conspystery's reviews
278 reviews

dark emotional mysterious reflective sad tense medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? A mix
Strong character development? It's complicated
Loveable characters? It's complicated
Diverse cast of characters? No
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

3.75

First: all my thanks to Netgalley, Jen Williams, and Dreamscape Media for providing me with an advance audiobook copy of Games for Dead Girls in exchange for an honest review!

Games for Dead Girls is a pretty solid thriller/mystery. I have a few complaints with character depth, but other than that, I really enjoyed this book-- I listened to the audiobook version, which was amazing, over the course of about half a week, completely enthralled. I found myself pushing to stay up later so I could see where it was going.

I think one of the things that makes this book memorable for me is its setting. The braided storylines, spanning three different eras but largely contained to the same geographical location, all add layers of atmosphere to this quiet (almost TOO quiet) seaside town, and it’s just such a treat to explore. The world felt distinctly different between the three perspectives, but reasonably so; rather than feeling like three disjointed settings, it feels like the same place as viewed through vastly different lenses, which is exactly what I think the goal was here. It works really well. The town feels populated, and the various plots, while some of the details of the villains’ actions are a bit far out there, feel plausible to the extent that they need to. Without spoiling too much, I just love the guilty unease that leaches through the atmosphere and into the characters, and how differently it presents for all of them.

I also really liked the plot hook. I like how the story opens, puts you right in the middle of things, and basically explains the aftermath of a mystery-- you, as the reader, are left to piece together its history rather than watching it unfold in real time, so it really feels like a tragedy in the best way. The strongest plot beats in this book were definitely those which were rooted in the past. I really enjoyed how both of the “past” storylines influenced the “present” one, how tangibly that effect could be felt even before the pieces are totally put together. The first major plot twist,

however slowly it arrived, was genuinely chilling to me in the most satisfying way because of that interconnection. I love how it recontextualizes the story and its narrator.

The character development in this book was pretty much the only thing I had a problem with.

It starts off super strongly, and I like how it slowly subverts itself; neither Charlie nor Emily are at all what they seem, and the subtle way their character arcs curdle and then rot into full on horror is a LOT of fun to read, especially in the context of the plot twist I mentioned earlier. My gripes are how that moral complexity was resolved. By the end of the book, both main characters felt like they’d lost a lot of depth. That moral complexity was cast aside to tie up the story in a neat little bow-- the romance with Charlie’s character and the man from the town definitely did not help in that regard. Her gray morality was eased a little too much for me to find it satisfying. Emily was the same way. Even the other villains felt flat by the end, though it was a bit more fitting for them to be that considering EVERYTHING about them. So creepy it was almost totally far-fetched… almost. Works for them, but not for Emily and Charlie.

I think the book would definitely have benefited from a little more character complexity through its end.

Overall, though, I really liked Games For Dead Girls. The atmosphere was just the right amount of creepy, the plot was engaging, and the characters were fun to read despite their pitfalls in the end.

I enjoyed how clever the plot twist in the middle of the book was from a literary standpoint, and I thought the fact that this story was self-aware of how it was rooted in humanity’s ills rather than the supernatural added a lot of satisfaction to its narrative.

It reminded me a little bit of The Furies by Natalie Haynes, in a really good way. This would’ve been a great read for Halloween, I think-- maybe I’ll read it again come October!

Content Warnings

On the Genealogy of Morals and Ecce Homo by Friedrich Nietzsche

Go to review page

Did not finish book. Stopped at 42%.

I only had to read the first half for class. Not particularly compelled to read the rest.

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

Go to review page

dark emotional hopeful mysterious reflective sad medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? A mix
Strong character development? Yes
Loveable characters? Yes
Diverse cast of characters? Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

5.0

“WHAT WAS LOST IN THE COLLAPSE: almost everything, almost everyone, but there is still such beauty.”

I cannot believe it took me as long as it did to discover this book; once I picked it up, I devoured it over the course of about four days, and now I am completely obsessed. I absolutely adore Station Eleven-- it’s everything its premise promises and more.

The thing I enjoy most about this book is its depth, and its commitment to exploring that depth. I was introduced to Station Eleven by the HBO miniseries, and I loved it, so I thought I knew what to expect when I picked up the novel, but I didn’t. The miniseries is more straightforward and resolved than the book. It’s great, but after reading the novel, I kind of prefer the ambiguity-- how the characters are more morally gray, how their connections with each other are complicated, how nearly nothing is tied up neatly. A surprising amount of the book version of Station Eleven is left up to interpretation, and it serves the premise really well.

