Review: Rosemary's Baby

5 stars. I can’t give this anything less even though it upset me so profoundly. I was moved to tears - frustrated, horrified tears - at least twice. This book made me itch and squirm and scream and I walked away really disturbed. I know, sounds like a horrible reading experience, right? I can’t give it anything less than 5 stars because it elicited such a strong reaction - Ira Levin’s horror is, in that sense, exquisite.

Rosemary’s Baby. Everyone knows what it’s about. In the mid-1960’s, a young woman, Rosemary, and her husband - an actor named Guy - move into a new apartment building called the Bramford. Excited about the prospect of having a child and starting a family, Rosemary settles in to their new place and enjoys her role as homemaker for her husband. They become acquainted with their elderly neighbors - Roman and Minnie - to whom Guy seems to take an unusual interest.

But Rosemary detects something strange about the building and her new neighbors. She’s aware of the Bramford’s colorful past - full of death and strange happenings - and when another young resident leaps out the window, her suspicions grow. Meanwhile, Guy continues to spend time with their neighbors while experiencing a sudden career boost. At last, he decides to give Rosemary what she yearns for - a baby.

And things only get worse from there! Needless to say, Rosemary’s pregnancy is difficult and her neighbors’ extreme interest disturbs her. As the months go by and the due date nears, she begins to perceive an insidious and terrifying plot against her and her baby and learns, ultimately, that she can trust no one.

Literally, no one. Rosemary’s body is stolen from her, and she has nowhere to turn, nowhere to go, nobody she can speak to. Every avenue of true support or friendship is completely eliminated. I felt this as a woman so deeply - nobody believed her. It sickens me so much (I won’t turn this into a political discussion, I promise, but just know that I had such a strong reaction) because I see dark and vivid echoes of this today.

And it’s not just that - it’s the fact that she was so manipulated. The slow discovery that any sense of independence is an illusion? My worst nightmare. She is controlled, completely controlled, even her THOUGHTS are controlled. Did y’all see Hereditary? When you realize you walk into someone else’s trap willingly, thinking you’re doing the right thing?

Along those lines, I couldn’t stand Guy. Among all the villains in this story, he is by far the worst. The way he tries to convince her - so smugly - till the very end makes my stomach turn. Guy Woodhouse is an absolute sorry excuse for a human being and I hope his career crashed and burned so hard he ended up alone and forgotten before dying a painful and agonizing death.

Despite knowing ahead of time what to expect, I wanted this to end so differently. I wanted a satisfying, gory conclusion - an epilogue, perhaps, called Rosemary’s Revenge. But this is one of those gut punches of a horror novel, one where the twist of the blade feels inevitable. The perfection is in the rug pull - you’re safe! Until you aren’t. Oh don’t worry, you’re safe again! Nope, you aren’t safe at all and you never were.

So let’s talk about the writing. I was pleasantly surprised by Levin’s concise, dry manner of craft. The level of detail is incredible and makes things feel very real - too real. He is Salt Bae with clues, sprinkling them into the story with an artful flourish. His ability to portray the female mind is admirable, though I doubt any woman would be that gullible about weird-tasting mousse and a husband’s sneaky behavior. Regardless, it’s a masterpiece of psychological horror. Like I said, I was deeply unsettled.

After this and the Ted Bundy documentary, I don’t know how I’ll ever trust men, or neighbors, again. ALL OF THEM WITCHES.

Rosemary’s Baby on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: In Cold Blood

2019 CHALLENGE: 1 YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT YET?! PER MONTH 01 / 12

5 stars. This year, I decided to create and implement two reading challenges. The first: 1 re-read per month. I'm really interested in revisiting old favorites - many of them books I read as a child or a young person - and this is meant to get me out from under the pressure to consume everything new and shiny. My first re-read was The Westing Game - and it was hugely delightful.

The second challenge: 1 you haven't read that yet?! per month. There are some books out there (classics, bestselllers, Want to Read lingerers) that I just haven't forced myself to read, for whatever reason. This challenge is meant to make it happen. I had so much fun developing my lists/plans for both of these, but I'm keeping them under wraps so I can tinker/change my mind. 

My first you haven't read that yet?! is Truman Capote's In Cold Blood. I know - HOW. How have I not read this. But it's true. I finally finished it yesterday and wow - there's so much to unpack. Based on advice from my husband, I went in completely blind and resisted the urge to Google, even when my fingers itched to. I let myself absorb the story as it unfolded.

