Amalia Gkavea

There is currently a plethora of books that aim to bring women whose stories deserve to be more widely known to surface. If you ask me, I think it was about time. However, what makes me apprehensive is the fact that more doesn't necessarily mean better and when something becomes a ‘'fashion'', there is always the danger of losing quality and cohesion. This is what I found in this collection. An honest effort that severely lacked in execution and quality. The writer aimed to bring into focus women whose artistic, adventurous life deserves to be told. Instead of resorting to dry biographies, she chose to emphasize their psychology and personality through short stories inspired by their life and work. Unfortunately, I found most of them to be unsatisfying.

The Pretty, Grown Together Children: A strange and strangely haunting story about conjoined twins. Fascinating.
The Siege at Whale Cay: This one was an utter struggle. I didn't like Joe or her views on life. I don't think that being bossy and corrupt makes you heroic or worthy. Sorry.
Norma Milley's Film Noir Period: A house full of artistic women. A story about ambition, art, sisterhood, and understanding.
Romaine Remains: An elderly painter residing in a villa in Italy with a Spanish young man as her sole companion. A moving, dark story.
Hazel Eaton and the Wall of Death: A woman who defies death and forgets her daughter in the process. I failed to see how this story enhanced her character.
The Autobiography of Allegra Byron: A moving story about Lord Byron's illegitimate daughter and the woman who took her under her wings, fighting her own demons. Perhaps the best moment in the collection.
Expression Theory: This is so bad it isn't even worth commenting on...
Saving Butterfly McQueen: A mixture of religion, Gone With the Wind, medicine and the word Saving in the title. In the immortal words of Michael Ballack, I am not impressed...
Who Killed Dolly Wilde: An interesting story about an alluring writer in an atmosphere full of French decadence.
A High Grade Bitch Sits Down For Lunch: The craving for adventure in beautiful Kenya. I really wanted this story to be longer.
The Internees: A short, moving account from one of the survivors of Bergen-Belsen. However, I don't think that this collection is the proper place for Holocaust victims to be included in. The way I see it, it is disrespectful to find them alongside opium lovers and glorified sex-crazed socialites.
The Lottery, Redux: A cover story of The Lottery by Shirley Jackson. Not particularly successful, in my opinion.
Hell-Driving Women: Jazz atmosphere in a story with sociopolitical implications.

The main problem I had with this collection was the unnecessary emphasis on sex through quite a few crude descriptions. In my opinion, most of the women described are interesting and powerful without having to be portrayed as sex-predators. The writer significantly undermined their personalities with this choice. All in all, this collection was an extremely mixed bag. There were a few beautiful moments but most of the women were turned into the stereotypes we all try to avoid. While the writing had its moments of beauty, very few stories resonated with me. Hence the 2 stars.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

All the beauty, magic and fascination of the Celtic world in a comprehensive, beautifully written guide. Goddesses, gods, mythical queens and kings, heroes and heroines, saints and otherworldly creatures. Customs, rituals, battles and legends written like a fairytale to spread the wealth of the Celtic culture of the British Isles, Brittany and the rest of the Celtic world.

A jewel that should find a place in every bookcase.

Holland, during the 17th century. Judith and Maria are two women who are struggling to find their footing in a society that closes all doors to the ones who don't fit in the religious images cultivated by an endless battle between different denominations. It closes all doors to women who are talented and brave enough to seek a better future, to make their talents one. Judith Leyster wants to be a painter, following the great tradition of her country. In order to do so, she needs to convince the men in the profession that she deserves to be taken seriously. She struggles to make them pay attention to her creations, not her petticoats. And Maria? Maria has to live in fear because of her faith. Her only solution is the search of a holy relic that will make her atone for whatever sins she has committed...

And this is one of the worst Historical Fiction novels I've ever read.

Excuse me, dear friends, but no. NO! How could one of the most important women in the History of Art be transformed into a walking snoozefest that behaves like a petulant schoolgirl is a dark mystery to me. I won't even waste my time and yours to talk about Maria because I skipped most of her chapters to avoid gauging my eyes out with a knife. Bayern was on TV and I wanted to watch the game, needing my sight to do so. Therefore, no Maria for me after the 40% mark, thank you. In my opinion, both women are one-dimensional characters, unoriginal, boring, bad copies of female main protagonists we have seen before in much better books.

It is so sad that a beautiful setting and an exciting era went to waste due to a lack of events, repetition and implausible twists that had no function whatsoever. I mean, dear writer, show! Don't tell. I don't need a thousand paragraphs describing Judith and Maria's thoughts and differences. Write an adequate dialogue and create events that have a meaning and an outcome. Don't give me a pseudo-psychological treaty. Now that I mentioned the haunted word ‘'dialogue'', I have to tell you that every interaction in this book sounded (to me, obviously) like an uninspired period piece seen on a second-rate TV channel. Examples follow. Proceed with caution, dearest friends:

‘'I'll be right back.'' (In Holland, in the year of Our Lord 1633. Yeah, dude, whatever...Seriously, I expected to come across the previous exclamation somewhere in the course of the ‘'story''.)

And more examples, all from the same chapter:
‘'Forgive me for interrupting you. You were painting?''
‘'Of course, that's wonderful. I mean, obviously you're painting, but it's wonderful work.''
‘'That's perfect. Wonderful. Thank you. I'll be back soon.''

Welcome to the Dutch version of a Nickelodeon Art School programme taking place in the 17th century.
I must be punished for some serious sins I committed in a past life...

I've had such high hopes for this one and they were crushed from the very first chapters. I am aware that many readers have loved this novel but personally, it made me fall asleep. In truth, what did I expect from a book that contained the phrases ‘'She clenched her jaw shut....'' and ‘'She sucked in a half breath...'' ?

P.S. How do you suck in a half breath? I genuinely want to know.

Many thanks to Amberjack Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Quickly, days short, somehow we all adjust and welcome the dark, for it is neither threatening nor smothering. Darkness becomes a thing of joy and vivid beauty in its own right. When early winter storms blow in, night skies are shrouded in heavy swathes of purple-black velvet. On cloudless nights the Milky Way comes overhead, a broad braided river of light coursing through the sky. And in this time of conflict and rapid change, of life and death, other lights become visible as the darkness deepens, flickering and shimmering in neon greens and reds, the Northern Lights should be ringing with trumpets and other heavenly music as they herald the arrival of winter, but they are utterly silent.''

In Athens, winter comes suddenly and unexpectedly. Every year I wait for it, tired by the scorching heat of the summer, finally irritated by our whimsical autumn that seems unable to decide between heat and cold. Every year, there comes a day when I wake up and realise that it is finally time for the entire winter survival kit. Coat, scarf, boots, gloves, a woolen hat. I have the happy opportunity to work in the northern part of our capital, in a beautiful neighborhood where the seasons make their presence known in a much more accurate way than in the heart of the city and wintry days can be rather trying. And yet, I wouldn't change winter for a thousand summers.

