I don't get the appeal of this book. I don't understand why it's coming in at a 4.4 average with hundDNF - 50%. And it was hard work getting that far.
I don't get the appeal of this book. I don't understand why it's coming in at a 4.4 average with hundreds of thousands of ratings. Obviously it must be me, but there was nothing here that appealed to me, nothing that made me want to stick around for another 360 pages.
The Covenant of Water is very slow and tedious, in my opinion, especially in the Digby chapters. This type of storytelling is not engaging to me. Very distant, impersonal narrative style, which makes it impossible to feel immersed in the story. I had the strange feeling that the author was not particularly invested in any of his characters.
Perhaps this is why the depiction of the child marriage in the book did not ring true to me. The beginning sees a 12-year-old girl married to a 40-year-old man, yet the author writes in such a disconnected impersonal way that the child seems to take on her new role as wife and stepmother with a shrug of her shoulders. Verghese goes on to romanticise the relationship, depicting them having sex (when she is just a few years older) in an acceptable and positive way.
And it is so long. Why is this book so long? Where was the editor? Parts of it come across as almost rambling.
Also, I personally thought the perspective switches were poorly-timed. The author would make you slightly interested in Big Ammachi’s story, then abruptly shift to another time and place for fifty pages, so that by the time we arrived back at Big Ammachi, the little interest I had felt was gone.
While not the main reason I didn't like it, I wish it was made more obvious by the blurb or marketing of this book that it is very heavy on religious themes, enough that I think it would fit comfortably under Christian Fiction, which is not my cup of tea....more
I am surprised at how highly rated this book is. Not that I can see no reason why readers might like it— I can —but it does not come across as a crowdI am surprised at how highly rated this book is. Not that I can see no reason why readers might like it— I can —but it does not come across as a crowd-pleaser. Had I read this book before it became a hit, I would have expected it to be divisive.
The reason being that it's hard to explain or categorise this story. It is a very strange literary book, built of components— some I liked, a lot I didn’t— that didn’t really add up to a cohesive whole.
Is it a satire? It seems it must be because some parts are obviously intended to be funny. Humour is highly-subjective and, I have to admit, most of this wasn't my particular flavour. Very over-the-top goofy humour at times. The story reimagines Mark Twain's Jim-- a character who is treated as benign and a bit simple-minded --as a secret intellectual who can not only read, but is well-versed in Voltaire. In this version, the way Black slaves behave and speak is not their true selves but a performance for slave owners.
I tried my best to get on board with this, because there is something quite amusing and satisfying about an author taking the way slavers belittled, stereotyped and made jokes about slaves, and being like ha, joke's on you.
But, then, other parts are aggressively unfunny. Floggings, lynchings and an on-page rape. I remember thinking at one point: Is this the point? Is Everett just that clever? Was he waiting for the reader to have the audacity to laugh before screaming “Oh so you think this shit is funny, do you?! Well, here’s a woman being raped.”? I just don’t know.
And, by the way, I do not think every book needs to have central female characters, but I do think you have a responsibility not to introduce female characters for the sole purpose of them being rape victims. Especially when there are already almost no women of note in the book.
I found the decisions Everett made here curious… he rewrites a character who I agree needed rewriting, but I expected a complex character, someone with depth of characterisation… it is strange to me, and a bit farcical, that Everett replaces the stereotyped, one-dimensional Jim we know with another surface level character whose entire personality seems to be "secret genius." Everett's Jim plays a rough-talking halfwit to his white overlords but secretly has dream conversations with Voltaire and Locke. Other than this satirical twist that actually Jim was a genius, I didn’t feel we knew him at all.
And: “Are you referring to my diction or my content?” is a line a robot would say, not a closeted intellectual.
Then there's the plot itself, the style of which is very much just the characters running from one place and drama to the next. It reads like a series of sketches, some comedic, some horrific, with a twist that I am still undecided about. Knowledge of the characters and general story in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is pretty much necessary for the book's events to have significance.
So, again, I'm surprised this book has been as universally-loved as it seems to have been. A rating above 4.5 at more than 200,000 ratings is impressive, so I guess I'm the problem....more
What must it feel like to be like that, a woman who wasn’t afraid to make demands or stir up trouble?
I really wish I could say I liked this book m
What must it feel like to be like that, a woman who wasn’t afraid to make demands or stir up trouble?
