“We never thought of ourselves as witches, my mother and I. For this was a word invented by men, a word that brings power to those that speak it, n
“We never thought of ourselves as witches, my mother and I. For this was a word invented by men, a word that brings power to those that speak it, not those that it describes. A word that builds gallows and pyres, turns breathing women into corpses.”
I went back and forth on reading this for ages and I read a LOT of very different reviews. Everything from it being super original (I don’t think so) to being super boring (I have to disagree), from it being anti-abortion (view spoiler)[is it? I’d argue it’s against unsafe self-induced abortion which is itself a pro-choice argument (hide spoiler)] to all the men being horrid abusers (#NotAllMen).
Because of this, I went into it unsure what to expect. And I ended up really liking it.
I definitely wouldn't rush to say this is an original tale-- it's pretty heavy on the tropes. Three different generations of women-- Altha from the 1600s accused of witchcraft, Violet from the 1940s struggling with what is perceived as the correct way to be a woman, and Kate from the present running away from an abusive boyfriend --deal with various shit from various men, but discover their inner strength through connecting with one another and with nature.
So, not particularly original but I guess I have a soft spot for a witch (or two or three or four) fighting against the patriarchy.
It's a pretty dark tale about generational trauma, and those sensitive to depictions of domestic abuse, rape and abortion should be aware that Weyward gets quite graphic at times. Personally, I thought the balance was pretty good. Very dark and awful, yet imbued with a positive message about female power.
I understand the complaints about all the misogyny these women have to endure, but it was that, for me, that made the climax of the book so satisfying. It is true that the book is mostly compelling because of all the shitty men and the awful things they do or attempt to do to women, but, hell, do I enjoy seeing an abusive dickwad get his comeuppance!
Iris reads of refusals to speak, of unironed clothes, of arguments with neighbours, of hysteria, of unwashed dishes and unswept floors, of never wa
Iris reads of refusals to speak, of unironed clothes, of arguments with neighbours, of hysteria, of unwashed dishes and unswept floors, of never wanting marital relations or wanting them too much or not enough or not in the right way or seeking them elsewhere. Of husbands at the end of their tethers, of parents unable to understand the women their daughters have become, of fathers who insist, over and over again, that she used to be such a lovely little thing. Daughters who just don't listen.
Here are just a few of the reasons women could be, and were, imprisoned in asylums in the early twentieth century. Any woman who was a bit too disagreeable, a bit too non-conforming, could have their life and freedom snatched away from them. I knew this before reading The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox, but it didn't make it any easier to read.
The book is split between three third-person perspectives-- that of Iris, who discovers she has a great aunt she never knew existed, that of young Esme as she grows up in a time of strict social mores that she doesn't care for, and the fragmented memories of Kitty, Esme's sister, as she fills in the blanks of how Esme came to be abandoned and forgotten.
It's a quick, sharp, sad story. As the reader, I felt miserable and helpless thinking about how all these women lost their entire lives for wanting more than society and their families offered them.
Ordinary, ordinary, is the word she incants to herself over and over again as she enters the ward, as she walks to her bed and sits herself down on it, like a good girl.
I think it is suggested that Esme may be autistic as she is sensitive to texture and sounds and sometimes has emotional outbursts. Her parents refused to deal with her "odd" behaviour, terrified of what their friends might think. It is heartbreaking to think of all the Esmes throughout history who have been cast aside for not appearing "normal".
I always feel the urge to laugh hysterically when people today cite those studies showing women are more agreeable than men-- you know the ones; men love to hold them up as an example of why it totally makes sense that women get paid less (they're just too nice and not driven enough!) --because history has shown us what happens to women who are disagreeable. If they're lucky, they get locked in an asylum. The unlucky ones get burned alive.
