Music in the Night (Logan Series #4)

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Overview

Laura Logan dreams of a glorious Cape Cod day when all the dark secrets are swept away....

For Laura Logan, life on Cape Cod has been nearly perfect, full of magical days spent enjoying the sea with her beloved twin brother, Cary. But then, like the creeping of the tides, the vicious rumors at school begin -- cruel voices saying unspeakable things about the Logans. Laura tries to ignore them, but not until handsome, gentle Robert Royce moves to...

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Music in the Night (Logan Series #4)

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Overview

Laura Logan dreams of a glorious Cape Cod day when all the dark secrets are swept away....

For Laura Logan, life on Cape Cod has been nearly perfect, full of magical days spent enjoying the sea with her beloved twin brother, Cary. But then, like the creeping of the tides, the vicious rumors at school begin -- cruel voices saying unspeakable things about the Logans. Laura tries to ignore them, but not until handsome, gentle Robert Royce moves to their town does she feel truly carefree and happy again.

While Robert's smile drives the shadows from Laura's heart, she still worries about Cary, whose gloomy moods drift in like the coastal fog. And then Grandma Olivia issues a chilling threat, forbidding Laura to see Robert ever again. Alone to suffer because of dark secrets no one will explain, Laura obeys...until the miracle of a glorious summer leads her back into Robert's arms. But dark thunderclouds have been gathering on the horizon, and when they suddenly burst with tragedy, they howl a name from the Logans' shameful past that plunges Laura into a silent, terrible agony. Now Laura can only dream of the warm, sun-filled life she so desperately desires....

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780671534745
  • Publisher: Pocket Books
  • Publication date: 2/28/1998
  • Series: Logan Series , #4
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 336
  • Age range: 15 - 17 Years
  • Product dimensions: 6.80 (w) x 4.26 (h) x 0.92 (d)

Meet the Author

V. C. Andrews
V. C. Andrews
"The face of fear I display in my novels is not the pale specter from the sunken grave, nor is it the thing that goes bump in the night," V. C. Andrews once told Douglas E. Winter. "Mine are the deep-seated fears established when we are children, and they never quite go away: the fear of being helpless, the fear of being trapped, the fear of being out of control."

Biography

"The face of fear I display in my novels is not the pale specter from the sunken grave, nor is it the thing that goes bump in the night," V. C. Andrews once told Douglas E. Winter. "Mine are the deep-seated fears established when we are children, and they never quite go away: the fear of being helpless, the fear of being trapped, the fear of being out of control."

Andrews's novel Flowers in the Attic launched the popular genre sometimes dubbed "children in jeopardy" -- stories about young people abused, lied to, and preyed upon by their evil guardians. The author's own childhood was not nearly so lurid, though it did have an element of tragedy: As a teenager she had a bad fall, which resulted in the development of bone spurs. A botched surgery, combined with arthritis, forced her to use a wheelchair or crutches for the rest of her life.

Andrews lived with her mother and worked as a commercial artist until the 1970s, when she began to write in earnest. Most of her early stories and novels went unpublished (one exception was "I Slept with My Uncle on My Wedding Night," which appeared in a pulp confession magazine). Finally, in 1979, Flowers in the Attic made it into print. The book soared to No. 1 on the New York Times bestseller list and was followed by two equally successful sequels, Petals on the Wind and If There Be Thorns. Critics weren't always kind -- a Washington Post reviewer wrote that Flowers in the Attic "may well be the worst book I have ever read" -- but that didn't matter to millions of Andrews's readers, who devoured her gruesome fairy tales as fast as she could pen them.

As E. D. Huntley points out in V. C. Andrews: A Critical Companion, Andrews's novels fit neatly into the "female Gothic" tradition, in which an innocent young woman is trapped in an isolated mansion and persecuted by a villain. Andrews's own contribution was to take some of the themes implicit in early Gothic novels -- incest, sexual jealousy, and obsession -- and make them sensationally explicit in her works.

As most of her fans know by now, V. C. Andrews died in 1986, but new V. C. Andrews books keep popping up on the bestseller lists. That's because the Andrews estate hired a ghost writer, Andrew Neiderman, to continue writing books in the late author's style. Andrews's heirs have been cagey about just how much unfinished work she left behind when she died, but testimony during a 1993 tax case suggested that Andrews had only completed a portion of Garden of Shadows, the eighth book (out of more than 50) published under her name.