‘'Winter is about endurance and that's all you can do. Endure. Fingers numbed from the frostbitten breeze, cheeks red and raw and burning from the cold; you blink to stop your eyes from watering.''

I remember a textbook from primary school that called winter ‘'the death of nature''. Bloody nonsense! Winter isn't a time of death, winter is a time of togetherness and warmth. My grandma used to love winter, despite the endless years of surviving the cold days and nights during the Second World War, despite the lack of comforts that we have the honour to enjoy nowadays. She loved winter because it was the time for the family to gather and tell stories, reminisce and dream of the future waiting at the edge of winter. A time for true ‘'coziness'', not pretentious blubbering for glamorous magazines but a moment when whispering by the light of the lamp created memories. This is the feeling I experienced while I was reading Winter, the third book in the Seasons series edited by Melissa Harrison.

‘'On these shores, winter feels more ambiguous: at times a long, grey sigh or a drawn-out ache, with occasional sharp pains to remind you of its bite. The night skies are perfect for star-gazing, though. And if you're lucky, your loved ones clasp you a little closer. Then there are the short-lived days when the wind briefly throws into a sweet-scented, benign breeze and you feel a frisson of anticipation.''

Let us travel to the Scottish Highlands, to the metropolis of London. To Dartmoor and Wistman's Wood. To Norfolk and Bench Tor. To Northumberland, to Oxford. Let us experience winter in the city, let us enjoy the coziness of winter in a traditional village. Let us feel the screaming air from the winter sea. Let us welcome the Winter Solstice, Christmas and Candlemas under the bright, mystical light of the winter moon. There is always something enticing about the way moonbeams are lighting the branches of the trees that have shed all their leaves. Let us be careful of the east wind that blows, bringing nightmare according to the old superstition. Let us wonder on the attitude of ancient cultures towards winter with a mulberry wine at hand by the Christmas tree. Foxes, badgers, pheasants, woodpeckers, plovers, kingfishers, otters and ravens will keep us company.

Roger Deakin has written a beautiful text on leaves and their unique presence in our world. Caroline Greville beautifully describes the haunting nights when winter begins to show us that it has finally come. There is also an atmospheric extract from Dickens's Bleak House on London and fog in the late November nights. Ronald Blythe's moving text on Christmas, Saint Thomas and the Resurrection of Lazarus. A beautiful passage from Virginia Woolf's Orlando and from Dubliners by James Joyce. Emma Kemp shares a poetic description of a walk on a winter's night and Brian Carter talks about the memories of a childhood's snowy days in the North. Jon Dunn describes the winter darkness in the Shetland Islands and the festivities of Up Helly Aa in a beautiful, dark text and what collection would be complete without a chapter by Thomas Hardy?

Winter is harsh and beautiful, pure and threatening, cold, possibly unapproachable but majestic. This anthology captures the spirit of the quiet season to perfection. And as for me, winter is the cold morning when a child used to wake up at 7 o'clock to see whether it was snowing, when Grandma always reassured me that snow would come soon and I was sitting by the Christmas tree, staring out of the window, waiting, in a house full of the aroma of fresh coffee, cinnamon, almonds and the sound of crackling wood in the fireplace. Winter is the whitened sky and the grey noons, the cobalt blue of the blue hour, the lights that start flickering from 4 o'clock in the afternoon, the oversized scarf knitted by Grandma because ‘'it is too cold outside and your skin is too sensitive, puppet.'' Winter is stories. Winter is memories.

‘'There are moments of peace even in the darkest of times. When life is stripped to its purest core we find its resolve is strong. And when the world around me is so cold it nearly takes my breath away, when my feet feel they might just be snatched from beneath me, I will push on- on to the grass, towards the other side and to my destination: to sit and rest there a while, until time and nature have thawed my heart and fears.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

If you attempt any political comments, think again. You can't win an argument with me, thank you.

‘'Twenty years later, an icon of the Saviour will hang in this spot, but in 1975, it's Ceaușescu's depiction that the children must revere.''

Alina and Liviu, a young married couple, have the dreadful misfortune of living in a country oppressed and vilified by the Beloved Leader, Νicolae Ceaușescu, one of the many ‘'Beloved Leaders'' born out of one of the darkest periods in History. Romania, the 1970s. The citizens of the beautiful, mystical country, a land so rich in traditions and folklore, live their lives in the shadow of a monster who sprang out of the Soviet Union, one of the worst oppressors in the Balkan region. When Alina's brother-in-law manages to escape the nightmare by defecting, she and her husband become personae non gratae for their families and their colleagues, for the whole nation. Having lost hope and with her whole world shuttered, Alina's only refuge seems to be her beloved aunt, a woman born from the tradition of Romania, a woman of magic, faith and all the values that any totalitarian state aims to massacre. This is the background of this beautiful, haunting novel by Sophie van Llewyn.

‘'Please make me a child again. A teenager. A student. A girl who hasn't lost her father yet or her romantic views concerning the world, poverty, kindness, a parent's love.''

Sophie van Llewyn succeeds in creating a story from a beautiful union between Historical Fiction and Magical Realism. While the troubles of Alina couldn't have been more heart wrenching, the writing has a whimsical, poetic quality that manages to lend a fairytale atmosphere to a bleak, painful story. The examples of van Llewyn's talent are many throughout Bottled Goods. Dear Father Frost is an extremely emotional chapter from which the quote above this paragraph was chosen. How to Attract (Unwanted) Attention from the Communist Authorities is a brilliant chapter of bitter metaphors on the uncountable reasons for a citizen's persecution in a society and a reality that makes 1984 seem like a walk in the park during the spring. Alina is a teacher, a ‘'comrade teacher'' (such a scary phrase...) and a mathematical genius that is being forced to spy on her students. Even though she refuses to do so, we're witnessing the ultimate corruption of a society, the vilification of children who are turned into either traitors or suspects. A regime that forces good people into cruelty towards the young ones. Otherwise, your survival and the future of your family are at stake.

Persecution, isolation, torture, despair. Everyone abandons you in fear of their lives because to be seen with a supposed ‘'rebel'' means you are one of the ‘'enemies of the state''. Your job is at risk, you are ostracized and watched, despised by your own mother, neglected, your relationship collapsing under the heaviest weight. Your ‘'comrades'' can't wait for the chance to turn you over to the ‘'authorities'' to save their skin, to appear as ‘'devoted citizens'' of a puppet state. ‘'Comrade''...I hate this word so much...A word that should signify support and companionship became a sugar-coated word for tyranny and the subjects of an inhuman, savage universe. I remember the ‘'students'' during my university years. We used to call them the ‘'eternal, unwashed fints''. The ones who always tried to prevent us from attending our lessons, victims of their imaginary universe. My, I had such good fights with that lot. I mean, they may believe whatever they want but trying to force me to follow your ways will end with them in the police station...Once I threw a volume of the Norton Anthology on the head of such a ‘'comrade''because they wanted to force our professor to leave the classroom. I never felt happier in my life...