Esme's story is a dark one, though in many ways a true one. I would have liked the ending to be less abrupt but that's my only complaint. Additional warning for those sensitive to scenes of (view spoiler)[rape (hide spoiler)]....more
I’m sorry. I feel like I’m letting down all the people I just fangirled over The Marriage Portrait with, all the people who excitedly urged me to readI’m sorry. I feel like I’m letting down all the people I just fangirled over The Marriage Portrait with, all the people who excitedly urged me to read Hamnet as well, but I just did not enjoy this anywhere near as much.
I felt that The Marriage Portrait was more polished in terms of its writing, whereas this one’s prose went a bit too purple for me. Parts seemed overwritten. Maybe it wasn't that different-- because, to be fair, TMP certainly went heavy on description-- but it felt like it, perhaps because this style of writing seemed more suited to the courts of the Italian Renaissance than to the countryside of Stratford-upon-Avon. But either way I really struggled to get into it.
Part of the reason this might not have worked is very specific to me-- I am a big Shakespeare lover. I've read all the plays, seen a good many of them, and have sought out every detail of his life… to the point where it felt oddly like I was reading fanfiction. I mean this not as a slight to the author, but just as a comment on myself. I was completely absorbed in Lucrezia's story in The Marriage Portrait, yet I never quite suspended disbelief with this one. I never became immersed in the story and began to feel it was real.
Another likely reason for this is that Hamnet does not hone in on any one character as The Marriage Portrait did. I slid right inside Lucrezia's life, feeling everything with her, whereas this book flits between characters and I never connected with any of them. I was constantly at an emotional distance.
And I never quite warmed to the idea of Agnes as a witch, seer, wise woman, whatever she was.
Depictions of the Black Death always get to me, though. Ken Follett's World Without End did it best. Like a lot of historical events, I mostly view the horror of it in an abstract way, so it hits incredibly hard whenever an author takes you inside that time. The scale of the death, the swiftness of the disease... how terrifying it must have been. O'Farrell did capture some of that. And the ending was also quite good.
It's okay. I'm still going to read more by O'Farrell because I loved The Marriage Portrait so much. I'm thinking maybe I should stick to the stories and periods that I know very little about....more
That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. - 'My Last Duchess' by Robert Browning
In school, we studied Browning's 'My Last Duchess'-- a poem about a Duke presenting a portrait of his late wife who, it soon emerges, he himself had killed. The poem always gave me a chill, especially the way in which the Duke casually gloated over his hand in her death. I never knew the poem was based on the true story of Alfonso II, Duke of Ferarra, and his young bride Lucrezia de' Medici.
Here, Maggie O'Farrell weaves a beautifully-written and compelling version of these historical events. A lot has been fictionalized, both because very little is known about Lucrezia herself and because her death is still an unsolved mystery. Tuberculosis or poison? We will likely never know.
Still, the author brings in a lot of historical truth. Lucrezia de' Medici was indeed married at thirteen and, at fifteen, sent away from her family to an unfamiliar land and a much older husband. Alfonso was desperate to produce an heir and was believed to be sterile. After his young wife failed to become pregnant, her health quickly deteriorated and she was dead at sixteen. Rumours circulated that she had been poisoned.
O'Farrell fills in the blanks of the historical record with drama and tension. Lucrezia is a vivid, fascinating character, a fifth, oft-forgotten child who kept to herself, passionate about art and animals. It is easy to place yourself in her shoes and imagine being a thirteen year old child married away to a stranger, completely at his mercy. This was the reality for so many girls at this time, and it must have been truly terrifying and distressing.
It is a curious thing that knowing the outcome of this historical story did not dampen the tension but, instead, seemed to increase it. I felt like I didn't want to look as the book raced toward what I knew would happen, but I also could not draw my eyes away from it. The ending was an interesting-- though, in some ways, horrible --spin on the story. I'll be reading more from this author....more
“Leaving is a kind of death. You may find yourself with much lesss than you had before.”
I've been struggling to get into a few different books lat
“Leaving is a kind of death. You may find yourself with much lesss than you had before.”
