The House at the End of the Moor was my first foray into the writing of Michelle Griep, but it won’t be my last. I loved the atmosphere, especially thThe House at the End of the Moor was my first foray into the writing of Michelle Griep, but it won’t be my last. I loved the atmosphere, especially the moody moor setting of the first part of the book. I also thoroughly enjoyed the writing, was invested in the plot, and found most of the characters likable and sympathetic. Most of all, I really appreciated how Griep wove the characters’ faith into the story. We see that faith grow in some, while we see it twisted and used as a weapon by others. While I found some elements too heavy-handed, such as the romance and the portrayal of the villains, even those aspects largely won me over by the end of the novel.
Our story begins with a prison break. Oliver was wrongly accused of a crime, and has served 9 months of his sentence at an incredibly harsh prison, Dartmoor prison, on the moors of England. When an opportunity presents itself he makes his escape, bent on clearing his name and bringing the man who framed him to justice. I was immediately sucked into the story and invested from this very first chapter. Oliver’s plight gripped me, as did his handling of it. His faith was both evident and conflicted in these early pages, which felt believable to me. I was reminded of Edmond Dantès from The Count of Monte Cristo.
The second chapter introduces our main perspective character, Maggie, and opens with references to Jane Eyre. Those references helped to cement the tone and setting for the reader. Maggie relates to Jane and counts her as a favorite literary heroine. Even the writing itself emulated Brontë, as well as other darker, gothic fiction from the same era. It’s in first person, which is not my favorite, but it actually worked beautifully here. The ways the writing reflected the period in which it was set also aided the portrayal of faith. The faith element could have felt very heavy-handed, but it didn’t. Instead, it felt period appropriate and left me feeling a bit wistful.
The villains in this story are terrible. Maybe too terrible? They feel almost cartoonishly dastardly. Sebastian, the third of our perspective characters, who is one of these villains. I think he was still supposed to be sympathetic in some way, but he was horrendous. I have no problem with a morally gray character, but that’s not an accurate description of Sebastian. He was a purely blackhearted character for most of the story, one who considered himself to be righteous. He was too busy passing judgment on others to see in his actions his own broken, sinful nature. Definitely my least favorite of the perspectives we followed. I hated being in his head. His views on authority, on the worth of others, were appalling. And because he was so awful, I found his crisis of conscience late in the novel almost wholly unbelievable. Almost. He felt modeled after Javert from Les Misérables, but less nuanced. All of that being said, I did somehow end up feeling for him. And I was relieved to find the end of his story more hopeful than that of Javert.
I wish I had enjoyed the romance at bit more, as that was such a central part of the plot, but I kept wanting to get back to the rest of the story. Which is a completely subjective issue. I’m just not in my romance era at the moment, which is not Griep’s fault. There were a few times that I rolled my eyes at the pair, but I can’t deny the sweetness of the relationship, or how satisfying it was when the central plot resolved and resulted in the union of the couple.
Overall, I really enjoyed The House at the End of the Moor. It’s one of those books that I found new for less than $4, so I decided to give it a try. I’m glad that I did. This is my favorite kind of historical fiction in terms of tone and setting. Griep has a back catalogue that I’m eager to dig into, as I really enjoyed her style. I also really enjoyed the literary references, both those more blatant and those merely hinted at in the lives and actions of the characters themselves....more
The Familiar was one of my most anticipated books of 2024. A dark, gothic, historical fantasy standalone written Actual rating: 3.5 stars, rounded up.
The Familiar was one of my most anticipated books of 2024. A dark, gothic, historical fantasy standalone written by an author I adore? Yes, please. I loved the idea of a story involving magic in Inquisition-era Spain, when there would have been such a thin tightrope to walk with that kind of gift. Bardugo does a wonderful job with her characters, and I expected this book to be no different in that regard. And yet, even though The Familiar delivered on all of those expectations, I still found myself a bit disappointed in it. It’s quite possible that I picked it up at the wrong time, that I should have shelved it for later instead of muscling my way through it. Because it’s definitely a good book. Sadly, it simply didn’t land quite right for me.
Let’s talk about the things that did work for me. First and foremost, the prose is gorgeous. Bardugo has always had a lovely way with words, but her craftsmanship just keeps improving. There were many sentences and passages that I found myself rereading, because they were just so pretty. She also managed to capture a very strong sense of time and place, both of which lent to the gothic air of the novel. I felt truly transported, even in sections that didn’t have as much physical description.
Then there are the characters. Bardugo managed to craft a host of characters who all felt multifaceted. None were purely good, but few were without redeeming qualities. Luzia, our main character, is a surly scullion maid with illusions of grandeur and the power to back them up. I loved how unique she was, how brave and selfish she could be. Santangel, the man who helps her hone her gift, is enigmatic and absolutely fascinating. Even the side characters, like Valentina, Luzia’s employer, Haulit, her wealthy aunt, and Teoda, the Holy Child against whom Luzia competes to become the king’s champion, were very interesting.
The Familiar also provided a ton of food for thought. We are shown the religious rigors of the time, and how so much of religion was dictated by fear. We see the mistrust of all who are different, and how even conversion to Catholicism is not enough for a Jew or Muslim to earn the trust of the the government or its people. We see how people hide their heritage out of fear, suppressing large parts of who they are. And we see how, even when you follow every single rule to the letter, it is still not enough when an entity assumes as much power as the Spanish Inquisition.
And now, onto the aspects that didn’t work as well for me. The pacing was my main issue. It was slow at times, nearly stationary at others. For a less than 400 page book, it felt like it had a tendency to drag. Frequently. It’s also a very political story. And I’m not big on politics, no matter the time or place. Finally, I expected the torneo determining which miracle worker would become the king’s champion to be a bit more exciting. While there were moments of magic and tension, it felt oddly mundane for a magical competition.
Even though The Familiar didn’t pack the punch I was hoping for, it’s still a very good book. Bardugo did a wonderful job with her characters, her setting, and the writing itself. I also really appreciated the ending; I though she really stuck the landing, so to speak. This is a book I look forward to rereading when I’m more in the mood for the darker, slower, more contemplative. ...more
Romantic. Slow. Dreamlike. Maudlin. Brimming with melodrama. This is the vampire story that has informed all others for nearlyActual rating: 3.5 stars
Romantic. Slow. Dreamlike. Maudlin. Brimming with melodrama. This is the vampire story that has informed all others for nearly 50 years now. I picked up Interview with the Vampire mostly because it’s the most famous book I can think of both set in and written in my home state of Louisiana. It’s one of those books I feel like I should have read by now.