I really wish I could say I liked this book more than I did. The premise is great-- a perfect antidote to tradwife nonsense --but the story itself is inconsistent, both in terms of pacing and characterization.
The Book Club for Troublesome Women is set in 1963, shortly after the publication of The Feminine Mystique. A group of suburban housewives in Virginia start a book club and their first pick is Friedan's new release: a decision that will change all of their lives.
Moving through the perspectives of these women-- Margaret, Viv, Bitsy and Charlotte --Bostwick explores this very specific time and place. She covers the weird post-war housewife fixation and propaganda in America, showing how emerging consumerism benefitted from encouraging this as a "natural" role for middle class women because it sold household appliances. We see the invisible labour carried out by women, how challenging it could be to have and keep a career, and how many housewives turned to prescription drugs to cope with their six kids and stagnant lives (literally Mother's Little Helper.)
In 1963, married women couldn't open a bank account without their husband's permission (even if the money going into it was their own wage), couldn't be prescribed the pill without his signature. It was stifling just reading about it.
I also really appreciated that Bostwick acknowledged the limitations of Friedan's work. As Viv notes, her book primarily applies to middle class women with choices, whereas many other women, and men, were forced to work jobs they hated just to feed their kids.
But while all this is great, these positives are all about the message of the book and the takeaways from Betty Friedan's writing. What actually unfolded in the story was... not that much. Especially when compared to the length of the book. There were quite a lot of slow spots, good bits interspersed with more tedious stretches.
Also, I know women faced a lot of difficulties at this time, but I was disappointed that we didn't see much in the way of the promised "troublesome women." Only Charlotte really caused any trouble (and that was thanks to her brilliant daughter). It was frustrating that Bitsy and Margaret's lives only really changed as a result of their husbands' decisions; they themselves did not actually make much trouble. There was a lot of tongue-biting and easy forgiveness, and while I appreciate character growth, I did not fully buy Walt's about-turn.
Still, I read it all and made a bunch of notes, so obviously not a bad read. Charlotte's story was by far the most satisfying....more
It’s hard to know what to say about this book because it’s about so many things, but I knew hardly anytOne of the best books I've read in a long time.
It’s hard to know what to say about this book because it’s about so many things, but I knew hardly anything about it going in. I can rehash the blurb-- that it's a mystery/thriller spanning several decades --but that tells you nothing about why this book is so powerful. It doesn’t tell you all the little things that make it: the strength of the characters, the humour to offer light through the dark themes, the many surprises waiting to be uncovered.
All the Colors of the Dark is a story of trauma and obsession. The blurb mentions a love story, but the truth is this book contains several love stories, not all of them romantic. It is one of those books where I read it desperate to find out the truth, searching for closure with a need to know, and absolutely afraid of what I’d find.
The characters are truly well-drawn and memorable. Not just the protagonists, but all the side characters too.
And it just has so much to say. We follow these complex characters through their lives as they chase answers to a mystery that seems to get colder by the day, but alongside this are powerful stories of love, friendship and loyalty. I cared so very much.
Plus, I recently complained about thrillers that rest on ludicrous twists and this book was a perfect example of how to get it right. It contains the kind of twists and turns I love. Not some ridiculous “oh that character is actually this character and that man you thought was long-dead is actually your new mother-in-law” but thoughtful, layered discoveries. Finding out what happened in this book is a gradual peeling away of layers.
Also, I feel like authors who write lovely short chapters like this are angels.
The book contains lots of dark themes that won't be suitable for everyone, including domestic and sexual abuse, and references to abortion, but there's plenty of colour in the dark (I'm so sorry, I just can't help myself.)
So did I love this book? Entirely and absolutely....more
No gore. No graphic violence. Yet I will remember Harriet as one of the most disturbing books I've ever read.
And it's based on a true story.
While I amNo gore. No graphic violence. Yet I will remember Harriet as one of the most disturbing books I've ever read.
And it's based on a true story.
While I am so grateful that Persephone Books allows readers to discover these forgotten classics written by women, what I really want to know is-- how was this book ever forgotten? Truly. It's well-written, gripping and horrifying. It's hard to imagine a book like this ever not having a readership.
This story made me feel such intense sadness, anger and anxiety. The beginning drew me in, but it wasn't until somewhere partway through when I was struck by the sensation that what I was witnessing here was pure evil. That's the best way I can explain it. I've read graphic grisly books about murder and abuse that nowhere near capture the cold callous depths that Jenkins brings us to here.
