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This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
Merricat, said Connie, would you like a cup of tea?
Oh, no, said Merricat, you’ll poison me.
Merricat, said Connie, would you like to go to sleep?
Down in the boneyard ten feet deep!
I am a huge scaredy-cat. HUGE. I can’t read or watch scary books or movies because otherwise I can’t sleep afterwards. When I finally really do need to sleep, I can’t be alone and the lights need to be on and there must be music. And even then – I ruined a CD of traditional Celtic music that I feel asleep to after one scary movie night (I cannot listen to those songs anymore without fear associations). It’s too bad, because there’s a whole genre of amazing books (looking at you, Stephen King) that I cannot read because of this. So I was a little nervous when my long-distance book club wanted to theme our October book along the lines of a Halloween spooky-scary. But I’m and adult now (or something like that)…so instead of just saying no, I asked them to try and keep it more spooky than scary. And actually, when this book “won” our vote, I was pretty excited. I know it’s a classic story by a classic author and I have had it on my radar before. This was just the push I needed to step out of my comfort zone and pick it up.
This novella is the story of Mary Katherine (Merricat) and Constance Blackwood. They live in a great big house on the edge of a small village, along with their infirm Uncle Julian and very rarely come out or entertain visitors. There used to be more Blackwoods, but years ago the rest were killed by a fatal amount of arsenic that was added into the sugar bowl. There’s tension and frightened curiosity between them and the rest of the villagers because of that, and the suspicions that, despite her acquittal, Constance was the poisoner. The three remaining Blackwoods live reasonably happily together until the arrival of their cousin, Charles, and everything changes.
First, this book is definitely not one you should read if you like a plot-focused story. This is all about atmosphere and sensation, creating a feeling of anticipation, tension, eeriness. Told in Merricat’s voice, there’s an extra layer of unreliable, childish narration that, in Jackson’s hands, only adds to the creepiness. Because seriously, what is more disturbing than youth with an evil bent? Merricat tells us about the villagers, the Blackwood manor and daily routines and, once he arrives, cousin Charles in a way that definitely leaves you know really knowing what’s real and what’s not. A couple times I was totally convinced that Merricat was a ghost, and then something would happen that would make that impossible. But that not knowing leaves the reader feeling very unsettled. And there are some strange quirks, like Uncle Julian’s obsession with figuring out what exactly happened that “last day” everyone was alive or Constance’s obsession with cooking and cleaning the kitchen, that add beautifully to that disquiet in the reader. However, although you get some details as the book goes, there’s nothing clean or sure about the information. And though things do happen, it’s nothing that follows the normal build-denouement-finale format of a “normal” novel. In the end, you are left in a very similar (if not exactly the same) place as where you started, at least as far as Merricat and Constance are concerned. If that’s not your cup of tea, here’s your warning.
I really liked the lack of reliability from Merricat’s narration and the random, but frequent, moments of child-like imagination and fantasy that mark her dialogue and interpersonal interactions. There’s something off about the way that she “takes care of” Constance, and the way Constance humors her, but you cannot really put your finger on what it is or, more frustratingly, why, it is. Regardless, it fit the rest of the tone perfectly. In the same frustratingly unexplainable but perfectly toned way, I loved Uncle Julian’s fixation on his papers (despite the fact that we never find out what all he found out and recorded there) and Charles’ determination to convince Constance to change the way she and Merricat live (again, without really finding out what was driving those efforts). I also appreciated, though it’s not necessarily one of my favorite things to read about, the mob mentality of the villagers concerning the Blackwood home/family. It was terrifying, how quickly it could spin out of control, and was the exact right plot device to get us to where things are left at the end.
And the end. I’ve already mentioned that there’s no real change from start to finish for Merricat and Constance, but the superficial changes are actually fascinating to me. I don’t know if this was how it’s meant to be read, but for me, this seemed like the beginning of a ghost story. Despite being convinced that Merricat is already a ghost for about half the story, this otherwise seems like the “pre” to a village haunted house myth. Merricat and Constance are, before our eyes, transforming from real people into the old lady ghosts of unknown original that require regular offerings to keep them happy and are used to scare little kids into behaving. And whether or not that’s right, I’m going to choose to see it like that, because that’s very cool (in my opinion).
Overall, this was such a different read. Both different than what I expected and different than anything else I’ve ever read. Jackson’s language takes mostly normal things like picking up groceries, having the neighbors over for tea, or family drama and makes them chilling, pregnant with expectation for a hammer that may never fall. It’s intense. But at the same time, it’s not “scary” in the traditional sense – I had no trouble sleeping after reading this. It’s gothic, macabre, and I was unnerved…but I was never terrified. It was fascinating and I’m glad I read it, but I can’t say that I loved it. I can respect Jackson’s talent, and if you’re into this style I can’t imagine it being done much better than this, but it just wasn’t completely for me. However, if you are a mood reader and want something atmospheric for the Fall, even if it’s outside of your normal zone, I’d definitely add this one to the list of books being considered.
Merricat, said Connie, would you like a cup of tea?
Oh, no, said Merricat, you’ll poison me.
Merricat, said Connie, would you like to go to sleep?
Down in the boneyard ten feet deep!
I am a huge scaredy-cat. HUGE. I can’t read or watch scary books or movies because otherwise I can’t sleep afterwards. When I finally really do need to sleep, I can’t be alone and the lights need to be on and there must be music. And even then – I ruined a CD of traditional Celtic music that I feel asleep to after one scary movie night (I cannot listen to those songs anymore without fear associations). It’s too bad, because there’s a whole genre of amazing books (looking at you, Stephen King) that I cannot read because of this. So I was a little nervous when my long-distance book club wanted to theme our October book along the lines of a Halloween spooky-scary. But I’m and adult now (or something like that)…so instead of just saying no, I asked them to try and keep it more spooky than scary. And actually, when this book “won” our vote, I was pretty excited. I know it’s a classic story by a classic author and I have had it on my radar before. This was just the push I needed to step out of my comfort zone and pick it up.
This novella is the story of Mary Katherine (Merricat) and Constance Blackwood. They live in a great big house on the edge of a small village, along with their infirm Uncle Julian and very rarely come out or entertain visitors. There used to be more Blackwoods, but years ago the rest were killed by a fatal amount of arsenic that was added into the sugar bowl. There’s tension and frightened curiosity between them and the rest of the villagers because of that, and the suspicions that, despite her acquittal, Constance was the poisoner. The three remaining Blackwoods live reasonably happily together until the arrival of their cousin, Charles, and everything changes.
First, this book is definitely not one you should read if you like a plot-focused story. This is all about atmosphere and sensation, creating a feeling of anticipation, tension, eeriness. Told in Merricat’s voice, there’s an extra layer of unreliable, childish narration that, in Jackson’s hands, only adds to the creepiness. Because seriously, what is more disturbing than youth with an evil bent? Merricat tells us about the villagers, the Blackwood manor and daily routines and, once he arrives, cousin Charles in a way that definitely leaves you know really knowing what’s real and what’s not. A couple times I was totally convinced that Merricat was a ghost, and then something would happen that would make that impossible. But that not knowing leaves the reader feeling very unsettled. And there are some strange quirks, like Uncle Julian’s obsession with figuring out what exactly happened that “last day” everyone was alive or Constance’s obsession with cooking and cleaning the kitchen, that add beautifully to that disquiet in the reader. However, although you get some details as the book goes, there’s nothing clean or sure about the information. And though things do happen, it’s nothing that follows the normal build-denouement-finale format of a “normal” novel. In the end, you are left in a very similar (if not exactly the same) place as where you started, at least as far as Merricat and Constance are concerned. If that’s not your cup of tea, here’s your warning.
I really liked the lack of reliability from Merricat’s narration and the random, but frequent, moments of child-like imagination and fantasy that mark her dialogue and interpersonal interactions. There’s something off about the way that she “takes care of” Constance, and the way Constance humors her, but you cannot really put your finger on what it is or, more frustratingly, why, it is. Regardless, it fit the rest of the tone perfectly. In the same frustratingly unexplainable but perfectly toned way, I loved Uncle Julian’s fixation on his papers (despite the fact that we never find out what all he found out and recorded there) and Charles’ determination to convince Constance to change the way she and Merricat live (again, without really finding out what was driving those efforts). I also appreciated, though it’s not necessarily one of my favorite things to read about, the mob mentality of the villagers concerning the Blackwood home/family. It was terrifying, how quickly it could spin out of control, and was the exact right plot device to get us to where things are left at the end.
And the end. I’ve already mentioned that there’s no real change from start to finish for Merricat and Constance, but the superficial changes are actually fascinating to me. I don’t know if this was how it’s meant to be read, but for me, this seemed like the beginning of a ghost story. Despite being convinced that Merricat is already a ghost for about half the story, this otherwise seems like the “pre” to a village haunted house myth. Merricat and Constance are, before our eyes, transforming from real people into the old lady ghosts of unknown original that require regular offerings to keep them happy and are used to scare little kids into behaving. And whether or not that’s right, I’m going to choose to see it like that, because that’s very cool (in my opinion).
Overall, this was such a different read. Both different than what I expected and different than anything else I’ve ever read. Jackson’s language takes mostly normal things like picking up groceries, having the neighbors over for tea, or family drama and makes them chilling, pregnant with expectation for a hammer that may never fall. It’s intense. But at the same time, it’s not “scary” in the traditional sense – I had no trouble sleeping after reading this. It’s gothic, macabre, and I was unnerved…but I was never terrified. It was fascinating and I’m glad I read it, but I can’t say that I loved it. I can respect Jackson’s talent, and if you’re into this style I can’t imagine it being done much better than this, but it just wasn’t completely for me. However, if you are a mood reader and want something atmospheric for the Fall, even if it’s outside of your normal zone, I’d definitely add this one to the list of books being considered.
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This was exactly the conclusion I wanted. Though to be honest, I would totally not complain if they suddenly decided to add a few more. Haha. Honestly, overall, the relationship in this one, Pippa and Jensen, were not my favorite. In fact, of the five, they were one of my least favorites. She bordered on a manic pixie dream girl type character. And I felt like Jensen was the least emotionally attractive of the men - he was just...too reserved? Even more so than Niall, I felt. Plus, there were a lot of cliche situations and too much purposeful set-up pushing by friends to make this entirely believable. And the grand gesture at the end, while great to read, was a little too movie-esque for my tastes. However, what I really loved was the revisit to all of our previous couples, both in how much they were involved in the first place (being part of the vacation group that Pippa and Jensen met as part of) as well as a little epilogue from some of their perspectives and insight into their lives post center stage. In general though, I felt like, knowing this was a finale, I could read it with rose tinted glasses and just enjoy the end of the ride, which I truly am sad is over. Really I'm turning into a major Christina Lauren groupie.