The story, as it turns out, is the story of a murder - the horrific, tragic murder of a family of four in their farm house in Holcomb, Kansas. In Cold Blood, written as the first "nonfiction novel," explores the crime from every angle. Showcasing an incredible eye for detail, Capote sets the stage with care and paints detailed pictures of each victim and each perpetrator. He examines closely the events leading up to and after the murder, placing the rippling consequences in sociological and psychological contexts. We get to know these people - the victims, the survivors, the witnesses, the investigators. By the end, we feel deeply affected by the murders and intimately familiar with the murderers.

What can I possibly say? Capote literally invented a genre here. He birthed a type of writing. It's obviously an incredible technical accomplishment, both in terms of style and approach. The level of journalistic work required must have been insane. Yes, he distorted the truth in places, created scenes where perhaps he shouldn't have, but we know that going in by now. The hype is REAL. It's a must-read.

So yes, it's a gamechanger from a methodological perspective. But it's also a profoundly emotional read. Capote was obviously the OG murderino, but I don't think even he anticipated the many complexities or the distressing twists and turns this case would take.

One thing emerged very clearly for me, a quarter of the way through the book: Capote was obsessed with - infatuated with, maybe - Perry Smith. He never excuses Smith's behavior, nor does he minimize the tragedy of the Clutters' deaths. He confronts the horror head-on, in fact, brutally walking us through Smith's cold, twisted thought process upon killing four innocent people for $40. But he's fascinated with Smith and pays distinct attention to his upbringing, his past, his family, the circumstances that led to his predicament. 

It's an almost loving portrayal, and his death feels almost just as tragic as the original murders. I finished this book after watching the Ted Bundy documentary on Netflix (Ted Bundy is having a moment), and I couldn't help but juxtapose the two killers and the forms of justice they faced. 

Killing Ted Bundy was an ultimate and satisfying consequence, because it completely robbed a manipulative psychopath of his control. That man was never going to stop. He was never going to stop hunting. He was driven almost beyond self-preservation to possess things - situations, authority figures, courtrooms, juries, women. I find myself supportive of the death penalty here as justice for his victims and as prevention of his future crimes.

Killing Perry Smith and his partner feels far less satisfying. It's just not the same. There is a spectrum here and Smith - to me, based on this book - does not land near Bundy. Like Capote, I will not excuse his actions or distract from the complete suffering faced by the Clutter family. But like Capote, I see layers here. I see reasons. I see explanations. I see circumstances beyond Smith’s ability to control.

It's a moral quandary that I won't even attempt to navigate beyond that. I am tired and my brain is squishy from considering all this. But it's beautiful that this book inspires these types of questions. In Cold Blood is truly extraordinary, and I can see why Capote struggled with it. I'm so glad I read it and I'm sorry it took me so long.

In Cold Blood on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: The Song of Achilles

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 book tells the life story of Patroclus, a friend (in this case, lover) of Achilles, legendary fighter and son of a goddess. Patroclus first encounters Achilles as a young boy, and readers witness their friendship develop into something deeper. Eventually, they head to war - the Trojan War - and the story concludes with both heroes fulfilling their destinies.

I hated this book until I reached the last few chapters. Actually, I hated it entirely. Actually, I loved this book. I can't decide. Regardless, I found it to be amazing.

The Song of Achilles wasn't at all what I was expecting. I picked it up because of my interest in Greek mythology, hoping for a fresh and captivating look at the Trojan War. I suppose I actually did get that, in the end, I just didn't expect to see it through a romantic lens.

Yeah. FYI, this is a romance. Fully blown, agonizing infatuation, profound obsession, there-is-no-life-without-you romance. (Also, I would not describe it as erotica, though there are erotic parts.)

At first I found it to be boring, actually, because so much attention was paid to Patroclus and Achilles' relationship. By the end though, I realized that so much attention was paid because it made the ending that much more of a gut punch. Even though we all saw it coming (it is history, after all) ... ouch.

The language is stunning. This is not a sloppy book. I loved the inclusion of the gods and goddesses and all the things the Greeks believed in. And yeah, that painful ending really got me. I couldn't believe how suddenly, over the course of a few paragraphs, I became so emotionally invested in the characters of a book I almost didn't finish.

