Retro Review: The Terror

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. I decided to revisit this book in anticipation of the TV adaptation (which is highly entertaining and I recommend). I enjoyed it so much the first time and was once again completely shocked, completely impressed and completely immersed. Mr. Simmons has crafted an epic masterpiece and I can't wait to watch it become a classic.

I've written before about how a historical fiction novel is successful, to me, when I feel inspired to learn more on the subject. The Terror definitely sparked an intense curiosity about the arctic, arctic expeditions and the age of icy exploration. It truly is a fascinating subject and I appreciated Simmons' level of research.

And beware: there is a lot of research-based content. The length to some may have felt cumbersome, but it felt luxurious to me. Some books go deep instead of wide, some books go wide instead of deep. This book goes deep AND wide.

I didn't find it to be as scary as some readers, but I was disturbed - certainly as I was meant to be - by the detailed portrait of man's hubris in the face of nature. I'm not sure what to call it, exactly: hubris, ego, toxic masculinity, misplaced faith ... I'm referring to the stubborn streak that drove these men to the end of the earth only to be bitten, chewed and swallowed (quite literally). I wouldn't go so far as to call it poetic justice, but when these men do meet their fates, there's a sense of inevitability, acceptance, or maybe the urge to shake your head and whisper "you fools."

The writing itself is consistent. The author treats every character, every development, and every subplot with as much care and dedication as the last. He uses his skill to avoid tripping over tropes - the monster could've been a cartoon, the men could've been caricatures, the descriptions of the landscape could've been stereotypical. But this is truly unique and special.

I read an article recently about art and the author posited that there is only one true way to identify a "masterpiece:" you know one when you see one. I'm afraid that isn't a terribly objective form of measurement, but I feel like it applies here. Not only do I understand what this book is trying to do, I was also really, really entertained. 5 frozen stars.

The Terror on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Turn of the Screw

5 stars. About halfway through The Turn of the Screw, I almost put it down for good. The language was too dense and intricate, I didn't enjoy the "scary" elements, and I wasn't invested in the characters. But I kept going, and it was worth it. Things clicked. I had been trying too hard. Letting my eyes fly, instead of insisting they ruminate on each phrase or sentence, made this a more rewarding experience than I expected. I would argue it's a masterpiece.

First, for interest, the excerpt from Henry James' notebook on his inspiration for the story: 

"Note here the ghost story told me at Addington (evening of Thursday 10th), by the Archbishop of Canterbury ... the story of the young children ... left to the care of servants in an old country house through the death, presumably, of parents. The servants, wicked and depraved, corrupt and deprave the children ... The servants die (the story vague about the way of it) and their apparitions, figures return to haunt the house and children, to whom they seem to beckon ... It is all obscure and imperfect, the picture, the story, but there is a suggestion of strangely gruesome effect in it. The story to be told ... by an outside spectator, observer."

And so The Turn of the Screw became a ghost story about a governess assigned to care for two children. And care for them she does. Little Flora and her older brother Miles prove to be apt pupils and the governess settles into life in the somewhat isolated estate. Until she starts seeing ghosts. Terrified for herself and the children, the governess attempts to navigate, handle and justify her fear as apparently no one else can see the apparitions. Tragically, her relationship with Flora is destroyed and Miles ends up dead.

SPOILERS BELOW.

The beauty of this story is not in the writing itself, although the writing is very beautiful, and very difficult to appreciate, at times. James is a wordy, wordy, wordy, wordy author. His verbose rambling essentially eradicates any chance for genuine suspense or terror. Don't expect to be scared. But there is beauty here - and I would argue that it emerges via interpretation, or perhaps it is better to say via the many possible interpretations.

It reminded me a bit of Black Swan, a film with a terrific unreliable narrator. Like the governess, Natalie Portman's character seems a bit off, or stunted, or off-putting from the first scene. You root for her, because she's clearly not a villain, but things get weird and you learn not to trust her. The film ends in tragedy, but perhaps without as much ambiguity as the book. Still, it's similarly uncanny and you walk away with lingering questions.

