conspystery's reviews
278 reviews

Carrie Soto Is Back by Taylor Jenkins Reid

emotional inspiring tense 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

4.75

The title of this book really says it all, I think. Carrie Soto is back! And her journey to getting there is a super fun one. I liked this book a lot.

First, our protagonist herself: Carrie is driven and vicious, fiery and calculating, determined and stubborn, all these things and more almost to the point of catharsis. Her development over the course of the novel was enthralling, and I loved how it was reflected in her training and successes or failures in games, as well as her emotional state afterwards. Her voice is engaging and drives the narrative forward in a way that is distinctly Carrie Soto, as the writing underlines with its similar brusque, willful tone and syntax. There are a few moments where the diction becomes especially brutal, often in dialogue, and it is genuinely invigorating. The repeated comparisons to Achilles are my favorite example of the writing really unleashing Carrie’s sense of violence and grandeur, as they also connect her further to her upbringing with Javier as her coach and father at once.

The deviations from the typical “Battle Axe'' Carrie we see through the novel are all the more compelling in their contrast-- the full scale of her identity, from public figure to student to retiree and the way she perceives herself through all those lenses, is presented with a matter-of-fact sureness that suits her character perfectly. Carrie’s flaws are realistic and relatable; while her inability to accept defeat and the way she defines failure evoke a keen sense of irony every time they become relevant, the reader cheers Carrie on anyway, absorbed into her world through her voice. This protagonist and this writing work perfectly together, and complement the main cast-- Javier, Nikki, and Bowe most notably-- in a fresh, interesting manner.

Speaking of which, the supporting cast of this book is a departure from those of TJR’s other literary works, or at least I felt like it was. What I loved about Malibu Rising, Daisy Jones & The Six, and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo was how sprawling the world felt, given life through a vibrant net of so many characters’ relationships with each other; this book’s scope felt narrower than that. The main cast is smaller and the supporting cast feels less relevant and detailed than those of TJR’s other works. Ultimately, I think that narrowing of scope works in favor of this book’s narrative. Carrie’s story wouldn’t have worked, I think, with that massive amount of detail afforded to all her competitors, because of her self-imposed solitary nature and how her character develops. I do have to say the main draw of TJR’s writing is, for me, mainly that web she weaves of the characters, and because this book’s web is a bit more tight-knit than I was expecting, I was a little disappointed at first. What this book does with its narrow focus on Carrie is interesting, and I enjoyed it-- but it wasn’t exactly what I anticipated from TJR, so that might be helpful to know before diving in. This book doesn’t sprawl as much.

I actually really enjoyed the events and pacing of the novel-- I didn’t know how engaged I would be with the plot going in, as I am not a tennis fan, but the structure of the novel around the different competitions, plus the backstory Carrie gives after her in medias res introduction, was just super fun to read. Some of the plot beats are a tad predictable, but in a satisfying put-it-together-yourself way rather than a get-to-the-point way. I liked how Carrie’s own inability to see past herself draws the reader’s attention to the foreshadowing she ignores-- I mentioned the sense of irony this book creates before, and it definitely works in tandem with the structure of the novel itself. This is a story that takes its audience along for the ride while also allowing them to predict its events; the merit of this book, and where it most highly succeeds, is in getting to its destination, absorbing the reader into the journey even if they have a decent idea of how it will end. It’s a treat to be entrenched alongside Carrie in her one-track-minded perception of the narrative, which is why the structure being centered around the competitions works so well: her priorities shape how the story itself is told, playing into her character while conveying its themes through irony at once.

Lastly, I would like to note that this book is, as others have noted, quite tennis-heavy. But even as someone who knows nothing about any sport, I found it compelling. The drama and intensity of the plot is easy to follow even for someone unfamiliar with tennis-- the book conveys everything the reader needs to know about tennis to understand the events of the novel and Carrie’s mindset in an easily comprehensible way, without ever overloading the audience with too much information. I imagine that in the more tennis-heavy sections of the story, especially the actual recounting of matches, there’s a lot of room for interpretation of Carrie’s character based off the actual logistics of how she’s playing-- which a scrutinizing tennis fan would likely pick up on. However, even as a layperson, the depth is definitely there and extremely satisfying to read.