I feel so weird about this one. I loved it and I hated it. I appreciated the writing and commend the author for her skill. No other book has shocked me into tears like this one has. Which sounds kind of horrible, like why would you ever want to be shocked into tears? But I really, really, really appreciated the story. This is a difficult one for me, but I say read it, for better or for worse.

The Song of Achilles on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Westing Game

2019 CHALLENGE: 1 RE-READ PER MONTH 01 / 12

5 stars. This book is pure brain food. I like to think of it as a nice blend of Agatha Christie and Flannery O’Connor. You’ve got the clever, wholesome Christie mystery fun mixed with O’Connor’s bold, scathing characterizations. Makes one very tasty, very satisfying read.

The Westing Game opens with our cast moving into Sunset Towers, a new apartment building adjacent to an old mansion belonging to Sam Westing. When Mr. Westing dies (…is murdered?), he, via his lawyer, brings together sixteen of the Towers inhabitants to play a game worth … (drumroll, please) … his entire inheritance.

He leaves instructions for each “heir,” plus specific clues for everyone. We, as readers, get to watch from a front row seat as a feisty African American judge, an entitled, egotistical housewife, an attention-starved secretary, a sparkly, smart little girl, and more unlikely suspects race to solve the puzzle and win the game.

This would be a really bizarre book if it wasn’t written so cleverly, with so much humor, and with so much heart. It’s clear here that Ellen Raskin loved this book - loved writing it, loved playing with the readers, and loved her characters, deeply.

Like Christie’s books, this is a classic whodunnit and like Christie, Raskin drops the mic with the satisfying snap of a puzzle piece being pressed perfectly into place. Like O’Connor, Raskin paints each character with care and with brutal honestly. It keeps things fresh and immensely enjoyable.

And, yes, this probably would’ve been an even better read at 12. But I found myself really captivated by The Westing Game, and really invested. In fact (yikes), I actually found myself tearing up a bit at the end. Who, me? The ice queen with a heart of stone?! I’m meltinggggg…… I know. I just fell in love with these characters and it made me so happy to … well, you’ll see.

This book is full of nostalgia and goodness. I’m so glad it kicked off my re-read challenge for 2019, because it proved how rewarding this exercise can be. So come on! Read The Westing Game. Bask in the glow of transparent tryhards, charming youngsters, charming oldsters, twists, turns, and the joy of unlikely friends.

The Westing Game on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: Come Closer

5 stars. What a way to start 2019! I am OVER THE MOON. Come Closer is everything I look for in a horror story: clever, gruesome, unsettling and succinct. It’s also very cinematic and I could see the movie playing in my mind’s eye throughout. Please adapt! It’s a winner! A creepy, terrifying winner!

Come Closer is the first person account of a young married woman named Amanda who starts exhibiting symptoms of demonic possession. We, as readers, get a front row seat as the demon, Naamah, completely erodes her career, her relationships and her sense of self. She has new psychic powers, blackouts, mood swings, and she struggles to fight against the inner voice commanding her to hurt others.

It’s completely tragic and wonderful and captivating. I couldn’t put it down. I suppose I kept hoping for a happy ending, or at least a turnaround, but I should’ve known better. Because we are in Amanda’s mind, we believe that she is truly possessed, but as readers, from an external POV, she could just be going insane.

Is it one, or the other, or both? I love the lingering doubts and questions. I also love that Gran incorporated a thread of religious mythology to flesh out the premise - it made things feel that much more … elemental, or maybe even destined. Her writing, too, is refreshing. She’s snappy and smart. There are several moments - moments that are so well-written and subtle - that made me want to pop off the couch and scream.

Overall: Come Closer is a quick, startling read and will delight horror fans. This is going to be difficult to top. Prepare to have nightmares.

Come Closer on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: Rebecca

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. Yikes. Yikes. This book.

It's a masterpiece. A true masterpiece.

I feasted on this novel. Absolutely dined on it. I devoured it in two days and was shocked to come to its end. It's incredible.

The writing is masterful and the storytelling is atmospheric and layered. It touches on so many things: the power of a place and its many unrealized secrets; the stubborn naivete and innocence of youth; the wired, uneasy journey into adulthood; the constant inner battle for a certain sense of self; the pressures of society and the lousy insensitivity of human nature; the tragedy of being a woman.

It's very captivating, and very horrifying, and a true gift.