Based on the real life of Harriet Staunton, we see a handsome and manipulative young man (Lewis Oman) pursue a marriage with a woman with intellectual disabilities in order to acquire her fortune. Harriet's mother is horrified when she sees her daughter is besotted and determined to marry Lewis. She tries her best to stop the marriage, which only further drives Harriet away from her.
Once Lewis has Harriet away from her family, she is completely at his mercy-- and the mercy of his volatile brother and sister-in-law. What happens to Harriet in this book is horrific, but what I found so chilling was the very casual way in which the characters were able to dehumanise Harriet because of her disabilities. I think that's why this book is sometimes categorised as "horror". It is horrifying.
I do not think I would have finished this book if I hadn't received an arc. Now, looking at the book page on Goodreads, I see a number of people DNFedI do not think I would have finished this book if I hadn't received an arc. Now, looking at the book page on Goodreads, I see a number of people DNFed it for a lot of the same reasons I wanted to.
Hart's Weyward was a very pleasant surprise for me last year. It was also the whole reason I couldn't wait to read this book. Strong writing; strong characters; intriguing story... but I think The Sirens can only really lay claim to the first one of those. Some beautiful description was all it really had going for it.
This was one of those books that I simply did not click with; I never experienced that moment where the book latches on and pulls you in. There was no connection with the characters, no real plot for 80% of the book, no hook, no urgency, no vibrancy… nothing that made me want to read on. The stakes felt low throughout and I think a good hundred pages of Lucy's rambling introspection could have been safely cut.
From the beginning, I felt it difficult to connect with these characters. The story starts with Lucy waking up from sleep-walking and finding her hands around the neck of this guy she slept with one time (before he shared intimate photos of her). Mortified, she flees her university and decides, for some reason, to drive out into the middle of nowhere to visit her estranged sister. I just really didn’t understand her actions from the start. It seemed a weak and weird excuse to force Lucy and Jess together, especially as the whole sleepwalking deal is kinda forgotten later.
The story, like Weyward, flits about through multiple perspectives, but here they all had the same narrative style and voice. Not only did this make it less believable, especially when we went a couple centuries back in time, but it was also boring and monotonous.
I do feel the book picks up towards the end, but I personally don't think it's worth it. There's a lot of meandering non-story here, with characters (mainly Lucy) dithering about and doing nothing for pages on end....more
“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!
Definitely one of my least favourite of the Jodi Picoult books I've read so far.
I got the impression that the author would have liked to write a non-fDefinitely one of my least favourite of the Jodi Picoult books I've read so far.
I got the impression that the author would have liked to write a non-fiction book / essay about the topic of the Shakespeare authorship but, as that's not what she does, she instead tries to work her argument into a fictional story that was not quite interesting enough to support it.
To be fair, the case for Emilia Bassano/Lanier as the true writer of Shakespeare's plays is the strongest I've read yet (though the bar is set pretty low, in my opinion-- I never felt compelled to buy into the Bacon, De Vere or Marlowe arguments, etc.) Picoult uses her characters to make an impassioned argument that Emilia hid behind the identity of an actor called William Shakespeare.
It's a fairly long book and felt longer because there were stretches that failed to ignite my interest at all. The novel is split between the 16th/17th Centuries and the present. The former takes us into the life of Emilia Bassano, a talented writer at a time when women could not write plays, and shows how she gathered inspiration for and authored the Shakespeare works. The present follows her descendant, Melina, as she navigates the male-dominated world of play-writing in the 21st Century.
The Emilia chapters were really dull for me. A lot of the focus is on her imagination, writing, crafting characters in her head… it had that same quality as when someone describes their dreams to you. (i.e. really boring.)
Melina's story, on the other hand, was less boring but very heavy-handed. Aside from maybe Jasper, everyone is one-dimensional, simply good or bad, with very few shades of grey. Melina is a female playwright who, along with her Black gay friend Andre, comes face to face with white men so openly misogynistic and racist they feel like caricatures.
I find it weird that in a book so focused on women forced to hide behind men to publish their work Jasper Tolle is the most multilayered and interesting character.
One more thing-- there are lots of convincing aspects to the Emilia Bassano argument, but one I just can't wrap my head around is why the book of poetry she did publish in her name would differ in both style and quality. Picoult's argument is that she did it on purpose to disguise her "voice", but I find that a weak explanation....more
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.
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