I've been struggling to get into a few different books lately, starting them and then quickly stopping when they didn't grab me. To avoid a book slump, I sought out a little book with short chapters. Infinite Country fit perfectly into that description, and it just so happens that it also packed an extremely powerful punch.
I zipped through this, getting caught up in all the characters' stories. It alternates between the present, where Talia has escaped from a girls' correctional facility, and the past, where Talia's parents emigrate to the United States and struggle to create a better life for themselves and stay under the radar to avoid deportation.
There was a very quiet sadness to this tale. Engel has that lovely understated writing style where she doesn't spend pages telling you how to feel, but instead just shows you what happens without fuss or fanfare. Believe me, it's enough. I felt distraught at parts of this novel. Not just because families are torn apart, but at the way they get back up, keep working, keep fighting the system, to hopefully, one day, get back to one another.
Engel explains the pain at the heart of emigrating. To feel ties to a country that is your home, that your family have walked upon for generations, but to break those ties and seek out a better life for yourself and your children, only to wonder when you've done so-- are you really better off? Life is often full of "what ifs" but "what if I'd never left?" is an especially haunting one.
I waited months for this at my library and I can say now it wasn't worth it. I'm glad I didn't give in and buy it.
The critical acclaim for Trespasses surprises me, and I can't help wondering if it's primarily because the book deals with such a difficult time and subject matter. Ireland's recent history is a miserable one, full of terror and bloodshed, so it feels as though a certain amount of respect is required towards anyone tackling it in historical fiction. But without the historical setting, I think Trespasses would have found itself cast into that pile of banal, surface-level literature labelled generically-- and a bit insultingly --as "Women's Fiction".
The Troubles forms the backdrop to an all-telling, no-showing tale about a Catholic woman's affair with a married Protestant. I found the third person narration boring and distant. The author neither delves deep enough into the historical aspect and horror of 1970s Northern Ireland, nor ignites a passionate romance. In one scene, it took me a while to realise the characters were having sex. Also, Cushla is flat as a crepe.
Obviously I didn't finish it, which will surely be unforgivable to some. But I honestly think I gave it more than enough of a chance to change my mind. One star seems harsh, but then... what did I like?...more
Interesting book and a very depressing story spanning many decades in the life of Xu Fugui. He is initially so repulsive that I couldn't imagine how IInteresting book and a very depressing story spanning many decades in the life of Xu Fugui. He is initially so repulsive that I couldn't imagine how I'd ever come to care for him, yet he suffers so much over the course of his life that sympathy did eventually arrive.
What I took from this book-- and what I take to be the meaning of the title --is the message that one should keep on going, keep on living, no matter what tragedy befalls them, because the one true goal is "to live." That was my interpretation of the story here. I guess Xu Fugui was always able to find something to live for when I'm pretty sure most people would not.
So it's a grim book... with a positive message?
Either way, I really enjoyed the journey through peasant life in 20th Century China....more
4 1/2 stars. Kristin Hannah certainly knows how to take a sledgehammer to your heart and she is NOT afraid to do it.
Hannah's r
Women can be heroes.
4 1/2 stars. Kristin Hannah certainly knows how to take a sledgehammer to your heart and she is NOT afraid to do it.
Hannah's reads are so powerful and harrowing that I can forgive a few negatives, like here I think the major plot points of the story are quite predictable-- yet they still hit me like a ton of bricks, their impact not lessened by the fact I'd seen them coming. Maybe this one was easier to predict as I'm getting used to the author's formula. Her novels take us to vastly different times and places but she uses similar tricks to engage the reader. I’m not complaining: it works.
This book is an epic on women in the Vietnam War. Hannah introduces us to bright-eyed and naive nurse Frances "Frankie" McGrath, who longs for a place on her father's "Hero's Wall" and so volunteers for service in Vietnam.