I particularly like Jeevan in the book as opposed to the TV show (not to say I didn’t also love him in the miniseries! He was one of my absolute favorite characters!) because he’s such a great example of the difference in storytelling between the two formats. He tries to do the right thing, or that’s what he tells himself, but we see sides of him-- especially through other characters’ points of view, like Miranda-- that don’t completely line up with that image. The same can be said for nearly all the characters in the book. They’re complex, and Station Eleven centers itself around that complexity in how it presents its plot.

The writing of the book itself is also brilliant. Mandel’s writing style is unpretentious yet insightful (a friend described it as conversational); she knows exactly where to put detail so that it never becomes overbearing or repetitive. When there is focus on imagery, it’s always for a reason, and it’s always done with the wistful beauty of post-apocalyptic retrospection-- the recurring motif of light, especially around Kirsten’s character but sometimes with others, is my favorite instance of this intentionally limited, meaningful imagery. That philosophy of relative minimalism for maximum emotional impact does wonders for its thematic power.

In a similar vein, the matter-of-fact retrospective quality of the foreshadowing in this novel is exceptional. Again, Mandel does not overload the text with heavy-handed reminders of doom; the foreshadowing (or, after the outbreak, affirmations of the destruction) is limited, packed down into infrequent single sentences for maximum poignance. Even towards the beginning of the novel, while we’re still entrenched in the last days of normalcy before the outbreak hits, the foreshadowing is never meaninglessly ominous-- take the last line of chapter two, for example. Mandel’s foreshadowing always carries with it the sadness and regret of retrospection, which is a perfect match for the plot itself.

I think I highlighted more quotes from this book than I have for any other book I’ve read in the past year, full stop. And even that can’t capture everything I love about it. The brief moments of humor caught me off-guard every time, in the best way. Chapter six is masterfully written, could be a poem on its own. Miranda’s function in the narrative and her depth as her own character is so sad yet unequivocally beautiful in its power, and I love how she has such presence over everything-- in the glass paperweight, especially, not to mention her graphic novel. The comic book’s recurring appearance as the audience is given more information to understand its connection to Miranda and Arthur is phenomenal. The recounting of Arthur’s last day-- and choosing to explore this as late into the book as it appears-- adds unmatched emotional resonance, especially with its last line. Honestly, just everything Arthur is and does is so interesting character-wise; the excerpts from the letters to V show it so well. There’s one paragraph-- “I want to do something remarkable but I don’t know what”-- that just hits so hard. “...we’re all getting older and it’s going so fast. I’m already 19.” SO good. I haven’t even written anything about Clark yet! He’s such a great foil for the other characters, in a really unexpected way!

I think overall, Station Eleven shines in its ability to communicate so much depth in so many small, unexpected places. The less surface area an object has, the higher the pressure it can apply, and exponentially so-- this book is the same. It knows exactly where to pack its punches, and doing so results in a genuinely unforgettable, endlessly interpretable narrative, with a tragic but hopeful message about regret, human connection, and storytelling. I love this book; it’s a new favorite for me.

Content Warnings

Family Lore by Elizabeth Acevedo

Go to review page

dark emotional hopeful reflective sad tense slow-paced

Plot- or character-driven? Character
Strong character development? Yes
Loveable characters? Yes
Diverse cast of characters? Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

4.0

Thanks so much to Netgalley, Elizabeth Acevedo, and Ecco for allowing me to honestly review this book in exchange for an ARC!

Family Lore is sprawlingly, interconnectedly vibrant. The characters’ relationships with one another draw them together as a family, but it isn’t that simple-- we get to see how they interweave with each other in every way possible, examining the full scale of their lives to dive into the complexity between them. The many vignettes of the characters’ childhoods and adolescents always felt fresh, like we as the audience were being offered new insight into why the present-day characters act as they do. The heavy topics addressed were done so with authenticity and grace; the magical realism, while at times a bit contrived, mostly added tension exactly where it needed to go to emphasize the heavier elements of the plot.

