The Map of Love is definitely not a genre romance, but it has one of the most golden, satisfying love stories of my acquaintance. Anna and Sharif are The Map of Love is definitely not a genre romance, but it has one of the most golden, satisfying love stories of my acquaintance. Anna and Sharif are couple goals. Reading their early twentieth century story through the research of Amal, the descendant of Sharif’s sister Layla, is utterly beguiling. The modern day romance between Isabel, Anna and Sharif’s great granddaughter, and Omar, Amal’s brother, is the exact opposite. Faintly creepy, utterly unconvincing, and mostly theme bait. I could have done without it. It goes without saying that the postcolonial lens on Egyptian politics, and the early evolution of the situation in Palestine, is a gut punch. ...more
I have never come so close to DNF-ing a KJ Charles book. This was just *not it* for me, in a big way. The cloying niceness of the MMCs and their lacklI have never come so close to DNF-ing a KJ Charles book. This was just *not it* for me, in a big way. The cloying niceness of the MMCs and their lacklustre chemistry; the centring of the ‘pain of privilege’; the poverty of secondary characters, especially women (who aren’t just plot bunnies); the absolutely bananas plot that is 50% ridiculous coincidences and melodrama and 50% boring too-ing and fro-ing around the midlands; but most of all, the takeaways about the positive good of power and privilege in the hands of the right Duke.
I’m starting to feel panicked that I’m falling out with KJC, having not liked the last three of her mainstream published titles. What is going on? Two stars only because of 1. The surprisingly kinky sex scenes, which made no sense in the context of this story but which I nevertheless enjoyed and 2. That scene where they go looking at churches and Shakespeare sites in Stratford, because it was legitimately lovely....more
A powerful and thought-provoking book in so many ways, but the execution of the history never quite hit its stride for me.
The central focus on AshleyA powerful and thought-provoking book in so many ways, but the execution of the history never quite hit its stride for me.
The central focus on Ashley’s sack is a brilliant way in to talking about the experiences of Black women as mothers, daughters, ancestors and descendants in the American South in the 19th and 20th centuries. As an emotional object it’s a classic starting point for Miles to work up a narrative through the sparse archival sources, using the tools of microhistory and critical fabulation. This works well when she takes an element of it - like the three handfuls of pecans Ashley’s mother loaded into the sack - and spins it into a chapter about Black and Indigenous food cultures, pecan cultivation and the harsh limitations of plantation diets. Throughout you can tell that Miles is a deeply read, methodological reflective scholar - the footnotes are legion and they are fascinating. But this is partly the problem - so much of the ideas, tools and techniques that underpin the book get siphoned into the tiny font of the notes (which are almost a quarter of the paperback edition), that the main text is strangely denuded. Without the scaffolding that justifies the constant return to the sack, the narrative becomes repetitive - I was frustrated that the same sentences, same assertions were made over and over at the front of the book, while the nuance of interpretation got parked at the back. It felt like an example of an academic text made accessible for a wider audience and losing something essential to its historical practice in the process....more
This debut novel is such a masterclass in yearning and desire, of lots of different kinds. I’m feeling pretty torn up about it - it’s the kind of bookThis debut novel is such a masterclass in yearning and desire, of lots of different kinds. I’m feeling pretty torn up about it - it’s the kind of book that stretches your empathy muscles to the limit and then makes you go a little further. I realise this review is saying basically nothing at all; it’s just feelings. But if you want queer historical that’s serious and unflinching, while also deeply poignant, this might be for you. ...more
I want to savour every sentence Cecilia Grant writes; I want to eat it with a small spoon, to make it last. A Gentleman Undone is so good at being a rI want to savour every sentence Cecilia Grant writes; I want to eat it with a small spoon, to make it last. A Gentleman Undone is so good at being a regency romance, in all its particulars, while also rejecting the well-worn grooves of the genre. It feels entirely itself, which is something I’m always on the lookout for - when a writer makes a romance feel like only they could have written it? That’s when you know you’ve got a winner. ...more
It’s only 4* because I wanted more more more of it - the ending was too abrupt. But. This is peak Cat Sebastian post-2020 - friends in love, gently buIt’s only 4* because I wanted more more more of it - the ending was too abrupt. But. This is peak Cat Sebastian post-2020 - friends in love, gently bumping up against each other physically and emotionally until they find their way to a love declaration. It was delightful. I was duly delighted. It makes me want the next We Could Be So Good book so badly, I can’t tell you. ...more
Huh. For the first half of this I was hopeful of (finally!) enjoying a book in the Romance history project that Leigh, Hannah, Charlotte and I are worHuh. For the first half of this I was hopeful of (finally!) enjoying a book in the Romance history project that Leigh, Hannah, Charlotte and I are working on together. We had atmosphere and backstory. We had two MCs who seemed to actually like each other and had somethings in common - they even had *conversations*! We had secondary characters who were intriguing, including a happy, committed gay couple, one of whom was Black. The gothic elements of the story weren’t exactly subtle but they were deliciously tropey - twins who can’t be told apart, mysterious deaths, objects appearing and disappearing, secret passages.