There were things I really liked about this, and I can see why it has accrued and maintained such popularity. The writing was lovely, and I can see why it has so often been labeled erotic. There’s something lush and sensual about Rice’s prose. I also, of course, loved the setting. Rice captured New Orleans beautifully. Topics like love and sexuality and immortality are all broached with great aplomb. All of the major characters, from Louis to Lestat to Claudia to Armand, are terribly tragic in some way, and I found them all compelling, though deeply flawed in various ways. I also really liked the framework of Louis sharing his story with a reporter in the somewhat modern day. It’s hard to imagine that what began as a short story became an enduring series spanning over a dozen full-length novels and various spin-offs, but that’s exactly the history behind Interview with the Vampire.
However, there were also things that very much did not work for me. Let’s start with the characters. I found Lestat distasteful, and am completely baffled by the fact that the majority of this series is dedicated to him. I intend to read further someday simply to find out why, and to see if I can tolerate him better in further works. Louis is kind of a terrible vampire for most of the story. He’s morose and self-pitying and I had little use for him, which is unfortunate as he’s the narrator of the tale. The entire idea behind Claudia is deeply distressing, especially the sexuality subtly attached to her later in the story. All in all, I found the most appealing vampire to be Armand, and I’m pretty sure that’s because I didn’t spend as much time with him.
I also really struggled with the slow pace of this book. It completely makes sense for the story being told, but I had a hard time maintaining my interest through the middle of the novel. I’m almost positive that serves the story, as it demonstrates the ennui Louis suffers as a vampire, but it came dangerously close to crossing the line from meandering to plodding.
One thing I have to give Interview with the Vampire is its staying power. This book and the series that follows has had a huge impact on popular culture. Every single other vampire story that has made any kind of splash has been informed in some way by Rice’s work. It’s foundational to the genre. I can’t say that I enjoyed every minute I spent with this book, but I did find it educational, and I very much appreciated it. I’m interested to see where the series goes from here....more
What Moves the Dead is both a direct retelling and an expansion of one of Poe’s most famous short stories, The Fall of the House of Usher. I’ve read sWhat Moves the Dead is both a direct retelling and an expansion of one of Poe’s most famous short stories, The Fall of the House of Usher. I’ve read so many “retellings” in recent years that are really just inspired by a work, not an actual retelling of that story. I was so pleased to find this is an actual retelling. I’ve always been fascinated by Poe’s work. He’s the grandfather of the macabre in my opinion, and The Fall of the House of Usher is one of his more disturbing works. However, I always wished for a bit more from it, for most explanation behind what is going on in that house. Kingfisher had the same response to the story, and she addressed it by expanding the story herself. And she did so very well.
I loved getting some actual explanation as to what is going on with the Usher siblings and why the house and surrounding land is so…wrong. Kingfisher’s imagined reasons were just the right balance of plausible and peculiar. I won’t get into what those reasons were, so as not to spoil this novella, but I will say that this little book house some of the creepiest fungi and most disturbing hares I’ve ever come across. If you loved Mexican Gothic, you should definitely give this book a try.
Kingfisher stayed very true to Poe’s original story. And any changes or additions she made stayed true, for the most part. There were some new characters introduced, and our nameless narrator is given a name and identity and background here. However, I have to confess that the addition of extra pronouns that don’t exist really threw me out of the story. They were alien and difficult to keep straight in my mind, especially regarding the tenses of each. It also felt like an odd touch of modernity in a classic story, but that’s simply my subjective opinion.
I very much enjoyed What Moves the Dead, both for it’s approach to retelling a classic tale and for its deeply disturbing, Gothic atmosphere and tone. I would recommend this to any fan of Gothic horror, and to anyone who love Edgar Allan Poe. It’s a very worthy homage to the master of the macabre, and it made me even more excited to watch Mike Flanagan’s version of the story when it releases....more
“Grey was lightning, Vivi was thunder, and I was the sea in the tempest.”
The fact that I own House of Hollow is dActual rating: 4.5 stars, rounded up.
“Grey was lightning, Vivi was thunder, and I was the sea in the tempest.”
The fact that I own House of Hollow is definitely a case of judging a book by its cover. I think the cover art of this book is absolutely gorgeous, and just the right amount of off. Happily, the story it contained was much the same. I immediately fell in love with the writing. There’s a lushness to both prose and description that I found captivating. For instance, the description of Grey Hollow’s wardrobe creations painted brilliant pictures in my mind in ways that appealed to all of my senses. And yet, mixed into that beauty was a serious sense of wrongness, of something grotesque squirming beneath the surface. Which is exactly what a gothic horror novel should be. House of Hollow is a terrific example of gothic horror done right.
“We loved each other with potent, fervent fury. Animal fury. Monstrous fury. My sisters. My blood. My skin. What a gruesome bond we shared.”
What draws me to gothic horror time and again is an appreciation for the atmosphere of that type of tale well told. The best way I can describe that atmosphere, that tone, is as a decayed decadence, lush beauty that is rotten at the core. The Thirteenth Tale and The Last Tale of the Flower Bride are both exemplary examples of this in adult fiction, and House of Hollow is equally brilliant in the young adult realm. All three stories deliver a beauty that makes you ache, as well as a tense darkness beneath it that makes you feel ever so slightly sick to read it. That balance is what I appreciate the most about gothic horror.
Is this a perfect book? No. There is some story here, and it’s pretty fast-paced. But by and large, this is a tale that leans heavily on vibes to carry the reader through to the end. I have no problem with books that are all vibe, little plot, as my love for The Night Circus can attest. However, I know that’s a balance that some readers really struggle with. I will say that, because of the fast pace and the tidy page count, I think even those who require a lot of plot to get through a story could enjoy House of Hollow. But I was here for the vibes, and I enjoyed ever second of them. The relationship between the three sisters was both lovely and incredibly toxic. It was fascinating, and awful, and difficult to look away from. Like a car crash.
