conspystery's reviews
278 reviews

I Am Ace: Advice on Living Your Best Asexual Life by Cody Daigle-Orians

hopeful informative inspiring reflective medium-paced

5.0

I’d like to thank Netgalley, Jessica Kingsley Publishers, and Cody Daigle-Orians for allowing me the opportunity to read I Am Ace early in exchange for an honest review!

I Am Ace is a much-needed guide to asexuality and the variety of experiences that may come with it. It presents its subject with authentic care; the level of careful research and self-exploration that went into this book is evident in every word. I especially appreciated its attention to detail. Whether it’s covering the basics or specific idiosyncratic knowledge about asexuality, the book is exceptionally nuanced while maintaining straightforward understandability. That balance of detail and clarity makes this book a great read for anyone, regardless of their pre-existing familiarity with asexuality; it’s didactic but also extremely reassuring and validating.

As well as exploring asexuality in general terms, the book recounts the author’s personal experiences with asexuality to help the audience understand the actual lived reality of being ace, which is a crucial factor in I Am Ace’s depth. Where many didactic books like this run the risk of detachment, I Am Ace is beautifully genuine. The author’s care for the subject radiates through every word aided by the personal anecdotes and facets the whole book with a sense of purpose and extreme care-- for the newly-discovered aces or questioning people reading this book, it’s impossibly valuable to have hope for the future, something the author clearly understands well. Such authenticity adds tangible presence to the book’s level of support and respect for its audience.

Ultimately, I Am Ace goes beyond being a comprehensive guide-- it is a reassurance of hope. It is such a valuable resource from its level of detail to its unwavering tone of validation and support to its honesty and authenticity in communicating about asexuality. This book is a crucial read for anyone, regardless of their connection to asexuality.

Content Warnings

Gwen and Art Are Not in Love by Lex Croucher

Go to review page

adventurous emotional funny hopeful mysterious 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

4.5

Thank you so much to Netgalley, St. Martin’s Press, and Lex Croucher for allowing me to read an advance copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! Gwen and Art Are Not in Love is such a quick-witted, fun read. Its setting is both satisfyingly Arthurian and exceptionally original, its characters are lovably authentic and funny, and its plot is engaging through its moments of lighthearted courtship and contrasting serious reflections on homophobia and sexism alike-- this book is exactly what I’d hoped it would be. My high expectations were met and surpassed!

This novel’s setting was, for me, a major selling point: an Arthurian backdrop, but not as a mere conduit for a retelling. The way this book weaves in elements of Arthurian legend while also presenting a completely fresh story is absolutely compelling. I love how self-aware of contrivance it is, using the overdone-ness of some of its elements as a commentary on exactly that; Excalibur Nine is my favorite example of this, but I also love the characters’ lighthearted frustration with the persistence of etymologically Arthurian names through generations of children. So many Gawains!

To have a Camelot setting where King Arthur and his knights are a debated, distant yet overbearing, almost tired part of history in the eyes of the main cast is so interesting-- the audience can feel how heavily that history lays over the characters, how exhausting it is to be defined by ancient tradition and lore without an ounce of consideration for personal identity. I really think the setting is perfect for exploring the plot and themes of expectation and identity and self-actualization that this book presents, and it manages to cover all of this while also being genuinely entertaining to read and learn about. It’s fun: medieval at times, mystical at others, ironic but with just the right amount of sincerity to counter it.

Much of the vibrance in Gwen and Art are Not in Love’s setting is brought to life by its cast. The two main point of view characters, the titular Gwen and Art, are gloriously witty and endearing-- and their rivalry is all the better for it. The way the characters interact with each other and the world is authentic and relevant despite its setting; self-exploration in the face of a society that refuses to allow it is a timeless theme, and this book handles it with a grace and realism that only characters with this level of authenticity can convey. Every character gave their own sense of charm to the lighthearted parts of the plot, and in turn each patterned the more serious parts with individual emotional depth. My favorite character arcs to follow were those of the title characters, but I also really enjoyed the less focal ones-- even side characters were afforded attention and care by the narrative. Agnes was definitely a favorite for me in that regard.

