![]() Jesmyn Ward is coming to my university this month (eek, I love my school!) and I have absolutely no idea where to start with my questions for her related to her craft and ability to jampack so much symbolism into so many different image systems in a seemingly effortless way. I think the way Ward's able to juggle these image systems and remind readers of them at every turn (and I quite literally mean at the line level in almost every sentence) is one of the most impressive things about her writing to me. I haven't engaged with any of her other work, but feel inspired to now. One of this novel's image systems surrounds the Greek myth of Medea. So, c'mon, I was bound to like this book at least a little. I didn't realize just how much of the story's general plot as well as characters and their development circulates Medea's myth. Ward writes in such a way that readers can think they have who's supposed to mirror Medea and Jason on one page and then question if other characters are actually functioning as the original myth's characters. There's ample room for careful analyzation that my class and I spent nearly three hours dissecting. I know we could've gone for at least another hour, too. Some of my peers felt their reading experience was bogged down by all of the similes and metaphors Ward doesn't hold back from using. I honestly felt like all this image-evoking language was used in such a fresh and new way that it only helped me enter into the story and its setting more fully. I won't insert any spoilers into this review, but the themes of motherhood, humans as animals (and vice versa), sex and love as violence, and recurring motifs like eggs, the colors black, red, and white, and death/decay make this book as visually haunting as it is heavy with symbolism and rawness. I really loved the narrator, Esch, whose eyes we look out of and, as a result, understand Skeetah, Randall, Junior, Manny, Daddy, Big Henry, and several other male characters that accentuate Esch's womanhood. I loved how she described the things around her in terms she saw and understood in her corner of the world---Bois Sauvage. I also loved how she related key parts of her life and emotions to Medea's story, notably how the anti-hero might've felt and reacted to certain parts of her story that Esch seems to relate to on a level she's not quite able to admit to herself. The similarities and comparisons between China, Skeetah's beloved fighting pitbull, and Esch astounded me, too. There was so much there from the very first to the very last page. Truly, I feel like my admiration for what this book does on so many planes is its biggest asset, and I can't wait to meet Ward and (hopefully) discuss her writing process and personal inspirations for this amazing book. Some of my favorite quotes from Salvage the Bones: "It is the way that all girls who only know one boy move. Centered as if the love that boy feels for them anchors them deep as a tree's roots, holds them still as the oaks, which don't uproot in hurricane wind. Love as certainty." "In every one of the Greeks' mythology tales, there is this: a man chasing a woman, or a woman chasing a man. There is never a meeting in the middle." "I can see her, chin to chest, straining to push Junior out, and Junior snagging on her insides, grabbing hold of what he caught on to try to stay inside her, but instead he pulled it out with him when he was born." "This baby got plenty of daddies."
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![]() *SPOILERS AHEAD* Wow wow wow, I've put off writing this because I sincerely didn't know where to start in covering all the amazing things happening and working in this book. I think it's amazing for its portrayal of women during a time when they weren't taken seriously in professional workplaces, discouraged to report sexual assault and rape, and generally had to prove themselves competent at every turn. I also think it's amazing for its melding of different topics I didn't think could all be fit together the way they are here: rowing, chemistry, parenting, romance, religion, etc. But what I think is most amazing is its ability to be Elizabeth's story while also putting emphasis on Calvin. I think I'd have been disappointed if it felt like it was primarily a romance, that Elizabeth's story was one of self-discovery and advocacy because of love, and not merely because she had respect for herself. Thankfully, that's not the case, because Elizabeth and Calvin's relationship is described to be based on chemistry and, therefore, the kind of bond that acts as a catalyst for Elizabeth to keep living and doing her best to create a life for herself and her daughter even after the father is gone. But wow, was I really really sad when he died. I think the way it happened was not only heartbreaking for its unexpectedly accidental nature, but because what ifs and a sense of guilt keep reappearing in the narrative at the most opportune times. This book made me outright angry a few times, too, like "I want to punch that character in