I thoroughly enjoyed my time with House of Hollow, which surprised me a bit as I have a love/hate relationship with YA as a whole. I will definitely be seeking out more YA horror, because I loved how fast this moved and how completely engrossed I was. I can’t remember the last time I read a nearly 300 page book in 24 hours. This book is beloved by a lot of reviewers I trust, and now I see why....more
I had really high hopes for One Dark Window, because so many of my book friends have loved it. Even though I can see why it worked so well for them, II had really high hopes for One Dark Window, because so many of my book friends have loved it. Even though I can see why it worked so well for them, I’m sad to say that it fell a bit flat for me. This gothic romantic fantasy is an interesting story with a pretty unique premise and setting. However, I found myself unable to connect to the writing or the characters.
Our main character, Elspeth Spindle, was afflicted with a magical fever as a child. Nearly all children who suffer this fever are killed by order of the king, for fear of what magic will fun in their veins if they survive. However, Elspeth’s father hid her away, making her one of the few fever-afflicted to survive into adulthood. In the kingdom of Blunder, magical Providence Cards rule the hearts of the society. When Elspeth touches one such card, she finds that her magic allows her to absorb something of the card’s essence. In the case of the card she touched, that was the soul of a Nightmare. With a creature of myth sharing her mind, Elspeth never feels safe, and wants nothing more than to hide away in the woods. But when family and society dictate she attend a royal birthday celebration, her life will change yet again, and will never be the same.
I like the idea of the Providence Cards, and the powers they offer. Blunder and the salty mists and the Spirit of the Wood are all suitably creepy and atmospheric. But there was something about Gillig’s prose that simply didn’t work for me. It felt stiff and vaguely juvenile. This is not technically a young adult book, and there is a somewhat descriptive sex scene at one point, the writing felt more akin to young adult works to me than to the adult fantasy I tend to read. The exception to this was actually the bits of poetry littering the book, both at the beginning of chapters and in the dialogue between Elspeth and the Nightmare. These bits were my favorite thing about Gillig’s writing.
And then there are the characters. While we spent much time in Elspeth’s head as discussions were had between herself and the Nightmare, I was never able to connect with her as a character. That disconnect extended to every member of the supporting cast, as well. I appreciated that the central romance didn’t involve a love triangle in any way, and I liked both Elspeth and Ravyn, but they felt very flat to me.
Even though I had some issues with this book, the cliffhanger ending is going to compel me to read the next installment whenever it becomes available. I have a feeling that this would have been a stronger story had it been condensed into a standalone, but that’s merely my opinion. Again, I can see why so many people have loved this book, and I wish I were one of them. But I am interested to see more from Gillig....more
“Every fairy tale has blood flecked on its muzzle.”
I’ve been really interested in The Last Tale of the Flower Bride since I first heard that it was a “Every fairy tale has blood flecked on its muzzle.”
I’ve been really interested in The Last Tale of the Flower Bride since I first heard that it was a gender bent Bluebeard retelling. That concept intrigued me, as I’ve always be fairly fascinated by that particular fairytale. When I finally got my hands on the book (and my ears on it, thanks to Libro.fm’s influencer program) it was actually far different that whatever I was expecting. So different, in fact, that I was originally very conflicted about it. I was repelled by the person who seemed like the central character, and judgmental of those who had allowed themselves to fall under her spell. But I was also deeply invested in these two perspective characters, and completely captivated by the writing.
The prose here is among the most beautiful I’ve ever experienced. The writing is lush and decadent and almost erotic, like the caress of crushed velvet against bare skin. It’s almost too pretty, bordering on purple, but that seemed to work well for the story. The stunning storytelling, mixed with the dark story being told, brought to mind Pan’s Labyrinth. That’s honestly the best comparison I can draw. Both stories are dark and tragic but oddly beautiful all the same.
I originally felt like the relationships in this book were all a bit toxic, and too dark, but that was the point, which became clearer to me the further into the book I read. This story showcases the dangers of co-dependency, of allowing yourself to be entranced by darkness and then compelled to remain in it. It showcases abuse in interesting ways, specifically with gaslighting and sabotage in order to ensure that the abuser remains the only refuge of the abused, and that there is no trustworthy means of escape. We are shown how poisonous love can be when mingled with obsession, possessiveness, and madness.
This story also showcases how poisonous imagination can be if not tempered with reality. Can you cling so tightly to your dreams that you miss out on everything else life might have for you? The answer is yes. All of the fantastical elements of this tale seem directly linked to the characters’ desire to experience the fantastic, which left me questioning whether all of the magic in the story was solely in the minds of those experiencing it. How much of the magic here is real, and how much is simply tricks of the minds that desire so strongly to be tricked?
I ended up loving The Last Tale of the Flower Bride in ways that I would never have guessed when I first flipped open its pages. It’s one of the most beautifully written stories I’ve experienced, and it was far deeper and more philosophical than it appears on the surface. This is the gnarled underbelly of a fairytale, and exposition of the dangers of living in dreams. It’s an exploration of abusive relationships that we wouldn’t view as abusive on the surface, and an exposure of madness that masquerades as imagination. It’s ugly in very purposeful ways. It’s terribly tragic and cautiously hopeful. I absolutely loved it, and can guarantee that I’ll be revisiting it. I’m already excited to dig into Chokshi’s back catalogue, but I don’t know that it will hold a candle to this decadent, decaying Gothic fairytale....more
I received an advance digital copy of this novel from the publisher, St. Martin’s Press, via NetGalley in exchangActual rating: 4.5 stars, rounded up.
I received an advance digital copy of this novel from the publisher, St. Martin’s Press, via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
I judged Weyward by it’s cover, which is absolutely gorgeous. And I’m so glad that I did, because the story it houses is exceptional. This family saga follows three generations of Weyward women across 5 centuries. We follow Altha, who is on trial for witchcraft in 1619; Violet, a teen in 1942 who has never been off of the family estate and yet still ended up suffering mistreatment; and Kate, fleeing from an abusive relationship in 2019, after finding out she’s pregnant and refusing to bring a child into such a toxic environment.
This is a fiercely feminist story across all three time periods. I would summarize each of the three stories as follows: hell hath no fury like a woman abused who has finally had enough, but with a little bit of witchcraft. The patriarchy is undoubtedly the enemy in every branch of this story, and yet Hart manages to convey this in a way that doesn’t portray every male of the species as inherently evil.