Overall, I really enjoyed Gwen and Art are Not in Love. It tells a fun but genuine story with real emotional impact, handling serious themes and plot beats with sincerity while also committing to its lighter moments’ brightness. The characters are lovable and authentic, and the writing matches their wit in dialogue and worldbuilding alike. There are a few bits of the plot that feel slightly contrived, but for a YA fantasy novel, that isn’t unusual-- and this book carries a sense of self-awareness that makes such scenes not only bearable, but enjoyable, which puts it leagues ahead of others in its genre. I’m so glad this wasn’t simply a retelling; this book is heartwarmingly and intelligently original, and I appreciate it so much for that.

Content Warnings

The Farthest Shore (Earthsea Cycle #3) by Ursula K. Le Guin

Go to review page

adventurous dark emotional hopeful mysterious reflective 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

I've finally finished this book, after running out of time on my library loan for it once or twice. Even broken up by the constraints of insufficient lending periods, this story is incredible, as are the previous two books in the series. I love how rich Earthsea is while at the same time being grounded in thematic reality. This book confronts death and what it means to live in such a fascinating, sincere way; every character feels simultaneously like their own dynamic person while also representing their own philosophical conflict. I just love Earthsea so much and this entry in its world is no different-- Le Guin is unparalleled.

Content Warnings

The Trackers by Charles Frazier

Go to review page

adventurous emotional mysterious reflective tense slow-paced

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

4.5

Thank you to Netgalley and Ecco for providing me a digital copy of The Trackers in exchange for an honest review! I’m so glad I had the opportunity to read it; The Trackers is a thoughtful, artfully-written novel that I’m sure will stick with me.

The technical craft of this book is genuinely artisanal. Frazier’s prose is painstakingly detailed and vivid without ever crossing into overwhelming, which is perfect for this book’s various settings and historical context. The writing conveys the looming presence of the Great Depression over every event in the novel; the main character Val’s observations of great natural beauty, of which there are many, are colorful and majestic and even rustic at points but always underscored with wistful, restless longing for better times in language and syntax alike. History feels less like a distant recollection of the past and more like physical immersion into real life events in this novel, and it is sobering to read. The writing style of The Trackers paints its narrative, settings, themes, and characters-- literally, at times-- with authenticity and depth that gives the novel real weight.

Val, a painter, serves as the voice of The Trackers, and his perception of and relationships with the other characters of this book are its driving narrative force. The aforementioned outstandingly detailed writing style in this book matches Val’s painterly observant, introspective nature quite well: his narration, even when it dips into larger-scale political or philosophical pondering, never feels contrived, rather more like the genuine wandering of an insightful, perceptive mind. His jobs and drive to do them, which set up the plot of The Trackers, is interesting narratively and also historically, so following him as the lead character is interesting in turn.

The rest of the main cast of the novel is similarly authentic-feeling; each person is distinct and complex, the relationships among them complicated but utterly real. Every character is more than they seem, and all their dialogues are distinctly-voiced and as engaging as any real conversation could hope to be. Mysterious last-century cowboy Faro is my favorite, but Eve and Long stand out in their own right as well. I particularly enjoyed Eve’s massive sway over the story and her agency in her actions; often, with plots like this book has, characters like Eve fall into sexist narrative tropes more than act as their own people, but I felt that Eve’s character was a driving force of this novel all on her own. Long’s obsession with bringing her back to Dawes is not free of narrative judgment, either; I much appreciated the discerning perspective Val, Faro, Eve, and the novel itself seemed to take on the story’s events, addressing the thematic implications of the narrative with sensible moral context. The actual plot of the novel is paced such that, despite pages of extensive, fascinating dialogues and conversations to root the audience in its setting, only baseline familiarity is established with the characters before it picks up in intensity, so that their deeper intentions and histories unfold as the narrative does-- and learning more about each of them to piece together full-fledged portraits of who they are is compelling and satisfying at once.