And then - pardon my language - it all went straight to shit. The second half of the story embraces chaos; gothic but on speed, and not in a delicious way. The book begins to revolve around the emotional, physical and sexual (including incestuous) abuse of children, both in the past and present. Virga treats the sexual abuse in particular in what I can only describe as an unresolved and ambivalent kind of way. While the characters appear to recognise, through subtle cues, the suffering of the child and the traumatic impacts on their adult selves, our narrator and other characters never repudiate sex with children. Instead the sexualisation and adultification of young boys blurs into a wider exploration of homoerotic and homosexual desire. Children are often treated as agents and provocateurs, while their abusers are seen as infatuated or in love, powerless in the face of their own weakness. The two serially abused children - one in the present of the novel’s timeline, one in the past - are consistently painted as cunning, vindictive, and cruel, almost monstrous.
Now, it is possible to see this as a function of gay culture of the late nineteenth century setting, when the romanticisation of classical pederasty was common - except that the story is being told, apparently, from the hindsight of 1969 as the narrator looks back on his youth. This was still relatively early days in terms of the public acknowledgement of child sexual abuse, particularly of boys, but understandings of children’s sexuality, their agency and the laws of consent certainly had shifted in those 70 years. The fact the narrator doesn’t reflect at all on the gap between his perceptions of events as a very young man in 1899/1900 - only in his late teens himself - and those of his older self is striking. By the time Virga was writing Gaywyck in the late 1970s, the conflation of homosexuality and pedophilia in the media was widespread - in part fuelled by the cooption of the gay rights movement by a small number of ‘pedophile activists’ claiming that the adoration of the young boy figure was an integral and essential part of homosexual desire. It’s impossible not to read this book through that lens, as the expression of uncertainties and undigested ideas about child sexuality, homosexuality and romantic relationships swirling around in the 1970s. The fact that Virga cites Lolita as an inspiration in the afterword, suggesting he wanted to write a book like that about a boy, tells us a great deal about Gaywyck’s underlying logics of abuse and power in relationships.
All of this make Gaywyck a fascinating historical artefact, set in its particular context. But for me it is no longer legible as a romance novel, to a contemporary 21st century readership. This is true of a lot of the books that we’ve read for this project - these stories idealise and romanticise abuses of power, often through sexual violence, in ways that are antithetical to a happily ever after....more
3.5* Good Lord but this was brutal and distressing. It offers an interesting counterpoint to Matrix - apparently they were written at the same time - 3.5* Good Lord but this was brutal and distressing. It offers an interesting counterpoint to Matrix - apparently they were written at the same time - given that book centred a woman who exercises her power over the natural and social worlds, and this one centres a girl who is absolutely at the mercy of both. Expect gorgeous writing about the natural world, and a bleak, hopeless story about an abused, traumatised young woman fleeing one version of starvation and death for another, slower one.
At times the prose is almost gnomic, a quasi-spiritual exhortation to see all the beauty in the world in spite of the destruction of humans and the pain of living. And I have to admit that, even though it was beautiful, I did feel rather preached at, especially in the end. I famously dislike stories that torture their characters to send the reader A Message and, while I think Groff pulls off the message-sending in a moving and reasonably measured way, that’s the main reason behind my rating. ...more
Daniel Mason has a glorious gift for tone - this book is a masterclass in shifting genre, period and style. It’s also incredibly moving in parts, offeDaniel Mason has a glorious gift for tone - this book is a masterclass in shifting genre, period and style. It’s also incredibly moving in parts, offering a 500 year palimpsest of a small square of Massachusetts forest, as seen through the eyes of the colonists who lived there. Twelve interlinked stories of their loves and losses are bound together with the stories of non-human agents (fungus, beetles, trees, big cats), who have an equal if not greater impact on the environment. The writing is lovely, although it’s nearly always melancholy and sad - this is very much a book in the elegiac mode, about the slow death of our world even while so much living is happening in it. There are ghosts on every page, and where people do find happiness it’s only for the shortest period of time before something horrible happens.