Still, even if the vast majority of "V. C. Andrews" books weren't actually written by V. C. Andrews, many of her fans are happy to have her tradition carried on. Neiderman has drawn on Andrews's novels, notebooks, and drawings for inspiration. "Don't make this sound weird," he once said in a Washington Post interview, "but sometimes I do feel possessed." To the original V. C. Andrews, who believed in precognition and reincarnation, it probably wouldn't sound weird at all.

Good To Know

Andrews wrote nine novels before Flowers in the Attic, including a science fantasy titled The Gods of the Green Mountain. Later, when she was a bestselling novelist, she wanted to try her hand at different kinds of fiction, but her publisher discouraged her. "I am supposed to stay in this niche, whatever it is, because there is so much money in it," she told Douglas Winter. "I mean, I have tapped a gold mine and they don't want to let go of it. I don't like that, because I want to branch out."

Though V. C. Andrews went by the name Virginia, her birth name was Cleo Virginia Andrews, not Virginia Cleo Andrews. She had planned to publish her books under the name Virginia Andrews, but her first publisher printed Flowers in the Atticas the work of "V. C. Andrews" in hopes that the gender-neutral name would make the book appealing to male readers.

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    1. Also Known As:
      Cleo Virginia Andrews
    1. Date of Birth:
      June 6, 1923
    2. Place of Birth:
      Portsmouth, Virginia
    1. Date of Death:
      December 19, 1986
    2. Place of Death:
      Virginia Beach, Virginia

Read an Excerpt

A long time ago, I lived a fairy tale life. There was always magic around me: magic in the stars, magic in the ocean and magic in the sand. At night when we were only ten years old, Cary and I would lie back on our blankets on the deck of our daddy's lobster boat and gaze up at the heavens, pretending we were falling into outer space, flying past this planet and that, circling moons and reaching out to touch the stars. We permitted our minds to wander and imagine. We said anything we wanted to each other, never ashamed, or too embarrassed to reveal our most secret thoughts, our dreams, our intimate questions.

We were twins, but Cary liked to call himself my older brother because, according to Papa, he was born two minutes and twenty-nine seconds before me. He behaved like an older brother from the moment he could crawl and protect me. He cried when I was unhappy and he laughed when he heard me laugh, even if he didn't know why I was laughing. When I asked him about that once, he said the sound of my laughter was music to him and it pleased him so much, he couldn't help but smile and then laugh, too. It was as if we were enchanted children who heard our own songs, melodies that were sung to us by the sea we loved so much.

As far back as I can remember, there was always magic in the water. Cary could wade in and come walking out with the most spectacular seaweed, starfish, clamshells, seashells, and even things he claimed had washed across the ocean from other countries to us. When it came to the ocean, I believed anything he said. Sometimes I thought Cary must have been born with seawater in his veins. No one loved it as much, even when it was nasty and wild.

What discoveriesDaddy let us keep, we kept in either Cary's room or mine. We decided everything had some sort of power to it, whether it was the power to grant us a wish or the power to make us healthier or happier just by touching it. We assigned an enchanted quality to each thing we found.

When I was twelve and I wore a necklace made from the tiny seashells we had found, my friends at school were amazed at the way I identified each and every shell, explaining how this one could drive away sadness or that one could make the dark clouds move on. They laughed and shook their heads and said Cary and I were simply foolish and even immature. It was time we grew up and put away childish ideas. There was no magic in these things for them.

But to me there was even magic in a grain of sand. Cary and I once sat beside each other and let the sand fall through our fingers, pretending each grain was a tiny world unto itself. Inside it lived people like us, too tiny to ever be seen, even with a strong microscope.

"Be careful where you step," we told our friends when they were with us on the beach. "You might crush a whole country."

They grimaced with confusion, shook their heads, and walked on, leaving us behind, enveloped by our own imaginative pictures, pictures no one else wanted to share. We were inseparable for so long, I guess people thought we had been born attached. Some of my jealous girlfriends once made up a story about me, claiming I had a long scar down the side of my body from my underarm to my waist and Cary had the same scar on his body. It was where we supposedly had been connected at birth.