In terms of characters, Alina gave me some trouble, to be honest. She is a bit too timid. And I'm not referring to her attitude towards the men who move the cogwheels of the dictatorship but towards her beast of a mother and her idiot of a husband. Aunt Theresa is the queen in the story. Her spells, potions and prayers seem the only way out of a life that consumes every inch of Alina's strength and hope. Saint Friday was also a brilliant, sassy presence. Liviu was... best not mention really...

Bottled Goods is magical, haunting, powerful, memorable. An exceptional little treasure, a book that will give you a plethora of strong feelings and bleak images. Personally, it made me feel grateful that I live in a democratic continent despite the problems and the difficulties.

‘'We will be visiting a special shop for tourists now. You can find western products there, if you miss them. I am not allowed to come in with you.''

Many thanks to Fairlight Books and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'London is alive. And so am I.''

18th century, England. Genevieve comes from a Huguenot family that found shelter in England, persecuted in their own country due to their religious beliefs. In a time when the war with France is raging, Genevieve has to fight her own battle to acquire the right to be acknowledged for her talent to create beauty. Apart from the military conflict, there is an ongoing race for the finest porcelain and the creation of the most unique and powerful of colors. The colour blue, the symbol of divine perfection, authority, eternal beauty. The colour of the sky, the color of the Virgin Mary. Genevieve finds herself in a web of secrets and espionage, in an era when being a woman was already dangerous by itself.

The background of this novel by Nancy Bilyeau is very interesting and the era is beautifully depicted. The reader definitely acquires a vivid image of the circumstances that used to influence one of the most turbulent eras in European History and the first steps of an elaborate version of espionage and warfare, the social background is also successfully depicted with references to the position of women in the British and French society, especially the young and less privileged ones who had to use their minds and courage to escape a low position on the social ladder. There are many interesting facts on the subject of porcelain and its significance in Britain, France, and Germany as well as the importance of blue in the field of Art and its impact on sovereignty. I appreciated the references to Newton's theories on colours and the influence of Jean-Jacques Rousseau's works in the era.

All's well and good, then? Not exactly. Yes, the painted canvas of the story is elaborate and faithful to the era, the pace is satisfying and the premise interesting and engaging. The problem is, in my opinion, that we've seen everything before. Those of us who consider Historical Fiction as their favourite genre (and by Historical Fiction, I don't mean romances but actual Literature...) have witnessed the involvement of an underprivileged young woman with a talent in Art or Culture in general in a game of politics and power. So basically, this is one of those stories that becomes a little more appealing by the theme of how Art can be used to a country's purposes and benefit. Nothing more, nothing less.

The writing is very good in the descriptive passages and the sequence of events is clearly drawn out, rich and detailed without being repetitive. However, everything is predictable. Too predictable, in fact. Again, if you have read a significant number of quality books falling into this genre, you'll probably be able to guess the continuation of the story, even its conclusion. However, my major complaint is the dialogue. I don't know how to describe it with accuracy but it is a weird mix of period language and contemporary phrases that felt wooden, strange and unnatural. Especially the interaction between Genevieve and her romantic interest were cringeworthy. Despite my well-known aversion to anything remotely related to romance, I could have stomached this relationship if it weren't for the millions of ‘'I love you'' every other page. It was this element of romance that made the heroine of the story behave like a naive schoolgirl and diminished my interest in the conclusion of the novel. In addition, the characters failed to impress me. In my opinion, Genevieve is the well-known figure of the feisty young woman who interacts with monarchs and peasants alike, always being wrong, always admired for her fearlessness but the dialogue was not adequately written to justify this. To tell you the truth, I've seen much more interesting, spirited heroines over the years. This one is not a character I will remember after a while.

In my opinion, this is a moderately satisfying Historical Fiction novel. Its greatest advantage the depiction of the era, its greatest weaknesses the dialogue and the development of the characters. It is average. I don't regret reading it and I recommend it but I found nothing new or memorable and 3 stars is the most I can give.

Many thanks to PigeonholeHQ and Nancy Bilyeau for the serialized ARC.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'We are all footnotes, many of us will never have the chance to be read, all of us in an unrelenting and desperate struggle for our lives, for the life of a footnote, to remain on the surface before, in spite of our efforts, we are submerged. Everywhere we leave constant traces of our existence, of our struggle against vacuity. And the greater the vacuity, the more violent our struggle.''

This is one of the strangest, most unique, most poignant books I've ever read. A fascinating, dark, witty mixture of Fiction, memoir, literary criticism. A work where meta-fiction and biography form a graceful dance, a book where reality and fiction are not two clearly distinguished notions. A work where despair, pain, loss, love, and expectations find their domain in Literature.

In six chapters, Ugrešič leads in the world of a writer wounded by a terrible war, confused and troubled by the fact that there seem to be no clear lines between victims and criminals, haunted by the ghost of failure. The writer in Ugrešič's novel talks of stories that contained characters undeveloped and neglected. What of the stories that were written and what of the ones that never came to be? Two women. A betrayed wife in Kyoto. The widow of a Russian writer, who seems to reach the status of modern literary goddess in the eyes of the readers despite the fact that she never wrote a word, meeting our writer in Naples, offering her wisdom.

‘'I don't remember when I last saw stars,'' I said.‘'The stars are all we have here,'' he laughed.‘'Stars and landmines'', I added.

In a village in beautiful Croatia, our writer meets Bojan, a fascinating man whose job is to detonate the mines left from the war in the 1990s. A man of the law, a philosopher, a lover of Literature, a man who refuses to conform or identify with a particular country. Bojan was my favourite character in the book. He reminded me of a person very close to me (minus the risky job, thank God) and I loved him fiercely.

Then, our literary journey takes us to Russia during the nightmarish era of Stalin, as we witness the rising of the great Russian avant-garde writers and the Great Purge that would be the cause of their tragic demise. We move to the United States to meet a woman in Nabokov's life and then to Italy in front of young, know-it-all aspiring writers who have no idea what Literature actually is...

The fox stands as a symbol of intelligence and secrecy. Of being a loner, a seductive force, an alluring adversary. A watcher in the night, an outsider. Ugrešič uses the beautiful animal as an image of the writer that sees her work scrutinized because of artificial perceptions. Are we all citizens of the world by choice or have we retreated into a subconscious self-exile, fed up with everyone's stupidity? What happens when your views don't correspond to the mob's ideals? And what about war, the source of all evils in our world?

‘'War is a time when the worst of humankind floats to the surface. Whoever survives must face the consequences.''