I will admit that halfway through the book I was disappointed. I felt so uncomfortable and awkward reading about a hypersensitive girl making her way through a tough world. This is either a testament to the powerful writing or my own personality, but I personally felt Rebecca's presence, constantly whispering in my ear, telling me I would never live up to her, would never escape her shadow. Anyone who suffers from insecurities or anxiety will relate to the narrator's extremely accurate voice. It wasn't creepy, it was too real.

But then the revelation! The other shoe dropped, and as it turns out, it was a perfect fit. And I truly didn't anticipate the twists and turns - which I really appreciate in a world of predictable storytelling.

To those who criticized the book due to the thoughts/actions of the narrator: just because an author writes from a character's perspective does not mean the author agrees with or supports or resembles the character in any way. This should be obvious. The narrator in this story is sensitive, timid, terrified, ignorant, innocent, naive, misguided, and annoying. This is not my interpretation of her, this is how she is portrayed. It's intentional! Her desire to be loved leads her to stay married to a murderer. That is not a "heroine" in any sense of the word.

It really doesn't matter. It just doesn't. I found myself totally immersed in this story, heartbroken for both Rebecca and the narrator. Am I, as a woman, not somehow both of them? Required to be pleasant yet obligated to be direct? Failing to be simultaneously submissive and independent, as is demanded of me? Caught between doing what's expected and doing what feels right? Navigating a world that wants me to be both the Jezebel and the Madonna?

This book is a nightmare. A perfect, Gothic nightmare.

Rebecca on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Cabin at the End of the World

5 stars. WOW. I don’t even know where to begin. I loved Paul Tremblay’s A Head Full of Ghosts but felt really meh about Disappearance at Devil’s Rock, so I had no idea what to expect going into this. And honestly, until the end, I was on the fence. I really don’t take to Tremblay’s attempts to write children, and I fully expected to hate what looked to be a very bleak ending. But then I reached the last page and … felt the whammy of a gut punch so big I nearly burst into tears.

I guess we should back up. The Cabin at the End of the World opens with Eric and Andrew and their 7-year-old adopted daughter Wen on vacation in an isolated cabin with … you guessed it … no cell service. While Wen catches grasshoppers in the front yard, she’s approached by a huge and friendly man named Leonard, who engages her in weird conversation until three others show up - carrying terrifying hybrid weapons and wearing similar outfits in different colors.

Leonard and his companions are a threat, but not the type of threat you’d assume, and this sort of apocalyptic home invasion story runs a very tension-filled course. What follows is a nightmare - a nightmare that never ends and only gets worse. Wen and her fathers are good, good people who experience incredibly awful things. It’s pretty hard to recap, actually, but just know that this is a scary read. A traumatic and interesting and well-written read.

I loved that Tremblay offers us many clues - throws explanations our way, in fact - and yet leaves things ambiguous at the end. We have answers, but we don’t know what to believe. And it’s a tremendous exploration of what happens when we are backed into a corner - when our worst fears for our loved ones and ourselves unfold right in front of our eyes. You will feel like you are there. You will feel in it. You will experience the horror and the loss and the pain.

And yet it’s so captivating. I couldn’t put it down. Even when my eyes were blurry with exhaustion, my head hurt, my knee ached with sympathy pain, even when I was convinced I knew what to expect and had to muscle through it to be sure, I couldn’t put it down. Tremblay still can’t shake the almost hilarious analogies ("Leonard falls off his knees and returns to all fours, a reversal of the evolutionary ascent-of-humans pictograph..." or "Leonard is battered, a diminished and broken King Kong after the swan dive off the Empire State Building. Sabrina is pressed against the wall as though standing on the crumbling ledge of a cliff face.") but his writing here is deeply emotional. He plays it all just right.

And that ending. Fuck, it really worked for me. I thought I had it figured out - thought I knew what was going to happen. Nope, I was thrown for a wonderful loop. A wonderful loop. It felt like Horror with a capital H. Damn. This book coaxed my brain into stunning, dark places. I suppose I’m a little bit in awe. The evil here - you can't really wrap your head around it. It’s monstrous, but it’s not a monster. If that makes sense.

Look, I almost feel like I can’t recommend this. It will fuck you up and leave you wrung out. But it’s a five star book, for sure, and its brilliant premise, vivid prose and deliciously rich themes will stick with me for a long time. I mean … okay, I need a drink.

The Cabin at the End of the World on: Amazon | Goodreads

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