Sometimes, I thought, maybe it's true, that from the moment we entered this world, our separating had begun, a slow and painful process. It was a separation Cary fought much harder than I did as we grew older.

As a very young girl and even when I first entered my junior high school years, I was comfortable, happy and grateful for Cary's devotion to me. Other brothers and sisters I knew argued and occasionally insulted each other, often in public! Cary never said a really bad thing to me, and if he spoke to me in a manner that suggested he was impatient or annoyed with me, he immediately regretted it afterward.

I knew that other girls fixed their flirtatious gazes at Cary and competed with each other for his attention. It wasn't just a sister's prejudice for me to say Cary was handsome. From the first day he could cast a rope or carry a pail, he accompanied Daddy on the lobster boat and helped in the cranberry bog. He always had a dark tan that brought out the emeralds in his green eyes, and he loved to wear his rich dark hair long, the strands lying softly over the right side of his forehead, just above his eyebrow. It looked so much like silk, girls were jealous and all of them longed to run their fingers through it.

My brother carried himself firmly with the demeanor of a confident little man, even when he was just in grade school. Other boys used to make fun of the way he held up his head and shoulders, striding alongside me with his gaze firmly fixed on where we were headed, his lips tight. Soon, however, they started to envy him, and girls in our classes just naturally thought of him as older, more mature.

Frustrated by their failure to win his attention and interest, however, they eventually found comfort in making fun of us. By the time we were in high school, they were calling Cary "Grandpa." He didn't seem to care or even notice. I was sure it bothered me more than it bothered him, and it wasn't unless someone physically got into his face or insulted me in front of him that Cary reacted, almost always violently. It didn't matter if the other boy was bigger or even if there were more than one. Cary's temper was as quick and as devastating as a hurricane. His eyes became glassy and his lips were stretched so tightly they formed white spots in the corners. Anyone who challenged him directly knew they were in for a fight.

Of course, Cary would get into trouble, no matter how justified his reaction was. It was he who had lost his temper and usually he who dealt the most damage to his opponents. Almost every time he was suspended from school, Daddy gave him a beating and confined him to his room, but nothing Daddy could do and no punishment the school could impose would deter him if he believed my honor was somehow compromised.

With such a devoted and loyal protector watching over me, other boys kept their distance. It wasn't until I entered high school that I realized how untouchable I had become in their eyes. Many girls my age had crushes on boys or had boyfriends, but no boy dared pass me a note in class, and none joined me in the hallways to walk from one class to another, much less walk me home. I walked with some girlfriends or with Cary, and if I walked with girls, Cary usually followed behind us like my guard dog.

When I reached sophomore year, however, I, like most of my girlfriends, wanted a boy who showed serious interest in me. There was a boy named Stephen Daniels who had lived in Provincetown only a year, who I thought was very handsome. I wanted him to talk to me, to walk with me, and even ask me to go on a date. I thought he wanted to because he was always looking at me, but he never did. All my girlfriends at the time told me he wanted to, but said he wouldn't because of my brother. Stephen was afraid of Cary.

I mentioned it to Cary and he said Stephen Daniels was stupid and would go out with any girl if that girl gave him what he wanted. He said he knew that from listening to him in the boys' locker room. Later, I found out Cary had actually walked up to him and put his face an inch from Stephen's, threatening to break his neck if he should so much as look twice at me. Naturally, I was disappointed, but I couldn't help wondering if Cary had been right.

In the evenings after we had done our homework and helped Mommy with May, our younger sister who had been born deaf and was attending a special school for the handicapped, Cary and I would talk about some of the other kids at school. No matter what girlfriend of mine I mentioned to him, he found fault with her. The only girl he didn't criticize was Theresa Patterson, Roy Patterson's oldest child. Theresa's father, Roy, worked with Daddy on the lobster boat. The Pattersons were Bravas, half African-American, half Portuguese. The other students looked down their noses at them, especially the ones who came from so-called blue-blooded families, families who were able to trace their lineage back to the Pilgrims, families like Grandma Olivia's, Daddy's mother, who ruled over us like a dowager queen.