Well Like I said with the last one, you can tell that these authors are getting their legs under them - each progressive book is better written than the one before. Story-wise, I still like Max and Sara best (book 2) for their story because it was just a little different, kink-wise, and I appreciated that. However, this one was really cute and sweet in it's own way. And I really liked that, so far, it was the most realistic story line, as far as how the couple met/their history/the "big challenge" in their relationship. Lots more was relate-able here. Altogether another exactly what I was looking for love story in this series.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
This is the second short essay by Adichie that I have read, having listened to Dear Ijeawele, or a Feminist Manifesto in Fifteen Suggestions last year. This one has been on my list since then and I was grateful for a chill Saturday today, giving me a chance to relax and read it in one sitting.
Based on a TEDx talk Adichie gave, this essay is, essentially, a summary of why feminism is important and necessary. It is basic (though not condescendingly so) in its explanations, giving lots of real-life examples to back up the straightforward statements she makes about the inequality of genders in common culture. And although this particular talk was originally given from a perspective/to an audience with the goal of making clear the lack of gender equality in African (specifically Nigerian and Igbo culture), and thus does not address the issue in an especially intersectional or gender-inclusive way, the base premise is universal. The characteristics of given genders are prescribed by societal conditioning and not through any individual consideration of ability or interest. Despite the historical need for physical prowess that has led to men being “in charge” no longer being the reality, our ideas about it have, clearly, not evolved at the same pace. And thus, the need for feminism: to counteract years of internalized inequality.
I really liked how Adichie was about to so succinctly distill many aspects of the need for and opposition to feminism…and respond to each of them in turn. This is an issue that has existed for centuries and to boil that all down to bare bones, to get the critical points of the premise across in such a concise, accurate, way is impressive. This is exactly the same way I felt after reading Dear Ijeawele – her voice is clear, pragmatic, unpretentious, but the language is still infused with feeling and personality.
Though making this review much longer will rival the length of the essay itself, and therefore is likely unnecessary (you could just go read it yourself), I do want to mention a few points she made that struck me with particular weight. First, and probably the biggest, is the need for a full reframe. It is not just enough to raise women “stronger,” support them in flying in the face of expectations…we need to fully remove those expectations. They are social construct, nothing more. And in order to do this, we must also raise men differently, take away the expectations that they’d be emasculated by doing “women’s work” (chores, childcare, etc.), not being the primary breadwinner, showing emotion, etc. I also liked her highlighting the idea of microaggressions, though she didn’t use that terminology. Even though they seem like small things, the constant things like restaurant staff only greeting the man, the assumption of valets that money from Adichie must have been given to her by her male company, the assumption that a woman alone cannot be in a nice hotel for any reason other than prostitution. These things add up. And though they can be seen as easily overlooked, not worth getting worked up over, they are the insidious things that contribute, almost more than the big things (which are easier to see as wrong/damaging and therefore fight), to the ingrained opinions about gender than make a culture what it is. Allowing these microaggressions to remain the norm is what truly prevents larger scale cultural change. And last, I loved that she touched on the ingrained need of women to be “liked.” Where men are taught to be strong and forceful and are praised for that, especially in the workplace, women are often considered too harsh, cold bitches, when acting in the same way. It’s entrenched in our culture, and it has indelibly colored the way women act/respond in the workplace, how true we feel we can be to our emotions and first responses to given situations, and how much we must temper our reactions/hide that/vent and react later. It is more important for women to be liked than it is for us to be professionally tough, in the societal eye. I have so many examples of this that I could probably write my own book on it alone.
This is a fantastic primer on feminism. It makes a straightforward case for its necessity and addresses common arguments in a non-accusatory way. It clarifies common confluences, like gender vs class, and makes some great suggestions to inform the creation of the more gender-equal world of Adichie (and all feminists’) dreams. The cognitive dissonance that her words (hopefully) inspire in doubters is invaluable. This little book packs a serious punch considering the length – absolutely worth the 15 or so minutes it takes to read (or slightly longer, if you are like me and kept having to take breaks to mark the most striking passages).
*As a small personal note, I actually liked Dear Ijeawele a bit more than this one. And I think that’s at least partially due to the order I read them. I think this is a better first read, that sets the stage for the more specific/tangible suggestions and “rules” presented in Dear Ijeawele. Just my two cents there.
Some of the aforementioned most striking passages:
“If we do something over and over again, it becomes normal. If we see the same thing over and over again, it becomes normal.”
“Gender as it functions today is a grave injustice. I am angry. We should all be angry. Anger has a long history of bringing about positive change.”
“We are all social beings. We [all] internalize ideas from our socialization.”
“And then we do a much greater disservice to girls, because we raise them to cater to the fragile egos of males. We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls: You can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful but not too successful, otherwise you will threaten the man. If you are the breadwinner in your relationship with a man, pretend that you are not, especially in public, otherwise you will emasculate him.”
“We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls, you can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful, but not too successful. Otherwise, you would threaten the man. Because I am female, I am expected to aspire to marriage. I am expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important. Now marriage can be a source of joy and love and mutual support but why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? We raise girls to see each other as competitors not for jobs or accomplishments, which I think can be a good thing, but for the attention of men. We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are.”
“Masculinity is a hard, small cage, and we put boys inside this cage.”
“The problem with gender is that is prescribes how we should be rather than recognizing how we are.”
“Some people ask: “Why the word feminist? Why not just say you are a believer in human rights, or something like that?” Because that would be dishonest. Feminism is, of course, part of human rights in general—but to choose to use the vague expression human rights is to deny the specific and particular problem of gender. It would be a way of pretending that it was not women who have, for centuries, been excluded. It would be a way of denying that the problem of gender targets women.”
“My own definition is a feminist is a man or a woman who says, yes, there’s a problem with gender as it is today and we must fix it, we must do better. All of us, women and men, must do better.”
This is the second short essay by Adichie that I have read, having listened to Dear Ijeawele, or a Feminist Manifesto in Fifteen Suggestions last year. This one has been on my list since then and I was grateful for a chill Saturday today, giving me a chance to relax and read it in one sitting.
Based on a TEDx talk Adichie gave, this essay is, essentially, a summary of why feminism is important and necessary. It is basic (though not condescendingly so) in its explanations, giving lots of real-life examples to back up the straightforward statements she makes about the inequality of genders in common culture. And although this particular talk was originally given from a perspective/to an audience with the goal of making clear the lack of gender equality in African (specifically Nigerian and Igbo culture), and thus does not address the issue in an especially intersectional or gender-inclusive way, the base premise is universal. The characteristics of given genders are prescribed by societal conditioning and not through any individual consideration of ability or interest. Despite the historical need for physical prowess that has led to men being “in charge” no longer being the reality, our ideas about it have, clearly, not evolved at the same pace. And thus, the need for feminism: to counteract years of internalized inequality.
I really liked how Adichie was about to so succinctly distill many aspects of the need for and opposition to feminism…and respond to each of them in turn. This is an issue that has existed for centuries and to boil that all down to bare bones, to get the critical points of the premise across in such a concise, accurate, way is impressive. This is exactly the same way I felt after reading Dear Ijeawele – her voice is clear, pragmatic, unpretentious, but the language is still infused with feeling and personality.
Though making this review much longer will rival the length of the essay itself, and therefore is likely unnecessary (you could just go read it yourself), I do want to mention a few points she made that struck me with particular weight. First, and probably the biggest, is the need for a full reframe. It is not just enough to raise women “stronger,” support them in flying in the face of expectations…we need to fully remove those expectations. They are social construct, nothing more. And in order to do this, we must also raise men differently, take away the expectations that they’d be emasculated by doing “women’s work” (chores, childcare, etc.), not being the primary breadwinner, showing emotion, etc. I also liked her highlighting the idea of microaggressions, though she didn’t use that terminology. Even though they seem like small things, the constant things like restaurant staff only greeting the man, the assumption of valets that money from Adichie must have been given to her by her male company, the assumption that a woman alone cannot be in a nice hotel for any reason other than prostitution. These things add up. And though they can be seen as easily overlooked, not worth getting worked up over, they are the insidious things that contribute, almost more than the big things (which are easier to see as wrong/damaging and therefore fight), to the ingrained opinions about gender than make a culture what it is. Allowing these microaggressions to remain the norm is what truly prevents larger scale cultural change. And last, I loved that she touched on the ingrained need of women to be “liked.” Where men are taught to be strong and forceful and are praised for that, especially in the workplace, women are often considered too harsh, cold bitches, when acting in the same way. It’s entrenched in our culture, and it has indelibly colored the way women act/respond in the workplace, how true we feel we can be to our emotions and first responses to given situations, and how much we must temper our reactions/hide that/vent and react later. It is more important for women to be liked than it is for us to be professionally tough, in the societal eye. I have so many examples of this that I could probably write my own book on it alone.
This is a fantastic primer on feminism. It makes a straightforward case for its necessity and addresses common arguments in a non-accusatory way. It clarifies common confluences, like gender vs class, and makes some great suggestions to inform the creation of the more gender-equal world of Adichie (and all feminists’) dreams. The cognitive dissonance that her words (hopefully) inspire in doubters is invaluable. This little book packs a serious punch considering the length – absolutely worth the 15 or so minutes it takes to read (or slightly longer, if you are like me and kept having to take breaks to mark the most striking passages).
*As a small personal note, I actually liked Dear Ijeawele a bit more than this one. And I think that’s at least partially due to the order I read them. I think this is a better first read, that sets the stage for the more specific/tangible suggestions and “rules” presented in Dear Ijeawele. Just my two cents there.
Some of the aforementioned most striking passages:
“If we do something over and over again, it becomes normal. If we see the same thing over and over again, it becomes normal.”
“Gender as it functions today is a grave injustice. I am angry. We should all be angry. Anger has a long history of bringing about positive change.”
“We are all social beings. We [all] internalize ideas from our socialization.”
“And then we do a much greater disservice to girls, because we raise them to cater to the fragile egos of males. We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls: You can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful but not too successful, otherwise you will threaten the man. If you are the breadwinner in your relationship with a man, pretend that you are not, especially in public, otherwise you will emasculate him.”
“We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls, you can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful, but not too successful. Otherwise, you would threaten the man. Because I am female, I am expected to aspire to marriage. I am expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important. Now marriage can be a source of joy and love and mutual support but why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? We raise girls to see each other as competitors not for jobs or accomplishments, which I think can be a good thing, but for the attention of men. We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are.”
“Masculinity is a hard, small cage, and we put boys inside this cage.”
“The problem with gender is that is prescribes how we should be rather than recognizing how we are.”