I found Flor to be the most compelling character, which makes sense-- she’s the animating issue for the plot. I liked her amount of provenance over the story. Her impending doom never felt overbearing, rather like an inevitable conclusion, and served as the perfect vector to contextualize all the vignettes; in the face of the upcoming death of a loved one, of course everyone would be inclined to reminisce. Every time Flor showed up in a section of the story that wasn’t hers, she served as both a familiar waystation and also a reminder of the tension building as the book went on. Ona’s project of recording all the stories feels like the natural progression of that idea, and I think it was executed really well. I also particularly enjoyed Yadi’s sections and Matilde’s sections. Pastora’s were great, too. I didn’t completely connect with Ona’s sections, but I felt that they held the narrative together in a reasonable manner.

I did struggle with a few parts of the book. I didn’t enjoy the graphic sexual content; I also felt that at times, the pacing dragged, but since this book is so character-driven, that kind of comes with the territory. Some of the dialogue, especially in the interviews, felt stilted, but that might’ve been a direct commentary on the fact that the interviews were translated-- the authenticity of the original language wouldn’t necessarily hold up in English, or with Ona translating? In that same vein, the density of content kind of dragged the pace down a bit, not always in a way that felt like richness; just a little more condensing could’ve made the pacing run a bit more smoothly, I think. Also, certain parts of the plot sprawl felt a little bit indistinct. Specifically, some of the struggles with lovers started to feel a tiny bit repetitive, but maybe that’s intentional, to see how differently the members of the main cast respond in those situations?

Ultimately, I enjoyed Family Lore, despite those minor issues. It was poignant in the way that celebrations of life are, wistfully bittersweet. The writing was evocative and gave authentic voice to the struggles and heavy subject matter with which the book deals; the characters were multifaceted and genuine, and the plot’s calls for magical realism accented them with just the right amount of detail. I liked it.

Content Warnings

The Odyssey by Homer

Go to review page

adventurous challenging dark emotional reflective tense medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? A mix
Strong character development? It's complicated
Loveable characters? It's complicated
Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

5.0

“Tell me about a complicated man.”

Understatement of the century (centuries?), and goodness gracious, is it a great one. I don’t know what I can say about this translation that hasn’t been better said elsewhere, so I’ll stick with this: Wilson’s writing is incredible, and I think the feeling it evokes while reading it is probably similar to that of the experience of hearing The Odyssey performed, as it would have been in its original language, hundreds of years ago. The meter is especially impressive. Overall, though, my favorite aspect of this translation is how it maintains its complexity while still being completely accessible to the average reader. I got this from the library, but the first line was enough to convince me to buy my own copy. It’s genuinely exceptional.

Content Warnings

Summerwater by Sarah Moss

Go to review page

dark emotional reflective sad tense slow-paced

Plot- or character-driven? Character
Strong character development? It's complicated
Loveable characters? It's complicated
Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

4.0

I’m conflicted about this book!

Summerwater is told in a series of introspective yet quotidian vignettes, each centered around a different character; the main narrative thread drawing each character together is their residence, be it permanent or vacationing, in a particular cabin park in Scotland and on a particularly nasty, rainy day. I love this premise, and I think for the most part it works very well-- it reminds me of a very contemporary To The Lighthouse, in ironic structure, plot, character intricacy, and reflective musings about the meaning of human connection alike.

Moss’s writing style here is beautifully casual, and each character is offered a distinct thought pattern in their chapters. All these people are complicated; all of them are more than they seem to be. Moss does a fantastic job of communicating that complexity in her writing, along with adding lyrical flair in interspersed depictions of wildlife between chapters. The natural world, however gloomy it is on the day the story takes place, is rendered with a careful poignance, complementing the quiet melancholy or dissatisfaction underpinning many of the characters’ stories. The gap between the anthropocene and the otherwise natural is wide and tangible-- but we also get to see the subtle similarities through those differences.

My concern with Summerwater is, as many reviewers seem to agree, its ending.

I’m inclined to think the surprising nature of the fire, its overt out-of-left-field disturbingness and the dawning horror it evokes, is the point: all these people, who seem to have nothing in common, are drawn together by the tragedy, just as the wildlife is drawn together in the face of environmental deterioration caused by humans. There are parallels between the people and nature, as well insights about what we refuse to notice and the biases we pass on to those who look to us for guidance. The contrast between the fire and the water represents the disturbance and disruption of the environment by humans too preoccupied with their own goings-on to care, or even to notice when their worldviews promote harm to their own community. And thus, destruction, fire, tragedy.