The claustrophobic feeling of being a stranger in your own country, the conviction that you don't belong anywhere, the isolation, the cruelty of the ignorants. The time when people lose their jobs (or worse) because of the ethnicity written on a piece of useless paper. When fanatics demand blood when censorship destroys a nation's cultural heritage. When the long-term consequences of war become the cause of the separation of two people who see-to-eye, who had the misfortune to fall in love with each other...

From Kyoto to Naples, from Zagreb and Moscow to Amsterdam, Nottingham, and Milan, Ugrešič writes in witty, raw, powerful language. What is Fiction and what Reality? I wouldn't dare to guess and it doesn't matter. Fox is the work of an exceptional, brave writer, a book for brave readers.

‘'People were expelled, people were murdered, people fled in groups or singly to neighboring countries, to distant countries, families were broken up, parents found themselves in one country while their children were somewhere else. And I, too - having earlier inscribed on my inner map a random trajectory- found myself living abroad, becoming a person with two biographies, or two people with one biography, or three people with three biographies and three languages.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

Any political comments will receive the axe. Don't try to provoke me, you'll fail miserably.

‘'Peter Fechter, the eighteen-year- old shot trying to escape in 1962 and left to die on the death strip, because each side thought the other would retaliate if they went to help him. Someone has thrown him a roll of bandages, but he lies immobile and bleeding.''

This book doesn't need many words. Anna Funder has created a punch in the stomach, a work that you could characterise as ‘'Orwellian'' if it weren't for the fact that this is reality. It is not fiction, it is a horrible nightmare that lasted too long. That should have never been created in the first place. One of the darkest moments in History told through a series of interviews, mixed with the writer's personal experiences, centered around the Stasi and its deadly grip on a divided country.

‘'And just remember Comrades this one thing : the most important thing you have is power! Hang on to power at all costs! Without it, you are nothing!''

‘'I wonder how it worked inside the Stasi: who thought up these blackmail schemes? Did they send them up the line for approval? Did pieces of paper come back initialed and stamped ‘Approved': the ruining of a marriage, the destruction of a career, the imprisonment of a wife, the abandonment of a child?''

To say that Funder's writing is powerful is a frightful understatement. Her chronicle of the events leading to the fall of the Wall is shuttering, so vivid it makes your heart pound loudly. We think we know all there is to know about the GDR experiment and the Stasi but we may be deceived. We don't know half of it and it is unthinkable for those who have not experienced oppression and threat in every second of their lives. The tyranny that denies your loved one a proper burial after having murdered him. Obviously. The state where babies are not considered ‘human beings' (and who is considered as a human being in a totalitarian state, I wonder...) if they are unhealthy. How else could they become ‘useful comrades'', faithful to the ‘one, true state', ready to ‘do their duty' ?

‘'I said you are not unemployed! You are seeking work!', and then, almost hysterically, ‘there is no unemployment in the German Democratic Republic!''

This is the sheer madness of a world that was an endless living nightmare for millions of people who had the misfortune to find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Eastern Bloc.

‘'Night has fallen, and the city lights are spread out beneath us. In the dark, this could be any city, in any normal place.''

The confessions of victims and perpetrators are harrowing and raw but Funder doesn't restrict herself in dry interviews and textbook paragraphs. She creates a background painted in grey colours, a scenery that is strangely beautiful and darkly fascinating in its bleakness. The chapters are rich in beautiful descriptions of Berlin during the night, worthy of the unique, atmospheric capital, a metropolis that has always attracted me since I was old enough to wanderlust and understand. Funder takes us to Alexanderplatz, one of my favourite Berlin spots, and to every corner of the city but she doesn't stop there. We join her in Potsdam. In Leipzig, the ‘'City of Heroes'', the city where liberation began, leading to the unification of Germany.

She talks about the Herculean task of the ones responsible for recreating the shredded Stasi files. About doping, constant surveillance, the propaganda against the West, the disappearing citizens. About the change that took place in the West and in the East once the Wall fell and GDR was no more. She gives voice to people who want to forget and to others who want everyone to remember. Miriam, Julia, Frau Paul. Brave women who were victims of a tyrannical force...

I cannot stress enough how much this book touched my soul. I couldn't let it go, I still can't and I obsessively discuss it with my mother who's currently reading it. It is written in a language that may remind you of an exquisite literary work but it is not. It is a chronicle, a memoir of the finest kind. And now, allow me a brief rant because I am done with the stupidity of certain people in the universe. Those who said that Funder didn't do her research, that she resorted to unfounded generalizations. Have they even paid attention? Or even worse, are they disappointed that their twisted dream of a surveillance state didn't last? What did they expect, I wonder? A eulogy? A hymn to one of the most horrible human creations? To Communism and Fascism? Because the two are two sides of the same coin. Well, as I always say there is an idiot in every corner, even in Goodreads. Pay no attention to the lovers of a twisted past. They are so miserable their world has ended for good...This is one of the best non-fiction books you'll ever read on the subject of oppression and pain inflicted by the human race.

‘'Does telling your story mean you are free of it? Or that you go, fettered, into your future?''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Of course we want to go back. Of course we're going home.''

Home...Where is this ‘'home'' when the land where you've spent all your life is about to witness violence, desolation, and death? Where is this ‘'home'' when the people you've known as neighbours and friends are now considered enemies? Where is this ‘'home'' when your loved ones are lost? When the guilt of surviving the nightmare still haunts your dreams? Home can only be found once you've made your peace with a terrifying past and Ana begins her journey through an ordeal that no living human being should ever experience again...The ordeal of war and exile.

“As a side effect of modern warfare, we had the peculiar privilege of watching the destruction of our country on television.”

Ana, a young girl from Zagreb, finds her life torn as the war in the Balkan region starts in 1990. Croatia is heavily wounded and Ana experiences the cruelest face of fate. Ten years later, following the tragic results of a ferocious war, Ana returns to beautiful Croatia to lay the ghosts to rest, to find beloved faces from the past, to discover some form of peace, however fragile. Through her story, her personal journey, we come to know a deeply sympathetic and brave character in a realistic, understated, poignant and powerful book by a brilliant young writer,

The setting of the novel and the implications of dealing with a war that is very much alive in the minds of most of us could have resulted in a work that would have been melodramatic in the hands of an incompetent writer or one who has to serve a personal agenda. Nović is neither. She has the confidence to project an extremely sensitive subject, a moment in recent History that was witnessed by most of us and creates a novel that is balanced, honest and extremely memorable. She weaves her story through the eyes of a young girl (going back and forth in time) and later, as a young woman that fights to understand a world that has changed forever. Nović doesn't have to resort to gore and violence in order to attract attention. Her writing, quiet and poetic, creates moments of dread that grip your soul page after page. The hearsay stories of terror against children during the first days of the war. The necessity to turn the lights off because not doing so may prove deadly. The story of the Wall of Pain, the Zid boli in Zagreb. The child armies. The self-exile.

“...I knew in the end the guilt of one side did not prove the innocence of the other.”