“Some people ask: “Why the word feminist? Why not just say you are a believer in human rights, or something like that?” Because that would be dishonest. Feminism is, of course, part of human rights in general—but to choose to use the vague expression human rights is to deny the specific and particular problem of gender. It would be a way of pretending that it was not women who have, for centuries, been excluded. It would be a way of denying that the problem of gender targets women.”
“My own definition is a feminist is a man or a woman who says, yes, there’s a problem with gender as it is today and we must fix it, we must do better. All of us, women and men, must do better.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
This one had been on my TBR for quite a long time. And in order to make it happen, I went ahead and listed in as one of my Beat the Backlist reads for this year. Although the year is quickly drawing to a close (and I’m realizing how far behind I am on that list of books, so I’m jumping full force into getting through as many as possible before we hit 2019), I’m excited to say that I can check this one off the list. And boy am I glad I finally got around to it.
Persepolis is an autobiographical graphic novel. Originally published in smaller pieces, this is the full, collected, set of stories. The author/illustrator, Marjane Satrapi uses this medium to tell the story of her youth, from growing up in revolutionary 1980s Iran to adolescence spent away from her family in Austria to her return to Iran as a young adult in the early 90s to to her second leaving and long term move to France (ending when she is 24 years old).
This is the first graphic novel I have ever read. It’s taken me 30 years, but I can finally check that accomplishment off my list! For real though, this was such a gorgeous and important piece to start my foray into this genre. It’s such a unique reading journey, different from anything I have ever experienced before. Watching the story play out before your eyes while simultaneously reading it is so fascinating. And it was so cool to see what aspects were most important to the author, how she chose to illustrate each moment and which things she emphasized. That added something extra that I am not really sure how to explain or quantify, but helped provide much more insight into Satrapi’s experiences than just words would have done. In a way that may seem contradictory, and I wish I could articulate this better, the use of illustrations also sort of softened the blow of many of the harsher moments. Perhaps it is because they are cartoon-y, and since the words are minimal, and thus less descriptive than drawn out explanations might have been, it seemed less…explicit…than my imagination would have made it with more words but no pictures already planted in my mind? And that’s not to say the difficulties, frustrations and dangers are not clearly presented, but the accompanying imaginative visuals were just gentler, easier to digest, for me. I may be failing to explain this, but I wanted to try. And really, the bottom line is that I really enjoyed the medium Satrapi chose. It’s evocative and creative and enhances her story in a wonderful way.
As far as the story itself, the insight into a time period and perspective that is so truly unknown is incomparable. It’s fascinating and educating and, in seeing how incredibly difficult some moments were for Satrapi, I truly appreciate her ability to share her story with the world. Some of the topics, related to the progression of the events in Iran, how that directly effected the people, and how the times were resisted and adjusted to, are particular to this time and place. And learning what that was like, at least from Satrapi’s point of view, is so significant. On the other hand, there are emotions and events explored that are more common in scope. For example, after her time in Austria, Satrapi describes having an identity crisis, feeling that she does not really belong anywhere: too conservative for Europe and too progressive for Iran. Then, the open and matter of fact way she discusses depression and self-harm as a response this loneliness is fantastically done, and so important. In another moment, she talks about how, again in returning to Tehran, she feels as if, even though she suffered quite a bit in Austria in her own, very real, ways, it just didn’t measure up to the “worse” situations faced by those that had remained in Iran. This comparing of trials, but being herself in a situation where no one knew what she had dealt with and could not imagine time in Europe being difficult, left her feeling guilty and alone and contributed to her depression during that period. These are all common themes for people who have lived through crises and away from their homes. This mix of unique and universal struggles perfectly encapsulates the way that trauma can be both individual and shared, isolating and unifying.
Past the news reports and propaganda and political/economic agendas, seeing the way the events of this tumultuous time period actually affected the people of Iran is invaluable. It is a perspective that should open the eyes of the world to the fact that behind the decision-makers, there are regular people, trying to live their lives through losses and deprivations. And everyone deserves the chance to move through their lives in freedom and safety. The gorgeous way Satrapi shows us the truth of the situation in Iran, the truth of the people, and the universal truth that we all try to survive the best we can in the circumstances we are given, is so valuable. And the way she does it with such artistry is just an extra treat.
“That day, I learned something essential: we can only feel sorry for ourselves when our misfortunes are still supportable…once this limit is crossed, the only way to bear the unbearable is to laugh at it.”
“When we’re afraid, we lose all sense of analysis and reflection. Our fear paralyzes us. Besides, fear has always been the driving force behind all dictators’ oppression.”
“After our own war, we were happy that Iraq got itself attacked and delighted that it wasn’t happening in our country. We were finally able to sleep peacefully without fear of missiles… We no longer needed to line up with our food ration coupons… And then, there wasn’t any more opposition. The protestors had been executed. Or had fled the country any way possible. The regime has absolute power…and most people, in search of a cloud of happiness, had forgotten their political conscience.”
This one had been on my TBR for quite a long time. And in order to make it happen, I went ahead and listed in as one of my Beat the Backlist reads for this year. Although the year is quickly drawing to a close (and I’m realizing how far behind I am on that list of books, so I’m jumping full force into getting through as many as possible before we hit 2019), I’m excited to say that I can check this one off the list. And boy am I glad I finally got around to it.
Persepolis is an autobiographical graphic novel. Originally published in smaller pieces, this is the full, collected, set of stories. The author/illustrator, Marjane Satrapi uses this medium to tell the story of her youth, from growing up in revolutionary 1980s Iran to adolescence spent away from her family in Austria to her return to Iran as a young adult in the early 90s to to her second leaving and long term move to France (ending when she is 24 years old).
This is the first graphic novel I have ever read. It’s taken me 30 years, but I can finally check that accomplishment off my list! For real though, this was such a gorgeous and important piece to start my foray into this genre. It’s such a unique reading journey, different from anything I have ever experienced before. Watching the story play out before your eyes while simultaneously reading it is so fascinating. And it was so cool to see what aspects were most important to the author, how she chose to illustrate each moment and which things she emphasized. That added something extra that I am not really sure how to explain or quantify, but helped provide much more insight into Satrapi’s experiences than just words would have done. In a way that may seem contradictory, and I wish I could articulate this better, the use of illustrations also sort of softened the blow of many of the harsher moments. Perhaps it is because they are cartoon-y, and since the words are minimal, and thus less descriptive than drawn out explanations might have been, it seemed less…explicit…than my imagination would have made it with more words but no pictures already planted in my mind? And that’s not to say the difficulties, frustrations and dangers are not clearly presented, but the accompanying imaginative visuals were just gentler, easier to digest, for me. I may be failing to explain this, but I wanted to try. And really, the bottom line is that I really enjoyed the medium Satrapi chose. It’s evocative and creative and enhances her story in a wonderful way.
As far as the story itself, the insight into a time period and perspective that is so truly unknown is incomparable. It’s fascinating and educating and, in seeing how incredibly difficult some moments were for Satrapi, I truly appreciate her ability to share her story with the world. Some of the topics, related to the progression of the events in Iran, how that directly effected the people, and how the times were resisted and adjusted to, are particular to this time and place. And learning what that was like, at least from Satrapi’s point of view, is so significant. On the other hand, there are emotions and events explored that are more common in scope. For example, after her time in Austria, Satrapi describes having an identity crisis, feeling that she does not really belong anywhere: too conservative for Europe and too progressive for Iran. Then, the open and matter of fact way she discusses depression and self-harm as a response this loneliness is fantastically done, and so important. In another moment, she talks about how, again in returning to Tehran, she feels as if, even though she suffered quite a bit in Austria in her own, very real, ways, it just didn’t measure up to the “worse” situations faced by those that had remained in Iran. This comparing of trials, but being herself in a situation where no one knew what she had dealt with and could not imagine time in Europe being difficult, left her feeling guilty and alone and contributed to her depression during that period. These are all common themes for people who have lived through crises and away from their homes. This mix of unique and universal struggles perfectly encapsulates the way that trauma can be both individual and shared, isolating and unifying.
Past the news reports and propaganda and political/economic agendas, seeing the way the events of this tumultuous time period actually affected the people of Iran is invaluable. It is a perspective that should open the eyes of the world to the fact that behind the decision-makers, there are regular people, trying to live their lives through losses and deprivations. And everyone deserves the chance to move through their lives in freedom and safety. The gorgeous way Satrapi shows us the truth of the situation in Iran, the truth of the people, and the universal truth that we all try to survive the best we can in the circumstances we are given, is so valuable. And the way she does it with such artistry is just an extra treat.
“That day, I learned something essential: we can only feel sorry for ourselves when our misfortunes are still supportable…once this limit is crossed, the only way to bear the unbearable is to laugh at it.”
“When we’re afraid, we lose all sense of analysis and reflection. Our fear paralyzes us. Besides, fear has always been the driving force behind all dictators’ oppression.”
“After our own war, we were happy that Iraq got itself attacked and delighted that it wasn’t happening in our country. We were finally able to sleep peacefully without fear of missiles… We no longer needed to line up with our food ration coupons… And then, there wasn’t any more opposition. The protestors had been executed. Or had fled the country any way possible. The regime has absolute power…and most people, in search of a cloud of happiness, had forgotten their political conscience.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
First of all, with a title like this, I really don’t understand how you could not be interested. Seriously. On top of that, it’s categorized in a genre known as “space opera.” I have been into scifi and fantasy for pretty much ever, but hadn’t heard that term until this past year. In fact, I heard from a friend of mine (part of my awesome long-distance book club!) who was looking at doing a reading challenge this year and it was one of the genres listed. She texted to ask me about it because she had never heard of it. I hadn’t either! But who would not be interested in reading something classified as a space opera?! I LOVE IT. So, here we are.
To open, let me straight up say that I loved this book. I loved the story, the characters, the idea, the details, and above everything else, I loved the experience of reading it. It was so engrossing and exciting and both foreign and familiar at the same time. Just so good, so much fun! (My thanks goes out to the people who funded the kickstarter campaign that allowed Chambers the time to write this. If I had seen it I can only hope that I would have donated myself – it would have been well worth it! Also, what a great story of anonymous support. Humans can be so cool.) This is the story of Captain Ashby Santoro and his crew of tunnelers (yes, they bore wormholes for faster space travel – so really, interstellar highway building) on his patchwork ship, the Wayfarer. There’s Sissix, the reptilian pilot, Kizzy and Jenks, the tech crew, Dr. Chef, cook and doctor extraordinaire, Corbin, the surly algae tech, Ohan, the navigator (pronoun: they), Lovey, the ship’s sentient AI, and the new addition Rosemary, clerk/admin assistant with a past she’s running away from. When get offered the job of a lifetime, the mishaps…er, adventure begins.