The convergence of such intricate characters and artful writing in The Trackers is definitely the novel’s main draw; I will say that I struggled a bit to connect with the happenings of the plot as the book went on, but the characters and prose kept me interested, which in a literary work like this is standard enough but still much appreciated. In regards to the narrative, even if I couldn’t relate to its actual events-- I didn’t enjoy the faint romance aspects, for one-- I was enthralled by something else going on in each section. The richness of the settings of the book, from Dawes to Hooverville to Florida and onwards, is engaging. The mood and atmosphere the book creates, whether of tension or glory or bleakness, is always palpable. The history the book incorporates is genuinely fascinating. And the large-scale themes the book covers are all interesting facets of the human condition to consider. There is so much intricacy in The Trackers to engage with.

Ultimately, I really enjoyed The Trackers. Its authenticity in characters and historical context is compelling, and the immersive, rich craft of its writing is phenomenal. This book makes a point to follow its themes through to the end, questioning where intention and action meet to make a person and how the past should or should not define someone-- how hidden truths reveal less about someone than the lived impact of their actions, and all the different forms that impact can take, as well as what it means to really know a person. The Trackers is an exploration of Depression-era humanity, but its themes are truly evergreen.

Content Warnings

Meadowlands by Louise Glück

Go to review page

challenging emotional reflective relaxing slow-paced

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

5.0

This is a beautiful collection of poetry. I will say that I read it mostly for its more directly Odyssey-themed poems, especially its Penelope-focused ones; my favorites are Telemachus’ Detachment, Circe’s Grief, and Penelope’s Stubbornness. There is much to consider in these characterizations, and I love the depth in each one’s portrayal-- the poetry is subtly evocative and presents its image of these characters and their relationships with a true understanding of their complexity, with an immersive emotional pull to communicate the anger, longing, hope, and despair each character must grapple with in Odysseus’s absence. I very much enjoyed Meadowlands.

Clytemnestra by Costanza Casati

Go to review page

adventurous dark emotional reflective sad tense medium-paced

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

5.0

A massive thank-you to Netgalley, the publisher, and the author of Clytemnestra for allowing me the opportunity to read and review this outstanding book! I appreciate it so much! This book is absolutely bewitching. It is fiery and dark and painful and retributive in all the best ways, exactly what I’d hope for in a retelling of Clytemnestra’s story. Clytemnestra not only does justice to its source material but also transforms it, adding complex perspective and depth to its characters, themes, and events. Its spiral into tragedy is compelling.

Part of what drives Clytemnestra’s intoxicating sense of immersion in the narrative is its structure. The book is split up into sections surrounding major events in the protagonist’s life, establishing temporality through time skips and flashbacks. This segmented structure works exceptionally well to pace the story. It adds narrative weight exactly where it needs to go, which is crucial in a story dotted with tragedy like this one, and helps to move the book forward with Clytemnestra herself. Also, establishing a consistent structure and style of immersion like this means that when the format is briefly broken-- like when suddenly the story is being told in letters, or the limited perspective suddenly shifts to follow a new character-- the contrast is all the more fascinating. Clytemnestra’s structure both constructs its addictive downward spiral and emphasizes the fleeting periods of happiness in the story to make the inevitable tragedies hit even harder, pulling the reader along with the protagonist as she descends.

The writing of Clytemnestra is even more absorbing than its structure. Every word of the book feels intentional and fitting for its setting, characters, and plot. The syntax and figurative language, especially its similes and metaphors, mirror Clytemnestra’s character arc through the novel: in just the first few sections the writing evolves, like her, from devoted and burning and focused to considering and tentatively unguarded, more and more relaxed and peaceful until the plot’s fever breaks into tragedy. It continues to develop as the book goes on with concise, articulated grace perfectly suited to Clytemnestra herself, and complements the book’s atmosphere with its imagery and emotional pull. I love how vicious the language of this book gets at points, especially in contrast with how refreshing its moments of delicacy or natural beauty are-- its imagery of changing seasons to note the passing of time is particularly striking when considered in the context of Clytemnestra’s emotional state and character development. Also notable is the dialogue, which itself is written thoughtfully and grippingly: each character has a distinct voice that matches, or in many more intriguing cases contrasts, the protagonist’s view of them.