I loved the affinity each of the women had for nature, and how nature fights for them when called. This affinity, combined with the way the stories begin to mingle toward the end of the novel and finally tie together in the conclusion, are what sets this tale apart as Gothic magical realism instead of a straight Gothic mystery containing a family drama. It was a really interesting balance.
The writing is lovely without being lyrical, because the prose wasn’t the focus. The settings were beautifully described without getting lost in detail, and were very atmospheric. Especially Weyward Cottage. The characters’ development were all different enough to not get confused with one another while also following similar familial patterns. Characters, setting, and writing all took a backseat to the stories being woven, and I loved how Hart braided the three together in the end.
I was fortunate enough to get an early audio copy of this through libro.fm’s ALC program, so I was able to tandem read the audio alongside the digital copy. That’s always my favorite way to read, as I find it incredibly immersive. All three storylines here were voiced by different narrators, all of whom did a lovely joy. Whatever your preferred format, I highly recommend Weyward. It’s a lush, emotional, fierce, empowering story that kept my attention from the first page to the last....more
Maddalena and the Dark is one of those stories that truly contains multitudes, at least when it comes to genre. First and foremost, it’s historical fiMaddalena and the Dark is one of those stories that truly contains multitudes, at least when it comes to genre. First and foremost, it’s historical fiction, set in 1717 Venice. The lush, clever writing invites readers to place it in the literary fiction camp, while the darkly romantic tone and tension house it firmly in gothic fiction, which blends with the more fantastical elements to tip it into magical realism or even fantasy territory and, since much of this dark story takes place in a school setting, dark academia could be included for good measure. All of this could have made for a muddled story, and it did in a few instances. But overall, this is a story unlike anything else I’ve ever read.
There’s an elegance to this story because of the beautiful, unusual setting. However, one of my favorite elements of the book was that Venice was not simply the setting, but an actual character in her own right. And a deeply disturbing one, at that. All of the fantastical elements of the story were based around this idea of Venice having a life and mind of her own, and I found that aspect of the story absolutely fascinating.
This is, at its core, a story of obsession. Luisa is obsessed with music, and wants nothing more than to be the best violinist in Venice, but her nerves get in the way. She’s an orphan, valued only for her musical talent at the Pieta she calls home. She has never quite fit in, and longs to belong to someone. Then she meets Maddalena, the daughter of a noble family sent to the Pieta to study music and improve her marriage prospects after scandal strikes. Maddalena is obsessed as well, but not with music; it’s Luisa who consumes her heart and mind. The friendship between the two borders on the romantic, which is completely impermissible at the Pieta.
We see obsession close in on madness. We see deals struck for selfish gain. We see romance blossom and backs stabbed. It’s a fascinating, if dark, look into a society and time I know little about. I felt that the narrative unraveled a bit toward the end, and lost itself a couple of times earlier in the story, but I was always interested enough to continue reading. I can’t say I liked any of the characters much, but they were at least compelling. I would definitely recommend this book for those who like gothic or historical fiction and would like to try something more unique to both genres....more
Edgar Allan Poe has held a special place in my heart since I was a child. I have a very distinct memory of Christmas when I waActual rating: 4.5 stars
Edgar Allan Poe has held a special place in my heart since I was a child. I have a very distinct memory of Christmas when I was 8 years old. My parents gave me a box of Great Illustrated Classics each year, and that was the year of the spooky books. Frankenstein, Dracula and The Picture of Dorian Gray were all included. And, most notably, so was Edgar Allan Poe’s Tales of Mystery and Terror. In this memory, I’m laying on my bed, listening to the Backstreet Boys CD I had just unwrapped while reading “The Tell-Tale Heart” for the very first time. My earliest experience with poetry outside of Dr. Seuss was my grandfather quoting the entirety of “Annabel Lee” from memory. So to say that I have a soft spot for Poe’s work would be a vast understatement.
While this collection itself is a mixed bag, as most “selected poetry” collections are, I found it overwhelmingly solid. My favorite poems remain “The Raven” and Annabel Lee,” but I encountered some that were new to me that I very much enjoyed. Even on the poems that weren’t my favorites, where Poe seemed to have gotten lost in his own cadence and lovely language to the point that he lost the thread of story he was trying to spin, I was captivated by the rhythm. His cadence is just always so perfect, so easy to hear even in the silence of your own mind. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with it....more
Atmospheric, transportive, and often terrifying, The Hacienda was a captivatingly creepy place to visit. I’ve been looking forward to The Hacienda sinAtmospheric, transportive, and often terrifying, The Hacienda was a captivatingly creepy place to visit. I’ve been looking forward to The Hacienda since before its publication. But, true to form for me, I kept putting it off once I had it in my hands, partly because I have such a plethora of books on my shelf calling my name that leads me to constant distraction, and partly due to a slight fear that I wouldn’t love it as much as so many other readers who had already read it and adored it with every fiber of my being. But the stars finally aligned, and a TikTok friend offered to buddy read it with me. While I didn’t adore it as much as some other readers, I did very much enjoy it.
The Hacienda turned out to be far heavier on the horror elements than I was expecting. I came in expecting a gothic novel with touches of horror, but this was, in my opinion, a straight-up horror novel with a gothic setting. And it was a setting that I really loved. Cañas’ decision to set her story in the aftermath of the Mexican War of Independence made the story feel profoundly unique. Though that setting, we are shown how trauma and grief can not only be generational, but something we experience on a national level. It gave the haunting at the center of the story a unique depth, as the hacienda at its core could almost be representative of the haunted air of a nation recovering from a war.
Our story centers around Beatriz, second wife of Rodolfo and new mistress of Hacienda San Isidro, the mouldering estate at the heart of a prosperous business. Beatriz sees this as the ultimate opportunity for freedom, for both herself and her mother, after the political murder of her father’s murder. This is not a love match, at least on Beatriz’s end. But the hacienda in question is strangely agressive, and obviously terrifying to the young woman. She seeks the help of the Church and that help comes in the form of Padre Andrés, who once called the hacienda home. There is much more to Andrés than meets the eye, and the two partner together and embark on a journey to reclaim the hacienda from whatever, or whoever, has the estate in its thrall.