Overall, I really enjoyed this book. It is deliciously brutal except when it transcends into ephemeral, fleeting moments of self-realization, and the contrast is addictive. Carrie’s story is fun to follow. Her character is multifaceted and outspoken in a way that shines with the actual writing of the novel. It isn’t as entangled or written with the wide scope TJR’s other literary works take, but it’s intriguing on its own. I loved its insight into perfectionism and legacies and what defines a person. It was a really fun read.

Content Warnings

As Good As Dead by Holly Jackson

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dark mysterious 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

3.5

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In the Night Wood by Dale Bailey

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adventurous dark emotional hopeful reflective slow-paced

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

4.75

I really enjoyed this book. The best way I can think to describe it is intricate in every possible manner; from the writing itself in setting and characterization alike to the layers of thematic meaning in its various narratives, this book is painstakingly, delightfully detailed. Its depth is rich to the point of intoxication, which for me made the book impossible to put down.

The prose of In The Night Wood is, in my mind, its greatest quality. Everything about it is enchanting, verbose, and ornate. The voice it gives to the narrative is compelling: it conveys alluring verdant unease with its descriptions of the woods, emphasizes the suffocating presence of grief and the slip from reality that loss can drive a person to in how it voices Erin and Charles, and the tight-knit, familiar, and yet somehow hollow insularity of the town is intriguing. I loved how specific ideas, and sometimes even whole phrases, were repeated throughout the book, always growing more vines and roots and leaves of words as they echoed to match the sprawling theme and setting. I truly think the writing of this novel lends credence to its plot in an impossible-to-ignore manner; it complements the narrative gorgeously, suits the book so perfectly it’s unsettling. I adored it.

I also massively enjoyed how twisting and and interweaved this book is with itself-- all its different layers, and there are many, are interconnected like a narrative net, and that in itself aligns with the novel’s theme in a way that is immensely fascinating and deeply satisfying at once. There are a few planes of literary significance with this book: its existence as a contemporary fiction novel, the plot of the titular children’s book Charles is researching, and the relevance of that children’s book to the “real” reality the novel takes place in are the main ones, though the lines between them blur throughout it. This book is also preoccupied quite heavily with writing, storytelling, and literature itself-- there’s many references throughout to various works of literature that in turn shape its own narrative. My favorite of these is the continued referral to Sir Gawain and the Green Knight; that one in particular lends a lot of depth to the setting, symbols, and events of the novel, and it is endlessly compelling to consider. The narrative thread of storytelling as a self-fulfilling prophecy and the inevitable circularity of fate ties all these realms for interpretation together, and it does so in accordance with its own ideas: self-fulfilling, self-compounding, and intertwining. It’s hard to describe. This book is entrenched in its own layers of existence, in every aspect. It’s beautifully fitting and intriguing to read.

A complaint I’ve seen in other reviews of this book is that the protagonist Charles is unlikable; his treatment of women is reprehensible at best and he spends much of the novel spiraling further into his own questionable behavior and mindset. I don’t disagree with this assessment. In fact, I think it’s the point. This book ends with a very solid breaking of its own cycle through active effort, addressing that even then, “there [are] wounds beyond healing, breakages beyond repair.” It challenges Charles and the audience to hope anyway, to try, and I interpreted its challenge as the beginning of Charles’s own quest to redemption, if possible at all, as well as the resolution of his struggle to grieve effectively and cope with loss. His character arc ends in his taking control of “fate” to the extent that it even exists and asserting autonomy through hope, and I find that fresh optimism totally satisfying as a resolution of the book’s themes. Also, I don’t think the narrative approves of Charles’s more reprehensible actions-- namely his affair with Syrah-- at all. I actually think it condemns them, considering its resolution hinges on Charles breaking from his destructive spiral. He is saved via confronting his wrongs, in part through the acknowledgment of Erin’s autonomy by entering the true Night Wood at the end. He makes an effort to break the cycle of fate as it is written. The cycle includes his own writing of fate, his bad choices and questionable behavior. Ergo he faces his wrongs and begins the journey to reconciliation. That’s how I interpreted it, anyway.