It is an understatement to say she didn't know what she was getting into. Frankie finds herself in hell on Earth, struggling to help put together men who have been blown apart, watching Vietnamese children die from napalm burns, losing friends for a cause none of them even understand. Those sensitive to graphic depictions of injuries should steer clear-- as a nurse in Vietnam, Frankie witnesses some of the most horrific things in our world.
"We've developed the skills to save their bodies, but not their lives," Captain Smith said.
But this is not just a story about the war itself. It is a story of a young woman's growth, aging impossibly in a short amount of time. Her friends, Barb and Ethel, keep her spirits up at the worst times, and the funny dialogue between them is a major highlight of the novel. She falls in love and this, too, gives her hope for the future.
How could she go from red alert sirens and saving lives to butter knives and champagne?
Only half of this story is set in Vietnam; the other half is about coming home and living afterwards. It's not easy to say which one is more difficult. There was no hero's welcome for those returning from Vietnam. Veterans were cursed at and spat on. Many were left with irreparable damage from their time in the war. For some, it was the loss of a limb. For many, it was the loss of something harder to explain. While psychiatric help began to be offered, it was typically for male veterans.
As with several of Hannah's other books, she once again shines a light on the women who have been erased from history. The female veterans she spoke with for this book told her how they often heard "There were no women in Vietnam." I cannot imagine how it must feel to risk your life, sacrifice your youth and peace of mind, and be told that it didn't even happen.
Another horrible, ugly, powerful book from one of my must-read authors.
As well as graphic injuries, this may not be suitable to those sensitive to depictions of substance abuse and (view spoiler)[miscarriage (hide spoiler)]....more
I think it is finally time for me to part ways with Kingsolver's books for good. I loved The Poisonwood Bible back in the day, then hated Unsheltered,I think it is finally time for me to part ways with Kingsolver's books for good. I loved The Poisonwood Bible back in the day, then hated Unsheltered, and all the hype plus my love of David Copperfield convinced me to try this one... but I'm just not feeling whatever magic everyone else did.
I found the characters in Demon Copperhead to be utterly soulless and forgettable. Demon tells his life story and the narration reads like "this happened and then this happened and then this happened", making it impossible for me to become immersed in the story being told. Many reviewers have commented on how emotionally-connected they felt, but sadly I felt the complete opposite.
The more I think about this book, the more I dislike it. I dislike how every cliched predictable thing that could happen, happens. Kid born to a junkie mom-- guess what happens? Kid gets a new stepfather-- guess what happens? Kid goes into foster care-- guess what happens? Kid becomes a star footballer-- guess what happens? Kid gets prescribed oxy-- guess what happens? Kid gets a junkie girlfriend-- guess what happens? In comes a ferocious but charming dog-- guess what fucking happens?
There was a point in the middle of this book, deep in the longest dullest stretch, where Demon meets a character and I knew, I just knew, exactly what would happen to them. It's like one of those country songs that is so tragic it's slightly comical.
Critics have been fawning over this book like it's such a feat of literary fiction when it literally combines every single hillbilly tragedy trope into one life story. And still, somehow, manages to be boring!
I have to admit I have some prejudice against sequels released years after a popular first installment.I enjoyed this way more than I thought I would.
I have to admit I have some prejudice against sequels released years after a popular first installment. It seems to me that they are usually not needed and are just an author's way of capitalizing on the success of their most popular work, or else catering to demanding fans. They often read like fanfiction. I can't help wondering if their ideas have just run dry. The Testaments, Go Set a Watchman, even Doctor Sleep... I can do without them, to be honest.
But this was really good. I just recently read Boyne's Water, and between that and All the Broken Places it is clear Boyne is keen to explore themes of culpability and complicity. How much are we to blame for the crimes of those close to us? Is one guilty by association? What is our responsibility as a bystander? And can we be forgiven?
All the Broken Places jumps between the past, in which Gretel and her mother escape from Nazi Germany and attempt to rebuild their lives in a world with very good reason to hate them, and the present, in which ninety-one-year-old Gretel finds herself once again a witness to the suffering of innocents. She can't change the past, of course, but can she make a difference now?