the face" angry, but I view that as a good thing. I simply must mention Six-Thirty the dog, the best character in the book, with possibly the most complex interior life and character development. I loved how he had a role to play in the story, that he wasn't just the dog off to the side, nonverbal and unimportant. He's Mad's friend and protector of sorts, and Elizabeth's reminder to keep trying and learning and moving forward with life. And he's so smart! I also love Harriet as a side character, as a woman in need of her own companionship and escape who sees someone else in need of her parenting skills and, as a happy result, becomes part of a new family, per se. Reverend Wakely and Mad's friendship as a result of "research" on her father felt like a fun puzzle to put together, too. I like how they learn from each other in equal parts. I think this book introduces and develops chraracters incredibly well---my opinion or expectation of each and every one of them was subverted by the time I reached the end, either in a good way or a bad way. This especially applies to Walter, the not-so-great TV studio professional, who I expected to be a womanizer unable to separate Elizabeth's beauty from the rest of her. The way he also enters into Elizabeth's sense of found family, built on the foundations of who Calvin was to her, was very sweet. My favorite part (besides Six-Thirty and Elizabeth meeting Calvin's biological mother and getting her job and research back in the same day) is that Calvin wasn't particularly exceptional in the street smarts department despite his intellectual prowess. All that to say, I like how Elizabeth loved him to her very core, but was able to see in hindsight that she never completely lost herself when she lost him, that she's still her own autonomous and capable person who, against all odds, must go on and raise her daughter, try to inspire and teach the masses her expertise, and find a way to be taken seriously in a world where it seems like everyone would rather overlook her brilliance. Some of my favorite quotes from Lessons in Chemistry: "Sometimes I think," she said slowly, "that if a man were to spend a day being a woman in America, he wouldn't make it past noon." "Courage is the root of change—and change is what we’re chemically designed to do." "Imagine if all men took women seriously. Education would change. The workforce would revolutionize. Marriage counsellors would go out of business. Do you see my point?" "Humans need reassurance, they need to know others survived in hard times. And unlike other species which do a better job of learning from their mistakes, humans require constant threats and reminders to be nice." ![]() This anthology had a title that instantly held my attention, and its contents kept that attention with their range and intrigue. The collection’s introduction informs readers on how to approach said content, or at least informs how I might soak in the cultural context of these women writers and their stories with the intent of applying it to my thesis research. In the introduction, written by the anthology’s editor Theodora Goss, an examination of these feminist writers’ work takes into account how countercultural their representations of women were in their Victorian times. The featured writers range from Kate Chopin, Mary Coleridge, Edith Wharton, Charlotte Mew, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and Virginia Woolf, among others. Goss provides a framework for understanding how their poems and short stories fit within the concept of being “Medusa’s Daughters” in a sense of continuing the idea of portraying the feminine in monstrous ways. Goss points out that “[s]ometimes the angel contains the monster” (iii), and “[p]aradoxically, while patriarchy creates the female monster, she can also function as a symbol of female power and rebellion” (iv). Issues of patriarchal power struggles have been wrestled with in literature time and again, but this anthology does a wonderful job of including pieces that feel like they’re in conversation with each other, through the characters and tones as well as personalities of their authors that shine through in sometimes subtle, other times less subtle ways. Scattered footnotes are incredibly helpful for providing historical context as well, especially for some of the poems that rely heavily on folklore beyond standard knowledge of Greek reaches. In her introduction, Goss describes the following themes found in the anthology’s collected works to “weave in and out of the stories like serpents” (vi): “The silencing of women… The violence of the patriarchy… The danger of femininity… Doubling and the shadow… The deadly female gaze… The company of women… The witch and/as the goddess… The problem of love… The power of imagination… The changeling as outsider… The return of the (un)dead… [and] The victorious fairytale heroine…” (vi-xv). Of this list, the themes that seem most connected to my Sirens and their countercultural nature include “The danger of femininity… The deadly female