I do agree there were issues with the narrative treatment of the women in this book-- they do at times seem to fall into unfortunate cliches, and of course Charles, as the protagonist, takes narrative priority over them. I found overall that as far as this story explored Charles’s own stumble into mystery and self-definition, his presiding over the plot was somewhat necessary for it to work-- and maybe that’s an issue in its own right. I understand completely the frustration with the women of this novel not being as relevant to the plot as one might hope. Specifically, I really enjoyed Erin, Helen, and Silva as characters, and while I do feel they had a functional amount of depth for the story to unfold as it did, I would have loved to see their characters given more priority. That’s the one area of In The Night Wood I wish had been a bit different.

Ultimately, though, I found this book utterly bewitching. It embodies its themes with the atmosphere it creates and draws the audience in; everything this book does serves its narrative and its narrative serves everything it does in turn. As tangled of a web as this book is, every string of it feels intentional and full of meaning, rife with opportunities for interpretation. There are parts of it that I feel could have been approached just a bit better, but they are few and far between. Overall, this story effectively communicates the pressing nature of grief and how we write the fate that surrounds us, unearthly and twisting and full in its presentation. I enjoyed it immensely, and I feel like it definitely merits a reread.

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Heaven by Mieko Kawakami

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challenging dark emotional reflective 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

4.25

I’m conflicted about this book. It’s deceptive in how shallow it appears, especially towards the beginning; the writing style is subdued and polite almost to the point of clinicality, and the main character’s plight seems painfully simple. But it’s so much more than that. Kojima’s character arc is particularly fascinating, and so are her impacts on the narrator-- she’s presented sympathetically and ironically at once in her ideas about how best to deal with bullying. Momose is her narrative foil, the embodiment of the opposite extreme of these ideas. Heaven dives deep into the philosophy of bullying, and neither of the two main ways it’s presented are particularly appealing; Kojima is too willing to accept needless suffering, and Momose is too willing to fall into nihilism and hopelessness to care about anything, let alone other people.

I think this book’s point is to balance these ideas about pain, to emphasize the importance of understanding that some suffering is out of our control while also asserting morality wherever it can be applied and standing up against needless pain when possible. It notes its own false dichotomy with how the main character responds to the ideas he’s shown. The way it makes this point is a bit meandering at times, with lots of scenes which feel like they compound the issues in the novel far past its main theme, and often deeply disturbing to read in its detail. Yet there are genuinely beautiful moments in this book as well, and the simple but precise writing highlights them in contrast with their darker, more uncomfortable counterparts. Overall, I liked what this book had to say about the importance of balance, and I also enjoyed the uncompromisingly sublime scenes (like at the very end of the novel.) The discomfort of the rest of the book was necessary to an extent, but some of it-- especially the scenes which were not explicitly, directly connected to the furthering of the philosophical content of the novel-- was a bit much for me.

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One True Loves by Taylor Jenkins Reid

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emotional hopeful inspiring reflective sad 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

3.75

This book is pretty good. It’s casually written and easy to read but not overbearing, which I think is the point. The premise is interesting, and its execution is well-done; none of the characters felt too shallow for its well-rounded plotpoints and the conflict at its heart. I liked what it had to say about loss and change, and I felt like it gave the characters a decent amount of space to explore its themes in depth. It was a solid contemporary romance with a fresh, healing take on moving on.