In The Turn of the Screw, the governess is - no doubt about it - the only character to acknowledge the ghosts. To acknowledge them. Other characters might see them, or they don't. They certainly deny it. So the question becomes: is the governess mentally ill? Is she hallucinating?  Is she manifesting her suppressed rage, or suppressed sexual desire, as old while male critics seem to think? Does Miles die because of an implication?

Or are the ghosts real? Are the other characters lying? Is she "gifted" in the sense that she's the only one who can interact with the paranormal? Is she the victim of a conspiracy led against her by the household and the children? Are the ghosts out to possess or harm her? Does Miles die because of a reality - a terrifying, supernatural reality?

Is she insane, or is she a hero? EITHER WAY, I'm disturbed. EITHER WAY, she loses. She is lost. We are lost. As Brad Leithauser writes in a review I love from The New Yorker, 

"Yet—the book’s greatest feat, its keenest paradox—the ultimate effect is precisely the opposite of openness. “The Turn of the Screw” may be the most claustrophobic book I’ve ever read. Yes, you’re free to shift constantly from one interpretation to the next, and yet, as you progress deeper into the story, each interpretation begins to seem more horrible than the other. As the gruesomeness gathers, the beautiful country house effectively falls away, like flesh receding from the skull of a cadaver, and we’re deposited in a hellish, plantless, low landscape of bone and stone: plenty of places to run, but nowhere to hide."

Which is why I like both. I love that it is, or could be, or might be, or without a doubt is, both.

There's another moment in this book I'd like to consider - the moment when Miles confesses about why he was expelled from school. When I first read his admission, I instantly thought that the "words" he said must have been homosexual in nature. I believe Henry James was homosexual, and this clicks really well in my mental comprehension of the story. It's just my comprehension, though, and there are certainly so many possibilities.

This turned out to be much more of a reaction than a review, but I think that's a testament to the book's power. I want to discuss it. I want to do the "further reading." I want to analyze the shit out of that ending. I want MORE. And for that, this crazy, complicated book gets 5 stars. "No, no—there are depths, depths! The more I go over it, the more I see in it, and the more I see in it, the more I fear. I don’t know what I don’t see—what I don’t fear!"

The Turn of the Screw on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: The Queen of the Night

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. I savored this. I bathed in the words. I was unsettled and entranced and deeply, deeply inspired; a testament to Alexander Chee's unapologetic, romantic world. His fluid, dream-like words mingle in rich, dramatic ways. His portrait of the time is immersive and researched and, though filled with much sorrow and hardship, glitters with magic. Chee seduces with twinkly lights, dazzling dresses, stories and songs and all things that sparkle and glow next to all things rough and grotesque.

There are encounters with women and men and music and death and fear and true, true hunger. It's not a coming-of-age story in the typical sense, despite the lessons learned. Uniquely, Lilliet's identity - her intentions for herself, her obligations to herself - seem very intact from the beginning. She doesn't just tell her story, she muses and wonders and wanders and lets things percolate. And so we escape into her journey - the spectacular, unimaginable journey of a woman surviving in the heart of a spectacular, unimaginable time.

Chee has a talent for capturing emotions for which there are no words. I admired this book the second the main character's dress turned against her, which is to say, immediately. Never have I seen that specific emotion described so beautifully. It's an emotion I don't think I've ever even acknowledged in a tangible way, to myself. The emotion you experience when you realize you don't look like you thought you did. Shudder.

And there is much to say about men.

"In this world, some time ago, far past anyone's remembering, women as a kind had done something so terrible, so awful, so fantastically cruel that they and their daughters and their daughters' daughters were forever beyond forgiveness until the end of time - unforgiving, distrusted, enslaved, made to suffer for the least offenses committed against any man. What was remembered were the terms of our survival as a class: We were to be docile, beautiful, uncomplaining, pure, and failing that at the least useful return we might be allowed something like a long life. But if we were not any of these things, but a man's reckoning, or if perchance we violated their sense of that pact, we would have no protection whatsoever and were to be treated worse than any wild dog or lame horse."

There are some aspects I didn't like: the flashbacks, the foreshadowing, the cliffhangers, the smirky way certain details were included (or not included, like the tenor’s name). The timeline was a bit confusing, or self-indulgent, or far-fetched, even absurd - although that may have been intentional, to demonstrate the swirly-whirly nature of time and place and memory. Lilliet seems oddly distanced from her story, at times, as though she's telling it from a separate space, from a different perspective, completely removed.