Now, why did I like it so much? Essentially, I just really enjoyed the story the author was telling. It had some shades of Firefly/Serenity (a little more law abiding as an overall group, but the Kaylee character was perfect), which is pretty much an assured 5-star check in the “pro” column for me. Trust me, if you liked Firefly, then you’ll definitely enjoy this book. (And if you haven’t heard of it – go watch now!) Anyways, despite the fact that nothing will likely match up to Firefly in awesomeness, there was on aspect that I liked even better here. Though there is definitely space exploration, drama, and adventure, it’s all told within the context of “normality.” The cast of characters exists in the greater Galactic Commons that we spend most of the book learning more about, but on a day to day basis, they are just normal people doing their normal jobs. And though they get a little wrapped up in something bigger, they play their part and then go back to their lives. There is no big “save the galaxy” moment (even in Firefly you get that a little in Serenity) and they are really not that important in the greater scheme of things. That brought the vastness of space down to a more manageable (as I mentioned earlier, familiar) level and was really refreshing for me as a reader. Sometimes the stories of regular scifi/fantasy characters can be just are interesting as the great heroes…
Other than that, I think some of the themes that crop up are nicely universal and recognizable without being overbearing. The insights into human emotions, connections, actions (so, basically, humanity at large) that the author notices, and is able to make from the outside perspective of other sapient species (or, aliens) are incredibly perceptive and astute. A couple times I think I actually said “huh” out loud and reading and considering the points. For example, the passing comment, in response to someone saying “I’m sorry.” after hearing a sad story: “Such a quintessentially human thing, to express sorrow through apology.” Very discerning. Also, her creativeness in communication methods greater simply than just different languages (for example, color/color change based ways, gestures or other appendage-only processes) was one of my favorite details. This also includes the creation of words/gestures for complex feelings or ideas that we do not have in English or that one language in the book had but another did not. For example, “tresha: the thankful, humble, vulnerable feeling that came after someone saw a truth in you, something they had discovered just by watching, something that you did not admit often to yourself.” Her description and explanation of these non-reciprocal meaning was deep and thorough and creative. Finally, the writing about interspecies relations had so many wonderful levels – from widely shared cultural beliefs that affected interactions (both politically and interpersonally) to dealing with those personal relationships that vary so far beyond the human sexuality spectrum (which, to be fair, is super complicated and nuanced all on its own) – it was similarly impressive in its depth, thoroughness, and creativity. There were twists and complications that you’d never expect or know to expect throughout this book, related to each of these themes, that were completely bizarre and made it the scifi novel that it is. But at the same time, with not too much analytical thought, some of those same twists and complications could easily be comparable to our own, human-only, experiences…and that made the exotic a little more understandable.
By the end you’ll feel like you want nothing more from life than to leave this world and become a part of this amazing, quirky, family-like interspecies crew.
It’s sentimental, but I have two brothers and this was just so true. And real. I had to share:
“Brothers never go away…Brothers you can’t get rid of. They get who you are, and what you like, and they don’t care who you sleep with or what mistakes you make, because brothers aren’t mixed up in that part of your life. They see you at your worst, and they don’t care. And even when you fight, it doesn’t matter so much, because they still have to say hi to you on your birthday, and by then, everybody’s forgotten about it, and you have cake together.”
I also love this quote: “Feelings are relative. And at the root, they’re all the same, even if they grow from different experiences and exist on different scales.”
First of all, with a title like this, I really don’t understand how you could not be interested. Seriously. On top of that, it’s categorized in a genre known as “space opera.” I have been into scifi and fantasy for pretty much ever, but hadn’t heard that term until this past year. In fact, I heard from a friend of mine (part of my awesome long-distance book club!) who was looking at doing a reading challenge this year and it was one of the genres listed. She texted to ask me about it because she had never heard of it. I hadn’t either! But who would not be interested in reading something classified as a space opera?! I LOVE IT. So, here we are.
To open, let me straight up say that I loved this book. I loved the story, the characters, the idea, the details, and above everything else, I loved the experience of reading it. It was so engrossing and exciting and both foreign and familiar at the same time. Just so good, so much fun! (My thanks goes out to the people who funded the kickstarter campaign that allowed Chambers the time to write this. If I had seen it I can only hope that I would have donated myself – it would have been well worth it! Also, what a great story of anonymous support. Humans can be so cool.) This is the story of Captain Ashby Santoro and his crew of tunnelers (yes, they bore wormholes for faster space travel – so really, interstellar highway building) on his patchwork ship, the Wayfarer. There’s Sissix, the reptilian pilot, Kizzy and Jenks, the tech crew, Dr. Chef, cook and doctor extraordinaire, Corbin, the surly algae tech, Ohan, the navigator (pronoun: they), Lovey, the ship’s sentient AI, and the new addition Rosemary, clerk/admin assistant with a past she’s running away from. When get offered the job of a lifetime, the mishaps…er, adventure begins.
Now, why did I like it so much? Essentially, I just really enjoyed the story the author was telling. It had some shades of Firefly/Serenity (a little more law abiding as an overall group, but the Kaylee character was perfect), which is pretty much an assured 5-star check in the “pro” column for me. Trust me, if you liked Firefly, then you’ll definitely enjoy this book. (And if you haven’t heard of it – go watch now!) Anyways, despite the fact that nothing will likely match up to Firefly in awesomeness, there was on aspect that I liked even better here. Though there is definitely space exploration, drama, and adventure, it’s all told within the context of “normality.” The cast of characters exists in the greater Galactic Commons that we spend most of the book learning more about, but on a day to day basis, they are just normal people doing their normal jobs. And though they get a little wrapped up in something bigger, they play their part and then go back to their lives. There is no big “save the galaxy” moment (even in Firefly you get that a little in Serenity) and they are really not that important in the greater scheme of things. That brought the vastness of space down to a more manageable (as I mentioned earlier, familiar) level and was really refreshing for me as a reader. Sometimes the stories of regular scifi/fantasy characters can be just are interesting as the great heroes…
Other than that, I think some of the themes that crop up are nicely universal and recognizable without being overbearing. The insights into human emotions, connections, actions (so, basically, humanity at large) that the author notices, and is able to make from the outside perspective of other sapient species (or, aliens) are incredibly perceptive and astute. A couple times I think I actually said “huh” out loud and reading and considering the points. For example, the passing comment, in response to someone saying “I’m sorry.” after hearing a sad story: “Such a quintessentially human thing, to express sorrow through apology.” Very discerning. Also, her creativeness in communication methods greater simply than just different languages (for example, color/color change based ways, gestures or other appendage-only processes) was one of my favorite details. This also includes the creation of words/gestures for complex feelings or ideas that we do not have in English or that one language in the book had but another did not. For example, “tresha: the thankful, humble, vulnerable feeling that came after someone saw a truth in you, something they had discovered just by watching, something that you did not admit often to yourself.” Her description and explanation of these non-reciprocal meaning was deep and thorough and creative. Finally, the writing about interspecies relations had so many wonderful levels – from widely shared cultural beliefs that affected interactions (both politically and interpersonally) to dealing with those personal relationships that vary so far beyond the human sexuality spectrum (which, to be fair, is super complicated and nuanced all on its own) – it was similarly impressive in its depth, thoroughness, and creativity. There were twists and complications that you’d never expect or know to expect throughout this book, related to each of these themes, that were completely bizarre and made it the scifi novel that it is. But at the same time, with not too much analytical thought, some of those same twists and complications could easily be comparable to our own, human-only, experiences…and that made the exotic a little more understandable.
By the end you’ll feel like you want nothing more from life than to leave this world and become a part of this amazing, quirky, family-like interspecies crew.
It’s sentimental, but I have two brothers and this was just so true. And real. I had to share:
“Brothers never go away…Brothers you can’t get rid of. They get who you are, and what you like, and they don’t care who you sleep with or what mistakes you make, because brothers aren’t mixed up in that part of your life. They see you at your worst, and they don’t care. And even when you fight, it doesn’t matter so much, because they still have to say hi to you on your birthday, and by then, everybody’s forgotten about it, and you have cake together.”
I also love this quote: “Feelings are relative. And at the root, they’re all the same, even if they grow from different experiences and exist on different scales.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I read Vicious, the first book in what is now the Villians series, over a year ago. In fact, it was one of the very first books I ever officially published a review for on my blog. And it was an all-the-way 5-star review situation. Amazeballs. Anyways, I felt good about where it ended. I mean, there definitely was an opening for more, of course, but it was more or less wrapped up with a nice “ending” bow that allowed me to enjoy it without being on the edge of my seat due to a ridiculous cliffhanger (I can’t lie – cliffhangers are one of my most hated book tropes ever). So yes, I loved the shit out of the book. But was also ok with it being a standalone. But when Schwab announced that she would be publishing Vengeful, a follow-up up, you can bet I was counting down the days to its publication. And, pay attention right here everyone: IT. DID. NOT. DISAPPOINT.
FYI, this review will likely contain spoilers for Vicious, at least in part because I think I’ll need to, in order to fully express my feels for this second installation. Plus, I feel like I can include them, since the book has been out for so long. But I will make sure that nothing key is given away relating to the Vengeful plot. But do be wary in reading this whole review, if you have not yet read the first book. Vengeful picks up approximately five years after the end of Vicious. Though I do say approximately because, although that’s when the “main events” are happing (in current time), there are flashbacks all along the way that elucidate the story of the intervening years, as well as even farther into the past. In fact, the story-telling style is exactly the same as it is in Vicious, jumping between years and characters in a fluid, but un-patterned, way. And then about 2/3 of the way through, all the story’s individual threads catch up to each other, leaving us just jumping between present day perspectives and locations. It’s a very dynamic style – one that I remember and was glad to see returned. But is does necessitate really paying attention on the part of the reader so you don’t confuse where/when you are. However, with the nonstop action/intrigue and incredibly dynamic characters, I can definitively say that paying enough attention did NOT present an issue.
Ok, I got distracted, back to the synopsis. Syndey, Victor, Mitch, Dominic and Dol are all still working together, as we left them at the end of Vicious. But they have a new goal this book, one that involves trying to fix whatever went slightly…off…when Sydney brought him back. At the same time, Eli is languishing, sort of, in custody, after Stell arrested him for killing Victor (again, where the end of Vicious leaves him). Of course, we know, that such star-crossed foes will not be kept from a second face off. But that knowledge is given extra drama by the introduction of some awesomely fierce, brutal, badass women. Marcella was a mob wife before her death (well, NDE – near death experience), but with her new power, she is determined to take over where she was only a “pretty thing” before. And June is on her own mission of revenge, but as she creates a new relationship with Sydney, perhaps her post-revenge goals are changing? Then again…perhaps not.