I can’t help but feel unsatisfied, though! Even if it was the point, I think the fire could have had much more of an impact with increased foreshadowing. This book thrives on irony; why not turn up its intensity? In the pages leading up to the fire, we do see some amount of this, especially with the focus on the horrible xenophobic little girl (her name eludes me at the moment). Ultimately, the book realizes its potential as a tragic warning about manufactured differences between humans, how we should not let classism and xenophobia and racism and sexism divide us lest our biases result in such a tragedy. I only wish there had been more, though. The ending’s suddenness almost undercuts its point… almost. It would have been far more chilling if it had been just a bit more predictable, I think.

Overall, I liked Summerwater, regardless of how I felt about its ending. Moss’s ability to entrench the audience in the minds of the different characters and shift flowingly between them is astounding; the writing shines in its complexity. The audiobook version, which I listened to, did an amazing job of communicating the story as well. I don’t think this book is for everyone, and I don’t think it’s perfect, but I enjoyed its reflection, however rainy and gray.

Content Warnings

Bunny by Mona Awad

Go to review page

dark funny mysterious sad tense medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? Character
Strong character development? It's complicated
Loveable characters? It's complicated
Diverse cast of characters? No
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

4.0

Bunny is a very, very strange book, from its concept to its characters to its themes. I’m still not sure whether I even liked it. What I can say with certainty, though, is that this book’s ending is very good-- for me, it justified the rest of it, which I really didn’t find myself enjoying most of the time.

This novel starts slow, with a poisonous pessimistic fog cast over every word. This renders almost none of the characters likeable, which I think is the point, but that doesn’t make it any easier to sit through. The tone tries so hard to be darkly funny that it reaches into being bleakly sinister as it goes on; there are moments of humor arising from the overtly satirical depictions of the Bunnies and their work, but especially towards the beginning of the novel, they are few and far between. Bunny commits to its main character Samantha’s deeply depressed, almost conspiratorial attitude in order to set up contrast later, which is a deliberate, near-ironic decision-- I just personally found it difficult to remain engaged with. Another thing to note is I listened to the audiobook version, and the narrator completely sells Samantha’s personality. It’s an amazing performance. But I think that might’ve made the initial overbearing bleakness of her character even more difficult to care about.

When the book picks up, though, it rapidly becomes entrancing, aside from some pacing issues between sections. Without spoiling too much, there’s a pretty jarring content and tonal shift in the book’s narration mid-way through. It’s almost completely worth the setup-- the contrast between the different versions of Samantha as her character develops is really interesting, in a nightmarish, fever-dream kind of way. Bunny just keeps spiraling; every time I thought, “surely this is the most climactic point in the book,” it blindsided me with another tailspin into dark absurdity. Behind the obviously disturbing nature of most of the book’s events are subtle layers of dark humor and tragic compassion and all sorts of unexpected pathos that are really interesting to experience. The second quarter of the book does this best, I think, and I can say with confidence that as a general rule, Bunny gets infinitely better as it goes on.

The ending of the book, spoiler territory,

bumped up my rating of the novel as a whole by one star. If it hadn’t been for the twist about Ava being fabricated, too, I would not have enjoyed this book nearly as much as I did. The setup is just subtle enough to be surprising, but with hints thrown in along the way that make total sense in retrospect. Ava is too perfect-- she fits too well with Sam. At first I thought this was just poor writing. It isn’t. It makes total, tragic sense in the context of her being Sam’s creation, and really adds to the book’s themes in the end. It’s a perfectly-fitting twist for this novel.

I do have a few complaints: I don’t think I like how this book equates stereotypical femininity with inherent badness right off the bat. I understand it’s satirical, and there definitely is something to be said about stereotypically feminine women looking down upon those like Sam who don’t perform femininity in that same socially-acceptable way, but the way Bunny presents it feels more like a condemnation of stereotypical femininity itself rather than its use as a weapon against atypical expressions of femininity. There are ways to discuss that issue without implying anyone who wears pink is evil because of it, you know? The badness is in demeaning people, not in the affinity for overly cutesy dresses. I think to a certain extent, the book is aware of this-- Sam and Ava are deeply flawed characters, and I don’t think the narrative always looks kindly on their pessimism about the Bunnies. Sam’s narration of the book is absolutely drenched in satire. But I feel like more could have been done to communicate the book’s ideas about femininity in a more nuanced way than it was.