Cary liked Theresa and enjoyed being friends with her because he liked the way she and her Brava friends defied the other students. When I asked him if he could ever think of Theresa as a girlfriend, he raised his eyebrows as if I had said the silliest thing and replied, "Don't be stupid, Laura. Theresa's like another sister to me."

I suppose she was, but as I grew older and felt Cary's shadow over my shoulder more and more, I began to wish he found some other girl to win his attention. I did my best to recommend this one or that, but nothing I said made him act any differently toward them. If anything, when I mentioned a possible girlfriend for him, that girl suddenly became ugly or stupid in his eyes. I realized it might be better if I just let nature take its course.

Only, nature didn't.

I used to think nature just missed Cary. She walked by one day while he was out on the lobster boat or something. Other boys his age were trying to get dates, hanging out in town, showing off to get a girl's attention, asking girls to do things with them; but Cary...Cary spent all his free time with me or his model boats upstairs in his attic workshop, a room just above mine.

Finally, one day at lunch I mentioned my growing concern to Theresa. She rolled her dark eyes and looked at me as if I had just been hatched.

"Don't you hear all the talk behind your back? All the whispering and gossip? There isn't a girl in this school who thinks Cary's normal, Laura; and most of the boys have their doubts about you. They don't talk to me about it, but I hear what they say."

"What do you mean? What sort of things are they saying about us?" I asked, trembling in anticipation.

"They're saying you and your brother are like boyfriend and girlfriend, Laura," she replied hesitantly.

My heart skipped a beat and I remember looking around the cafeteria that day and thinking everyone was looking at us, their eyes full of contempt. I shook my head, the deeper realizations taking shape like some dark, ugly beast who had crawled out of a nightmare into my daytime thoughts.

"Look at you," Theresa continued. "You're fifteen now and one of the prettiest girls in this school, but do you have a boyfriend? No. Anyone asking you to the school dances? No. If you go, you go with Cary."

"But—"

"There are no buts, Laura. It's because of Cary," she said. "Because of the way he dotes on you. I'm sorry," she added. "I really thought you knew and didn't care."

"What am I going to do?" I moaned.

She nudged me with her shoulder like she usually did when she was going to say something nasty about one of the other girls in school.

"Get him a girlfriend who'll stir up his hormones and you'll be fine," she said.

I remember she got up to join her Brava friends and I sat there, suddenly feeling very alone and unhappy. Cary came walking into the cafeteria quickly, spotted me, and marched over.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "Mr. Corkren kept me after class about my homework again. What's going on?" He looked closely at me when I didn't respond. "Did something happen?"

I just shook my head. I wondered how I could tell him and not hurt him.

I put it off and never really tried to make him understand until the year after, when Robert Royce and his family bought the old Sea Marina Hotel and Robert entered school.

For me and Robert, it was love at first sight and that brought with it a special kind of magic Cary couldn't share.

Somehow I had to make him understand and accept. I had to show him how to separate himself from me.

I only hoped it was possible.

Copyright © 1998 by The Virginia C. Andrews Trust and The Vanda Partnership

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Table of Contents

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First Chapter

A lWe were twins, but Cary liked to call himself my older brother because, according to Papa, he was born two minutes and twenty-nine seconds before me. He behaved like an older brother from the moment he could crawl and protect me. He cried when I was unhappy and he laughed when he heard me laugh, even if he didn't know why I was laughing. When I asked him about that once, he said the sound of my laughter was music to him and it pleased him so much, he couldn't help but smile and then laugh, too. It was as if we were enchanted children who heard our own songs, melodies that were sung to us by the sea we loved so much.

As far back as I can remember, there was always magic in the water. Cary could wade in and come walking out with the most spectacular seaweed, starfish, clamshells, seashells, and even things he claimed had washed across the ocean from other countries to us. When it came to the ocean, I believed anything he said. Sometimes I thought Cary must have been born with seawater in his veins. No one loved it as much, even when it was nasty and wild.

What discoveries Daddy let us keep, we kept in either Cary's room or mine. We decided everything had some sort of power to it, whether it was the power to grant us a wish or the power to make us healthier or happier just by touching it. We assigned an enchanted quality to each thing we found.

