Amazing.

You trust a trusted author… they weren’t kidding when they said that the start of this story is nothing like what you think this story is going to be all about—but my advice is please do not read synopses and reviews before you read this novel!! Trust the author. If you liked The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, then don’t be swayed: Go with this. (Even if you have a few moments where you’re cringing. Me: I don’t like overly intimate scenes that involve anatomy, but ‘the bits’ were given more literary terms here, and the bedroom scenes, though they appear aplenty, weren’t drawn out till I was gagging with extended eye-rolls; yes, trust the author on this one…)

This was a work of art, a work of heart, a genre-defying masterpiece. Gripping and terrifying and sorrowful and shocking—and still extracted an incredulous laugh here and there, with flowing tears of complex origins.

I’ll admit: by two hours in, I was wondering what I was reading and why I should continue. I was about to give up, I was going to let it go—but I’m stubborn. Good thing. I would have missed out on this apotheosis of Schwab’s career. I’m glad I seldom DNF novels, and I’m very glad I persisted with this one. By the time I reached a third of the way, I was hooked and couldn’t stop. Couldn’t put it down, couldn’t get it out of my head. This took over my life for the two days it took me to finish… indeed, it’s still rolling over and over in my brain…along with that poem, and the deep-rooted allegory and all the interpretable implications…

Actually I listened, and I highly recommend the audiobook for this one, it was a soul-clutching, heart-pounding, blood-stopping drama. Incredibly addictive writing read by incredibly mesmerising narrators.

Katie Leung reads Alice as if she stepped out of Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting and you feeeel that influence jumping off Alice’s character, her anxiety, her pent up rage, her jitters and reserve and being on the verge of something about to explode. If they make a movie of this, they better cast Katie Leung as Alice cos she nailed this part from tone of voice to traumatic memories and every toxic thought between.

Julia Whelan reads Maria, and the woman doesn’t have all those audio-awards for nothing, people. She infuses Maria with a sultry tone and conniving spirit that rises up from her early years of oppression in medieval Spain, and in Julia Whelan’s intoxicating whisper, Maria transcends the page with a deeply rooted terror that will not let you go…

Marisa Calin effortlessly embodies her character, Charlotte, who might initially be described as dull and submissive, though beneath that clean Victorian image, she is anything but. Charlotte needs to learn things the hard way though, and she pays for her naivety through painful experiences over her lifetime, through the influence of valuable and manipulative relationships, by moments of loss and loneliness and a looming lore that dictates she can never be loved.

Ultimately, though I was fascinated by Alice as a modern Gen Z who doesn’t really know herself but will fight tooth and nail for — well, she’s not sure what, yet, but it’s there (such aptly applied immaturity of the inward-facing generation), and while Maria was a captivating and chilling woman who digs under your skin and sticks her nails in your soul, Charlotte is the one we connect with, feel for, root for, break for, and hope for…

I went to bed listening to this, and when I woke up at 4:30am I was right back at it; I considered skipping work to keep reading. I didn’t, but as soon as I got home after work, it was in my ears till I finished long after the sun went down.

Honestly, don’t read anything more about this novel, just read it. Trust the author. She knows what she’s doing, and she is one of the best at what she does. 5 shining stars. This woman can write the hell out of a story. This will be one of my (shocking) faves of the year; def in the top 5 reads of 2025, so far (...73 and counting).