Clytemnestra’s characters are utterly fascinating, which is crucial for a novel so driven by the reconciliation between humans and their agency when confronted with tragic fates and unfair societies. Helen is one of my favorite characters. I’ve never read a version of Helen quite like this one. Many retellings paint her as manipulative or aloof or cruel, which is interesting in its own right, but this story does its best to paint Helen in a thoughtful, sympathetic light. She struggles with her self-worth in the face of surface-level judgment and with constant comparisons to her sister. When her issues boil over the cover of subtlety and mildness she tries to fit herself to, she becomes understandably spiteful, then regretful, then desperate. Even after the Trojan War begins, Helen remains an interesting character in the mind of Clytemnestra, who has to grapple with the biased memories she holds of her sister: did the childhood perfect and unbothered version of Helen that Clytemnestra held in her mind ever really exist at all, or was Clytemnestra’s perception of her tainted by comparison? I love how Helen and Clytemnestra’s sisterhood is so complex. It develops through the novel realistically and intriguingly, not to mention Clytemnestra’s relationships with her other siblings and family members.

Other characters I especially enjoyed reading are Penelope, Odysseus, and Electra, but really everyone in the cast of this novel, no matter how significant their role, stands out as multifaceted with plenty of layers to consider-- Clytemnestra herself definitely included! She defines this novel as its voice; her perspectives are the ones the audience looks through. This book does a fantastic job of truly bringing its audience along with its protagonist and putting them in her mind while also presenting foreshadowing (the constant references to Artemis are my favorite example of this, knowing Iphigenia’s story) and dramatic irony to tinge the background. The audience processes the world through Clytemnestra’s mind, but they are given enough surrounding information to be able to see the faults in her reasoning and her flaws. Clytemnestra’s development is externally like a downward spiral; however, this book immerses its audience so thoroughly in her world that they cannot help but feel her rage at the injustice and tragedy she is forced to endure again and again and again. Making Clytemnestra into an understandable or sympathetic character is no small feat-- yet this book completely succeeds at doing so, painful and upsetting but also cathartic and contemplative, almost wistful and bittersweet in its moments of reflection.

The quality of this book that I think sets it unequivocally apart from others in this genre is its commitment to its narrative. Every part of this book feels deliberate; all its potential is followed through to the end. The book commits to its interpretation of events, be that through its own artistic liberty, character choices, or the brutality of its narrative, fully and completely. Many retellings shy away from their own struggle with uncomfortable parts of source material or reinterpret them in a way that is shallow, avoidant, or has questionable implications even and especially when attempting to modernize their themes; Clytemnestra, however, does not suffer this problem and is made better for it. This book leans into its decisions hard. It is violent and horrific when the narrative calls for it, never hiding from its own brutality. While this commitment does result in many extremely uncomfortable, disturbing, and otherwise upsetting scenes, questions raised, and topics covered, I feel that Clytemnestra presents them in a way which brings productive, meaningful light to the implications of the source material. Clytemnestra’s story is dark, tragic, steeped in injustice-- so the book forces its audience to look directly at the ugliness and see it for what it is rather than sidestep it in favor of a more comfortable narrative. Its commitment is commendable.

Ultimately, Clytemnestra is an absorbing, strikingly painful tragedy that draws power from contrast. It is disturbingly violent at times and hazily, near-nostalgically reflective at others, the writing itself crafting powerful immersion within the protagonist’s world and mindset. Its characters and interpretation of events are thoughtfully, evocatively written with depth in every aspect. It raises questions about the truth in a legacy, the sides of stories-- and people!-- overlooked or covered up, and the way people justify injustice itself. This is a brutally powerful novel with a fascinating lead character and message about the cost of being remembered. I loved it.