gaze… The company of omen [and] The return of the (un)dead,” (ix-xiv) with specific attention given to the creation story of my Sirens having to do with a breathing of life back into women who have died. The company my Sirens keep with each other is also reflective of what Goss describes as “liberating: that women living together experience a sort of Amazonian freedom” (x). Goss also brings up the concept of the femme fatale, which should not be overlooked in a conversation such as this one: “The femme fatale, literally ‘deadly woman,’ has a long tradition in literature and art, from the Sirens of The Odyssey to film actresses such as Theda Bara…” (ix). One of the most ffascinating parts of this introduction to me is Goss’ direct comparison of the female writers in the anthology to a Siren-like creature: “...the categories of woman and writer were symbolically incompatible in Victorian society. After all, an angel has no need to write. Therefore, a woman writer must be a monster: female above the surface but with a fish tale below” (xiv). That is just so cool to me! To meld a female writer breaking the bounds of what’s expected of her societal place and artistic desires to the kind of creature she very well may create and then bring to life on her page! I won't detail my thoughts on the many poems and short stories here, cause there's a lot I could get into, but I think my opinions and analysis of the introduction here covers a lot of my thoughts. Yay for thesis research! One of my favorite quotes from Vernon Lee’s (Violet Paget’s) short story “Dionea”: “‘Love is salt, like sea-water—I drink and I die of thirst… Water! water! Yet the more I drink, the more I burn. Love! thou art bitter as the seaweed” (57). ![]() This book, for one thing, is a really quick read, and for another thing, really made me think about how some parts of childhood and being a kid are universal---despite where your house was located, what culture you grew up in, or what struggles you or your family experienced. As I was reading, I thought about how I view my own childhood as something to be taken out in bits and pieces, like scattered episodes of a TV show that, when put together, give a vague impression of the overall plot. I think a lot of collective memory, especially in relation to childhood, is like that. The introduction of this book very helpfully shed light on Cisneros as an author and her lived experiences that directly contributed to her writing style and inspiration for this book. I'm excited for the opportunity to meet Cisneros later this year when she visits my university for our annual Writer's Symposium spring events, and especially look forward to hearing her speak more on her craft. The craft in question (at least in this book) reads to me like the choice to connect a series of flash pieces that follow the life of our narrator in a certain socioeconomic landscape and community on Mango Street. Each story features authentic characters, emotions, and images that you can hear and taste and smell all in one. It gets back at that idea (for me) of being able to find some of the more universal parts of childhood in between the folds of every page: playing jump rope with the girls who live nearby, being wary of new neighbors, wondering what makes certain adults act the way they do, feeling the weight of going from a girl to a woman... the list goes on and on. Being able to read about a community of children that, among the similarities, also hosts a variety of differences was a privilege. To tap into another's lived experience through fiction and wonderful prose is exactly why I read and continue to read. This was a lovely book in every way, especially in its ability to make me ache to taste nostalgia and wonder if things would actually be better if I could return to days of innocence. One of my favorite quotes from The House on Mango Street: "We are tired of being beautiful." ![]() I've had this book for at least three years now and finally read it! And boy was I missing out on such a wonderful collection of short stories, and retellings of classic fairy tales no less! I think some of the current literary market is getting bogged down with fairy tale and myth retellings if I'm being completely honest, even as I continue to work on a current project that's a loose retelling of part of The Odyssey. But where I think this collection goes in a fresh direction is its dependence on readers having prior knowledge of the way these fairy tales are "supposed" to go. When Chainani executes the twists and turns to be found in each of these retellings, they work for their cleverness as well as their refreshing take on the parts of fairy tales that have become archaic when it comes to gender roles, societal expectations of what love looks like, and some of the more ridiculous parts of these bedtime stories most of us have come to accept as part of the unique genre. The first story starts with a bang: "Red Riding Hood" in an interesting world of sacrifice---one woman determined to be the anomaly, and