People who were neighbours, friends are separated. Many have to abandon their homes, their relations because they're suddenly considered enemies overnight. Others become refugees. And many fall, victims of men who do not fight for a country but to satisfy their endless lust for blood and rape. When you cannot distinguish truth from lies, a different kind of terror begins. When you cannot know whether the horror stories are reality or counter-propaganda. When people who have not experienced the nightmare of war use the word ‘'starving''. This always gets me. I mean, we cannot even begin to fathom the vicious force of this expression and yet we use it thoughtlessly because this is how ignorant we all are...And after a while, the sequence of crimes and blind violence begins. The line between defense and revenge blurs and the innocents, the women, and the children, are the first to pay the most horrible price. And it doesn't matter who fights against whom. In the end, everyone is guilty of something. This is the outcome of every war...

Through Ana, a unique, bookish girl, we see beautiful Croatia. From Zagreb to Plitvice Lakes, to Split, one of the most beautiful cities. Through her memories of a happier time, we see her strong, beautiful relationship with her father. Her love for football which is a religion in itself in every Balkan country. We Balkans adore football and basketball, being pretty good at both. In fact, Croatia's national football team is one of the best in the world.

Nović creates a journey that is heartbreaking and hopeful, sad, powerful, haunting. The ending is full of confidence, possibilities, and hope. She doesn't struggle to force our feelings as we so often see in Contemporary Literature. She writes and we experience.

Since my university years, I've had many friends from the countries involved in that terrible war that devastated our beautiful corner of Europe. Some live in Greece, in Slovenia, in Croatia, in Serbia, in Germany, in Bosnia. We are all in our thirties now. We are all friends, we get together, we laugh and sing and argue. We share the same fears and hopes. Thank God for today's peace. Thank God for us, the younger generation that lives with the values of friendship, cooperation, and understanding lighting the way. It is not easy to escape the past but I firmly believe we have succeeded in creating a new future for a region that has suffered so much for so many years.

‘'Around the room the moon filled the shell marks in the walls with a pallid blue light, and they looked full again, like a home.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Emerging from these themes is a conviction that history is polyphonic - that it must be told by many voices; that the ear must be tuned, and tuned finely, to the individual and the collective at one and the same time.''

It is not a secret that historians have done no justice to the notion of equality in their chronicles. There are so many men of less than average deeds and yet, most of us know their names. And there have been so many women worthy of recognition throughout the course of mankind that no one knows about. Sometimes they are mothers, wives, mistresses. Always referred to in connection with a male figure. In this lovely effort, Max Adams attempts to shed some light on a number of fascinating women whose lives were much more eventful than their contemporary men, even though they were eventually eclipsed and silenced.

Starting well before the Dark Aged and ending at the end of the 17th century, across continents and civilizations, we meet women whose offer to History was crucial on a number of fields. Science, Religion, Literature, Art. Fields honoured by extraordinary women whose voice was smothered on purpose. Obviously. Pilgrims whose faith gave them the strength to fight against enormous adversities. Hypatia of Alexandria who was crushed by an uneducated mob. St Brigid of Kildare, one of the most unique religious Celtic figures. Empress Wu Zhao who was feisty and sassy and made room for no man. Queen Aethelflaed of Mercia, Anna Comnena. Guðríður Þorbjarnardóttir, völvas, and Viking warrior women. Christina of Markyate, the enigmatic woman of the tapestry of Bayeux. Heloise and her legendary relationship with Abelard. The alluring, educated graces of the Chambres des Dames. Malintzin and Ana De La Calle. Artemisia Gentileschi, Celia Fiennes and many more. Women as peacemakers, helpers, seeresses, warriors, scholars, queens, lawmakers. Women devoted to God, women devoted to their own free will. Women who deserve a prominent place in History.

Adams's writing is fresh, informative, educated but not didactic. I assure you won't feel as if you're reading a boring textbook. He approaches each woman with utmost respect. Even when some of them were actually misbehaving girls, he writes about their dubious deeds in a way that is engaging, approachable and entertaining. I only have two complaints. The first is the inclusion of Hestia, the Greek goddess of Hearth, who obviously never existed. I still can't understand why she was given a chapter, The second gripe is the shortage of illustrations included. Portraits, sketches, maps, tapestries, photos. Anything that would give the reader a more concrete sense of each era and country. Since my copy was an ARC I hope this omission has been taken care of in the final edition.

Don't hesitate. If you love History, biographies and the gloriously fascinating lives of women who were forgotten and silenced by the envy and incompetence of their contemporaries, you'll hate to miss the book...

‘'You insult me still further because I am a woman, which according to you makes me fickle, mad and pretentious, for daring to correct and reprimand such a reputable scholar as you claim this author to be.''

Many thanks to Head of Zeus and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.


My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Do you know what I want? Shall I tell you? I want a million plants and animals to come back from extinction. No more, no less, Nona. I want to drink clean water straight from the tap. I want to go fishing in the river. And I want this clammy winter weather to end.''

I remember I was thirteen (or thereabouts) when I first read Sophie's World by Gaarder. The bookshop lady told me that it would be too difficult for my age but little Amalia had already developed her maddeningly stubborn, hugely- unresponsive- to any guidance- from any source self. And I marched straight ahead, holding the book -translated in Greek- tightly. I was hypnotized. It was the novel that introduced me to Magical Realism and I've always considered it a twin (although not as beloved) as The Little Prince. Years and years later, I ‘'met'' Anna in this beautiful novel that laments the gradual; and certain decline of our planet.

Anna, a sixteen-year-old girl from Norway, is deeply concerned about climate change and its dreadful results. Anna and Jonas are trying to raise awareness in their school community when she realises that she is receiving dreams from a superb source. Her great-granddaughter, Nova, lives in 2082 and her daily life doesn't include the species we all consider as granted. Our planet's human population during Nova's era is a little below one billion... Anna and Nova try to fight the disaster on two fronts in a story that is powerful, moving and frightening.

The descriptive passages are beautiful in their clarity and their impact is severe. We start wondering what could happen if we actually witnessed the outcome of our generation's behaviour towards the Earth's resources. What would happen if our great- grandchildren had the opportunity to demonstrate the wounds caused by our reckless choices? Where would the beauty of God's creation be if 60% of all species vanished? War, famine, death. These would be -will be- the crops we'll come to reap if we don't realize the rapid decline of the world around us. We like whining, saying that we have inherited a damaged world. Gaarder shows us through ruthless, poetic prose that our generation will surely bequeath ruins and ashes. A damage that will prove impossible to repair. Perhaps the clown who likes to call himself ‘'President'' would like to read this novel to understand that climate change actually exists. Oh, wait, I forgot. He obviously doesn't know how to read...