There's also an interesting exploration of choice and fate, sort of a cage match between "our fate is sealed" and "we seal our own fates." I had a visceral reaction to our protagonist's sense of entitlement and could not relate to her expectation of a free pass. I admired her refusal to accept anything less than her desires, and of course I appreciate that she lived in a world designed to limit her, but life is difficult for everyone. Sometimes, you just can't escape. You must face consequences, you must resist the temptation to run. All that being said, the last few lines of the book call into question my resentment and demonstrate Lilliet's previously hidden level of self-awareness and regret. Noted: "And the gods did not kill for hubris-for hubris, they let you live long enough to learn."

Complaints aside, the power of an incredible historical fiction novel is, for me, unveiled in the pathways I pursue upon finishing it. The Queen of the Night, which is full, decadent, lush and perhaps excessive at times, did inspire me to seek out more. I listened to Chopin, researched the plots of operas and read biographies of the players who made an appearance. I found myself wishing for an illustrated version, or a guide of commentary to which I could refer and compare and explore. Finishing Lilliet's story did not mean I was done with her world.

I realize it's melodramatic and intricate and perhaps it is easy to grow tired of the victory, defeat, victory, defeat, victory, defeat. But ultimately I didn't mind the melodrama because the writing was so thoroughly badass; that specific type of badass I would use to describe an orchestra, or flan, or the word "cornucopia." 5 stars for this book and may we bask in its glow forever.

The Queen of the Night on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: The Lies of Locke Lamora

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. Game of Thrones + Ocean's Eleven + The Name of the Wind. In this epic fantasy, a group of thieving scoundrels dare to pull off an huge, sophisticated heist. As expected, the group, who call themselves the Gentleman Bastards, encounter complications - some small, some deadly - along the way.

This was so much fun. Top-notch world building, spectacular writing, detailed imagery, colorful characters, and clever dialogue - and so much fun. I really appreciated this book, perhaps even above the A Song of Ice and Fire books, because the exposition was done so carefully. I've often complained that George R.R. Martin includes details about his world to, essentially, rub your face in his craftsmanship. Scott Lynch seems to approach world building with a detailed but gentle touch. The info dump is palatable and doesn't impact the storytelling in a negative way.

I could honestly go on and on about how witty and stunning this book is, but that's already been done here - many times. So I'll leave it at that.

This books offers lovely writing, an interesting premise, and a wonderful adventure. You don't have to love fantasy to appreciate this one.

The Lies of Locke Lamora on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: You

5 stars. WOW. Blown away. What a brilliant, relevant book. Recommended reading for millennials, especially. Caroline Kepnes is a new-to-me voice, and her voice cuts deep. Nothing and no one is safe from this one. I feel like I need a shower, or a hot meal, or a stiff drink.

You is written in the second person. The voice belongs to Joe, a young bookseller who develops an obsession with a young writer, Beck. Yes, “Beck.” He searches for her, finds her, stalks her, courts her, steals from her, kills for her. And we witness it all through his eyes.

There’s nothing new about a sympathetic bad guy - an antihero - or an unreliable narrator. These concepts are widely used and widely enjoyed. I think many readers will find ways to root for Joe and sorta maybe hope he’ll win, in the end. And Joe is funny, smart, fucking charming.

But there are no winners here. That’s abundantly clear from the second Joe implies a pattern to his obsessions - that he has fixated on a woman before, and that it ended badly. The sense of dread only grows as Joe circles his prey. It’s not pretty.

And look, just because he’s not trustworthy doesn’t make him wrong, all of the time. If we choose to believe that Beck truly behaved the way she did, shit, she’s horrible! She didn’t deserve what she got, but wow, everyone in this book is fucked up.

That feels real, to me. Compelling and different. Different, hot. Atypical. And almost comforting. Like we’re all ridiculously awful and we like awful things and it’s all about avoiding the people who are somehow worse.