Content Warnings

The Keeper of Stories by Sally Page

Go to review page

emotional hopeful lighthearted reflective relaxing slow-paced

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

3.5

A note: I received a digital copy of this book via Netgalleys in exchange for an honest review, so I’d like to express my thanks to Netgalleys and the publisher for allowing me the opportunity to read it!

I very much struggled with this book at first. It is very slow, in line with the main character Janice’s everyday life. Since Janice collects the stories she overhears from the people around her, the book affords plenty of detail to background and supporting characters, which is interesting at times but in such great quantities at the beginning of the novel, it comes across as unfocused, disjointed, and a bit overwhelming. The plot and subplots take a while to start directing the story; the beginning of the novel drifts slowly, like Janice does, through everyday motions. Much of the narrative exists filtered through Janice’s internal perception of herself and her thoughts about the world around her. This results in a busily contemplative yet exceptionally slow-paced start to the novel, which for me was difficult to engage with. I also struggled to connect with Janice as a character because she is so defined by her external situation in life at the beginning of the novel; I imagine someone whose life situation is nearer to hers than mine would much more easily connect to her as a character.

But these issues lessened as I continued reading and I settled into the book as it went on. The concept of The Keeper of Stories itself matched the cozy, casual, reflective way it presented its narrative. I got used to the very slow pacing and Janice’s patterns of thought about life, and by the middle of the book I found myself almost as absorbed into its narrative as Janice is. The plot, though it is necessarily meandering, ties itself together more and more as the book continues, and I enjoyed following the various threads to see where they would end up.

What really struck me about this novel, though, was its main cast. Every character feels different from each other, all endearingly realistic, quotidian but quirky, and thoughtfully-written in their own ways. Each of the main cast adds something different to this book-- like how their stories add depth to Janice’s view of life-- and really facet the narrative with interesting detail and meaning to consider. Fiona’s character is a quietly determined one, trying as hard as possible to be a good mother but with understandable, lifelike flaws. Her grief for her husband is tangible and aching, but her resilience towards optimism shines in all she does. Her son Adam is realistically troubled, youthful and spiky with grief at once. Mrs. B is especially memorable: her independent, prickly, witty exterior is a satisfying contrast to her discerning but understanding, fiercely loving interior, and I loved how her character arc revolves so heavily around coming to terms with her own limitations and allowing other people into her life to help her. It mirrors Janice’s, in the end. Euan is also lovely and endearing; he is brightly solicitous, intuitive, and kind, a natural complement to Janice. Even the “bad guys” of this story were a joy to read. Mike is just the right amount of obnoxious and foolish, Tiberius the perfect mix of snobby, inconsiderate, and rude. They were fun to dislike and root against, with arcs that were immensely satisfying in that regard. I also loved Decius-- he brings humor and light to the story in a way that reflects Janice’s own telling of it, and I adored it.

Janice herself is what drives the novel; her arc is the narrative. The evolution of her mindset through the novel is fascinating and I really enjoyed following it once I settled into its slow pace. She starts off acting so profoundly regular, burying all her quirks-- like the story-collecting-- deep inside so that she can remain the Janice everyone, and especially Mike, perceives her to be: unassuming, docile, “just a cleaner.” The minimization of her identity by clients like Tiberius and his wife and also by Mike damages her own self-perception, and it is glorious when she begins to depart from their influence. Janice collects stories, but it takes reflection-- and a bit of help from Mrs. B and Euan and others like Geordie and her son along the way-- to realize her own is worth telling, too. Her journey to that point is emotional, funny and heartbreaking all at once, and I really enjoyed following it.