I have to start by saying that, yet again, Schwab brings to life such a phenomenal cast of characters. Not a single one of which can be considered good (I mean, the name of the series is Villians, after all), but all of whom worm their way into your feelings and become indelibly printed there. You find yourself cheering for them, all of them (for me anyway), even though you know some (most) of their actions are misguided, dangerous, and flat out wrong. You just fall in love with their bad selves. We get even more background into Eli and Victor, both separate and together, which only makes them both more compelling. They really are up there with some of the world’s best “partners” (like the inside cover says, the parallels between them and Magneto/Professor X cannot be ignored). And then there are the women. OH THE WOMEN. Sydney’s development into her own person, taking ownership of her life and actions, even when others are continuing to treat her as naïve/breakable. Marcella’s development into a powerful figure, taking said power in her own right, and not just through someone else, proving that looks do not (should not) define how one it treated. June’s development, which we have the least details about, but at which very educated guesses can be made, avenging her past pain and working to create something, a new life, that she can be happy with. Honestly, I cannot get over how wonderfully, and differently, strong all these female characters were.
The same as with Vicious, I would like to point out how much I was impressed by the ingenuity in the powers each person comes back with. The way that it ties into both how they died and their final thoughts/wishes is so damn inspired. Every time. I also liked how, now that the concept had been introduced, this book could delve deeper into an exploration of testing the limits of those powers. It’s very philosophical, in a way (though not overly so) – I really liked that new theme. And on a very personal note, I loved June’s power so so so much and, with a similar type ending to the first one (wrapped up, but not closed by a long shot) I SO want more of her in the *fingers crossed* next book.
There were some “ExtraOrdinary” type story tropes in this book that I am a little over, in particular the government agency creation/involvement (and the hubris of those in charge thinking they can control everything). I realize that it’s unrealistic to set a story like this in our “normal” world and expect anything different, that would be unrealistic, it’s just…repetitive…sometimes. That didn’t change the page-turning speed of this book or make me love the story any less. It’s just an observation on the sub-genre. I wonder where else it could go? Also, I felt like the ending with Dr. Haverty was a little rushed/easy, considering how little we see of him throughout the rest of the novel. I understand that he was consistently working in the background (horrible and weaselly little bastard), but a couple more short chapters flashing to him would like have made his (re)appearance seem more reasonable/expected.
Regardless, in substance, I would not have changed anything about the way the story develops, even the sad parts, or the parts that, while I wasn’t sad about necessarily, I was hoping would turn out differently (especially for Marcella – no spoilers, but just know, I was really invested in her character and what she wanted…I have a thing for ruthless female characters). I just love this writing about villains and from villains’ perspectives. I love both the shades of grey and the way I found myself totally accepting of things that were totally, black and white, wrong. I love Schwab’s creative vision in the sci-fi aspects and her resourcefulness and deft pacing in plot development. I could not put this book down. It sucked me in and the almost 500 pages passed in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Basically, this is just a damn good book. Even if you aren’t usually a sci-fi person, and definitely if you usually are, GO READ THESE BOOKS!
“She was done playing by other people’s rules. Done hiding. If you lived in the dark, you died in the dark. But stand in the light, and it was that much harder to make you disappear.”
“‘You look like Snow White killed the queen and stole the mirror.’ Marcella flashed a cool smile. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’”
I read Vicious, the first book in what is now the Villians series, over a year ago. In fact, it was one of the very first books I ever officially published a review for on my blog. And it was an all-the-way 5-star review situation. Amazeballs. Anyways, I felt good about where it ended. I mean, there definitely was an opening for more, of course, but it was more or less wrapped up with a nice “ending” bow that allowed me to enjoy it without being on the edge of my seat due to a ridiculous cliffhanger (I can’t lie – cliffhangers are one of my most hated book tropes ever). So yes, I loved the shit out of the book. But was also ok with it being a standalone. But when Schwab announced that she would be publishing Vengeful, a follow-up up, you can bet I was counting down the days to its publication. And, pay attention right here everyone: IT. DID. NOT. DISAPPOINT.
FYI, this review will likely contain spoilers for Vicious, at least in part because I think I’ll need to, in order to fully express my feels for this second installation. Plus, I feel like I can include them, since the book has been out for so long. But I will make sure that nothing key is given away relating to the Vengeful plot. But do be wary in reading this whole review, if you have not yet read the first book. Vengeful picks up approximately five years after the end of Vicious. Though I do say approximately because, although that’s when the “main events” are happing (in current time), there are flashbacks all along the way that elucidate the story of the intervening years, as well as even farther into the past. In fact, the story-telling style is exactly the same as it is in Vicious, jumping between years and characters in a fluid, but un-patterned, way. And then about 2/3 of the way through, all the story’s individual threads catch up to each other, leaving us just jumping between present day perspectives and locations. It’s a very dynamic style – one that I remember and was glad to see returned. But is does necessitate really paying attention on the part of the reader so you don’t confuse where/when you are. However, with the nonstop action/intrigue and incredibly dynamic characters, I can definitively say that paying enough attention did NOT present an issue.
Ok, I got distracted, back to the synopsis. Syndey, Victor, Mitch, Dominic and Dol are all still working together, as we left them at the end of Vicious. But they have a new goal this book, one that involves trying to fix whatever went slightly…off…when Sydney brought him back. At the same time, Eli is languishing, sort of, in custody, after Stell arrested him for killing Victor (again, where the end of Vicious leaves him). Of course, we know, that such star-crossed foes will not be kept from a second face off. But that knowledge is given extra drama by the introduction of some awesomely fierce, brutal, badass women. Marcella was a mob wife before her death (well, NDE – near death experience), but with her new power, she is determined to take over where she was only a “pretty thing” before. And June is on her own mission of revenge, but as she creates a new relationship with Sydney, perhaps her post-revenge goals are changing? Then again…perhaps not.
I have to start by saying that, yet again, Schwab brings to life such a phenomenal cast of characters. Not a single one of which can be considered good (I mean, the name of the series is Villians, after all), but all of whom worm their way into your feelings and become indelibly printed there. You find yourself cheering for them, all of them (for me anyway), even though you know some (most) of their actions are misguided, dangerous, and flat out wrong. You just fall in love with their bad selves. We get even more background into Eli and Victor, both separate and together, which only makes them both more compelling. They really are up there with some of the world’s best “partners” (like the inside cover says, the parallels between them and Magneto/Professor X cannot be ignored). And then there are the women. OH THE WOMEN. Sydney’s development into her own person, taking ownership of her life and actions, even when others are continuing to treat her as naïve/breakable. Marcella’s development into a powerful figure, taking said power in her own right, and not just through someone else, proving that looks do not (should not) define how one it treated. June’s development, which we have the least details about, but at which very educated guesses can be made, avenging her past pain and working to create something, a new life, that she can be happy with. Honestly, I cannot get over how wonderfully, and differently, strong all these female characters were.
The same as with Vicious, I would like to point out how much I was impressed by the ingenuity in the powers each person comes back with. The way that it ties into both how they died and their final thoughts/wishes is so damn inspired. Every time. I also liked how, now that the concept had been introduced, this book could delve deeper into an exploration of testing the limits of those powers. It’s very philosophical, in a way (though not overly so) – I really liked that new theme. And on a very personal note, I loved June’s power so so so much and, with a similar type ending to the first one (wrapped up, but not closed by a long shot) I SO want more of her in the *fingers crossed* next book.
There were some “ExtraOrdinary” type story tropes in this book that I am a little over, in particular the government agency creation/involvement (and the hubris of those in charge thinking they can control everything). I realize that it’s unrealistic to set a story like this in our “normal” world and expect anything different, that would be unrealistic, it’s just…repetitive…sometimes. That didn’t change the page-turning speed of this book or make me love the story any less. It’s just an observation on the sub-genre. I wonder where else it could go? Also, I felt like the ending with Dr. Haverty was a little rushed/easy, considering how little we see of him throughout the rest of the novel. I understand that he was consistently working in the background (horrible and weaselly little bastard), but a couple more short chapters flashing to him would like have made his (re)appearance seem more reasonable/expected.
Regardless, in substance, I would not have changed anything about the way the story develops, even the sad parts, or the parts that, while I wasn’t sad about necessarily, I was hoping would turn out differently (especially for Marcella – no spoilers, but just know, I was really invested in her character and what she wanted…I have a thing for ruthless female characters). I just love this writing about villains and from villains’ perspectives. I love both the shades of grey and the way I found myself totally accepting of things that were totally, black and white, wrong. I love Schwab’s creative vision in the sci-fi aspects and her resourcefulness and deft pacing in plot development. I could not put this book down. It sucked me in and the almost 500 pages passed in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Basically, this is just a damn good book. Even if you aren’t usually a sci-fi person, and definitely if you usually are, GO READ THESE BOOKS!
“She was done playing by other people’s rules. Done hiding. If you lived in the dark, you died in the dark. But stand in the light, and it was that much harder to make you disappear.”
“‘You look like Snow White killed the queen and stole the mirror.’ Marcella flashed a cool smile. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
This book has been on my TBR since it’s publication in 2016. Years ago, definitely before I started officially blogging my reviews, I had read a previous novel of Towles’, Rules of Civility. It really enjoyed that one – I remember thinking it was a great period piece, though I don’t remember a lot of the details, but nothing that completely inspired me to want to, for sure, pick up another book by him. However, when I saw the title/synopsis of this one, I knew I had to read it. For some reason I have always been particularly interested in Russia and Russian history. I have no real reason for why, other than falling in love with the animated movie Anastasia as a child. Actually, I still love the movie. I still have all the songs (and most of the rest of the dialogue) memorized and I quote it at least once a week – I will literally fight anyone who says anything bad about it, haha. In any case, I even studied Russian for a little bit in college (though that didn’t last long). Regardless, coming from an author with a proven ability to write great period pieces, and with such an intriguing plot: a man under house arrest in the capital of Russia watching the country pass him by during some of its most turbulent years in recent history? Sign. Me. Up. But then, as things go, I procrastinated starting it…until this year, when, determined to finally read it, I added it to my Beat the Backlist challenge. And check me out – finished in the nick of time!
I already a little gave a baby plot synopsis above (whoops), but I’ll give one with a little more detail before starting into my feels. Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov is sentenced, by a Bolshevik tribunal in 1922, to live out the rest of his life under house arrest in the Metropol Hotel, right across the street from the Kremlin. As a previous member of high society, rubbing elbows with princes and princesses, fighting in duels, and summering at his family’s estate in Nizhny Novgorod, the Count’s world is reduced to a single building. But from his room in the attic, the Count refuses to let his spirit be broken, and his experiences within the hotel, drama-filled (both within the hotel and in the greater Russian political scope) and emotionally explorative, unfold with all the interest and fulfillment of any other well-lived life.
