to join the party, once again.
I am just curious, but am I the first reviewer since your big change? Reading through these reviews by people, I tend to see a lot of nitpicks that aren't actually in your story. Makes me wonder how big of a revision you did. I am glad that I got here after you did them, even if it means that I had to wait a little longer. Because this is amazing.
I love the characterization in here. You don't learn much about the balloon artist, other than that he is a nice man. Christian is totally different. I can see so much that has happened to him, so much that he is, what he can be. This sentence in particular told me a lot about his personality. And, as a matter of fact, I ought to be getting back to it. A pleasure meeting you—yes, a pleasure. Thank you. Goodbye!” He seems very... I dunno. Almost like he is scared of people, but he doesn't act that shy. And there is no stuttering of any kind. Its almost as if he just doesn't want to talk to people, like it would wreck his life or something if he actually had a conversation. Christian is a puzzle, and I am just so eager to crack him.
It was interesting that he would choose the pink Floyd album, rather than some classical music, which does seem more of his style. Or rather, did. I know his style now! It is very interesting that he would choose that style of music, because I would have thought that more classical would have suited his taste, but there again is the characterization. I really, really enjoy the fact that you are building this character so well. And having him like Pink Floyd advances his character extremely well. Kudos to you.
I could ramble on and on about this for a while, but to be honest, I can find no nitpicks. And I always find nitpicks, too. But his work seemed perfect. Too perfect to nitpick, and too perfect to even find any.
Amazing job.
~Darth Timmyjake
I'm here again~
“Figured they might be important. And I thought you might like this, too.” The balloon-artist procured a green balloon from his waistcoat, and faster than a blink he had twisted it into a turtle. He drew a face on it with a marker and added some scales. When it was finished, he handed it to Christian.
The balloon-artist grinned. “Figured, the way you disappeared into your house earlier. Just like a turtle.”
“Told the wife I’d meet her for dinner. Another time, perhaps.”
but because it got him out-of-doors and interacting (however marginally) with the public.
Christian went into the Book House without waving goodbye.
Okay, this is long overdue, a review, just for you. (Hehe, that rhymed.)
So, I've been busy, but now that I'm in a contest for reviewing, I guess I should start reviewing things more ugh.
So, let's get right down to this?
Chapter Three:
It was the balloon-artist, standing on the front stoop with a sheaf of papers tucked under one arm.
“I beg your pardon,” said Christian, opening the door all the way, “but why do you keep saying that?”
Thus he was crestfallen when Conrad Smithson shook his head and said, “Told the wife I’d meet her for dinner. Another time, perhaps.”
the balloon-artist’s profession must seem enchanting to two accountants who spent all day poring over columns of numbers.
It was Conrad who told him Celadon Park was magical.
Christian took his ladybird back and said, “I think I’ll stick to balloon-animals.”
The two men plopped themselves down on the sidewalk with their backs against the stone wall of the park.
“Because it’s part of my scheme to get you out of your house more often, like this is. Get you away from those books for a little while.”
“You have to go at night.”
Hi, Tulip here to give you a review on your work. Which is well spectacular. I have read and reviewed the first parts of this story a while back, but hey...I'm back for it.
I loved this. You describe everything without being overly descriptive.
You bring up the past but don't have them going into a soul pouring flashback. You bring it but dismiss it just as easily..as is shown by this part:
“I don’t see why. The fingers you got, you should be a pianist.”
“My father tried giving me lessons once,” Christian said.
Conrad grinned. “And how’d that go?”
Christian took his ladybird back and said, “I think I’ll stick to balloon-animals.”
Messenger here for chapter 4, and to be honest I'm nearly bouncing in my seat I'm so excited! It is so awesome to find such well-written, nearly mistake-free writing! Nonetheless I shall try to give you any help I can.
Conrad watched him struggle with the balloon for a while and offered him a new one when it popped, turning away only when he had customers. Finally Christian straightened and held out a clumsy ladybird for scrutiny.
but he fell silent as he concentrated on drawing circles, another field in which he was sadly lacking.
but he fell silent as he concentrated on drawing circles, another field in which he was sadly lacking.
“But look, boy. I love books too, you know that. There’s nothing wrong with a healthy appetite for reading—I wish more people had one. But there’s a point when a man has to stop reading about life and start living it.”
Hello again!
I really really like Conrad. He seems like the type of guy who will give a lot in a friendship, and try and do what's best for a person. Even when Christian doesn't seem to be appreciating it. I like how Conrad knows just how to spark someone's interest too...
This is just my opinion... there is no helpful advice here whatsoever, because I really have none. I'm just enjoying what I'm reading ^^
Deanie x
Hello again Blue! I've been to check up on my tapioca in the oven, and I'm back to review Chapter 4!
Page 4:
Ohh, the park is magical <3 magical parks, yay! Magical parks are always good!
I have a big thing against brackets in fiction. A BIG thing. As my English teacher said: "If it's in brackets, then put it in the sentence, or another one, cause it doesn't need to be in there." Basically: don't use them. For instance, here:
You use brackets twice. So, let's go about taking them out, shall we?not because Christian showed any talent for the craft (he didn’t), but because it got him out-of-doors and interacting (however marginally) with the public.
Back again!
Page Four
Magical parks? Count me in baby! I knew this was going to be a fantasy, and I've been waiting to see where that would come up. I'm intrigued! Can't wait to see where you take that element of the story.
Okay, so there are two major things I want to comment on in this chapter:
Character
There's still not a lot holding me to these characters. Neither one is particularly strong in my mind yet. They're both interesting guys, don't get me wrong! I think both of them could be super awesome characters, and I want to love them so badly. But right now they're just very two dimensional, and their relationship way too easy to establish.