I thought Beatriz was a totally fine character. She was interesting, at least on the surface, but I never felt a true connection to her. But Andrés is an entirely different matter. I loved him almost immediately and found him a truly fascinating character. But with everything in the novel, from characterization to descriptions of events and locales to even the climax of the plot, I felt a slight disconnect. Everything felt like it stayed surface deep instead of digging deeper. Details felt ephemeral and tended to blur together. While I found this frustrating, it did one thing brilliantly; it caused the entire novel to feel like a gloriously gothic fever dream.
While The Hacienda isn’t a new favorite for me, it was a very atmospheric, enjoyable experience. The setting was lush, the writing was lovely, and the horror elements were incredibly strong. I completely agree with the comparisons to both Mexican Gothic and Rebecca, and would highly recommend The Hacienda to any lover of those novels, or anyone looking for something historical, with a touch of romance, that is heavy on the creep factor.
I’ve never watched Pan’s Labyrinth. I remember borrowing the DVD from the library about a decade ago, but Chris vActual rating: 4.5 stars, rounded up.
I’ve never watched Pan’s Labyrinth. I remember borrowing the DVD from the library about a decade ago, but Chris vetoed it about 10 minutes in because it was subtitled and our tv was small. While I always intended to go back to it one day, I just never got around to it. That’s going to have to change, because I absolutely loved this novelization of the story. I feel like “novelization” is almost an insult, actually. Because, while I’ve never seen the movie, I know that the care with which this book was written and illustrated demands more respect that such nomenclature usually provides. Pan’s Labyrinth: The Labyrinth of the Faun, is gorgeous in the same way poisonous mushrooms are: lush, inviting, but deadly.
“In our choices lie our fate.”
Pan’s Labyrinth is the story of Ofelia, a girl in 1940s Spain whose widowed young mother has remarried a hateful military man. Ofelia’s mother is pregnant, and the two of them are called to come live in the rundown mill when Ofelia’s new stepfather is stationed, in the midst of a forbidding forest. At least, that is the story on the surface. Deeper within, this is the story of a lost princess, a hidden kingdom, a calculating Faun, and the wars waging within and between and for the hearts of the Spanish people. I love the fairy tale vibe, and I adored the little fables tucked within the central plot, and how those ended up being such a vital piece of the narrative.
“Sometimes the objects we hold dear give away who we are even more than the people we love.”
Ofelia is a lovely character, brave and reckless and loving and everything you would wish for in a daughter. Her mother is blinded by her muddled love for, and fear of, Vidal, the new stepfather Ofelia has dubbed the Wolf. She loves her daughter, but is always scared for her. She’s also scared for herself and for the unborn son wreaking havoc on her health. Mercedes, the secondary heroine of the novel, was wonderful, and I loved her affection for Ofelia. She also has plenty to fear, but does her best to live bravely, anyway.
“Evil seldom takes shape immediately. It is often little more than a whisper at first. A glance. A betrayal. But then it grows and takes root, still invisible, unnoticed. Only fairy tales give evil a proper shape. The big bad wolves, the evil kings, the demons, and devils . . .”
The more fantastical entities of the story, the Faun and the Fairies and the Pale Man, were fascinating. Even those portrayed as good, the Faun and the Fairies, had an underlying cruelty to them. But the Pale Man is one of the most disturbing characters I’ve ever come across. He’s one of those rare beings whose exteriors match their spirits. His wickedness is writ large in the eyes that would no longer stay in his head. Just thinking about him is creeping me out.
“Although we may wish for it, true magic is a scary thing.”
This novel felt pretty dark for a middle grade novel, until I remembered some of the darker children’s books I read when I was younger. Kids seem to be drawn to darkness. I’m not a psychologist, but I think this might be in part because it makes them feel safer in their reality, or lets them know they’re not alone in their struggles. I would say that this particular book is a bit more mature that most middle grade books, and parents or teachers might should offer a couple of content warnings to children before pressing it into their hands. The content might ride the line between middle grade and young adult but, in spite of the darkness, the tone and style of this book falls firmly in middle grade territory, in my opinion.
“Mortals don't understand life is not a book you close only after you read the last page. There is no last page in the Book of Life, for the last one is always the first page of another story.”
The writing is lovely, and often philosophical in a way that would make any reader no matter their age pause to think, but without pulling them from the story in any way. I found myself thankful that I had bought the Kindle book years ago, so that I could annotate without marking up the lovely copy my aunt bought me for my birthday. There was just a ton of food for thought here, made even more impactful by the beautiful prose.
“Libraries don't keep secrets; they reveal them.”
After having read the book, I know that I must watch the movie as soon as I can get my hands on it. Unfortunately I couldn’t find it streaming anywhere, or I would have watched it as soon as I finished the novel. But the DVD is on the way and, in the meantime, I’m going to continue ruminating on Ofelia’s story, her tragedy and her triumph. If the movie is anywhere near as good as the book it inspired, I’m incredibly excited to watch it.
I received an audio copy of this book from the publisher, Macmillan Audio, via NetGalley in exchange for an honesActual rating: 3.5 stars, rounded up.
I received an audio copy of this book from the publisher, Macmillan Audio, via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
The Wife Upstairs is an updated, reimagined Jane Eyre. It’s an interesting twist on a classic story, and I’m loving how many such novels have come out recently and how many more are scheduled for publication soon. But as with all such books, I think it’s going to be hit-or-miss with lovers of the original. Seeing how Hawkins updated and tinkered with the original characters is fun, especially regarding the supporting cast. It’s her approach to Jane that I had issues with. One of the main draws of the classic, at least for me, is Jane Eyre’s character. She upright and good and wholesome and selfless, all without seeming two-dimensional or unlikely in any way. This Jane is definitely not that one. She’s selfish. Greedy. Shallow. Petty. She steals from the rich for the simple pleasure of it. I did find still her oddly likable, but she in no way measures up to the Jane I love.
That being said, there were a lot of things I very much enjoyed about this book. First of all, the decision Hawkins made with regards to setting was so smart. There’s nothing quite as Gothic in feel as Victorian England, but the American South is the next best thing in terms of atmosphere. Southern Gothic is such an interesting subgenre, and the way Hawkins blended that into a classical Gothic story was noteworthy. The story takes place in Alabama, in a wealthy subdivision called Thornfield Estates. Jane is a dog-walker instead of a governess, which is how she, a broke orphan who has aged out of the system, finds herself in this glitzy neighborhood. It’s here she meets Eddie Rochester, she he almost runs her over in his sports car. Neither of their lives will ever be the same.