ravenous wolves portrayed as young men with just as dangerous appetites. I thought great attention to detail was given in the placement of each story (especially with the transition from "Sleeping Beauty" to "Rapunzel"). Some of the stories fell a little flat for me or seemed to border on cliche in their attempts to portray girl boss characters and the like. But to like every piece in any collection of stories is rare, and so many of the worlds of these fairy tales are imagined in various cultures in creative ways (in other words, not everyone's white or living in a English/French/German-inspired kingdom). The illustrations scattered throughout are so lovely, too, and represent an art style that reminds me of Chainani's School for Good and Evil world I love oh so dearly. I think Chainani has clearly established himself as a fantasy author well-practiced and talented at subverting expectations at the base story-telling level, creating unforgettable and likeable (as well as hateable) characters along the way. I can't end this review without raving about the final story, "Peter Pan," which was so well-placed as the ultimate tale and possibly one of the best short stories/pieces/retellings I've ever read. There's already so much to choose and play off of in the realm of Peter Pan and his fantastical Neverland, but the direction this story goes with Wendy as its narrator took twists and turns I never could have expected and loved. There's a great and subtle balance of multiple themes, from trying to hold on to childhood, to pleasing selfish people, to falling in love with someone who sees and wants all of you, to acting in true love by setting it free. Ugh, it just struck me as a heartbreakingly beautiful and stunning piece of creative work. Finishing it while at the beach and staring at the ocean in front of me while processing it made for an even more dramatic time experiencing this piece. Some of my favorite quotes from Beasts and Beauty: Dangerous Tales "She's lucky to be alive, they tell her in their grunts and growls. Lucky her beauty isn't worthy of beasts" ("Red Riding Hood"). "But sometimes, there are bigger things in life than what's right" ("Jack and the Beanstalk"). "Or maybe I saw love where I wished it would be, says the witch. Projecting onto a man what I wished I could give to myself. Making him the answer to everything. Now that is real evil" ("The Little Mermaid"). "Who made you, he breathed. Who made someone so wondrous and pure?" ("Peter Pan"). ![]() I've been rereading a lot of older books near and dear to my heart this holiday season, as I often find myself doing with my extra down time from school and a certain urge for coziness on late December nights. But this is a new read! I listened to the audiobook version (which I'm fairly certain is narrated by the same reader used for Happy Place), and think Emily Henry's books can be most enjoyed this way. You get to hear how the reader chooses to interpret certain lines and express the witty dialogue Henry really is so good at writing. I'm still struck by Henry's ability and affinity for jumping around in different timelines in her books. Happy Place certainly did this, while Funny Story and Book Lovers not as much. The way it's done adds even more great depth to what I think are complex and human characters I enjoy learning about in every timeline. In the case of this book, multiple timelines and glimpses into different seasons of Poppy and Alex's lives and friendship is key to becoming invested in their "friends to lovers" arc (this book's example of this arc is what I mean when I say I want a "friends to lovers" kind of relationship). While Poppy and Alex's friendship and dynamic (opposites really do attract here) is super fun to see develop and read about, I also just really enjoyed this book for its emphasis on the anomaly that is traveling. I love how Poppy adores traveling, explains the intoxicating boldness I think most people have experienced while on vacation, and the certain kind of freedom it brings (like her views on the beauty of airports), but I also love how she ends up viewing traveling and the definition of home as a way to understand what she truly wants for her life and what she is and isn't willing to give up when it comes to the life she wants with Alex. My only gripe with this book isn't even that big of a deal, but at times it's so painfully obvious that these two people are meant for each other, and they know it, and I as the reader know it, and yet they take forever to choose to be happy with each other. I get that that reflects reality: meaningful friendships risk complete destruction when the line separating platonic from romantic is toed. So, truthfully, I find the way Henry wrote their relationship to be realistic. But the inner romantic in me rolled her eyes from time to time, impatient to see hero and heroine kiss already. In that same vein, I thought Poppy's near-constant references to "what happened in Croatia" set up the reveal to be rather anticlimactic, since the past and present