I wanted Christian to be this quiet, shy, introverted guy who needs to be drawn out of his shell by Conrad (who, I can't tell if he's an older guy or not? He keeps calling Christian "boy" but I got the impression initially they were about the same age). But Christian just kind of stepped out of this personality that was set up for him and that makes me sad.
Stronger characterization for both of these guys would make their relationship a lot stronger - and make a lot more sense - too! Right now I don't get what stake Conrad has in Christian being social. They only just met! What formed their friendship? Why is Christian hanging around Conrad? Why does Conrad want him around? What do either of them get out of this relationship? I get the feeling Christian doesn't get torn away from his books for anything, so there has to be some major reason that these two get brought together. Conrad has to be some super special guy, or there has to be something big at stake, or else their relationship doesn't make sense.
Format
So, I think I can comment on the format now after four chapters in it. I'm not really sure how I feel about it, to be honest. At first it seemed like we were going to get a load of flash fiction pieces, in a way, structured like chapters to tell a story. But then chapter 4 here is a more traditional length for a chapter in a novel.
I think you need to make some decisions about how you want to tell this story, and rework it in a way that the chapters are more consistent. This isn't to say they all need to be exactly the same length! But there needs to be a stylistic continuity. Style is just as important as plot or character or setting, and holes in style stick out just as much as holes in plot do.
I like the idea of shorter chapters a lot, and it looks like this is more of what we're going to be getting as the story continues. If this is the way the story is going to be told, though, I suggest learning more about flash fiction. Read it, practice writing it outside of the context of the story, learn all there is about it as a style (some of my favorite authors of flash, currently, are Judy Budnitz - Flying Leap has a lot of flash, though not all of it is flash - and Roxanne Gay - Ayiti is almost entirely flash and absolutely gorgeous - though there are loads of collections on it too). Or even just familiarizing yourself with shorter fiction, and authors who write novels with very short chapters would benefit trying to write in this style!
All in all, I'm still super interested in where this story is going! Making those concrete style choices I think will also help some of the other issues I've been having with the story. When you give yourself only 500-1000 words to tell part of a story, you really have to focus on the details you include and it helps to really sharply tell a story, introduce a character, set a scene, etc! And regardless, it's always better to be concise and firm when telling a story!
Keep writing!
-Lauren-
Part four!
Ah, the joy of things that are casually magical- although until I see this park for myself I'm not entirely convinced that it isn't just one of Conrad's imaginings.
The characters
As much as I like the contrast between the two I don't yet fully understand them. Christian, for example, I can see that he loves his books and that his whole life is built on them (quite literally.) So it kind of almost makes sense that someone telling him to get away from his books would make him angry, but there isn't much to clasp on to.
I'd like to see what his relationship is with his books, if it's with the characters or the pages, if it's a lifetime obsession that he can't break out of or if it's a form of escapism. Or maybe it's just because nobody has ever questioned him before, nobody likes to have their motives questioned.
Naming names and talking heads
I call it the talking-head syndrome. Here you skip back and forth in a speech to action to speech to action in a conversation between them. It means that you're overusing your characters names a lot, and like with any word if you use it too much it gets tiring, but also that you're missing out on a lot of non-vocal communications.
Pairing this up with the previous comment I'd recommend just trying to really buff things out a bit. Include what's going on in the background- simply mentioning what draws your characters attention is a way of showing their mentality. Someone who enjoys working with kids will see resourceful children using pebbles and dirt to make games for themselves, where someone orderly will see brats making mess.
Okay, I have been really attached to your writing for the past half hour and I've come to do some more reviews do you, BlueAfrica! You're probably getting tired of my endless visits, aren't you. Fear not, I will leave soon. Or not... I like your writing, as I've already said before. Goodness, what's going on with Christian and Conrad? Oh...that. 
Happy Review Day! I'm here to write another review and here I shall begin, gaining points for my ever love' team!
"It was Conrad who told him that Celadon Park was magical."
I'm kind of "iffy" on this first sentence. I feel like it isn't as dramatic as I would have liked it to be. Perhaps make it a little different. In what ways? Well, I wouldn't say that you should change it entirely or that is bad, but I would write it a little differently. "Magical" just doesn't go with me. Although, magic is real! At first, I wasn't sure if you meant "magic" as in powerful and supernatural or "magical" relating to delight and pleasure. Anyway, I think that you could reword this as something like "Celadon Park, as Conrad had said, was a magical place." I have to admit it... Magical seems a little childish. All I really can think of is Disney World. Sorry if that sounded harsh.
"It was a bright Saturday in June, and Christian fumbled with a red balloon, trying to turn it into a ladybird."
I feel like this first part is a bit cliché with the "bright Saturday in June part" if you understand where I am coming from. It seems less advanced than I really know that your writing truly is. There also is no need for a comma after "June" here.
"Conrad insisted on tutoring him in the art of balloon-animals on Saturdays, not because Christian showed any talent for the craft (he didn’t), but because it got him out-of-doors and interacting (however marginally) with the public."
As for this sentence, I think that this is okay. Yes, it can be reworded, but I think that it is fine. The parenthesis, though, could be changed to the double hyphen. Like this (with some changes):
"Conrad insisted on tutoring Christian with this art, not because he showed any talent for the craft--he didn't--, but because it got him out of the house and allowed for some public interaction."
Something like that? I see that the double hyphen does not connect on here, but you know what I've meant.
Oh, I also forgot to tell you that I like the name you chose, Conrad. There isn't much else to change with this. I think that you've done well with this novel and I can't wait to read the entire thing all together!
~Magenta
Here as promised!
Nitpick time:
Conrad leaned closer to him and said, “It’s magic.”
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