Chrysalis by Anna Metcalfe is like that weirdly captivating dream you had last night—you can't quite put your finger on what it all means, but it's fascinating nonetheless. It's told from the perspectives of three people in the main character's orbit who somehow find themselves fixated on this enigmatic woman as she undergoes a transformation. This is one of my favorite types of MC's- a nameless one.

Chrysalis is a wild exploration of desire, or perhaps more accurately, desperation. Picture a bunch of lost souls in the modern world, clinging to anything that gives their existence meaning. It's like they stumbled upon a lifeline in the form of the main character, and suddenly she becomes the epicenter of their universe. Is it her fault? Should we hold her responsible for the way people attach themselves to her, showering her with attention and devotion? The answer lies in the murky gray area this book proudly calls home. I, too, felt the way these people did at times. Sometimes I hated the main character, sometimes I wanted to be her, sometimes I just wanted to know someone like her.

Although I really enjoyed it, one thing I felt this book lacked was a deeper look inside the main character. I was hoping for a glimpse into her mind and never got it, and because of this I did feel at the end that there was that last piece missing for me.

Chrysalis is a thought-provoking exploration of selfhood and solitude. It poses the million-dollar question: Can a woman truly have agency over her body while still being a part of society? Prepare yourself for an explosive answer that'll leave you reevaluating your own existence. This book was super elusive and hard to wrap my head around, but I landed on the opinion that it's worth the journey.