When I was twelve and I wore a necklace made from the tiny seashells we had found, my friends at school were amazed at the way I identified each and every shell, explaining how this one could drive away sadness or that one could make the dark clouds move on. They laughed and shook their heads and said Cary and I were simply foolish and even immature. It was time we grew up and put away childish ideas. There was no magic in these things for them.

But to me there was even magic in a grain of sand. Cary and I once sat beside each other and let the sand fall through our fingers, pretending each grain was a tiny world unto itself. Inside it lived people like us, too tiny to ever be seen, even with a strong microscope.

"Be careful where you step," we told our friends when they were with us on the beach. "You might crush a whole country."

They grimaced with confusion, shook their heads, and walked on, leaving us behind, enveloped by our own imaginative pictures, pictures no one else wanted to share. We were inseparable for so long, I guess people thought we had been born attached. Some of my jealous girlfriends once made up a story about me, claiming I had a long scar down the side of my body from my underarm to my waist and Cary had the same scar on his body. It was where we supposedly had been connected at birth.

Sometimes, I thought, maybe it's true, that from the moment we entered this world, our separating had begun, a slow and painful process. It was a separation Cary fought much harder than I did as we grew older.

As a very young girl and even when I first entered my junior high school years, I was comfortable, happy and grateful for Cary's devotion to me. Other brothers and sisters I knew argued and occasionally insulted each other, often in public! Cary never said a really bad thing to me, and if he spoke to me in a manner that suggested he was impatient or annoyed with me, he immediately regretted it afterward.

I knew that other girls fixed their flirtatious gazes at Cary and competed with each other for his attention. It wasn't just a sister's prejudice for me to say Cary was handsome. From the first day he could cast a rope or carry a pail, he accompanied Daddy on the lobster boat and helped in the cranberry bog. He always had a dark tan that brought out the emeralds in his green eyes, and he loved to wear his rich dark hair long, the strands lying softly over the right side of his forehead, just above his eyebrow. It looked so much like silk, girls were jealous and all of them longed to run their fingers through it.

My brother carried himself firmly with the demeanor of a confident little man, even when he was just in grade school. Other boys used to make fun of the way he held up his head and shoulders, striding alongside me with his gaze firmly fixed on where we were headed, his lips tight. Soon, however, they started to envy him, and girls in our classes just naturally thought of him as older, more mature.

Frustrated by their failure to win his attention and interest, however, they eventually found comfort in making fun of us. By the time we were in high school, they were calling Cary "Grandpa." He didn't seem to care or even notice. I was sure it bothered me more than it bothered him, and it wasn't unless someone physically got into his face or insulted me in front of him that Cary reacted, almost always violently. It didn't matter if the other boy was bigger or even if there were more than one. Cary's temper was as quick and as devastating as a hurricane. His eyes became glassy and his lips were stretched so tightly they formed white spots in the corners. Anyone who challenged him directly knew they were in for a fight.

Of course, Cary would get into trouble, no matter how justified his reaction was. It was he who had lost his temper and usually he who dealt the most damage to his opponents. Almost every time he was suspended from school, Daddy gave him a beating and confined him to his room, but nothing Daddy could do and no punishment the school could impose would deter him if he believed my honor was somehow compromised.

With such a devoted and loyal protector watching over me, other boys kept their distance. It wasn't until I entered high school that I realized how untouchable I had become in their eyes. Many girls my age had crushes on boys or had boyfriends, but no boy dared pass me a note in class, and none joined me in the hallways to walk from one class to another, much less walk me home. I walked with some girlfriends or with Cary, and if I walked with girls, Cary usually followed behind us like my guard dog.

When I reached sophomore year, however, I, like most of my girlfriends, wanted a boy who showed serious interest in me. There was a boy named Stephen Daniels who had lived in Provincetown only a year, who I thought was very handsome. I wanted him to talk to me, to walk with me, and even ask me to go on a date. I thought he wanted to because he was always looking at me, but he never did. All my girlfriends at the time told me he wanted to, but said he wouldn't because of my brother. Stephen was afraid of Cary.

I mentioned it to Cary and he said Stephen Daniels was stupid and would go out with any girl if that girl gave him what he wanted. He said he knew that from listening to him in the boys' locker room. Later, I found out Cary had actually walked up to him and put his face an inch from Stephen's, threatening to break his neck if he should so much as look twice at me. Naturally, I was disappointed, but I couldn't help wondering if Cary had been right.