Let me start by saying that, for a second time, Towles has created a phenomenal period feel. His style of writing sets a tone and atmosphere that are perfect for a proper gentleman living in a fancy, but aging, hotel. I don’t think I could have said there was a perfect style for that type of situation prior to reading this. But after finishing…this is it. There is just a little bit of pretention underlying the Count’s actions and interactions, but in a way that is incredibly endearing, instead of off-putting. It’s definitely the rose-tinted glasses version of the men, and decorum, of the time period. However, choosing to embrace that, in the spirit of the story, was totally worth it. Other things about the writing that I liked included the variety of references to literature and literary figures, placed liberally throughout the novel. It made my nerdy little heart happy. I also enjoyed the way two or three references were listed at a time, to give the reader a frame of reference for a given situation or feeling. It was a device used repeatedly, and to great effect. The meditative focus on food and drink from the very beginning was something that grew on me. It definitely began with more than a little self-importance on the part of the Count, it seemed to me. But when one comes to see the role food/drink play later, as the Count becomes more involved in the service side of the hotel’s functions and becomes part of a vital group of three keeping the hotel’s restaurant services running at the highest standards, it becomes a much more charming focus. In addition, his focus on the ingredients works as a wonderful way to allow the Count space to muse, to jump into reminisces and give the reader insight to his thoughts and the past. Since we all know and accept food as a common vehicle of culture and memory, and that’s essentially what this story is, it works nicely. There’s also, if you are into this, a good amount of philosophy in relation to Russian culture and politics, addressed seriously and with snark, as befits the situation and in great compliment.
The hotel as a device is fascinating. There I every chance that this story could get really slow, considering the setting does not, cannot change. But with a hotel, there is a rotating cast of characters available (in addition to the steadiness of the staff) for the Count to create connections with. And with a hotel across from the Kremlin, there are many opportunities, with state meetings and dinners, to give direct insight to Party leadership and politics. The personal and political intrigue this allows for definitely makes this, while not necessarily fast-paced, a story that keeps you entertained. And Towles does a great job giving tension to both types of intrigue in equal measure. It’s a sort of a perfectly gentlemanly tale of scheming and maneuvering – like James Bond but without and of the fast cars/ladies/weapons. The other highlight of this story is, as might be expected, the characters themselves. By the end, they felt so incredibly real to me. I could swear that Count Rostov was a real person…like I could Google him and he’d be a legitimate historical personage. His close friends and hotel staff, like Chef Zhukovsky, the Maitre’de Duras, and Marina the seamstress, are all full and quirky and become so important to the Count, in a way they never would have been in his prior life. And the other hotel guests, like the actress Anna Urbanova, the young Nina, and (later and most importantly) Sofia, show the Count a depth of emotional connection that he never had before and, again, we can assume he would never have found in his prior lifestyle. It’s completely endearing and the Count’s development with them each is an interpersonal relationship journey that I was totally bought into, though especially, of course, with Sofia. It’s just so, so sweet. And to cap it all off, I though the open-ended finale, one full of the exact right amount of nostalgia and promise for the future, was exactly the ending this story deserved.
For a book this long (and it is long), I was very happy with the time I spent with it. I actually listened to the audiobook, which I think was ideal. The narrator had a great voice for the ambiance and pulled me right into the story. I could see there being a chance of getting stalled out in the middle, if I read it the traditional way – there were definitely some parts and details that were extraneous to the environment, the period, and the plot. But seriously, overall, this expansive, rambling, contemplative, sweeping tale had me completely entranced.
This book has been on my TBR since it’s publication in 2016. Years ago, definitely before I started officially blogging my reviews, I had read a previous novel of Towles’, Rules of Civility. It really enjoyed that one – I remember thinking it was a great period piece, though I don’t remember a lot of the details, but nothing that completely inspired me to want to, for sure, pick up another book by him. However, when I saw the title/synopsis of this one, I knew I had to read it. For some reason I have always been particularly interested in Russia and Russian history. I have no real reason for why, other than falling in love with the animated movie Anastasia as a child. Actually, I still love the movie. I still have all the songs (and most of the rest of the dialogue) memorized and I quote it at least once a week – I will literally fight anyone who says anything bad about it, haha. In any case, I even studied Russian for a little bit in college (though that didn’t last long). Regardless, coming from an author with a proven ability to write great period pieces, and with such an intriguing plot: a man under house arrest in the capital of Russia watching the country pass him by during some of its most turbulent years in recent history? Sign. Me. Up. But then, as things go, I procrastinated starting it…until this year, when, determined to finally read it, I added it to my Beat the Backlist challenge. And check me out – finished in the nick of time!
I already a little gave a baby plot synopsis above (whoops), but I’ll give one with a little more detail before starting into my feels. Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov is sentenced, by a Bolshevik tribunal in 1922, to live out the rest of his life under house arrest in the Metropol Hotel, right across the street from the Kremlin. As a previous member of high society, rubbing elbows with princes and princesses, fighting in duels, and summering at his family’s estate in Nizhny Novgorod, the Count’s world is reduced to a single building. But from his room in the attic, the Count refuses to let his spirit be broken, and his experiences within the hotel, drama-filled (both within the hotel and in the greater Russian political scope) and emotionally explorative, unfold with all the interest and fulfillment of any other well-lived life.
Let me start by saying that, for a second time, Towles has created a phenomenal period feel. His style of writing sets a tone and atmosphere that are perfect for a proper gentleman living in a fancy, but aging, hotel. I don’t think I could have said there was a perfect style for that type of situation prior to reading this. But after finishing…this is it. There is just a little bit of pretention underlying the Count’s actions and interactions, but in a way that is incredibly endearing, instead of off-putting. It’s definitely the rose-tinted glasses version of the men, and decorum, of the time period. However, choosing to embrace that, in the spirit of the story, was totally worth it. Other things about the writing that I liked included the variety of references to literature and literary figures, placed liberally throughout the novel. It made my nerdy little heart happy. I also enjoyed the way two or three references were listed at a time, to give the reader a frame of reference for a given situation or feeling. It was a device used repeatedly, and to great effect. The meditative focus on food and drink from the very beginning was something that grew on me. It definitely began with more than a little self-importance on the part of the Count, it seemed to me. But when one comes to see the role food/drink play later, as the Count becomes more involved in the service side of the hotel’s functions and becomes part of a vital group of three keeping the hotel’s restaurant services running at the highest standards, it becomes a much more charming focus. In addition, his focus on the ingredients works as a wonderful way to allow the Count space to muse, to jump into reminisces and give the reader insight to his thoughts and the past. Since we all know and accept food as a common vehicle of culture and memory, and that’s essentially what this story is, it works nicely. There’s also, if you are into this, a good amount of philosophy in relation to Russian culture and politics, addressed seriously and with snark, as befits the situation and in great compliment.
The hotel as a device is fascinating. There I every chance that this story could get really slow, considering the setting does not, cannot change. But with a hotel, there is a rotating cast of characters available (in addition to the steadiness of the staff) for the Count to create connections with. And with a hotel across from the Kremlin, there are many opportunities, with state meetings and dinners, to give direct insight to Party leadership and politics. The personal and political intrigue this allows for definitely makes this, while not necessarily fast-paced, a story that keeps you entertained. And Towles does a great job giving tension to both types of intrigue in equal measure. It’s a sort of a perfectly gentlemanly tale of scheming and maneuvering – like James Bond but without and of the fast cars/ladies/weapons. The other highlight of this story is, as might be expected, the characters themselves. By the end, they felt so incredibly real to me. I could swear that Count Rostov was a real person…like I could Google him and he’d be a legitimate historical personage. His close friends and hotel staff, like Chef Zhukovsky, the Maitre’de Duras, and Marina the seamstress, are all full and quirky and become so important to the Count, in a way they never would have been in his prior life. And the other hotel guests, like the actress Anna Urbanova, the young Nina, and (later and most importantly) Sofia, show the Count a depth of emotional connection that he never had before and, again, we can assume he would never have found in his prior lifestyle. It’s completely endearing and the Count’s development with them each is an interpersonal relationship journey that I was totally bought into, though especially, of course, with Sofia. It’s just so, so sweet. And to cap it all off, I though the open-ended finale, one full of the exact right amount of nostalgia and promise for the future, was exactly the ending this story deserved.
For a book this long (and it is long), I was very happy with the time I spent with it. I actually listened to the audiobook, which I think was ideal. The narrator had a great voice for the ambiance and pulled me right into the story. I could see there being a chance of getting stalled out in the middle, if I read it the traditional way – there were definitely some parts and details that were extraneous to the environment, the period, and the plot. But seriously, overall, this expansive, rambling, contemplative, sweeping tale had me completely entranced.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
This is one of those books that I had on my radar as a book to help me get more diversity of perspective in my reading, but it wasn’t necessarily at the top of the list. Probably because it’s nonfiction…and I’ve just always preferred fiction. But then I was at my local bookstore one day a few months ago and it just called out to me from the shelf. I am a hella mood reader, so I usually listen to those urges, this time being no exception. And yet again, I’m over here congratulating myself for following my reading moods. This memoir is a force – one that I can’t say is good/bad (I have a hard time quantifying memoirs like that, because it seems like a judgement on the person’s experiences, rather than the writing of them), but one that pulled me along in its wake from the very first page.
Heart Berries is a collection of Mailhot’s reflections own her own history and coming of age. From a severely difficult childhood on an Indian Reservation in the Pacific Northwest to a current day struggle with mental health and relationships, Mailhot has experienced and witnessed an extreme amount of trauma in her life. This short collection of essays (?) examines these events, her personal realizations, discoveries and reactions to them, and how they have altered and defined her life trajectory. And woven throughout, Mailhot shares and references cultural commentary/example, traditional beliefs woven into the fabric of her life and overall narrative.
I have to start by saying that one of my strongest reactions was how absolutely difficult this was to read. Both as far as the topics covered and the style/language used, this book was all hard edges and arduous going. I felt drained each time I read part of it. And I actually found myself having to limit the number of chapters/pages I read in any given sitting. Which does nothing if not demonstrate, without you even having to open the book, how much Mailhot has had to/is still dealing with. If I had trouble just reading it, I cannot help but wonder how she dealt with living it. Which, in fact, is part of what this book was born from. During her time as an inpatient after a diagnosis of PTSD and Bipolar II Disorder, it was suggested that Mailhot use writing as a method of working through her trauma.