Existential crisis aside, You was an incredibly enjoyable read and Joe’s voice will stay with me for a long time. Forever, maybe. I loved his ups and his downs and his outrageous outlook. Kepnes captured entitled masculinity perfectly, and it’s disgusting. But he does feel correct, a lot of the time. Hmph.

Further reading: Notes on a Scandal. Maestra.

You on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Road to Jonestown: Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple

5 stars. Quite simply, the story of Jonestown is strange. It's more bizarre, twisted and terrifying than anything Stephen King could conjure or produce. A huge, collective question remains decades later as we continue to sort out the details and recover from the shock. Why did it happen?

But that's not the question I want answered. I already know why it happened. Jonestown happened because life is full of senseless tragedies and terrible people. It happened because a charismatic man succumbed to his own hubris (and addiction). It happened because people are complicated, and even those with the best intentions can be misguided. 

I picked up this book because I'm more intrigued by the how. I want to know the ins and the outs and the layers and the characters and every moment leading up to the story's horrific conclusion. I'm terribly curious - and also, very determined to honor the victims by trying to understand each and every perspective from start to finish.

Easier said than done, of course. But Jeff Guinn makes a wonderful attempt in his well-researched book The Road to Jonestown: Jim Jones and Peoples Temple. His narrative is exhaustive, and lengthy, but very rewarding for readers like me. There's no arguing that Jim Jones is frequently misrepresented by history, and Guinn leaves no rock unturned in the interest of treating him fairly.

He starts at the beginning, chronicling Jim Jones' early life in Lynn, Indiana. We meet him as an unusual child from a troubled family who practices sermons in the woods and attends every church service on Sundays. We watch him grow into a man with interests, with passion and charisma and faith and eventually, a man with a following. From Indiana to California we go, healing tumors along the way, before landing in the humid jungle of our nightmares.

Guinn is a decent biographer and exquisitely paints details that shape the story. Be aware, there is a thread here that very clearly portrays an opinion. Little comments here are there, winks and nudges and a whiff of disdain for Jones. But there is also restraint. Guinn is careful here - rarely openly critical - perhaps out of respect for Jones' family, his followers, his victims, or for history itself.

I would recommend this book for anyone interested in cults, crimes, fanaticism, religion, even just ... fascinating people. It's a murder mystery and a history textbook and a compelling portrait. I read it on my honeymoon and kept stopping to read aloud particularly crazy bits to my husband. Very in-depth, and very worth it. 

The Road to Jonestown on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: The Hobbit

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. The Hobbit is, to me, the most special adventure ever. The most thrilling, creative, amusing, satisfying story there is. It's the ultimate example of how to house a simple plot in a complex world with balance and grace. And it's cozy. So fucking cozy.

Everyone has a Hobbit story, right? I remember, upon hearing it read aloud for the first time (by my father, on a vacation, I can't remember where), trying to comment on the words - "the language is different" - and being eagerly told about Tolkien's background in literacy and language. And the writing does feel different - especially now, many years later. It's really relaxed and informal and occasionally too cute for its own good. The friendly tone kind of takes some getting used to, am I right?

But the language is without a doubt part of Tolkien's brilliance. He is truly an artist. I want to dive - no, I want to burrow, deeply burrow - into the core of this story and hide there until second breakfast.

I know it isn't perfect. I know some readers find it boring or confusing or annoying. I actually didn't pick it up for years because I didn't remember the reading experience to be that enjoyable. But after 6 days in a hotel at a conference during which I had exactly 1 full hour to myself (which I spent having a panic attack), my brain wanted comfort food. And the level of incredible delight I felt upon reading the first chapter of this book ... I felt better. I felt excited. I felt the magic of the words.

And yes, the movies are disappointing. Jackson over-extended middle earth until it became bloated, grandiose, and overreaching in a way that contrasts so painfully with the careful, in-depth, loving look of his LOTR trilogy. It's a shame, really, because so much of the beauty of this book lies in its simplicity. The basic adventure story with its unassuming, humble hero, who takes joy in the simple pleasures of life and would scoff at anything so extra.

But let's get back to the book as an accomplishment. There's something thrilling about reading the words from which archetypes were birthed. Yes - to the people who complain about the archetypes - Tolkien invented them. You are reading about the original wizard, the original magic ring, OG dwarves and elves and dragons. It's like reading a preserved manuscript or something - a rare first edition. Sure, he expertly draws on mythology and literature (influences include everything from Old Norse sagas to Jules Verne) but his narrative style and worldbuilding is unprecedented.