Also, I didn’t like the subplot with the Lion (and I also hated that nickname for him) whatsoever-- I’m not totally sure what it added to the book, how it was necessary. I guess as a subversion of how those plots typically go and as another perspective from which the Bunnies judge Sam, it makes sense, but I don’t know. It just felt uninspired to me. And, a smaller complaint: the audiobook narrator’s voice for Creepydoll was DIFFICULT to listen to. I know that’s the point, but it was still grating.

Overall, though, this book was pretty solid, even if it took a while to get there and was a bit clumsy in doing so. The plot itself is disturbingly fascinating, the characters aren’t likeable but they are fun to read, and the satire is often genuinely hilarious-- the Duchess’s “diamond proems” are maybe my favorite bit of satire about pretentious college writing ever. The continued references to rabbits, also, were extremely clever; the school is called Warren, for goodness’s sake. There are moments in the writing’s pessimism that ring harshly true, and moments where the writing transcends its typical gray bleakness and shines. I had a few issues with the novel, but the ending mostly saved it for me. Bunny has a lot to say about the ordeal of creation, loneliness and otherness, competitive femininity and heteronormativity, and what it’s like to discover and even fabricate one’s own identity. I still don’t know if I liked it-- I spent a lot of time shaking my head as though disbelieving a particularly disturbing nightmare while reading it-- but I do know it’ll probably stick with me, for better or for worse, for a long time to come.

Content Warnings

Greek Lessons by Han Kang

Go to review page

emotional hopeful reflective sad slow-paced

Plot- or character-driven? Character
Strong character development? Yes
Loveable characters? Yes
Diverse cast of characters? Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

5.0

First, I’d like to extend my gratitude to Netgalley, Random House, and Han Kang for allowing me to read an advance copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

Greek Lessons is a poignantly abstract exploration of the limits of language and the intimacy of communication. It’s difficult to describe the fascinating quality of how this book plays with its content via its form; it truly feels like every word of the story is a deliberate choice to communicate something different about its themes. The writing itself is almost divine in how it suits the narrative and its characters-- each of the two protagonists has a distinct voice, both with an underlying sense of restraint that presents differently between them.

Much of the novel is written in flashbacks, but they read as genuine experiences of memory rather than myopic retrospection, and as such the muted grief and nostalgia of the main characters in respect to their pasts drives the arc of the novel rather than straightforward plot beats. This is a slow, heavily character-driven book, and its realistically-flawed characters make it entrancing to follow. The audience forms their image of both protagonists through how they process the world in their respective sections, as well as with how they see each other; that perspective difference, a kind of miscommunication itself, brings emphasis to the themes of belonging, communication, and closeness this novel examines.

Ultimately, Greek Lessons is a book which understands the power of its language. It tells its story from perspectives which offer unique insight into that power, and does so with graceful, sublime figurativity that slowly evolves into poignant abstraction as it continues. This one definitely merits a reread, or multiple, to absorb and bask in the beauty of its writing. I loved it.

Content Warnings

The Furies by Natalie Haynes

Go to review page

dark emotional mysterious reflective sad tense medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? A mix
Strong character development? It's complicated
Loveable characters? Yes
Diverse cast of characters? Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

4.25

The Furies is a fascinating exploration of justice through the lens of crime, teaching, and Greek tragedy-- an unorthodox mix from the start. I enjoyed it; the writing itself wasn’t standout exceptional, but it did have a subtle quality of authenticity in its emotional depictions of Alex’s trauma and the suppression of grief, as well as giving a unique voice to Mel’s character throughout her journal entries. The contrast between Alex’s sections and Mel’s sections was a lot of fun from a narrative standpoint, too, especially as the ominous foreshadowing creeps in more and more through the book.

For me, the plot of The Furies was not its main draw, rather the depth of the main characters that kept me engaged in the end-- some of the story (and especially Alex’s own personal backstory) itself felt a little contrived and flat at points as it folded outwards. There were some pacing issues, too, between the different sections of the book. In the case of the backstory, I feel like a lot of the events were written as a somewhat one-dimensional justification for Alex’s character. Mel’s backstory is much the same in that regard. Ultimately, though, it works if you engage The Furies as a tragedy more than a crime novel. On that note, the weaving in of the various Greek tragedies with the plot is phenomenal, and it lends itself to the examination of tragedy as genre. I loved all the little moments of reflection between the Greek plays Alex teaches and the lives of the characters; those elements give a tiny hint of literary fiction to the novel, or at least I feel like they do, and I loved it.