Going back to the writing, for a moment, it is unlike anything I have ever read. It’s a sort of jarring poetry in motion. It jumps (I cannot say flow, since it’s too staccato for that) from one thought/moment/feeling to the next with language that is simultaneously precise (like you can tell that each individual word was purposefully chosen) and esoteric (to the point that I often reread sections multiple times to understand the full meaning). However, despite that, or perhaps because of it, I was able to overlook any of the times that I had trouble following or connecting with the words themselves, because the clarity of the sentiment is strong and powerful. Everything is so insanely raw, but it’s so concise that it’s clear it’s a raw whose insights were born from considered effort and editing, a combination of visceral-ness and refinement. Everything is so harsh, in tone and style, in a way that seems to accurately reflect the emotions and situations it’s describing. And, in a way that I would be hard pressed to explain in more depth, there is a real sense of disembodiment in the writing, a sense of disconnect and stream of conscious that (it seems) illustrates, in exactitude, Mailhot’s inner dialogue and experience.
As far as topics and themes, this book should come with a considerable number of warnings, for everything from extreme poverty to childhood abuse to mental illness to substance addiction to suicide ideation/attempt. And all of these go hand in hand as Mailhot lives them, personally and through others, to create the woman she is today. There is so much pain. And part of her reflections includes the place that pain holds both in her life and in her culture, which is absolutely fascinating to read about. Honestly, there is so much heartbreak here for the reader, as someone on the outside, who has such a clearer vision than Mailhot herself does of how the trauma in her childhood affected her. Reading the guilt and inner turmoil caused by and in reaction to so many situations that were beyond her control…it’s a testament to the naivete of childhood and a sorrowful look at how our adult selves cannot look past and forgive our younger selves for not sooner recognizing what we now know is “shameful.” In general, the lifelong effects of childhood trauma, the memories and emotions that will never let Mailhot go, in this memoir are affecting beyond words. So, so tragic. And yet. And yet the power Mailhot in regaining through her ability to honestly and fully address everything she’s been through, including (and especially) the parts that may cast her in a “negative” light, is so important. The message that all of these experiences were not enough to keep her at the bottom, that she has enough strength, even if it goes in waves and backwards steps are taken, to push against the darkness within and around her, is the other side of the story in this memoir. And it should be given just as much, if not more, glorification and the rest.
These are words that, while being shared with an audience, are clearly necessary for the author as well There was not a single superfluous word or explanation or detail or justification. It’s a stripped down, barebones, appeal. And I love that you can tell how much this writing is for Mailhot herself. It’s not easy to understand/follow/divine as a reader, so I know I missed some things, but the fact is that the ones I did get were stronger and more authentic for the effort I had to put in. It was all a clear function of how much putting these words on paper, and shaping them to perfection, was something Mailhot felt she needed to do. Her honesty is a bravery that is impossible to quantify. Although it’s hard, the intensity is called for, and deserving of as wide an audience as possible.
**I highly recommend reading the afterward interview with the author. She speaks to why and how she chose to tell her own story and what prompted her to share a fully nonfiction account (instead of reality-based fiction). Mailhot also shares some important and no-holds-barred opinions on the way the Indian narrative has been used in the past and how she wanted to subvert those expectations/stereotypes/coercions here. The reasons she touches on for handling it all the way she did is almost as powerful as the book itself.
“Nothing is too ugly for this world, I think. It’s just that people pretend not to see.”
“Trying to pretend damaged me the most.”
“I don’t think I can forgive myself for my compassion.”
“To ascend there must be a dark, a descent.”
“I couldn't distinguish the symptoms from my heart. It was polarizing to be told there was a
diagnosis for the behaviors I felt justified in having.”
“People have a right to think things will change.”
“In white culture, forgiveness is synonymous with letting go. In my culture, I believe we carry pain until we can reconcile with it through ceremony. Pain is not framed like a problem with a solution. I don’t even know that white people see transcendence the way we do. I’m not sure that their dichotomies apply to me.”
“…I wondered why the people who should be punished the most aren’t punished. Because they hurt children that don’t matter.”
“Nobody wants to know why Indian women leave or where they go…The truth of our leaving or coming into the world is never told.”
“I can't believe my reserve of water—from my nose and eyes. I have dormant fluid in my body, every woman does. I don't know if I am a cavern or a river. Once, you said I was a geyser: a hole in the ground—bursting.”
“…nothing is too ugly for this world. I am not too ugly for this world.”
“Each child, woman and man should know a limit of containment. Nobody should be asked to hold more.”
This is one of those books that I had on my radar as a book to help me get more diversity of perspective in my reading, but it wasn’t necessarily at the top of the list. Probably because it’s nonfiction…and I’ve just always preferred fiction. But then I was at my local bookstore one day a few months ago and it just called out to me from the shelf. I am a hella mood reader, so I usually listen to those urges, this time being no exception. And yet again, I’m over here congratulating myself for following my reading moods. This memoir is a force – one that I can’t say is good/bad (I have a hard time quantifying memoirs like that, because it seems like a judgement on the person’s experiences, rather than the writing of them), but one that pulled me along in its wake from the very first page.
Heart Berries is a collection of Mailhot’s reflections own her own history and coming of age. From a severely difficult childhood on an Indian Reservation in the Pacific Northwest to a current day struggle with mental health and relationships, Mailhot has experienced and witnessed an extreme amount of trauma in her life. This short collection of essays (?) examines these events, her personal realizations, discoveries and reactions to them, and how they have altered and defined her life trajectory. And woven throughout, Mailhot shares and references cultural commentary/example, traditional beliefs woven into the fabric of her life and overall narrative.
I have to start by saying that one of my strongest reactions was how absolutely difficult this was to read. Both as far as the topics covered and the style/language used, this book was all hard edges and arduous going. I felt drained each time I read part of it. And I actually found myself having to limit the number of chapters/pages I read in any given sitting. Which does nothing if not demonstrate, without you even having to open the book, how much Mailhot has had to/is still dealing with. If I had trouble just reading it, I cannot help but wonder how she dealt with living it. Which, in fact, is part of what this book was born from. During her time as an inpatient after a diagnosis of PTSD and Bipolar II Disorder, it was suggested that Mailhot use writing as a method of working through her trauma.
Going back to the writing, for a moment, it is unlike anything I have ever read. It’s a sort of jarring poetry in motion. It jumps (I cannot say flow, since it’s too staccato for that) from one thought/moment/feeling to the next with language that is simultaneously precise (like you can tell that each individual word was purposefully chosen) and esoteric (to the point that I often reread sections multiple times to understand the full meaning). However, despite that, or perhaps because of it, I was able to overlook any of the times that I had trouble following or connecting with the words themselves, because the clarity of the sentiment is strong and powerful. Everything is so insanely raw, but it’s so concise that it’s clear it’s a raw whose insights were born from considered effort and editing, a combination of visceral-ness and refinement. Everything is so harsh, in tone and style, in a way that seems to accurately reflect the emotions and situations it’s describing. And, in a way that I would be hard pressed to explain in more depth, there is a real sense of disembodiment in the writing, a sense of disconnect and stream of conscious that (it seems) illustrates, in exactitude, Mailhot’s inner dialogue and experience.
As far as topics and themes, this book should come with a considerable number of warnings, for everything from extreme poverty to childhood abuse to mental illness to substance addiction to suicide ideation/attempt. And all of these go hand in hand as Mailhot lives them, personally and through others, to create the woman she is today. There is so much pain. And part of her reflections includes the place that pain holds both in her life and in her culture, which is absolutely fascinating to read about. Honestly, there is so much heartbreak here for the reader, as someone on the outside, who has such a clearer vision than Mailhot herself does of how the trauma in her childhood affected her. Reading the guilt and inner turmoil caused by and in reaction to so many situations that were beyond her control…it’s a testament to the naivete of childhood and a sorrowful look at how our adult selves cannot look past and forgive our younger selves for not sooner recognizing what we now know is “shameful.” In general, the lifelong effects of childhood trauma, the memories and emotions that will never let Mailhot go, in this memoir are affecting beyond words. So, so tragic. And yet. And yet the power Mailhot in regaining through her ability to honestly and fully address everything she’s been through, including (and especially) the parts that may cast her in a “negative” light, is so important. The message that all of these experiences were not enough to keep her at the bottom, that she has enough strength, even if it goes in waves and backwards steps are taken, to push against the darkness within and around her, is the other side of the story in this memoir. And it should be given just as much, if not more, glorification and the rest.
These are words that, while being shared with an audience, are clearly necessary for the author as well There was not a single superfluous word or explanation or detail or justification. It’s a stripped down, barebones, appeal. And I love that you can tell how much this writing is for Mailhot herself. It’s not easy to understand/follow/divine as a reader, so I know I missed some things, but the fact is that the ones I did get were stronger and more authentic for the effort I had to put in. It was all a clear function of how much putting these words on paper, and shaping them to perfection, was something Mailhot felt she needed to do. Her honesty is a bravery that is impossible to quantify. Although it’s hard, the intensity is called for, and deserving of as wide an audience as possible.
**I highly recommend reading the afterward interview with the author. She speaks to why and how she chose to tell her own story and what prompted her to share a fully nonfiction account (instead of reality-based fiction). Mailhot also shares some important and no-holds-barred opinions on the way the Indian narrative has been used in the past and how she wanted to subvert those expectations/stereotypes/coercions here. The reasons she touches on for handling it all the way she did is almost as powerful as the book itself.
“Nothing is too ugly for this world, I think. It’s just that people pretend not to see.”
“Trying to pretend damaged me the most.”
“I don’t think I can forgive myself for my compassion.”
“To ascend there must be a dark, a descent.”
“I couldn't distinguish the symptoms from my heart. It was polarizing to be told there was a
diagnosis for the behaviors I felt justified in having.”
“People have a right to think things will change.”
“In white culture, forgiveness is synonymous with letting go. In my culture, I believe we carry pain until we can reconcile with it through ceremony. Pain is not framed like a problem with a solution. I don’t even know that white people see transcendence the way we do. I’m not sure that their dichotomies apply to me.”
“…I wondered why the people who should be punished the most aren’t punished. Because they hurt children that don’t matter.”
“Nobody wants to know why Indian women leave or where they go…The truth of our leaving or coming into the world is never told.”
“I can't believe my reserve of water—from my nose and eyes. I have dormant fluid in my body, every woman does. I don't know if I am a cavern or a river. Once, you said I was a geyser: a hole in the ground—bursting.”
“…nothing is too ugly for this world. I am not too ugly for this world.”
