Some dreams wait in silence… until we find the courage to remember them.
Clara Moore has stopped dreaming.
Burned out and adrift after personal loss, she inherits a quiet bookshop from an aunt she hasn’t seen in years — and discovers something extraordinary: a hidden library where other people’s forgotten dreams live inside books.
As Clara begins to read them, each dream gently reawakens someone in the town — a child who stopped dancing, a widow who once painted the sky, a man who believed in music, a girl who dreamed in colors no one could name.
But the deeper Clara goes into the Library’s quiet magic, the more it begins to whisper to her, too.
What if the dream she’s been waiting for… is her own?
The Librarian of Lost Dreams is a heartwarming, lyrical tale of memory, meaning, and the soft magic of rediscovering who we are — and the stories we leave behind.
The book is ranked 4.2 on Amazon and 4.65 on Goodreads
Chapter I – Back to Greystone Bay
The road to Greystone Bay curled like a ribbon through the hills, lined with trees still bare from winter, their branches reaching like bony fingers toward the sky. Clara kept one hand firmly on the wheel and the other resting on the passenger seat, where the old brass key lay on top of a folded map, its cool metal a reassuring weight. She didn’t really need the directions — the route had burned itself into her memory years ago, a path traced with light and laughter from a childhood that felt long forgotten.
It had been over two decades since she’d seen the place. She hadn’t planned to go back. But here she was, with two suitcases in the trunk that felt heavier with every mile and a silence in her chest that seemed to deepen as the familiar landscapes unfurled before her.
She hadn’t known her aunt well — not in the traditional sense. Sybil had never married, never had children, and never cared much for convention. Yet Clara remembered her as a kind of benevolent witch: always draped in long, colorful sweaters, smelling of vanilla and ink, her hair pinned up with antique combs that glinted like hidden treasures. Her bookshop had been a wonderland — a crooked little place called Sybil’s Stories, tucked behind an ivy-covered gate at the far end of the town square, where stories clung to the air like spells waiting to be cast.
Clara used to visit for a week or two each summer. She’d help her aunt dust the shelves and alphabetize the paperbacks, though Sybil insisted they keep a few “accidentally” out of order to encourage curious minds. Each time they entered the shop, it felt alive — the floors creaked in just the right places, and sometimes, books moved when no one was watching. At least, that’s what Clara used to believe.
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Kaique Ribeiro Dos Santos
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Author review: It looks like he did a good job, I hope readers will appreciate his translation as well |