I know I'm not saying anything that hasn't already been said. The Hobbit is just so fucking magical and different and amazing. Thank god for Tolkien and his brain and his talent because I'd go crazy without having a window into his world.

The Hobbit on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: Middlesex

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. This story begins in a tiny Greek village, many years ago. Our narrator describes in great detail how his grandparents came to be, then how his parents came to be, and finally tells the story of his own new romance in modern day Berlin. Throughout, he paints intimate portraits of his family, his upbringing, his confused sexuality, and various encounters with interesting people in between. The conclusion is inevitable, but these episodes prove captivating. No surprise plot twist here.

I was in the mood for something challenging, unique, and contemplative, and Middlesex is definitely all of those things. It's sprawling - easily an epic. It sweeps across time and space, touching both universal big themes (like sex and culture and religion) and universal small themes (like one's tangled, complex feelings towards his or her parents, and the frequently-written-about challenge of becoming an adult). Middlesex approaches these universal themes, both big and small, with an unflinchingly honest voice. Things considered taboo or bothersome or controversial are spoken about with no hint of shame or apology, only curiosity and honesty. In fact, this might be my favorite part about this book. The reader is not catered to in any way.

As an example, I'll point to one of the most prevalent threads in the story: incest. If this were amateur hour, following the event in question, the reader might encounter entire chapters dedicated to lamentations about the implications and the awful consequences of the act. The offenders might die tragic, torturous deaths as punishment for their crime. Supporting characters would overexplain their discomfort and place line after line under their disapproval. "It's a bomb!" says the spy on my TV screen, while the camera pans directly on what is very obviously and without a doubt, a bomb.

But Cal - our unrelenting storyteller - offers no condemnation of his own. He says nothing like, "In case you don't know, reader, this is wrong. Don't commit incest. It's sinful and disgusting." Instead, he trusts that the reader is already aware. He trusts that the reader will understand that the consequences are right there, embedded in the pages and part of his biological identity. He doesn't have to write INCEST = BAD to make the story any more complete.

In fact, Cal doesn't even try to emphasize its wrongness; he doesn't even feel the need to embed the lesson in subtext. There's nothing but maybe a faint whiff of side-eye instead of fiery condemnation. He seems to be more interested in the details - the hows, the whys, the circumstances, etc. The author is not worried that some parent, convinced that the depiction of incest automatically equates approval, will slap a banned sticker on the cover of his book. Cal knows who he is and accepts why he was born that way. He just ... tells the story. It's super refreshing!

And it's fantastic. It's fantastic, thought-provoking, complex, well-written, troublesome, enlightening, heartbreaking, funny, and more.

Although...

I have to admit that I found the length cumbersome. And occasionally - very occasionally - I could feel the author patting himself on the back for choosing such a complicated, questionable subject. I could feel his self-satisfaction as he described most intimately the scientific ins and outs of sexual biology and psychology; could very briefly glance his smug smile as he "went there." I in no way want to discourage any depiction of incestual or hermaphroditic content, nor will I ever put up my nose at the idea of something different or controversial. I simply question the author's motives, that's all. It's a difficult thing to explain, but it was slightly off-putting, for me. Maybe he was just interested in the topic. Maybe he wanted to be provocative. Maybe both?

Bottom line: Cal's story is unusual but important. My mind felt full and satisfied after reading it.

Middlesex on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Poppy War

5 stars. I didn't expect this to be so complex, or so compelling. Not a perfect book, but the excellent reviews are warranted here. This is something new and different and it's styled wonderfully. I thoroughly enjoyed my deep dive into Asian-influenced military fantasy and I can't wait to see what comes next.

As many have noted, this book has a first half and a second half. The first half tracks Rin (our heroic and sparky protagonist) as she aces an entrance examination for the Sinegard, a military training academy, and tries to find her place as an outcast among her elite, privileged classmates. It's a little Harry Potter-ish, in a good way. Rin works hard and comes of age as a fierce warrior with a talent for shamanism.