storylines kind of intersect at this summer Croatia trip, so it's a long while before readers get to even learn what happened on this trip. I really can't say much else in opposition to this book---it was cute and summery and Alex Nelson is kind of my dream man: literature nerd, high school teacher, fit, shy and quietly hilarious---I mean, c'mon. Book Lovers and Funny Story still rank higher on my Emily Henry totem pole, but I don't think anything's going to top Book Lovers if I'm being honest. I still recommend this charming read all the same! Some of my favorite quotes from People We Meet on Vacation: "It hurts to want it all, so many things that can't coexist within the same life." "Maybe things can always get better between people who want to do a good job loving each other. Maybe that’s all it takes." "It’s fascinating. How so much of love is about who you are with someone." ![]() My main takeaway from this book is that if you're interested in something (however niche it may be), and you have some writing talent, research skills, and support from a publisher, you can write about anything you want and see it sell. Like, this book is literally all about oranges and nothing else. It starts with generalizations and overall fun, scattered orange facts before getting into some etymology, historical significance, geographical and biological explanations, and brief anecdotes from the author concerning some cool orange-related individuals in Florida. It also has a structure meant to function like bones---holding up the entire framework, but not visible. Cause at first I said, "Okay, this really is just oranges. No trickery from the title here." But then a closer look at how certain chapters transition from one to the next, building bridges from one seemingly unrelated orange fact to another, helps readers distinguish how large and far reaching the influence of oranges in social and economic spheres is. I've been joking with my peers who read this with me that we each have an absurd amount of orange facts to pull out at random functions, but I sincerely love in such a nerdy way that McPhee's writing has inspired so many writers to publish stuff about their unique interests. Look at Susan Orlean's The Orchid Thief, directly inspired by nonfiction writing like McPhee's, or Nick Hornby's work at comparing two seemingly nonlinear figures in Dickens and Prince. The nonfiction genre holds space for scholarship and unique perspectives on the many topics and wonders this world has to offer. The great McPhee has selected oranges (among his many other works that I think I'll eventually be checking out). My favorite orange fact I learned from reading Oranges: The fruit on the outside of an orange tree will be sweeter than the fruit growing on the inside. In fact, every orange's placement on a tree will result in slightly different tastes, shapes, and colors that cannot be exactly replicated. ![]() I thought my first Cormac McCarthy book would probably be The Road, considering the length of time it's been hanging out on my "to be read" list and its shorter length. But No Country for Old Men has come first, and I sense I now have a pretty good taste and feel for the rest of McCarthy's uniquely told narratives. My short review for this book is as follows: "this book was like a puzzle with all the pieces scattered and labeled in plain sight. but i still wrote 'what?' 'who?' and 'wow.' all over every page." I'm really rocking with this idea of a puzzle because McCarthy's writing style requires readers to do some moderately heavy lifting to keep track of everything that's going on. From a flippant use of pronouns, to sections within chapters acting as if they're completely separate from other sections in content and focus, to time jumps that imply things that happened in between without them ever being explicitly stated, it's, in one word, thrilling. Another word could be "frustrating," which I'd be lying if I said I didn't resonate with more than once. But I have to admire McCarthy's ability to create and sustain a story that stays manages to stay afloat without explaining everything to the reader. I had plenty of moments where I felt the satisfaction of being a "smart reader" for putting a few of the puzzle pieces together. And, in terms of the plot itself, I feel like I became the most invested in the overlapping storylines that focused on Chigurh chasing Moss and Bell chasing them both. Bell strikes me as the most fascinating character. He's aware that he's getting old and past his prime in the police force (hint hint, title significance!), but still invested enough in his perception of what it means to fight against evil to try to find and get Chigurh back in handcuffs. Precisely because he fails, with Chigurh roaming free and Moss dead (which was a major turning event that happened earlier in the story than I expected it to, wow), is where true emotion lies: the state of America is plummeting toward an evil that past generations can't "defeat" and future generations must learn to live with. The