I very much enjoyed the ways in which Hawkins tweaked the original plot so that it was still surprising to readers of her source material while not veering far enough from it to lose its resemblance. Even though, or maybe because, I’m very familiar with the novel that inspired this one, there were plot points that surprised me a bit, which made my experience much more enjoyable and entertaining. Also, the audiobook is well narrated, with a different narrator for each point of view. The narrators oozed character into their performances, which made me want to just keep listening.
If you have any kind of sentimental attachment to Jane Eyre, I’m not sure this is going to be the right book for you. But it might be! Finding the ways in which Hawkins tipped her hat to the original adds a scavenger hunt element to an already engaging story. And if you’ve never read the classic, this is a fun riff on it that I think you’ll enjoy for its own sake, but also might leave you intrigued enough to give the original a try....more
For years, I thought The Shadow of the Wind was a standalone novel. When I learned that wasn’t the case, I ignored that information for more years. I For years, I thought The Shadow of the Wind was a standalone novel. When I learned that wasn’t the case, I ignored that information for more years. I thought The Shadow of the Wind was pretty nearly perfect on its own, and didn’t need expanded upon. I’ve read some marvelous books that should have been left alone, that had further books tacked on later that didn’t measure up to the first, and somehow manage to tarnish that first book. I didn’t want that to happen to my magical experience with The Shadow of the Wind, so I just ignored the rest of the series for a long time. But then, I found a gorgeous copy of The Labyrinth of the Spirits, the last of the quartet, on sale. I had to buy it for the cover alone, because it just captivated me. But I still didn’t think I intended to read it, or the two books between it and that first novel I had so loved.
“Most of us mortals never get to know our real destiny; we’re just trampled by it.”
That is, until I shared a picture of my purchase, and Petrik immediately fell in love. If you know Petrik, you won’t be surprised to know that he quickly researched the book, which lead him to the rest of the series, and decided that he had to read The Cemetery of Forgotten Books as soon as possible. His enthusiasm was infectious, and TS decided to join him in reading the series. They both adored it, so much so that this particular book ended up being both of their second favorite novel of the year. Obviously, since the copy I bought had started them down this path, I had to give in and read it, along with its two predecessors.
“Truth is never perfect, never squares with all expectations. Truth always poses doubts and questions. Only lies are one hundred percent believable, because they don't need to justify reality, they simply have to tell us what we want to hear.”
I really liked The Angel’s Game and The Prisoner of Heaven, but they didn’t quite capture me the way The Shadow of the Wind had. And then I arrived at this final installment, the book that I hoped would tie everything together and contain nearly the same magic as the first book. While it did indeed tie things together beautifully, it did not match The Shadow of the Wind. It by far surpassed it. The Labyrinth of the Spirits was brilliant in every way, and made me retroactively love every other installment of the series even more. It, and the three preceding books in hindsight, has to be among the most mind-blowing, intelligent, moving novels I’ve ever read in my entire life.
“There are times when it’s more honorable to die forsaken than to live in glory.”
Within the text, Zafón stated his belief that “stories have no beginning and no end, only doors through which one may enter them.” That’s not an idea I would have fully grasped before reading this series, but it’s absolutely true of the way in which Zafón designed The Cemetery of Forgotten Books. While I would still heartily suggest starting with the first novel and progressing in a linear fashion, each book is an entry point into the same sweeping story. I’ve never come across anything else set up in quite the same way, and this structure is part of the genius. The entire series truly is a labyrinth, and this installment brings us to its heart. I was totally awestruck.
“Sometimes, when the gods aren’t looking and destiny loses its way, even good people get a taste of good luck in their lives.”
While the structure is absolutely brilliant, it’s far from the only impressive element. I’m blown away by the intricacies of the plot. So much happens over the course of these four novels, and no detail is ever forgotten or misremembered or shrugged away as unimportant. Every single one of those details matters. The setting is incredibly lush and dark and vibrant, and Barcelona is truly a character in her own right. I am also constantly amazed by the fact that the beautiful prose is in fact a translation, which speaks volumes of both Zafón and of Lucia Graves for her work translating the original Spanish into English. Zafón says so much about the importance of stories and the trials of the writing life that ring so achingly true.
“A story is an endless labyrinth of words, images, and spirits, conjured up to show us the invisible truth about ourselves.”
But my favorite thing about these books, through which I think Zafón shines the brightest, is the cast. The characters are so multifaceted, so wonderfully and heartbreakingly real. They grew to matter so much to me, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to truly stop thinking about them. All of them had such glaring failings, so many beautifully fragile strengths. If you can’t tell, I was deeply invested, and their stories will no doubt stay with me for a very long time.
“Tell our stories to the world, and never forget that we exist so long as someone remembers us.”
I’m so incredibly thankful to have read this series as a whole, and The Labyrinth of the Spirits in particular. Zafón was an incredibly gifted author, and I’m so glad he was able to leave the world this magnum opus. If I’m ever able to visit Spain, Barcelona will be the destination of me. I hope someday I can wander the streets and wonder if another city, one comprised of paper and ink, is waiting for me beneath the cobblestones.
This book is made up of a cast including multiple truly terrible individuals. So awful they were difficult to read. But that wActual rating: 3.5 stars
This book is made up of a cast including multiple truly terrible individuals. So awful they were difficult to read. But that was the point. I kept wondering how all of these divergent but loosely linked plot lines were going to come together, or even if they would. But though I actually considered putting the book down on more than one occasion, I’m glad I stuck with it. Some of the content was horrible, but there was some bloody redemption in the end that I found very satisfying. The plots do indeed come together. While I’ve never read Cormac McCarthy, I can see this appealing to fans of his work strictly based off of what I’ve heard. The writing is phenomenal, but a lot of the story was hard to stomach. I have a lot of respect for it, but it wasn't really enjoyable. I honestly only decided to read this because I want to watch the film adaptation, so here’s hoping the movie is good!...more
This is one of the worst books I’ve ever read. The only thing in its favor is its brevity. It’s opaque to the point of nonsensical, and so overly meloThis is one of the worst books I’ve ever read. The only thing in its favor is its brevity. It’s opaque to the point of nonsensical, and so overly melodramatic that every single character was wholly unbelievable and unsympathetic. And don’t even get me started on that ending. I’d have been insanely pissed had I actually cared. If someone held a gun to my head and forced me to reread either this or Wuthering Heights, I wouldn’t even hesitate to pick Wuthering Heights despite its far greater page count. I still hate Joyce’s Ulysses more, but I’m not sure any book on the planet can usurp that one.