Also, concerning the ending of this novel

and its plot twist: I thought it was set up well, and it genuinely blindsided me but made sense in retrospect. The end of the novel and the latter events of the middle section leading up to it cast the narrative in a new light and lend it new depth. The plot twist illuminates how heavily guilt weighs on the narrative, how avoidance and self-hatred coat Janice-- but the revelation of it gives her self-awareness that develops into the beginning of self-realization by the end of the novel. She, like Mrs. B, learns to let other people into her life. She no longer has to deflect attention away from her own story by collecting others’; she can accept it for what it is and begin to find kinship with other people instead of that deflection. The message is quietly profound, perfectly suited to Janice’s character balancing agency and acceptance of help. I really enjoyed it.

Overall, The Keeper of Stories is a quaint, slow book that captures the meaning we can find in everyday life with aching emotion and lighthearted humor at once. Even if the pacing is difficult to connect with and the plot feels disjointed at times, the characters are interesting and more and more endearing as the novel goes on. This would be a good book for someone who finds themself defined by the normalcy of their life and the expectations others have for them; it would also be a good book to read over a long period of time, as it is languid in its pacing and warmly lavish in its detail. While I did find it difficult to get through-- I am not this book’s target audience, and I read it quite quickly, which I don’t think is the intended experience-- I enjoyed this book’s earnesty and appreciation for the variety of humanity, the vast array of stories people hold, and the identities we construct around them. How they connect us together, if only we tell them for others to hear.

Content Warnings

I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

Go to review page

dark emotional hopeful inspiring reflective sad medium-paced

5.0

This is a solid, powerful memoir that delves into the complex realities of abuse, eating disorders, and identity. The book is engaging with a firm, focused grasp on the narrative it wants to present, and it does so with casual, witty eloquence perfectly fitting for the author’s intent. Denial is a central theme in Jennette’s story and the book leans hard into it, establishing and maintaining a keen sense of irony that increases in intensity as the chapters go on; only when Jennette finally addresses the reality of her situation does the irony lift, delivering a painful but tragically satisfying emotional release that defines its message of acceptance (of the self and the past, which is importantly not synonymous with forgiveness of abusers!) and moving forward for one’s own sake. While the writing didn’t stand out to me quite as much as I expected it to, I definitely enjoyed it-- the ironic angle it took cast such a stinging but necessary light on Jennette’s experiences, which really resonated with me. Overall, I found I’m Glad My Mom Died poignantly fascinating, offering much to consider about denial, identity, and overcoming strife with an understated yet evocative, intelligently retrospective voice. I liked it a lot.

Content Warnings

The Walls Around Us by Nova Ren Suma

Go to review page

dark emotional mysterious tense medium-paced

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

5.0

This book was not what I expected, and I love it for that. It is so eerie and bluntly atmospheric, compellingly unusual in its telling, supernatural but grounded-- I loved how it leaned even harder into magical realism as it continued. The plot setup itself is fascinating, offering very little context at the beginning but building on itself to construct, or really deconstruct, the narrative. The two narrators were similarly intriguing, unreliable and multifaceted in their recollection of events. Notably, the writing of The Walls Around Us complements its narrative perfectly: unearthly and poetic and abstract when necessary, and powerfully implicit and down-to-earth in its more grounded sections. The insidious, chilling parts of the novel cut straight to the heart, and even the more reflective moments echo a subtle sense of unease that keeps the audience engaged with the mystery and thriller aspects of the narrative, perfectly tense. I could not put this book down once I picked it up.

Most of all, though, what made this book most memorable to me was its ending, I think.

The actual murder mysteries as they are established are relatively easy to follow the trail of through the novel, not unsatisfyingly so-- a discerning reader can put together the details of Violet’s crimes, Amber’s initial crimes, and the later mass poisoning long before the unreliable narrators themselves reveal their wrongdoings-- and thus the plot twist at the end, which I found extremely satisfying to the narrative’s themes about guilt and blame, is genuinely unpredictable. Yet it is fitting. The balance between surprise and satisfaction in YA thriller plots is a hard one to manage, and when supernatural elements are introduced it can become a whole lot harder, but The Walls Around Us thoroughly succeeds in all these aspects. The magical realism evolves from dreamlike sequences of uncertain figurativity to a fully-realized, internally consistent system with a satisfying conclusion for all the characters’ arcs. Amber becomes the deliverer of justice rather than fading into it or flying under its radar, Violet is forced to face the consequences of her actions and experience the guilt she tried so desperately to bury with Orianna, and Orianna finally gets to shake the blame she never deserved in the first place. The ending of this novel is delightfully unpredictable, hopeful with a decent helping of sinister and eerie on the side, and totally narratively satisfying.