I didn’t really love it, though. I didn’t feel strongly about it at all. Mostly I was underwhelmed. I’ve read three of TJR’s other books-- Malibu Rising, Daisy Jones & The Six, and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo-- and I adored them all. I consider them to be some of my favorite books of all time. I think what drew me to them was their more literary and historical aspects, the extent of the worldbuilding in them, and the deeply compelling characters and plotlines that interweave with each other throughout them. One True Loves is not that, and maybe I shouldn’t have expected it to be, but I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. I’ve never liked reading romance, so maybe I should’ve predicted that I wouldn’t adore this book, but I thought the fact that TJR wrote it would save it for me.

To its credit, I didn’t actively dislike this book, which is a feat knowing how difficult I tend to be with romance novels-- I actually quite enjoyed the nuance with which it approached grief and the idea of moving on and how its scope was philosophically broad enough to be applied outside of just romance, and a few moments stood out to me in the writing as particularly striking (the comparison Emma makes of Jesse’s expectations for her to Penelope waiting for Odysseus was outstanding; it complemented her intelligence as a character and her background growing up around literature as well as thoughtfully communicating the themes of the novel, and also I really like Penelope so maybe I’m biased)-- but I think I just expected it to be more special than it was to me. The fact that I didn’t absolutely hate it is a testament to its merit in this genre. As I wrote, it’s a solid contemporary romance. It’s a pretty good book. I just wish it had been as exceptional as TJR’s more literary works, which is maybe not a fair expectation, but I have it nonetheless. It just wasn’t for me.

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A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes

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adventurous dark emotional reflective sad 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

5.0

First: I listened to the audiobook version of A Thousand Ships, performed by the author, and it was absolutely incredible. Her performance adds so much power to the story and perfectly complements its themes about giving voice to the unheard. This book’s task is ambitious-- portraying sides of war that are often overlooked entirely-- but it thoroughly succeeds in its effort.

The writing of this book is engaging, evoking all the tragedy, sorrow, and grief of war and loss while also emphasizing moments of contrast as they appear. Every emotion the characters experience is relayed in detail through its language and syntax. The book is segmented into chapters by character, and the writing shifts to give distinct, detailed voices to each of the people it explores: the muse Calliope is familiar and playfully casual yet powerful and solemn, Creusa is intelligent and determined with a keen concern for her family, Penelope is dotingly exasperated but evolves into near-spitefulness and doubt, Iphigenia is self-assured and ironically enthusiastic, and so on. The narrative’s framing via the muse is the perfect conduit for exploration of these women’s stories, and the structure of the novel is aided by the thoughtful prose it employs to communicate its pathos.

I loved the lengths this book goes to in order to give depth to each character and, thus, emphasize its point about war’s endless impact on humanity. Every story was detailed and compelling, each presenting a newly intriguing lens with which to view the contextualizing events of the narrative. The scope of this novel is wide, but the book doesn’t feel stretched thin; rather, it is all-encompassing, and gives each character’s story the space to be told in detail. The result of this is a deeply moving portrait of each of the cast for every chapter, one that fosters connection with and understanding of the emotions, actions, and selves of the characters in all their multifaceted, complex glory. As far as favorites go, I’ll specifically note Oenone, Cassandra (her unexpected kinship with Clytemnestra was fascinating!), and the more general chapters about the women of Troy (I especially loved Hecabe and Helen, in the limited capacity in which she appears), but genuinely, all of the chapters of this book were immensely compelling, and I can’t pick one character who resonated most deeply with me. That’s the point-- all the stories are worth telling, just as all the women are worth consideration.