The dialogue was the only weak part, in my opinion, hence the 4 stars. It is a work originally written in Norwegian and perhaps the translation wasn't the best. Especially the interactions between Anna, Jonas, and Benjamin sounded wooden, unnatural. The parts between Anna and Niva were much better. They are interesting, sympathetic, determined characters and their thoughts and decisions fully reflected their personality. I suppose the translation didn't succeed in expressing the unique tone of the Norwegian language.

This is a terrifying read. It should be. It informs us, it throws the consequences of our actions in our face without mercy, guided by two extraordinary young women. If each one of us did 5%of what they did, there would be a chance to turn things around. As it stands and seeing that the world's leaders couldn't care less (what DO they care about, I wonder...) my hopes are non-existent...

‘'Perhaps intelligent life exists only on her planet. But what if, one day, there are no humans left? Will the stars and planets live on, with no one to look at them?''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Winters are when people disappear. One minute you're elbow on the street, the next you walk along sidestepping nothing but the wind. Cafes put down their blinds. Houses are locked and dark. The car parks slowly empty and all that's left on the beaches are a few forgotten shoes.''

I came across The Sing of the Shore via Jen Campbell's YouTube channel, a holy shrine for those of us who love our literature flavoured with a healthy dose of the strange and the misty. This collection of stories set in the wild, beautiful Cornish landscape is rich in bleakness, strange outcomes, misty characters, and beautiful, complex prose. I admit that during the first three stories I felt lost in space. I didn't know what I was reading. I realised that my mental state wasn't the proper one and I went back, read them again and let the words ‘'flood'' my confused, occupied- by- tons of issues brain. This collection by Lucy Wood is one of the most beautiful, demanding and strange works of the Literary Fiction genre. It is an ode to Cornwall, a realistic, harsh depiction of our struggle with nature, with the ones around us and with ourselves.

Cornwall...A name that brings so many images in our minds...In this majestic, ferocious scenery, human seem even more small, temporary, insignificant. The powerful presence of the sea is the heart of the collection. ‘'The Sing of the Shore'' is the sound of the waves, breaking sands, rock, reefs alerting the sailormen and the fishermen as to their position when darkness and mists cover the land ahead. Here, the shore hides childhood dreams, family relationships, loneliness.

Children try to hold on surface, swept away by their parents' problems. Young parents try to meet the demands of their offsprings. People search for lost items, brought to land by the currants. Young friends try to make a living through leftovers. Others try to find their way through fields covered in mist, guided (or misled) by the sound of the sea. Two young sisters try to make sense of their changing childhood in a noisy funfair. A young boy grows up in the shadow of a father who desperately tries to tame the waves. Ghosts visit the domains of the mortals...

‘' ‘They tell themselves they didn't really see anything. And for a while they don't see anything else. Everything goes back to how it was, until they come back one day and, as they're getting out of their car, they happen to look across at their kitchen window. ‘ Fran stops and looks down at her tea. There's half left but she still doesn't drink it. ‘There's hands pressed against it from the inside.'

‘'Actual'' ghosts and the ghostly presence of the past form a wailing Chorus. Ghostly feelings, unfulfilled wishes, and what-ifs cast a heavy shadow. And then there is the sea. Always the sea. A friend and a foe. A companion and a reminder of our mortality, of how tiny and unimportant we actually are.

A collection that is extremely difficult to describe. Give it time, be patient and let it haunt you. You won't regret it...

‘'I even started drawing this book for kids, about a man who forgets where he lives and just wanders around from door to door, knocking. Sometimes people let him in but mostly they don't.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'So a moment like that comes as an unwelcome reminder of how quickly things change. How the bosom pals of today become lost strangers tomorrow, scattered across Europe, playing the Godfather theme or ‘Autumn Leaves' in squares and cafes you'll never visit.''

I believe that most of us have a writer that acts as a comfort. A writer whose work we choose to revisit once we feel that nothing is as it should be. This is a period which has taken a significant toll on me on a number of levels. Kazuo Ishiguro and his tender, sensitive, hopeful writing felt like a suitable choice. It goes without saying that this collection is one of my favourite creations by this master of Literature.

In five stories, Ishiguro writes about love, loss, uncertainty, change, and music. Music above all. As the beautiful title of this collection reveals, these are stories centered around musicians and the turning point in their lives. The crucial moments in each story take place during evenings filled with memory, sadness and the glimpse of a fragile hope that everything may actually become whole again. In each story, the shaky relationships are witnessed by a ‘'bystander'' that reflects on love and the human tendency to break apart what we've managed to build over the years. Why? Just because we can, apparently...

Crooner: In Venice, a musician from a country of the former Iron Curtain meets an American singer. A story of memories, aspirations, and disappointments.

Come Rain or Come Shine: A very sympathetic academic is the reluctant witness of his best friends' desperate fight to tear down their marriage, despite the fact that they are obviously obsessed with each other. A darkly humorous story where CDs may very well be the absolute victims...

Malvern Hills: A young, aspiring musician meets a middle-aged couple of professional musicians while working in his sister's inn. A couple that is obviously miss-matched but united in their love for music in an extremely ‘'picturesque'' story.

Nocturne: An underachieving musician is advised to consider a plastic surgery to become more handsome...And he accepts. He meets a famous woman whose nocturnal escapades in their hotel provide a chance for contemplation and a possible moment of realization regarding fame and vanity.

Cellists: A young Hungarian musician meets a beautiful cellist. But nothing is as it seems. This was my favourite story in the collection, its ending almost brought tears to my eyes.

Ishiguro's stories take us to Italy, to England, to Austria, to Eastern Europe with its tremendous musical tradition. Couples are dancing under the summer nightly sky, they explore hotels in the middle of the night, they try to regain confidence in themselves and the others. Some succeed, some fail. Through Ishiguro's quiet, powerful writing, the characters become our friends, people we care about. Love and music go hand-in-hand. Nightfall is the most suitable chaperone for both. Upon finishing Nocturnes, I felt a little lighter, a little more optimistic...