My one query with this book is why the voices and experiences of the Indigenous and the enslaved are so persistently marginalised? They appear only on the periphery of the story. Is it, consciously, because this is a book about the destruction of colonial and capitalist violence? But if so, I still felt the silence and the absence. ...more
4 stars for the first 50% and 3 stars for the latter half - so, a very solid 3.5* overall. There is so much to love here: the writing is fun and swift4 stars for the first 50% and 3 stars for the latter half - so, a very solid 3.5* overall. There is so much to love here: the writing is fun and swift (if a bit purple towards the end); the characters are vivid; the wider relationships with the MCs families and friends are generously drawn; and (you know it must be true if I’m saying this) the kids are certifiably adorable. So, what lost me in the second half? The plot lost its way for me after Cora and Nate fall into bed (over and over again) and became somewhat tortured at the end. The emotional conflict felt…really stretched, and we were more enthusiastically told about it than shown. And. Although the (many) endings were largely satisfying - shout out to the scene with Nate and his older brother Raymond, sob - I really really REALLY did not like how one element of the ending played out. I should have seen it coming from a mile away but I kept hoping… That, plus the fact that this is teeth-achingly cishet-normative and gender essentialist, added up to a less-than-fuzzy vibe for me. Even though - and I admit this freely - my heart responded to the stories about good protective men and the strong-but-tired women they loved like it was socialised to do.
Oh, and definitely don’t come to this expecting anything progressive in terms of issues of class, race and colonialism. This is a pro-aristo world and no mistake. ...more
This is a fabulously textured but ultimately low-key historical novel, reimagining the girlhood romance of Anne Lister and Eliza Raine during their tiThis is a fabulously textured but ultimately low-key historical novel, reimagining the girlhood romance of Anne Lister and Eliza Raine during their time together at the Manor School in York. It was a joy to see places I know so intimately brought to life through Donoghue’s precise knowledge of the 18th century, and to meet a young Anne through the eyes of someone who loved her so passionately. But there is something so constrained about this book, and so deeply sad, that I found myself often holding it at arms length. Wishing, I think, that we were also in Anne’s extraordinary mind, rather than only the befuddled yearning of Eliza’s memories....more
An absolutely brilliant but devastating story of misogynistic violence and religious fanaticism, with a golden thread of women’s solidarity and love tAn absolutely brilliant but devastating story of misogynistic violence and religious fanaticism, with a golden thread of women’s solidarity and love twisting through it. I found the relationship between Ursa, the wife of the witch finder, and Maren, a local woman close to the accused, wonderfully tender and compelling. I’m certainly looking forward to reading more by this author. ...more
This book is pretty close in focus to my own academic interests - the meanings and values encoded into narratives about the past - and so I was primedThis book is pretty close in focus to my own academic interests - the meanings and values encoded into narratives about the past - and so I was primed to really enjoy it. Hadley is a great companion on a twisty journey to the heart of the story of a medieval dragon slayer, whose tomb at Brent Pelham church I actually went to look at last month. He’s both a careful historical researcher and a compelling story-teller, with a nose for the mythopoetic aspects of his quest. And it does ultimately feel like a quest, wherein the process of getting there is more important than where he ends up. Highly recommended, if you like your history on the folkloric and philosophical end of the spectrum. ...more
Ah this is an incredibly lazy way of reviewing a book but I’m at a spa right now, so indulge me: if you want to know what I think, please read my frieAh this is an incredibly lazy way of reviewing a book but I’m at a spa right now, so indulge me: if you want to know what I think, please read my friend Charlotte (romansdegere)’s review because she knows my joy, frustration and disappointment with this story. Add to her thoughts the resentment I harboured about the dancing around Berengaria and Emily’s relationship, and that’s pretty much beat for beat what I would write, but better and more thorough. ...more
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