I’d like to present a defense of this book’s Penelope. Based on the reviews I’ve read, her chapters seem to be the most polarizing; the main argument is that she is too detached from the main narrative of the story, and that her chapters center too heavily around Odysseus to effectively communicate the agency the rest of the women in the novel are afforded in their storytelling. Comparisons arise between this book’s Penelope and that of Margaret Atwood’s The Penelopiad, which explores the details of Penelope’s life while her husband is absent-- A Thousand Ships, though, offers Penelope’s perspective on her husband’s story as her own narrative, without as much detail afforded to the events of her daily life. I don’t think this takes away from A Thousand Ships’s Penelope, however. I disagree with the assessment that her chapters are detached and boring or too focused on Odysseus. Penelope’s chapters are some of my favorites in this book (to the extent that I could pick favorites!) precisely because of how her relaying of Odysseus’s story communicates her character. It isn’t reductive that Penelope is narratively tied to Odysseus-- he’s important to her, and she’s lost him! Of course she thinks about him, of course she considers herself in relation to him! I think exploring her struggle to come to terms with the stories she hears of him in the thoughtful, personal manner this book does is a commentary on how the mythologizing of Odysseus shapes her as merely a devoted, waiting wife in the Odyssey.

This book’s Penelope reflects on the layer of stories that have indirectly defined her through her own voice. She examines herself through Odysseus’s story rather than recounting her own with his absence for context, as The Penelopiad does. These two books are not trying to accomplish the same goal. Both have their own merits, but they are very different ones. The Penelopiad emphasizes Penelope’s independence as her own character; A Thousand Ships acknowledges a Penelope who willfully incorporates her relationship with her husband into her identity, while also questioning her role in that relationship. Her dissection of his story doesn’t dilute the fact that it’s her interpretation we’re hearing as she examines herself through it. Not to mention her wit, her exhausted devotion, her balance of hopefulness and grief, giving up on Odysseus but loving him the same, her strength… to write off this Penelope as a mere product of her husband’s mythologizing is to miss the point. It’s why she’s presented this way at all. What can we learn from a Penelope who is aware of how her husband’s story defines her and actively considers her identity in turn? That is the very question A Thousand Ships wishes to answer with its Penelope chapters, and it’s why I love them so much.

Ultimately, A Thousand Ships paints a tragic and powerful picture of the reality of war in its impact on those whose stories are often overlooked. Its portraits of the women it examines are poignant, realistic in flaws and virtues alike, and tragically ironic at times, always multifaceted and brimming with the possibilities for interpretation. This book brings attention to the importance of storytelling in a brutally heartaching manner, and it furthers its own point in how it voices the stories it does. I adored it.

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The Rest of Us Just Live Here by Patrick Ness

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adventurous emotional funny lighthearted 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

Overall, I don’t think I have much to say about this book; I thought the concept of following a group of not-chosen ones through the struggles of their regular lives while earth-shattering apocalyptic events took place around them was adorable, and its execution was great. The main cast of this book had enough depth to carry that idea past novelty and tell a funny yet genuine and sincere story about friendship under difficult circumstances-- be those circumstances in-fighting in a friend group, the changing relationships of people who’ve known each other a long time, graduation and the spreading out of a close group of people across distant lands, or the actual apocalypse. Possibly all at once! Mikey is flawed as any teenager is, with a wry tone throughout the novel that complements his moments of more serious contemplation. I liked how far this book went into dissecting his issues with self-worth; it didn’t shy away from dark themes, and I appreciated the realism of it even amidst the supernatural aspects of the setting. I will say that there were parts of this book that felt a bit juvenile to me-- strange asides in the writing, or scenes that felt contrived-- but this is a YA novel, so it’s to be expected, and it didn’t ruin the book for me at all. This is a story about finding a family versus making peace with the one you have, and also about being true to yourself and the people you surround yourself with; it’s about communication and growth and how complicated friendship can be. It was a solidly good book. I liked it.

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Circe by Madeline Miller

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adventurous emotional hopeful reflective sad 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

5.0

This book accomplishes its goal: it feels like an epic recounted in first person, and it is exceptionally well-done. I loved it in so many different ways.