‘'But for another few minutes at least, we were safe, and we kept dancing under the starlit sky.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Why would we dare call someone a Literary Witch? Because all artists are magicians, and Witches wield a special magic. Witches and women writers alike dwell in creativity, mystery and other worlds. They aren't afraid to be alone in the woods of their imaginations or to live in huts of their own making. They're not afraid of the dark.'' If we come to think of it, Literature is a form of magic witnessed everywhere. We often say that books transport us into a universe of their own, into places and worlds we may never visit in person. Writers use ‘'spells'' made of words to reach our minds, our hearts and souls. To help us ‘'see'' and understand. Now, let us turn our attention to women who chose to dwell on the paths of the literary world. Why were ‘'witches'' called thus? Because they ‘'dared'' decide their own fate, refusing to let men and society dictate their lives. Because they wanted a voice of their own and ‘'dared'' to express it. This is what women writers achieved. They went against the current of their era, against prejudices, notions of propriety and any form of ‘'must'' and ‘'must not''. They used fables, Folklore, poetry, allegorical imagery to make their presence known. They showed that women have voices that can be heard far and wide, no matter how much certain people would like them to be silenced. They became the figures that turned dry literature into a mystical, haunting world.‘'A bird of blue bones drops a piece of paper into your hand. The paper unfolds into a palace. You step in through the door. A cold wind blows through the hall, and you hear faint music. Each chord sounds a different note of silence. You keep going.''Enriched with beautiful, gothic-influenced portraits of each woman created by Katy Horan, whose work is simply marvelous, Taisia Kitaiskaia imagines the vastness of these women's minds and the ‘'spells'' they cast to revive and transform Literature forever, Well-known writers and quite a few obscure ones. It's an immense pleasure to discover new women writers who delved into the realms of myths, feminism and short stories like Yumiko Kurahashi whose work I can't wait to visit. The literary sceneries created by Kitaiskaia are powerful, haunting, terrifying in their directness and clarity. I was astonished by Horan's illustrations. They embody the atmosphere and style of each writer in a way that no biography will ever be able to. ‘'At night, no matter what she does. Mary's laboratory becomes a cemetary. Lantern becomes moon, instruments become shovels, tables turn to coffins. Mary sighs. She places her hand into the enormous, awkward paw of the waiting Creature, and they walk together among the graves.''What was lurking inside Emily Brontë's mind as she conceived Heathcliff, one of the greatest characters in Literature? The haunting call for a love that anyone could defeat. How did Shirley Jackson achieve such amounts of horror in the heart of ordinary communities? When Eileen Chung created bitter tales of doomed love? Before Sylvia Plath chose an end that made Literature poorer and a little more mundane? When Anna Akhmatova gathered her pieces to attack one of the creators of Terror in the European continent? Joy Harjo wrote hymns to the wild nature that nurtured her ancestors. Sappho became the Tenth Muse. Emily Dickinson created elegies, wondering in the Amherst woods, Audre Lorde wrote about womanhood, sexuality and a haunting female universe. Angela Carter created violent masterpieces out of our favourite childhood fairytales. Zora Neale Hurston delved in strange ceremonies, created dark stories and became one of the most prominent figures of the Harlem Renaissance. Agatha Christie's mind gave birth to exciting mysteries and wonderful, immortal characters.These are but a few of the Literary enchantresses that grace the pages of this beautiful book. The haunting, eerily moving writing by Kitaiskaia, the incredible artwork, the Recommended Reading sections will definitely please every lover of Literature, every reader who sees the literary world as a mystical, dark, soulful, ever-changing spell...Like female nature.‘'And I've come to realize that the Witch is arguably the only female archetype that has power on its own terms. She is not defined by anyone else. Wife, sister, mother, virgin, whore - these archetypes draw meaning based on relationships with others. The Witch, however, is a woman who stands entirely on her own. She is more often than not an outsider and her gift is transformation. She is a change agent, and her work is sparked by speech, an incantation, a naming, a blessing, a curse...'' Forwarded by Pam Grossman *
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

This lovely little treasure by Debbie Tung contains all those moments that make us readers such a wonderful, lively, thoughtful and sometimes excruciating (for the ones around us) beautifully obsessed bunch of people.

For all those moments when we brought a book to the cinema...

Once I did that. I knew I wasn't going to enjoy the film (I don't enjoy most films...) but I didn't want to ‘‘break'' the fellowship. Truth is I managed to read quite a few pages under the light of the silver screen, minding my own business. And then I had a vicious headache that lasted three days...

For all of us who never succeed in buying only ONE book...

There was a single time when I entered a bookshop and bought a single, lonely book. Said bookshop was in a rural area and the selection was quite limited. I guess it doesn't count as an achievement...

For all those lovely books that are currently resting on a TBR shelf, trying to lure us. On a daily basis.

For the ordeal some of us have put ourselves into trying to find the perfect angle and light to take a splendid, artistic, quality photo of THAT book with THE gorgeous cover. Because coffee mugs, chocolates, and feet are... nope! There, I've said it. I hate them!

For all the times we have embarrassed ourselves, torturing our necks, trying to take a peek of the book someone's reading while commuting.

For viciously hating movie and TV tie-ins. Okay, that's highly subjective but I admit I can't stand them...

For all the Bookworm Fears when the horror is real!

For all the repercussions of getting obsessed with a book. When we want to shout it aloud to reach every person on this planet, getting sliiightly irritated (okay, A LOT irritated) when someone we love doesn't like it that much....

For all those difficult days when books become our sole escape from a bleak reality. A shelter, a comfort, a source of warmth and security. A friend that provides knowledge, confidence, determination.

This is a real gem for every book lover...

Many thanks to Andrews McMeel Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Outside, night had fallen. A full moon cast blue-white light on everything. Stars filled the sky with pinpricks and elliptical smears of light. Up here, at night, the sky was impossibly huge and never quite turned black, but stayed a deep velvet blue. The world beneath it dwindled down to nothing: a dollop of firelight, a squiggly white reflection of moonlight on the tarnished waves.''

The Allbright's seem a typical American family trying to find its way in a nation tarnished by the effects of the Vietnam War, in a society that undergoes significant changes. Ernt, Cora and their teenage daughter, Leni. Ernt, a veteran of the war, suffers from PTSD turning what should be a family haven into a battlefield of turmoil, threats and ferocious insecurity. Dissatisfied with his country, surrendering to his absurd notions of how a country should be governed, he drags his family into the Last Frontier. Alaska. A place of unimaginable beauty and danger. Everything changes for Leni, Cora and the residents of what seemed like the ideal, closely-knit community because of one man's madness and vicious character.

I am sorry to say that this novel left me cold and disappointed...

There is no doubt that the premise of the story is interesting and realistic. The descriptions of the Alaskan nature are breathtakingly beautiful and there are quite a few elements that made me feel invested in the story of the Allbright family initially. This historical era is one that always attracts my interest and Hannah did a good job transferring it into the heart of the narration. All the familiar 70s trademarks have been put into good use. The search for a spiritual destination, the notion of Unitarianism, the rallies for peace. The yet unnamed ‘'don't show, don't tell'' PTSD, the IRA attacks, the Watergate, the nightmarish terrorist attack during the Olympic Games in Munich in 1972.

In this background, enriched by many 70s cultural references, Hannah poses a major question: where does patriotism, the honest, peaceful love for one's country end and nationalism, racism and mass hysteria begin? How can women respond and defend themselves in an era when men still think they rule everyone's fate? The inseparable bond between a mother and a daughter, two survivors of a man's madness, is hauntingly beautiful, seen through the eyes of Leni, a bookish girl and one of the most well-composed characters in Contemporary Literature. However, I'm afraid this is where my positive thoughts on this novel end...