It’s worth every bit of setup the book places along the way.

I also want to applaud how striking the main cast of this book was. Amber, Violet, and Orianna are all fascinating as characters in distinct ways. Amber is introverted and almost mild at first glance, but the contrast of that calm surface to the strangely omniscient, calculating nature lurking below is disturbing and compelling. Violet is similar: all detached self-assurance and grace on the exterior, but with a propensity for denial and all-encompassing self-priority below. The storylines of both characters are fascinating, because the narrators themselves are fascinating, both in how they consciously or unconsciously twist the narratives they present. Orianna is a character the audience only gets to see through the biased accounts of the other narrators; the truth of the picture they paint of her is unclear, tinged with blame or jealousy or reverence or unwavering faith depending on the narration. But what the audience does put together from Orianna’s various portrayals is depth. Brightness but consideration, kindness but not unconditional forgiveness, the tendency for avoidance and the urge towards confrontation ending in tragedy… Orianna is just as multifaceted as the narrator characters, and rightly so, as she is such a central figure to the story. I found all three of the main cast to be just as intriguing as the mysteries of their actions themselves.

Overall, I really loved this book’s rightful confidence in diving into a complicated story with its narrative setup, plotline, characters, and themes alike. It accomplished its goal with chilling grace and writing to match; it almost reminded me of We Have Always Lived In The Castle by Shirley Jackson at times, a favorite of mine, with its haunting atmosphere and unreliable narrators. This was a really fun read. I loved it.

Content Warnings

Ariadne by Jennifer Saint

Go to review page

dark emotional sad tense slow-paced

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

2.5

This book was underwhelming. Even calling it that feels like I’m giving it too much credit. I will note that I listened to the audiobook version, and have absolutely no gripes with that aspect. The narrator’s performance was well-fitting for the story and characters. My issues with this book are mainly in the writing of its characters, their development, and the message it tries to convey as a whole.

Seeing so many comparisons to Circe by Madeline Miller caused me to expect this book’s protagonist, Ariadne, to have the same amount of depth that Circe’s does. I expected a fresh, interesting perspective as the voice of the novel, one that would take agency and control over the narrative like the description of the book suggests. But I felt Ariadne was quite passive as a main character; her feminism can hardly be called that at all, considering how often she ponders the sexist definition of and treatment of women by men but does nothing to functionally combat it in the narrative, instead playing directly into the roles she resents with very little thought given to the implications of her actions. Even when she does take agency in the story, her actions are shallow and serve men in the ways she claims she hates,

which is acceptable in Part One to set up irony but not so much as the book continues. Ariadne suffers emotionally from Theseus’s betrayal, but she learns nothing: she confirms her belief about the evil selfishness of men, but continues to play into it over and over without ever changing the way she acts throughout the book.

Her character development is a disappointingly repetitive cycle that fails to reach a satisfying conclusion. Any likenings of Ariadne’s protagonist and her development to Circe’s are laughable.

Phaedra was briefly interesting as a character-- I liked her initial fire and bounce compared to Ariadne’s more subdued introspection, and how that evolved

into near-scheming cleverness with her marriage to Theseus-- but she, too, fell into a poisonous internal refusal to learn from her actions. Her storyline in Part Three was particularly frustrating. It was an absurd departure from her character as it was established, diverting her development from the claiming of agency and independence to merely swapping allegiances to yet another man. I think Phaedra’s error in mistaking her need to be free for swooning, all-encompassing affection was the point of her story, as it was very briefly addressed at the end of Part Three, but the book does so little to make any use of such a thing as a warning: it reads more like a painfully predictable “I-told-you-so”, causing its emotional impact to fail to hit.