The atmosphere of this book is established with grace, and lends itself to the thematic contrast between the mortal and the divine. All sorts of mythological threads are tied in: Daedalus, Prometheus, Jason, Scylla… this book’s world is thoroughly intertwined with itself and with familiar names of legend, and that connectedness carves a sense of vastness and significance to the novel. The Gods and their portrayal in actions, physical descriptions, and the settings that surround them are truly mythic, presented with simultaneous reverence and disillusion to match Circe’s perceptions of them. Most of all, the witchcraft in this book-- magic which is not divine-- is mysterious and vibrant at once, in line with the enchanting physical setting of Aiaia where it is first explored in depth. It almost has its own character to it, a kind of active playfulness at times and solemn darkness at others. I loved how it acted as both a piece of the worldbuilding and also a symbol of Circe’s character development; it gave so much depth to the atmosphere of the book while at the same time reflecting Circe’s personal narrative.

Circe herself is, of course, a selling point of this book. She is phenomenally compelling. She is painted with immortality and the solitude that comes with divinity; as the novel goes on, those themes move with her, mirroring the ways she defies and reclaims them throughout the book. Circe occupies a liminal space of importance to the scale of the Gods around her. It is her self-definition that gives her narrative direction, and the contrast between how she sees herself and the way others view her is a central pillar of how she tells her story. Her lens throughout this novel is a discerning one; she is insightful and powerful and self-aware, especially as the story goes on, narrating always with a keen intelligence and shielded sentimentality.

Circe’s character arcs are always guided by her experiences, as are her relationships with other characters, which allow the reader to experience her learning and see it applied with her as she goes on. My favorite part, I think, was the change in intentionality in her descriptions as she developed through the book; at times, she seems to present other characters ways which serve subconsciously to justify herself, drawing the reader in until they can understand her actions, and at other times she speaks from her genuine perceptions of others, acknowledging her charity or bias, as if to compare with the audience rather than convince. Her depictions of Odysseus and Daedalus were exceptionally thoughtful. I loved the subtle similarities and differences between them and the way she recognized herself in them. Other notably striking characters were Circe’s lioness, Pasiphaë, Medea, Athena, Telemachus, and Penelope, along with the transformed monster Scylla. How Circe revealed her own character development aided by her presentation of others’ was compelling and realistic, in line with the conflict between isolation and togetherness with which she constantly struggles.

The narrative of Circe itself is epic, spanning countless years-- as an immortal being, immortality soaks Circe’s character and story, and the structure of the novel itself reflects that, slow-paced and grand yet circular. The prose itself evokes the divinity Circe grapples with through rich, mythological imagery, flowing syntax, and conclusive, powerful statements of theme conveyed often through metaphor, simile, and analogy. Most of all, I loved how this book echoes itself; phrases invoked over and over again with different meanings, reflected like memory and given perspective as the story continues, with repetitive emphasis that reminded me of ocean waves on a shore crashing over and over and over forever. The themes of this book are built into its foundations, even through the writing itself.

Ultimately, this is a book which understands its lead. It moves with Circe, uses her voice to shape her narrative as it winds around her in retrospect and recollection. In its writing, atmosphere, and storytelling itself alike, Circe is epic and divine and ancient, and it is also fresh and realistic and sincere; as Circe herself is multifaceted, so too is the narrative she weaves. I love what this book suggests about what it is to be alive, and the meaning we can find in other people as well as make in ourselves. I couldn’t put it down.

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My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite

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dark funny reflective tense 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

4.5

I listened to the audiobook of this, and it was really great! The narrator’s performance added so much to the dark kind of absurdity this book centers around, while also faceting it with sincerity and emotion. I loved it.

This book was definitely a fun one. The concept itself is darkly funny, but it has a lot more depth than I expected. I was pleasantly surprised by how intriguing the story was despite its apparent predictability. The characters were ironically, tragically flawed-- especially Ayoola-- in a way that is both funny and genuinely engaging. I loved how, for such a short book, the audience was given an absolute deep-dive into the head of the main character Korede. Her exasperation and fiercely defensive nature were communicated beautifully through the writing; she’s flawed, but her narration goes to incredible lengths to convince the reader to sympathize with her, and it works. This book is an excellent manipulator.