A spooky buddy read with my book twin, the lovely TS!...more
This book was a pleasant surprise. Incredibly atmospheric and super creepy. It’s very reminiscent of classic gothic horror novels in tone, setting, prThis book was a pleasant surprise. Incredibly atmospheric and super creepy. It’s very reminiscent of classic gothic horror novels in tone, setting, prose, and even characterization, while still being refreshingly original. The decaying decadence that so epitomizes the genre never gets old. It will have you looking askance at mushrooms for a good long while....more
For close to a decade I’ve thought that The Shadow of the Wind was one of the most brilliant novels I had ever read. I had no Actual rating: 4.5 stars
For close to a decade I’ve thought that The Shadow of the Wind was one of the most brilliant novels I had ever read. I had no idea that it was a preamble, setting up for an even bigger story. And I truly believe that The Angel’s Game just scratched the surface; I can feel in my bones that there’s far more to come. I’ve also been reliably informed by TS and Petrik that all of the questions I found left frustratingly open at the end of this book will indeed be answered later in the series, which does nothing but add to my excitement.
“Poetry is written with tears, novels with blood, and history with invisible ink.”
In this book we meet David Martín, an orphan who yearns to be a writer. Thanks to his mentor, Pedro Vidal, Martín is given his chance. But when his writing career takes an unexpected trajectory, he finds himself making a deal with the devil and mirroring the tragic history of another. At its core, Martín’s story is one of intriguing mystery and gothic horror. The atmosphere of this novel was so creepy that I often couldn’t tell if there was a supernatural element to it or if the eeriness was due exclusively to the lush, dark setting. That question wasn’t truly answered, even in the final pages, though its answer was alluded to. I loved the balance Zafón struck between reality and the supernatural; it definitely kept me on my toes.
“Inspiration comes when you stick your elbows on the table, your bottom on the chair and you start sweating. Choose a theme, an idea, and squeeze your brain until it hurts. That’s called inspiration.”
The Angel’s Game was radically different in tone than its predecessor, The Shadow of the Wind, but that made the Martín’s search for answers even more compelling. Where The Shadow of the Wind was a historical fiction literary mystery, The Angel’s Game is, as stated above, a gothic horror, though there is plenty of mystery and romance and even magical realism in its pages. While I truly loved the atmosphere of the book, and have rarely come across such lush descriptions of setting, the mystery was what truly kept me reading. I was dying to know how Martín’s story would tie into Daniel Sempere’s tale, and finally gaining that information was incredibly satisfying.
“The only way you can truly get to know an author is through the trail of ink he leaves behind him; the person you think you see is only an empty character: truth is always hidden in fiction.”
Probably my least favorite element of this book was the central romance. If it can even be considered central. Martín’s romantic interest came across as incredibly two-dimensional, in my opinion, and seemed to only be there to drive the plot forward instead of serving as a character in her own right. I’m not a fan of damsels as plot devices, and that’s truly what she felt like. I know Zafón can pen wonderful female characters, as he demonstrates beautifully in another character in this novel, so I know he could have done better with this particular woman. Besides that, I really have no other complaints about this novel. Especially since, as I mentioned earlier, TS and Petrik assured me that my questions would be answer in the next two novels.
“Sooner or later, the word becomes flesh and the flesh bleeds.”
As with The Shadow of the Wind, my very favorite element of The Angel’s Game was the role of books, both in plot and setting. Sempere and Sons remains one of the coziest bookshops I’ve come across in fiction, and I wish I could live there. Then you have The Cemetery of Forgotten Books, after which this entire series is named. There’s something so magical about the idea of the Cemetery, and as well as about its role as a setting. The thought of a nearly endless labyrinth of books, whose authors and existences have been lost to society, hidden deep within a city, is enchanting.It also provides a beautiful continuity between the novels, and the repetition of dialogue regarding it lends a reverence and awe to the Cemetery’s existence that moves me.
“This place is a mystery. A sanctuary. Every book, every volume you see, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and the should of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens. In this place, books no longer remembered by anyone, books that are lost in time, live forever, waiting for the day when they will reach a new reader’s hands, a new spirit…”
Zafón also has profound things to say about books themselves, the art of writing, and even the impact story has on religion and philosophy and psychology, all of which I found fascinating. And once again, both the writing and the translation of it are absolutely stunning. This is a book that begs to be annotated. Since I couldn’t bring myself to mark in my lovely physical copy, I borrowed an electronic copy from the library for the express purpose of taking notes.
“We think we understand a song’s lyrics, but what makes us believe in them, or not, is the music.”
I’m so glad I was persuaded to read beyond The Shadow of the Wind. As much as I adore that novel, it’s so exciting to see how much more there is to the story. If the third and fourth installments maintain this level of craftsmanship, The Cemetery of Forgotten Books will undoubtedly become one of my favorite series. The Angel’s Game made me think and question and laugh and feel, and I honestly can’t wait to see what else Zafón’s world has in store.
“Rebecca, always Rebecca. I should never be rid of Rebecca.”
There are way too many “classics” in the world for me to ever readActual rating: 4.5 stars
“Rebecca, always Rebecca. I should never be rid of Rebecca.”
There are way too many “classics” in the world for me to ever read the entire canon, and an enormous amount of variation regarding what people consider “classic.” But I have this thirst to know why something has stood the test of time, and to judge its merit for myself. It’s an impossible task, but one I very much enjoy striving to at least attempt. I’ve read a good many of those most often agreed upon as classics of the English language, and I know at least the basic plot of far more. Somehow, the plot of Rebecca remained a mystery to me until I read it for myself. I’m so glad that I somehow managed to go into this book basically blind, because it was a wild an unpredictable ride that I enjoyed to the end.
“We all of us have our particular devil who rides us and torments us, and we must give battle in the end. We have conquered ours, or so we believe.”