The second half shows war. When Sinegard is attacked, Rin discovers that she carries within her a great power - the power to channel a god. With this power she leaves the outcast orphan behind and attempts to navigate the horrors of warfare, the reality of conquest and the threat of genocide. There is a lot of darkness here, and Rin is not left untouched. For this reason and more The Poppy War, despite being a fantasy with mystical elements, feels disturbingly realistic and occasionally difficult to read.

Rin is a fantastic protagonist. She works hard. She's perseverant and she asks questions. She's intelligent and tends toward action. I can't quite put my finger on it, but she feels different from your typical orphan-warrior trope. She doesn't waste anyone's time, including her own, including the reader's. She doesn't have a chip on her shoulder, she just does what she thinks is right in the moment. Did I fully support her decisions? Not always, but I understood them.

The minor characters are not to be overlooked. The elongated, quieter first half gives Rin's surrounding acquaintances a lot of screen time so when the real action hits, the stakes feel impossibly, incredibly high. I don't normally say this but oh man - I loved everyone. I cared about everyone. I felt comfortable with Altan, Kitay, Nezha, Jiang as people, not just characters. They existed with agency and not to simply serve the plot.

And the setting. Gorgeous. The world-building is complicated here, so be prepared, but it's rich and luxurious and intellectual. I was fascinated by the Asian influence and inspired by the Asian elements. The action sequences are carefully written and include enough tactics and strategy to be interesting but not enough to be dry. AND, to top it off with a cherry, this book is, just generally and delightfully, unpredictable. 

I can't wait to read more. I have a feeling this book will go down in history and studied for ages to come. Its examination of warfare - all the questions, none of the answers - left me feeling sad and desperate and disturbed and utterly captivated. I will turn to The Poppy War again and again for its beauty and darkness.

The Poppy War on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: Circe

5 stars. I think for someone obsessed with stories, the oldest hold a certain appeal. There is something fascinating about the idea that many of the challenges and questions we face today - what does it mean to be human? what does it mean to be good? what does it mean to love? what is glory, honor, power? what does it mean to be a woman? - are the same challenges and questions faced hundreds of thousands of years ago. Maybe those questions will always go unanswered - maybe it is our fate to toil with them for eternity.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Madeline Miller has painted another exquisite portrait of a mythological character in a new and innovative way. Circe, daughter of the sun god and exiled on an island for eternity, gains a fresh voice in this poetic and luxurious tale. It's wonderful. It's well-written, well-plotted, and feminist as fuck. 

"Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep."

I am having a difficult time collecting my thoughts here.

First: women, throughout depicted history, are dichotomized. We are either the jezebel or the madonna; the whore or the frigid bitch; the damsel or the aggressive tomboy. I've written about this in my reviews before, and it is a well-known concept, but I wanted to mention it as Circe especially defies this dichotomy in ways I've never encountered before. 

Circe is a badass part-goddess who can turn men into beasts. She is also capable of great love, sympathy, and self-awareness. She is also filled with self-loathing and guilt and regret. She struggles with her identity surrounded by a family she hates. She is unashamed of her sexuality. She is a mother, but motherhood does not come easily to her. She does not hate being alone, but she is lonely. She is capable of great good and absolute evil. There are layers and layers here that, within Miller's carefully-chosen words, are an absolute joy to witness and unpack. 

We get to see all of her. The thought practically brings me to tears.

Second: men, throughout depicted history, are glorified. Women exist to support, advance and lend to their glory. This is going to be difficult to explain, but I really appreciated that Miller tried to lightly approach the complicated idea that we are required to serve the glory of men and somehow still love them. I'll stop there, at the risk of writing myself in circles.

This is a book to savor. As you can tell, I had an emotional reaction to this and my clumsy rambling doesn't do it justice. 

Ultimately: recognizing that traditionalists will harp on the sort of sentimental elements of Miller's portrait, I was moved by the new take. We turn to stories for answers, often, answers to the Big Questions I mentioned above, and why shouldn't we turn over every rock, examine every possibility, breathe new life into a perhaps (probably) misrepresented character? Miller is intriguing and impressive and I can't wait to see what she does next.

Circe on: Amazon | Goodreads