“Each child, woman and man should know a limit of containment. Nobody should be asked to hold more.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I read Strange the Dreamer when it came out last year because Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy is one of my favorites. And I really enjoyed it – I loved the dream-like quality of the story and the writing, and the world-building and magical system were phenomenal. Lazlo was such a compelling and healthfully masculine lead and his “courtship” with Sarai was one of my favorite creative relationship developments ever. And while it didn’t live up to DOSAB, at least for me, I have consistently recommended it since reading it. In fact, it’s one of those stories that grows in your mind after finishing, getting better with age. All that to say that, when Muse of Nightmares was finally published, I was ready and excited!
This book picks up exactly where the first leaves off, like down to the fact that each character is actually standing in exactly the same place that we left them. (Before we go any further…this review will likely contain Strange the Dreamer spoilers, but I’ll try to keep it clean for Must of Nightmares.) Lazlo and Sarai are finally able to spend “real” time together, outside of dreams, but things are even more complicated than before. With the people of Weep aware that the gods are not all dead (and learning that their beloved Lazlo is one of them) and Minya’s long harbored hatred and fear hardening it’s hold on her, all our characters are caught in a struggle between forgiveness/moving on or continuing to fight a battle none of them started. At the same time, a new foe emerges as the secrets of the citadel are slowly revealed. And though Sarai is feeling more and more useless as she adjusts to “life” as a ghost and figuring out the rebalancing of her power, maybe this is her chance to go beyond what she always thought her power’s barriers were – can she be more than just a Muse of Nightmares?
Let me just start by saying that this 500+ page book passed in the blink of an eye. The story picks up right where the previous one left off and doesn’t let go for a second. I know that some feedback about Strange the Dreamer was that it was almost too slow-burn. I cannot lie, I was originally of that opinion. I loved the dream-like quality of the writing, as it matched the story being told perfectly, but it was just not, at least at the time, my favorite style. In this sequel, Taylor picks up the speed dramatically. The world-building and character set-up are, for the most part, already set at this point, so the plot (and more intimate character details) can be fleshed out faster and at a higher tempo. We find out about the godspawns’ powers, what the citadel was actually doing with all those babies that were born up there, and more. It’s fast-moving reveal after reveal and, even for some of the smaller ones, the hits just keep coming. Plus, getting a little glimpse into the past and the motives of Skathis, is both fascinating and, truly, horrifying.
The transition of the first book into this one, and the general wrap-up of the story that was the perfect combination of closing the doors of the past and opening those of the future, was perfect. And I love the ways that Sarai’s self-discoveries and growth allow the story to end in a totally unexpected way. I love a giant fictional battle scene as much as anyone, and there are also great moments of that throughout this story, but the creativity and humanity in the way this one ends is phenomenal. After the way everything is wrapped up with this second installment, the whole story has been catapulted up and up, in my opinion, after finishing the entire tale. Also, I cannot say how much I love the magic in this universe - it’s creative and malleable and philosophical and just, everything you want a fantastical magical world to be. Plus, if you have read Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy (which, if you haven’t, I highly recommend), there are a few crossover mentions towards the end of this book that had me jaw-dropped – for a nerdy little reader that fell in love with them enough to make my husband read them (this was a couple years ago now, but the point is, he doesn’t read nearly as much as I do, so I have to carefully choose and really believe in the ones I recommend), those references made my hear sing.
As for characters, Lazlo, Sarai and all the godspawn (especially Minya and Sparrow!) learning more about themselves and their power (the limits and consequences and possibilities) is absolutely fascinating. And just like Newt Scamander (tell me I’m not the only one to have drawn this parallel), Lazlo Strange is the healthy and emotional new brand of hero that the world needs – not only fighting the evil of the fantasy world, but also the toxic masculinity in our own world. Azareen and Eril-Fane come a long way in this book as well, and it’s hard to read because of all the time they lost, but the hope for what they could still have is bright and wonderful. As a smaller note, Thyon Nero’s side-story of personal growth and discovery is gentle and a heart-warming addition. And last, and this will be the hardest part to write without spoilers, the new characters/relationship: sisters Kora and Nova. I really can only say that they broke my heart. I was sloppy with tears over their story. And I don’t say this to talk you out of reading it, but to convince you that the emotions are completely worth it – gorgeously and heart-touchingly rendered. Ahhhhh, I don’t know how Taylor does it, but it’s amazing.
I only have good things to say about this sequel, and the duology overall. It’s intricate, deep and emotional in both world-building and character development. It’s magic and story-telling at it’s finest. And it speaks to so many deeper, and real, issues in a fantastical way – like all great fantasy does. Like I said, this adventure had me from the very first page and never let go.
“This was a place where moths were magic and gods were real, and angels had burned demons on a pyre the size of a moon. Here, death was not the end.”
“Her apocalypse still boiled inside her, but it always did. It always did.”
“Hate those who hate you.”
“She was sky and night and everything, suns and novas and the surface of the sea.”
“Hope was luster, and they had shone with it like twin pearls in an oyster.”
“I am something […] And one day you will know it.”
“But that’s another story.” – CROSSOVER REFERENCE TO DOSAB
“We might be at odds, hate each other, and desire each other’s destruction, but in our despair, we are lost in the same darkness, breathing the same air as we choke on our grief.”
“Once upon a time there was a silence that dreamed of becoming a song, and then I found you, and now everything is music.”
“Once upon a time, a girl did the impossible, but she did it just a little too late.” (TEARS)
“Wishes don’t just come true. They’re only the target you paint around what you want. You still have to hit the bull’s-eye yourself.”
I read Strange the Dreamer when it came out last year because Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy is one of my favorites. And I really enjoyed it – I loved the dream-like quality of the story and the writing, and the world-building and magical system were phenomenal. Lazlo was such a compelling and healthfully masculine lead and his “courtship” with Sarai was one of my favorite creative relationship developments ever. And while it didn’t live up to DOSAB, at least for me, I have consistently recommended it since reading it. In fact, it’s one of those stories that grows in your mind after finishing, getting better with age. All that to say that, when Muse of Nightmares was finally published, I was ready and excited!
This book picks up exactly where the first leaves off, like down to the fact that each character is actually standing in exactly the same place that we left them. (Before we go any further…this review will likely contain Strange the Dreamer spoilers, but I’ll try to keep it clean for Must of Nightmares.) Lazlo and Sarai are finally able to spend “real” time together, outside of dreams, but things are even more complicated than before. With the people of Weep aware that the gods are not all dead (and learning that their beloved Lazlo is one of them) and Minya’s long harbored hatred and fear hardening it’s hold on her, all our characters are caught in a struggle between forgiveness/moving on or continuing to fight a battle none of them started. At the same time, a new foe emerges as the secrets of the citadel are slowly revealed. And though Sarai is feeling more and more useless as she adjusts to “life” as a ghost and figuring out the rebalancing of her power, maybe this is her chance to go beyond what she always thought her power’s barriers were – can she be more than just a Muse of Nightmares?
Let me just start by saying that this 500+ page book passed in the blink of an eye. The story picks up right where the previous one left off and doesn’t let go for a second. I know that some feedback about Strange the Dreamer was that it was almost too slow-burn. I cannot lie, I was originally of that opinion. I loved the dream-like quality of the writing, as it matched the story being told perfectly, but it was just not, at least at the time, my favorite style. In this sequel, Taylor picks up the speed dramatically. The world-building and character set-up are, for the most part, already set at this point, so the plot (and more intimate character details) can be fleshed out faster and at a higher tempo. We find out about the godspawns’ powers, what the citadel was actually doing with all those babies that were born up there, and more. It’s fast-moving reveal after reveal and, even for some of the smaller ones, the hits just keep coming. Plus, getting a little glimpse into the past and the motives of Skathis, is both fascinating and, truly, horrifying.
The transition of the first book into this one, and the general wrap-up of the story that was the perfect combination of closing the doors of the past and opening those of the future, was perfect. And I love the ways that Sarai’s self-discoveries and growth allow the story to end in a totally unexpected way. I love a giant fictional battle scene as much as anyone, and there are also great moments of that throughout this story, but the creativity and humanity in the way this one ends is phenomenal. After the way everything is wrapped up with this second installment, the whole story has been catapulted up and up, in my opinion, after finishing the entire tale. Also, I cannot say how much I love the magic in this universe - it’s creative and malleable and philosophical and just, everything you want a fantastical magical world to be. Plus, if you have read Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy (which, if you haven’t, I highly recommend), there are a few crossover mentions towards the end of this book that had me jaw-dropped – for a nerdy little reader that fell in love with them enough to make my husband read them (this was a couple years ago now, but the point is, he doesn’t read nearly as much as I do, so I have to carefully choose and really believe in the ones I recommend), those references made my hear sing.
As for characters, Lazlo, Sarai and all the godspawn (especially Minya and Sparrow!) learning more about themselves and their power (the limits and consequences and possibilities) is absolutely fascinating. And just like Newt Scamander (tell me I’m not the only one to have drawn this parallel), Lazlo Strange is the healthy and emotional new brand of hero that the world needs – not only fighting the evil of the fantasy world, but also the toxic masculinity in our own world. Azareen and Eril-Fane come a long way in this book as well, and it’s hard to read because of all the time they lost, but the hope for what they could still have is bright and wonderful. As a smaller note, Thyon Nero’s side-story of personal growth and discovery is gentle and a heart-warming addition. And last, and this will be the hardest part to write without spoilers, the new characters/relationship: sisters Kora and Nova. I really can only say that they broke my heart. I was sloppy with tears over their story. And I don’t say this to talk you out of reading it, but to convince you that the emotions are completely worth it – gorgeously and heart-touchingly rendered. Ahhhhh, I don’t know how Taylor does it, but it’s amazing.
I only have good things to say about this sequel, and the duology overall. It’s intricate, deep and emotional in both world-building and character development. It’s magic and story-telling at it’s finest. And it speaks to so many deeper, and real, issues in a fantastical way – like all great fantasy does. Like I said, this adventure had me from the very first page and never let go.
“This was a place where moths were magic and gods were real, and angels had burned demons on a pyre the size of a moon. Here, death was not the end.”
“Her apocalypse still boiled inside her, but it always did. It always did.”
“Hate those who hate you.”
“She was sky and night and everything, suns and novas and the surface of the sea.”
“Hope was luster, and they had shone with it like twin pearls in an oyster.”
“I am something […] And one day you will know it.”
“But that’s another story.” – CROSSOVER REFERENCE TO DOSAB
“We might be at odds, hate each other, and desire each other’s destruction, but in our despair, we are lost in the same darkness, breathing the same air as we choke on our grief.”
“Once upon a time there was a silence that dreamed of becoming a song, and then I found you, and now everything is music.”
“Once upon a time, a girl did the impossible, but she did it just a little too late.” (TEARS)
“Wishes don’t just come true. They’re only the target you paint around what you want. You still have to hit the bull’s-eye yourself.”