In the evenings after we had done our homework and helped Mommy with May, our younger sister who had been born deaf and was attending a special school for the handicapped, Cary and I would talk about some of the other kids at school. No matter what girlfriend of mine I mentioned to him, he found fault with her. The only girl he didn't criticize was Theresa Patterson, Roy Patterson's oldest child. Theresa's father, Roy, worked with Daddy on the lobster boat. The Pattersons were Bravas, half African-American, half Portuguese. The other students looked down their noses at them, especially the ones who came from so-called blue-blooded families, families who were able to trace their lineage back to the Pilgrims, families like Grandma Olivia's, Daddy's mother, who ruled over us like a dowager queen.

Cary liked Theresa and enjoyed being friends with her because he liked the way she and her Brava friends defied the other students. When I asked him if he could ever think of Theresa as a girlfriend, he raised his eyebrows as if I had said the silliest thing and replied, "Don't be stupid, Laura. Theresa's like another sister to me."

I suppose she was, but as I grew older and felt Cary's shadow over my shoulder more and more, I began to wish he found some other girl to win his attention. I did my best to recommend this one or that, but nothing I said made him act any differently toward them. If anything, when I mentioned a possible girlfriend for him, that girl suddenly became ugly or stupid in his eyes. I realized it might be better if I just let nature take its course.

Only, nature didn't.

I used to think nature just missed Cary. She walked by one day while he was out on the lobster boat or something. Other boys his age were trying to get dates, hanging out in town, showing off to get a girl's attention, asking girls to do things with them; but Cary...Cary spent all his free time with me or his model boats upstairs in his attic workshop, a room just above mine.

Finally, one day at lunch I mentioned my growing concern to Theresa. She rolled her dark eyes and looked at me as if I had just been hatched.

"Don't you hear all the talk behind your back? All the whispering and gossip? There isn't a girl in this school who thinks Cary's normal, Laura; and most of the boys have their doubts about you. They don't talk to me about it, but I hear what they say."

"What do you mean? What sort of things are they saying about us?" I asked, trembling in anticipation.

"They're saying you and your brother are like boyfriend and girlfriend, Laura," she replied hesitantly.

My heart skipped a beat and I remember looking around the cafeteria that day and thinking everyone was looking at us, their eyes full of contempt. I shook my head, the deeper realizations taking shape like some dark, ugly beast who had crawled out of a nightmare into my daytime thoughts.

"Look at you," Theresa continued. "You're fifteen now and one of the prettiest girls in this school, but do you have a boyfriend? No. Anyone asking you to the school dances? No. If you go, you go with Cary."

"But—"

"There are no buts, Laura. It's because of Cary," she said. "Because of the way he dotes on you. I'm sorry," she added. "I really thought you knew and didn't care."

"What am I going to do?" I moaned.

She nudged me with her shoulder like she usually did when she was going to say something nasty about one of the other girls in school.

"Get him a girlfriend who'll stir up his hormones and you'll be fine," she said.

I remember she got up to join her Brava friends and I sat there, suddenly feeling very alone and unhappy. Cary came walking into the cafeteria quickly, spotted me, and marched over.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "Mr. Corkren kept me after class about my homework again. What's going on?" He looked closely at me when I didn't respond. "Did something happen?"

I just shook my head. I wondered how I could tell him and not hurt him.

I put it off and never really tried to make him understand until the year after, when Robert Royce and his family bought the old Sea Marina Hotel and Robert entered school.

For me and Robert, it was love at first sight and that brought with it a special kind of magic Cary couldn't share.

Somehow I had to make him understand and accept. I had to show him how to separate himself from me.

I only hoped it was possible.

Copyright © 1998 by The Virginia C. Andrews Trust and The Vanda Partnership

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 27 Customer Reviews
  • Posted June 20, 2011

    Intense

    This book is really good!!!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 20, 2008

    best book

    This book is sooo nice and is a good read!