The story is propulsive, pages flying by in my need to read what happens next. John Boyne remains one of my favourite storytellers....more
I love it when Follett uses Kingsbridge as a microcosm of English society and politics at the time. Here, the Industrial Revolution and late-Enlightenment ideas influence the lives of the Kingsbridge people, as well as ideas of revolution and human rights after the French Revolution.
Follett gives us many glimpses of history, though all of it is fed through the fictional city of Kingsbridge. We see the long miserable battle between masters and workers-- the formation of trade unions to demand workers' rights, the masters responding by bringing in cheap foreign labour, self-serving local government assisting the masters to keep the workers down through intimidation and the threat of flogging, or worse.
Follett keeps the pacing up by constant reminders of how shitty it was to be a peasant in late 18th century/early 19th century England. You had so little power, and any attempts to organise with other workers to gain a little of said power were frequently thwarted by men with the contacts and resources to make your life even more miserable.
Alongside this, people fall in love, get married, die, escape loveless marriages with passionate affairs and experience the extremes of poverty. It was the norm for seven-year-olds to be put to work, and equally common for starving child thieves to be sent to the gallows.
One of the most horrific aspects of this book were the press gangs-- an appalling and entirely legal corner of history that I had forgotten about --where men were set upon, kidnapped, and forceably enlisted in the military or navy. Horrific for the men, and often devastating for the families left behind.
The least interesting part of The Armor of Light for me was when the book steps outside of Kingsbridge and takes us to the battlefields of the Napoleonic Wars. I have exactly zero interest in warfare, so thankfully this was only a relatively small portion of the book. I much preferred reading about how the war and Bonapartist feeling influenced the lives of the little people in Kingsbridge.
I find myself wondering what can be next for this series. Victorian-era could be cool. Will Follett take us to the World Wars and beyond? I'm excited to find out....more
It feels good for a moment to remember who they were before they again have to sit with who they are.
I thought this was horrible, but excellent. G
It feels good for a moment to remember who they were before they again have to sit with who they are.
I thought this was horrible, but excellent. Gritty, nuanced and extremely powerful.
What Lehane has done here is pull an old story, a common mystery/thriller trope, one so overdone precisely because it is guaranteed to wage war with our emotions-- that of a mother searching for her missing child --and placed it in the middle of a setting I've never seen it in before.
A missing child is truly a wound that never heals-- worse than an outright loss, it is being in limbo and never having closure, the last threads of hope keeping you from grieving and moving on. When Mary Pat's teenage daughter doesn't come home, she will stop at nothing to find out what happened to her. And woe betide anyone who might have hurt her baby.
Mary Pat is vicious and a very complex, often unlikable, character. Raised in the Southie projects, she's grown up fighting back against the world. She has an interesting journey in Small Mercies and is forced to reckon with some of her long-held beliefs, but this is not a redemption narrative. Her fury rages as she bulldozes through the world of this book and a lot of people get hurt by her, directly and indirectly.
Is she right? Is she good? The answer by most people's standards is "no", but it is also near impossible to look away from her pain and anger. I was certainly invested.
Lehane sets the tale of Mary Pat and her missing daughter against the Boston busing crisis-- when attempts to desegregate Boston public schools were met with racial tensions and riots. As Mary Pat digs around, it becomes clear that the story is bigger than one missing person, and is, in fact, about a huge web of race, poverty, drugs and exploitation, with her daughter Jules caught up in the centre of it.
The author also acknowledges the hypocrisy of rich white people tutting at the racism of poor white people while they themselves remain untouched, sending their kids to very segregated, very white, private schools.
I really liked it, though "liked" seems inappropriate. The fact that the good guys and the bad guys were sometimes the same people just made this an even more memorable and affecting read.
Please be aware that the book contains graphic violence, racial and homophobic slurs, and drug use....more
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