Overall, The Furies is intriguing both in its mystery elements and in its exploration of tragedy, catharsis, revenge, and justice. And obsession, of course. The slow spiral into obsession coats the narrative in the best, most quietly horrifying way, and it suits the story, writing, and especially the characters near-perfectly. Despite a few minor pacing issues and some slightly contrived narrative beats, I really liked this book. I'd recommend it especially for fans of Hag-seed by Margaret Atwood and The Walls Around Us by Nova Ren Suma.

Content Warnings

After Sappho by Selby Wynn Schwartz

Go to review page

challenging emotional hopeful inspiring reflective medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? Character
Strong character development? Yes
Loveable characters? Yes
Diverse cast of characters? Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

4.25

Thank you to Netgalley, the author, and the publisher of After Sappho for allowing me to access this audiobook early in exchange for an honest review! After Sappho is a daringly powerful book, wrought in intricate detail to tell a story that spans centuries. I sincerely enjoyed it.

After Sappho is written in a combination of artful, evocative poeticism and knowing, omniscient prose; the result of this effort is a sense of grandiosity that radiates from every word. This large-scale atmospheric power as afforded by the writing complements the themes of the narrative to tie the whole book together in a way that feels completely genuine. The more poetic sections of the novel fit perfectly with the inclusion of Sappho’s fragments; when phrases are repeated across the book, they lend poetic emphasis to the prose itself, echoing Sappho’s timeless presence in the story. I particularly enjoyed how such repeated poeticisms were recontextualized between the characters and by time, developing new meanings and depth as the book continued. Not only were the various interpretations of the phrases clever and engaging to read, but they also served as contrasting glances into the minds of the characters, shining a light on the variance in life experiences that the narrative’s themes emphasize.

The interconnected lives of the characters in the novel are its main draw; the scope of this novel is quite an ambitious one. We see dozens of characters in painstaking detail, the intricacies of their lives and the forces that shape their work all given time in the spotlight to establish the influence each character has on one another. After Sappho’s historically-bouncing vignettes give the grandiosity of the narrative footing in its very structure, emphasizing its scale just as the writing does. Characters are portrayed in various contexts: their early lives, their mythologized statuses as historical figures, their self-perceptions, the view others hold of them… This commitment to multifaceted character examination is the driving force of the novel, evoking irony and endearment and poignance and authenticity all at different times. Personally, my favorite chapters are the Virginia Woolf-centered ones, possibly because the interwovenness of After Sappho’s characters is similar to that of the characters in Woolf’s own writing; I found that reflection fascinating. This book’s characters are authentically detailed and complex, all with similarly detailed and complex relationships to each other. It’s invigorating to be immersed in the web of connections it weaves.

I did have a few minor issues with this novel; most notably, I found some of the book a bit difficult to follow. The leaps in time and space, for the most part, connect the characters further to each other, but sometimes-- especially if one is reading casually or quickly-- the rapid introduction of so many new settings and names and the leaping between them can become confusing. The interwovenness that After Sappho commits itself to thus reads more of a tangle than a fabric, and takes time to tease apart. This problem is relatively easily remedied, though, by slowing down the pace at which one is reading or listening to the book, and it smooths itself out somewhat as one eases into the novel.

Other than that, I have one audiobook-specific concern: I felt that while a vast majority of the audiobook was narrated with exceptional skill and was greatly pleasant to listen to, there were a few moments-- namely, the occasional French phrases-- that were somewhat difficult to understand on a pronunciation level. Mostly these are not entirely crucial to understanding the plot and can be interpreted with some effort, so this issue is very slight.

Ultimately, After Sappho is a powerful read, with intricate attention to detail in character and writing that lends a unique feeling of historical salience to its plot. It shines most brightly in its characters’ relationships to one another and its occasional poeticisms; the book’s themes about writing’s influence in shaping history are a natural complement to its own evocative writing. After Sappho is a bold, intelligent exploration of historical sapphic identity-- and the diversity of the lives Sappho has impacted and continues to impact today.

Content Warnings

More...

conspystery's reviews 278 reviews

conspystery's reviews
278 reviews