book's female characters make me equal parts fascinated and uncomfortable with McCarthy after the recent publishing of the very timely Vanity Fair article about his long-time, underage lover. That's a wild sentence. But yeah---Moss' wife and the hitchhiker Moss picks up on the road and ends up getting killed are the only two female characters of note. And guess what---they both end up dead. Larger commentary on how they relate to the women (or more like "woman") in McCarthy's own life has to be acknowledged here, that no one is safe from the evil Chigurh embodies, save for those he doesn't see as being a threat, like Bell. People like Bell would be dead if they and their power in law enforcement were actually a threat to someone like Chigurh and his connections. There's a lot more I could say, but I'm still processing most of it and feel like the Vanity Fair article is clouding most of my opinion of this novel's author right now. Some of my favorite quotes from No Country for Old Men: "How does a man decide in what order to abandon his life?" "It takes very little to govern good people. Very little. And bad people cant be governed at all. Or if they could I never heard of it." "If there's one thing on this planet you don't look like it's a bunch of good luck walkin around." ![]() The amount of content and craft moves pushed into each and every one of the essays in this collection makes approaching a book review feel nearly impossible, if I'm being honest. I want to feel like I'm covering all the bases of my thoughts, but my thoughts feel jumbled because each piece left me with a different impression of either awe or confusion. Over the entire collection, I was able to make clear connections back to the title and felt like I was therefore able to grasp themes of cultural identity, violence in Colombia, violence in America, and the author's multilayered relationships with multiple family members and their family history. I think my main point of contention is every essay's plethora of names. There's too many to keep track of, to be frank, which made the skim reading I was already doing even more difficult. But, to be fair, I understand how the author had to hold all of the names of these people and places to be able to write about her family and some of the more researched elements that intersect with her family history and history in Bogota, Colombia. I'm also aware I could've been a better reader and sat with each piece for longer, but I just didn't have the time. In connection to that, I think there's just one too many things going on in each essay. After learning that Cabeza-Vanegas' style of essay-writing is heavily inspired by Montaigne's rambling, digressing influence, I feel a lot more accepting of her maximalist style. Because that's clearly what's going on here: an attempt at approaching a variety of ideas, impressions, and images with a lot of language and repetition. Each essay is filled to the brim with similes and metaphors (my nonfiction class made jokes about counting how many we could find across the book, but that we didn't have that kind of time). Truthfully, this sense of maximized figurative language really only demonstrated to me that she's a talented, eloquent author. At times, I started to get annoyed at what seemed like a stretch of word choice or a rambling metaphor spanning across two or three sentences. There's a lot of digression going on on the sentence-level as well as the macro paragraph-level, which makes it really hard to focus on one thing at a time and reach the end of each essay with a sense of what its aboutness was. A few essays stand out to me particularly for very specific images and physical sensations, but aboutness-wise? They're mostly shaky. I know I'm the type of reader who appreciates a good flow of figurative language, but also the writer's ability to get me to the conclusion with a vague idea of what I should be feeling or taking away from the content. So, to wrap things up, this book and its emphasis on lofty prose and maximalism isn't ultimately for me, though I really appreciated the element of translation that can be found at the beginning of each essay. None of the translated idioms seemed to really connect to the content of the essay it was affiliated with, but I was kind of okay with that. Each part of the collection begins with a retold Colombian creation story as well, and these didn't clearly connect to other parts of the essays in a way I was also okay with. But I'm here for anything mythology related. :) One of my favorite quotes from Don't Come Back: "This is what we do, impose narratives on the unfurled darkness, try to steer heavens and countries for the greater good and the greater truth." ![]() I'm so impressed with all the moving parts of this novel. The influence of several Greek myths, mainly the legend of Demeter and Persephone, combined with the poignant and literary setting of Cambridge, really gave this book a distinct atmospheric feel. Listening to it as an audiobook only helped add to this sense of