The other part of this book that stood out to me was the complexity of Korede’s priorities and relationships. I loved her relationship with Ayoola: this is first and foremost a book about sisterhood and the way it is at once excruciatingly, hopelessly frustrating and deeply, unbreakable connective. Korede’s character at first seems to completely oppose Ayoola’s, from their physical descriptions to the way others see them to how they treat other people, but it becomes clear how inseparable they are as people as the book goes on. Korede’s motivations are, at their core, defined by that duty to her sister, which raises interesting questions over the course of the book about Ayoola’s motivations; this was, to me, the most compelling part of the novel, and I loved how their conflict developed and resolved throughout it. This book’s exploration of sisterhood was fresh, approached from quite a dark, unique angle, and I loved every second of it.

Ultimately, this book was great. Some of the plot was a bit unbelievable and to a point, predictable, but I don’t think this book is meant to be a paragon of realism; rather, it’s an inquiry into the drive people have to protect themselves and the ones they care about, and how far they will go to do so. It surprised me with how sincere it was, especially by the ending, and I enjoyed the writing itself quite a lot. Overall it was a fun read with some very interesting things to say about sisterhood. I really enjoyed it.

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Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

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adventurous dark emotional mysterious reflective slow-paced

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

5.0

This book is a masterpiece, I think. It’s about so many things at once: the pursuit of knowledge, blissful ignorance, loneliness versus solitude, trust or the lack thereof, unknowability, and contentment. What makes a person who they are, even when identity seems totally lost. The world around us and how we appreciate it, find meaning in it. All of these themes and questions are conveyed richly and beautifully throughout Piranesi.

I absolutely adored the title character of this book. I loved his simple sense of personal meaning and awareness of the world around him; his voice throughout the story evokes a keen sense of irony in the reader, as his nonchalance is so dissonant with the perplexity of his circumstances, and this serves to endear him to his audience even more. He is a guide to the magnificent setting of the book, and he both complements it and brightens it with his routine wonder and dedication to his duties. I loved how the audience could put the mystery of his existence together long before he himself could, yet his journey to that knowledge was compelling regardless because of the voice he gave to it. Even as he develops as a character, he holds true to the same duty guiding him: to be kind. It motivates his every action. This is further detailed by the writing style of the novel, which gives him a voice that is distinctly his own, appreciative and curious and simple but in good faith even through the evolution of the story. He is an incredible character.

The plot of this book, its supporting cast, and its setting are intertwined in a deeply satisfying manner. The questions raised by this interconnectedness are answered mostly thematically, bringing conclusion to the philosophical concerns of the novel but leaving a tiny bit of space as gaps in the gaps in the reader’s knowledge of the story. I felt that this kind of conclusion suited the story incredibly well, especially with a main character like this one at the helm. The plot itself was perfectly mysterious and dark to explore the issues it did, and the questions of abstraction and figurativity served its themes in kind. There are so many layers to this book: the surface level of the plot’s events, the motivations of the characters, why the atmosphere and setting of the book is presented as it is, what it communicates about its themes through figurativity, the deeper meaning of all that happens… I loved it all. Piranesi has so much to say about all that it covers on both a surface level and thematically, and it does so with skillful depth and grace.

Overall, I really loved this book. I can’t think of a better way to describe it than utterly compelling. Everything about this book-- the atmosphere, the protagonist, the mystery, the themes, the writing-- drew me in completely. It’s a relatively short read, but one that holds a lot to consider, and definitely one that I’ll be thinking about for a long, long time. It merits a reread, I think, or two or three or many more.

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conspystery's reviews 278 reviews

conspystery's reviews
278 reviews