Rebecca really starts off with a literary bang. The opening line, “Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley again,” has become one of the most iconic openings in literature. And for very good reason. I can’t remember any other book sucking me in quite so quickly, not because of a character or plot, but from the sheer magnetism of the setting. The descriptions of Manderley in this dreamscape are lush and dark and tense, a captivating ruin that feels equal parts alluring and sinister. The story is cyclical, so we know how things end before they even begin. That writing decision gave the book a tension that I don’t think it could have delivered in any other way. It’s undoubtedly one of the most atmospheric novels I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading.
“There was Manderley, our Manderley, secretive and silent as it had always been, the gray stone shining in the moonlight of my dream, the mullioned windows reflecting the green lawns and the terrace. Time could not wreck the perfect symmetry of those walls, nor the site itself, a jewel in the hollow of a hand.”
“Moonlight can play odd tricks upon the fancy, even upon a dreamer’s fancy. As I stood there, hushed and still, I could swear that the house was not an empty shell but lived and breathed as it had lived before.”
“We would not talk of Manderley, I would not tell him my dream. For Manderley was ours no longer. Manderley was no more.”
Another of du Maurier’s choices that I found really compelling was the decision to never reveal the narrator’s name. Instead, we see her only in the roles she surrenders to, the inexperienced companion and the young wife and always, always the interloper of Manderley, the girl trying to fill the shoes of her larger than life predecessor as Mrs. de Winter, the titular Rebecca. When our narrator falls in love with and immediately marries Rebecca’s widower, she has no idea of the huge shadow that Rebecca will cast over the narrator’s every move and decision. But Mrs. Danvers, the housekeeper who runs Manderley with an iron fist, ensures that the narrator is reminded of Rebecca and the innumerable ways in which the narrator will never live up to Rebecca’s legacy at every turn. Danvers is one of the most disturbing characters I’ve come across in fiction. Her description is just as visceral and sinister as the opening portrait of Manderley, but without the charm and allure.
“I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.”
Almost every character drove me crazy in one way or another, especially the central characters of Maxim de Winter and the narrator. However, they were conveyed in such a way that I could be both annoyed and sympathetic simultaneously, which I think is quite an accomplishment. I found it fascinating that the most concrete character in the entire book is the only one never physically present: Rebecca. From blood red rhododendrons to strong and slanting penmanship to the wildness of the sea, the amount of symbolism linked to Rebecca is astounding. And the second most dominating character in the novel is, in my opinion, Manderley herself. Never have I read a place that felt so alive and powerful and central to a story. The narrator is somehow the least tangible member of the cast, and I think that’s in large part due to the fact that she lives far more within her own mind than she does in the real world.
“I had said the name. I had said the word Rebecca aloud. It was a tremendous relief. It was as thought I had taken a purge and rid myself of intolerable pain. Rebecca. I had said it aloud.”
I’m not going to discuss the plot at all, except to say that this is the only book of its age outside of the novels of Agatha Christie that has been able to legitimately surprise me multiple times over the course of its narrative.Rebecca took the concept of a gothic novel and modernized it.Wuthering Heights and almost on equal footing with Jane Eyre, which are the only two strong examples of gothic literature I’ve really experienced outside of Poe. Daphne du Maurier is a fascinating author with a style all her own, and I will most assuredly be reading more of her work in years to come. I can see why Hitchcock was so taken with her, and I’m interested to see how the screen interpretation of Rebecca differs from the novel.
This was the second installment of the Novel Notions Classics Club is a go! I thoroughly enjoyed reading this classic with TS, Haïfa, and Emma....more
The Thirteenth Tale is deliciously gothic. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it’s the best piece of gothic fiction I’ve read outside of Jane EThe Thirteenth Tale is deliciously gothic. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it’s the best piece of gothic fiction I’ve read outside of Jane Eyre. I found The Thirteenth Tale far better balanced than Wuthering Heights and less overwrought than Rebecca, which are two of the other biggest and best loved pieces of gothic fiction. There’s a lushness to this story that covers the decay at its core, which is the epitome of gothic to me. I see gothic fiction as decadent and elegant on the surface, but with seams that are splitting to showcase the rot taking root beneath that beauty. The tale Vida Winter spins about Angelfield is the epitome of that.
Our story begins with Margaret, our perspective character, receiving a letter from the greatest living literary mind of her time, Vida Winter. She is asking Margaret to come to her manor and write Ms. Winter’s biography, the true story of her life that she has never shared with anyone else. Winter is notorious for spinning radically different life stories for every interview she gives, but she promises that this one will finally be the truth. Margaret is baffled by this, because she’s never met Vida Winter in her life. Come to that, she’s never even read one of Winter’s (numerous and highly lauded) books. But after picking up one of Winter’s books for research and becoming wholly enraptured by the story, she reluctantly agrees. The true story Winter spins for her is wilder and more disturbing than any of the fiction she has shared with the world.
Setterfield’s prose captivated me immediately. The writing is absolutely exquisite from the very first page. This is the most excited I’ve been over the writing, the prose of a story since I read The Ten Thousand Doors of January before it was published in 2019. That excitement worried me, because I feared that the introduction would be the highlight of the book. I’m so glad to have been proven wrong. This is now firmly one of my favorite books I’ve ever read. I love how rich and atmospheric Setterfield was able to make every element of this story. The characters were multifaceted and compelling and deeply mysterious. The atmosphere is incredibly lush, and the setting is phenomenal in all its rich, decaying glory. The mystery is impeccably balanced and nearly impossible to predict. There is also an air of the uncanny that was subtle enough to add to instead of take away from the story.
Another thing I deeply love about this book is that it’s in part a love letter to books and stories and bookishness. I generally love books about books more in theory than execution, because I often feel like they dangle this bookishness in front of me like a carrot until they can get me invested in the story they actually want to tell, at which time they toss the carrot. Not so here. Books are important all the way through, as is storytelling and stories in and of themselves. I love this so much, and was gratified to not feel suckered into a book because it presented itself as something it was not.
I adored everything about The Thirteenth Tale. It’s a dark story, and one you need to make sure you’re in the right frame of mind for, but it’s one of those rare stories about which I would change absolutely nothing. I’ve had this book sitting on my shelf for nearly a decade. It sounded so much like something that I would love that I was actually hesitant to pick it up for fear that I was wrong. I’m happy to report that I definitely wasn’t wrong. This book was everything I hoped it would be and more. It’s a new favorite, and I’m so glad to have finally read it....more
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