atmosphere, of a campus riddled with death, potential suspects, and reminders of a past the main character, Marianna, won't ever be able to get back. Having read Michaelides' The Silent Patient only recently, I picked up on his preference for melding new storylines with the patterns of classic Greek narrative and the intrigue of a good old fashioned murder mystery. The crossovers to The Silent Patient, which in this literary universe occurs after the events of this book, were so so cool for a knowing reader to pick up on (aka, I thought it was really cool and gasped out loud when I realized Theo Faber was entering onto this book's scene). Like The Silent Patient, this novel's narrator is also a psychotherapist, spurred to pursue the particular profession from her own set of intense daddy issues, among other childhood abuses. I think from what I've seen of this author so far, they're clearly capable of crafting unique and believable characters in settings that enhance their characteristics rather than turn them cliche. So much of what we learn about Marianna becomes so important for the delayed reveals in the story later. The comparison of Tennyson and Marianna's own experience of looking just past the veil to the people they've loved and lost really resonated with me. I didn't think to question Marianna's opinion of her late husband, Sebastian, who tragically drowned in the ocean on a trip Marianna urged them to take for the sake of their marriage, until I realized that we only had her opinion of him to go off of. Since she's clearly biased, how farfetched is it to discover that he was a murderous, disturbed man who manipulated a naive young woman, Zoe, into committing horrendous acts of murder that would not only wreak havoc but ultimately cause a brutal betrayal for Marianna, a wife he clearly didn't truly love? I was truly shocked when this plot twist unfolded, not only because I never suspected Zoe, but because I was very nearly convinced that Edward Fosca, Marianna's prime suspect upon starting her unofficial investigation, was guilty of killing his own students---particularly a set group of young women self-titled The Maidens. Fosca is such an interesting character in his own right, since we find out he was sleeping with these female students of his, but not actively killing them. He really comes off incredibly guilty at times, but perhaps that's just Marianna's clear lack of complete mental stability and desperation for a way to explain the horrific stabbings and have a sense of closure for the loss she's suffering in her own life. I also must sing Fred's praises for a moment---he is just the sweetest, most romantic, clumsiest thing. The way he pursues and cares about Marianna, and actually helps her productively move forward with her investigation, is precious. His belief in premonitions added to the element of the book's atmosphere that felt supernatural, too, what with Marianna's hunch that her prayer to Demeter and Persephone on the island of Naxos may have started all of her misfortune and followed her to Cambridge. I definitely had some points of confusion upon finishing the book, though. I can tell the ending was supposed to be ambiguous for the sake of what I assume will be another book. That's cool, but caused me to say, "What? No, c'mon! There's gotta be another book out already." to myself in the car as the audiobook wrapped up. I think the logistics of how Zoe pulled off the murders are a little cloudy to me, as well as why Sebastian was so motivated to have these murders be orchestrated in the first place. Could it be that Marianna was really too jaded to see any red flags, and we, therefore, as readers don't get to see them either? I'm not sure. The beginning section of each new part was clearly meant to imply we were reading from Fosca's perspetive, but I think it's actually supposed to be interpreted as Sebastian's perspective once we know his true intentions. I also wanted to see Marianna speak to Fosca at least one more time, since I ended up convinced pretty early on of Marianna's theory that Fosca was guilty. I'm very glad there was a plot twist in this regard, though. This is definitely a book I'd reread a year or a few years down the line with the intent of closely reading for details I wouldn't have thought to focus on for a first read. I also need to keep tabs on Michaelides to make sure I'm aware of when his next book comes out. Some of my favorite quotes from The Maidens: "That was the horror of it. We all secretly hope that tragedy will only ever happen to other people... sooner or later, it happens to you." "She sometimes felt she had been cursed, as if by some malevolent goddess in a Greek myth, to lose everyone she ever loved." |
AuthorHey, everyone! I'm a writing and literature student at Point Loma Nazarene University in San Diego, California. When I'm not reading or writing, I'm probably watching movies, surfing, singing, or listening to Tchaikovsky and Laufey. Archives
February 2025
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