Her narrative is once again defined by men in the end, in a way that serves sexism rather than refuting it via poignant commentary, which is I think what the author was trying to present it as.

The rest of Ariadne’s main cast fall into similar pits. Pasiphae is not granted nuance even by Ariadne, which reflects once again how poorly Ariadne embodies the beliefs she says she holds; Daedalus’s story is interesting but loses plot relevance and narrative attention far too quickly, when it could have been given more room to impact the story and characters as the book went on;

Ariadne’s children are more narrative device than character, as are Phaedra’s; Theseus becomes a shallow husk as soon as his betrayals are revealed, and not in a satisfying manner;

and Perseus, though genuinely intriguing, is introduced far too late to be explored in detail. The most compelling character in this book is Dionysus. His jovial compassion for mortals is intentionally discordant with his divine detachment from them, and his treatment of Ariadne changes in a realistic, thoughtful way as the book goes on. He’s well-rounded and fascinating to read, his actions offering much to interpret and consider about his role in the narrative and his character in general. For how feminist this book claims to be, I find it interesting that the love interest man is given more depth than the woman protagonist-- not to say that Dionysus’s depth is bad, as it was one of the only parts of this book I enjoyed, but it reflects poorly on the novel that its attempt to convey a nuanced, feminist perspective from Ariadne’s point of view is so thoroughly outshined by Dionysus’s character. It is frustrating and disappointing to see characters with so much potential fail as they do here.

Further, the message of this book has questionable implications. Ariadne’s continuous disappointment by men serves as the novel’s theme: men are afforded privilege in society that they too often use to brazenly wreck the lives of women, because said women are forced unjustly to face the consequences for men’s actions. The nuance in this perspective somehow deteriorates over the course of the story as Ariadne is proven right over and over until it seems the book condemns men as a whole; by the end of the novel Ariadne views all men as inherently the same, fated to disappoint and destroy the lives of women forever. I don’t like this perspective. What of Daedalus, who treats Ariadne with kindness in her youth?

Or the children she loves dearly, or Phaedra’s children, or Hippolytus?

In treating sexism as an unavoidable feature of all mankind, Ariadne presents a somewhat bleak, hopeless view of humanity, as well as ascribes blame to a collective rather than addressing the underlying issues at play-- one of the most insidious qualities of a sexist is the intention they have in adopting such a worldview, the part they choose to play to further sexism’s reach, but Ariadne completely ignores the harms of willfulness. The main character’s perspective is not feminist so much as it is accusatory, refusing to address her own hand in the sexism she continually falls victim to-- Ariadne has agency in the narrative, but never makes significant use of it, always pacing in philosophical circles as she aids her own victimization without taking any lessons from her continued tragedies. This inherency perspective lacks nuance and is unhelpful in meaningfully addressing sexism, which is best understood as a worldview bias that is played into rather than some kind of inevitability of men.

Ultimately, I did not enjoy this book. The writing itself is decent but never stands out, and the pacing is strange and drawn-out with how repetitive the narrative’s themes are. Its messages are unfavorable and feminist only on a surface level, its characters serving as poorly-wrought examples of what it is trying to condemn. Possibly the most interesting way to read this novel would be as a fated tragedy, and to consider what it has to say about agency under destiny as viewed through Ariadne’s failure to learn from her mistakes or adopt a more reasonable, adjustable worldview-- how she creates her own helplessness through wilful inaction and rejects taking control of her life in favor of condemning the Gods and men for all misfortune, refusing to look deeper inwards even once. However, since it is billed so overwhelmingly as a feminist retelling, I don’t imagine that the agency in tragedy interpretation is what was intended by the author, and so I think it fails as the narrative it was written to be. It’s disappointing. I wish it had been the story it claimed to be, or had the potential to be, but I found it unfortunately lacking.

Content Warnings

More...

conspystery's reviews 278 reviews

conspystery's reviews
278 reviews