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 10, 2006

    Excellent

    This book was great.I loved Laura and Robert. I ended up crying in the end Her cousin Melodys books I didn't like because her and Cary are together. Audrina is their daughter.incest.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 17, 2006

    Beutifully Written !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    I love this book and cried my heart out at the end when it was finished!Music in the Night was the very first V.C. Andrew book I ever read. I'm now addicted to her books like a fat kid on cake. It was a very good book and I reccomend it to anybody who likes a good book.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 13, 2005

    Good Book

    When I started reading this book I wasn't very interested and I thought the book was dragging. I didn't know why there needed to be a 4th and 5th book...kinda like in the Dollanger series. The first three books pretty much told you everything you needed to know. But during the last part of the book it got much more interesting. I ended up really liking the book, well, at least the last half. I couldn't put the book down.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 2, 2005

    Very Very Good

    This was a really great book.Its the first one I read by her and its one of the best Ive ever read. At the end it shows how far some people to go to be with there true loves, weather its the bottom of the ocaen or the highest of mountain tops. But the book was soooooo good there arent even words to describe it.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 1, 2003

    Huh?

    i havent read it before, but im kinda confused to how in the Dollanganger series, theres a grandmother named Olivia, and here, theres a grandmother named Olivia. I dont know hoe the book is, ill probably love it, but couldnt they atleast find a different name?

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 4, 2003

    WOW

    I loved it! the ending made me cry for half an hour! It was sort of strange in the middle of the book, it took a total U-turn.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 7, 2002

    takes my breath away

    This book like all books by V.C. Andrews is one of the most heart felt stories about love, family and life. It is full of drama and a whole lot of secrets are brewing in the Logan family house. You would be crazy not to like any of V.C. Andrews' books.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 21, 2002

    You have to read this!!

    Hey...Im not the type of person that can pick a book up and read it but my friend told me about this one...she had the book and said I would probably like it...So i got to reading it and it was one of the best books I have ever read. It has so much going on in it that alot of people or teen girls can relate to.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 17, 2002

    Intriguing

    This book really surprised me... I didn't expect it to end the way it ended and I didn't expect the sudden sadness that sweeps over you as you reach the climax. Definately one of if not my favorite....

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 17, 2001

    Best ever!!!!!

    One of her best works!!!! Tear-jerker!! It makes you really look at things and not take things for granted!!!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 5, 2001

    The BEST

    I loved this book. It was one of my favorite books by VC Andrews. I loved the way that she waited to release this book after Melody's stories. I think it really put think together

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 4, 2001

    The Best in the Series

    I truly enjoyed reading this book. This was the best in the entire Logan Series. It was wonderful and sad all at the same time. I highly recommend this book. You do not need to read the first three in the Logan series to understand this story. I think that's the best part of all. It stands by itself.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 30, 2001

    WOW!

    I loved this book so much. It was sad,funny and romantic at the same time. It is one of VC Andrews best books. You'll never want to stop reading it but you will want to kill her cold hearted grandmother Olivia.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 20, 2001

    Amazingly great book!

    Music In The Night by V.C. Andrews was a great book to read. I was interested right away. I think it was a very well written book. I enjoyed reading it so much.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 1, 2001

    A must have

    This book is a must have for any true V.C.Andrews lover. This book shows what love can do to you. You will hate some of the characters you will love some of them. but over all you will never be bored with this book, you will either be laughing or crying but you will definateley not be bored!!!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 20, 2001

    Outstanding Book

    i believed this book was good because it was so surprising at the end.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 25, 2000

    The First!!!

    This book is the first V.C. Andrews book I have ever read! This is were it all began!.. This book! I like to recommend this book to anyone whom is in for a little emotion, horror, suspense, and drama... Come and down and read this book. I promise, you will not be sorry.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 30, 2000

    Finally He gives us a worthy Logan novel...

    This book took me by complete surprise. It made up for the last three and Olivia. This book stands out by itself in this whole lousy sereis. We got to know more about Laura and her story was more tragic then Melody and Olivia combined. I just wish that what the GW wrote in here, he had used in the beginning of Melody. Half of what was in Heart Song, Unfinished Symphony could have been combined and put in Melody. I remember a time when a VCA's novel had so much in one book you wondered what else could possible take place in the novel? What else would the character go through? But that feeling, that style, that creative storytelling is no more. THis book imho, redeemed the LOgan series but the other novels are just not worth picking up.

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 27 Customer Reviews

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