The dialogue suffers from a number of cliches, in my opinion. Stilted and exaggerating like a cheesy Hollywood film. Repetition didn't do any favours to the continuation of the story. This is my main complaint with this novel. How many chapters do you need to say the same things again and again? A writer doesn't properly build tension in such a way. The only thing it made me feel was irritation and a deep desire to read the end and abandon the book altogether. I could have skipped pages after pages and I wouldn't have missed anything at all. The way many chapters ended seemed like the old lingering take on a protagonist's ridiculously lost expression in a soap opera. Not my ideal picture of an interesting book. On a side note, the references to The Thorn Birds and the friendship between Frodo and Sam were melodramatic, cheesy and irritating. In my opinion.

In terms of characterization, I wasn't impressed at all. With the exception of Leni (whose romantic story was laughably bad), the rest of the characters left me utterly indifferent. I quickly lost patience with Cora. I mean, girl, you don't want to lose face or you really enjoy Ernt's you-know-what. That's fine as long as you are alone. But being blinded by your illusions and shoving your ridiculous excuses to your daughter's mind do little to ensure her safety. I didn't buy any of Cora's musings. Call me heartless, that's my opinion. Despite the fact that she takes some action, her character is no figure to look up to. At least, not according to my standards. Ernt is a loony. Plain and simple. No justification, no pretext. The excuse of PTSD is quickly wasted. He is mad and that's the end of it. Horrible character, written as a caricature to force drama. Don't even get me started on Matthew and Large Marge because we'll be here until Doomsday...

This novel is begging to become a Hollywood production. Unfortunately, I seldom watch these and ‘'Hollywood'' books are absolutely not to my liking. I'm certain that somewhere deep inside those pages, beyond all this repetition and drama, lies a perfectly good book and many trusted friends loved it. This is the reason why I grant 3 stars and not 2 (not that it matters but for argument's sake...). For the beauty of the Alaskan territory and the character of Leni and for the fact that I was not the suitable reader for this book. I am sorry but family melodramas that try to force my feelings are not for me...

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'This was the time of day my mother had warned me against, years before. The half-light, she explained, can change how things appear so that distances may seem less. Our eyes might detect movement when in fact there is none; a shadow might become a living shape. In short, I was more likely to fall at twilight. Remember this, Clara. But she'd loved it, too. It was an hour of potency. In India, this had been the time of the leopard's waking, in which jasmine smelled at its strongest.''

England, a few months before the Great War turns Europe into a bloody terrain of madness. Clara, a wealthy young woman, is invited to a mansion, undertaking the task of creating a unique glass house. However, the house and the community Clara finds herself in are anything but ordinary or peaceful. Clara herself isn't ordinary. Inflicted by a rare syndrome that can leave her bones fractured in the blink of an eyes, graced with strangely beautiful hair and eyes, with a personality that is the definition of an atomic bomb (which is always a good thing for us women), Clara begins to witness events and behaviours that make her doubt her own firmly grounded, ardently supported convictions. Coming into a place haunted by secrets and death, wounded by the loss of her mother, Clara has to face a task that is much heavier and perilous than her own afflictions.

‘'An insufficient reply. Perhaps he had misheard me. But perhaps, too, it was an aversion, a step away from what I wished to know.''


We've read many books using the trope of the young woman arriving in a strange mansion, toying with spectres and suspicions and secrets but Fletcher's novel has a great asset. An extraordinary heroine and a wonderfully balanced told through exciting, confident writing. Atmospheric and complex, making use of the characteristics of the Haunted House in all its good, old British glory, the plot is so much more than that. Born through an utterly successful combination of Gothic and Historical Fiction, Fletcher provides food for thought on issues that have excited our imagination and divided us for centuries. Through the footsteps, the falling paintings, the scratches and the shadows, the withering flowers, the mysterious owner and the village life during a rather hot English summer, we'll find the chance to ponder on Faith and Proof, on Belief and Certainty. On a journey where Faith can be seen as a refuge and Proof can be supported as a form of security in a changing world. Make of this debate what you will, draw your own conclusions. Fletcher manages to present everything in a balanced, respectful manner, resulting in a novel that will make us feel uncomfortable for things that lurk in the shadows and for the conviction adopted by many of us that everything can be explained, that science has an answer to every question. I am sorry but this is not accurate....

A fine novel is a result of a well-told story and a successful cast of characters. House of Glass contains both. Set in an era when women finally decided to claim rights that should have been provided to them all along, when most men viewed the rising cried for equality and justice, dismissing them as temporary clutter (the way a certain contemporary ‘'leader'' does...), Clara speaks with a voice that demand of everyone to listen. Now. To look beyond her syndrome and answer her questions clearly. She reminded me of Lib from Emma Donoghue's masterpiece The Wonder. She gets into so much trouble to prove that there is nothing supernatural in those weird incidents and she rejects religion and the idea of the afterlife. And then, she learns to doubt. I loved her. The way she wasn't afraid to speak her mind, ignoring etiquette and political correctness. The way she refused to let anyone take her for a fool or make use of what others viewed as ‘'deficiencies''. She is surrounded by characters that will accompany you on an exciting, thoughtful journey. Mr Fox, Mrs Bale, George and Kit.

After a streak of horrible reads, House of Glass was a breath of fresh air, a beautiful reminder of why Historical and Gothic Fiction (when done right) create a unique reading experience.

‘'Such bone dreams had frequented my London life. My fear of fractures, by day, would move into dreams in which my teeth rained into my hands; I'd see myself as piano keys on which unknown fingers played. But the opiate brought the darkest dream. In it, my bones would be taken from me; faceless men would dismantle me, removing ribs from my nose or my femur through my mouth like an ancient ritual to which I'd not consented.''

Many thanks to Virago Books and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'The Lord gave and the Lord took away, her grandmother said to her at the edge of the grave. But that wasn't right, because the Lord had taken away much more than had been there to start with, and everything her child might have become was now lying there at the bottom of the pit, waiting to be covered up.''

This book is full of horrors. The horror of losing your newborn child. The horror of being a stranger, unwanted and frowned upon. The horror of oppression, persecution, war, death. The wound of a country that suddenly finds itself split in two, families separated, people labeled as ‘'second-class'' citizens. And then, all the questions overruled by a single phrase: ‘'what if''. What if we had the chance to live again? To witness death and birth and wait for the cycle to start anew? This is the background of Jenny Erpenbeck's haunting novel in a beautiful, soulful translation by Susan Bernofsky.

In a story that spans countries and eras, our journey starts in Galicia at the end of the 19th century. A young couple of mixed religious background loses a baby girl. The pain is unbearable, the aftershock of the tragic loss comes swiftly and violently. In books connected by intermezzi, Erpenbeck takes us on a journey to Europe and its turbulent History. Our guide? The girl that died. Erpenbeck imagines how her life could have turned out if she had been given a second chance, her choices, and relationships in the heart of two countries whose course in History has been stormy, to say the least. Germany and Russia.

‘'The newly arrived ship lies safely in the harbour. But nothing is known of the one just setting sail. What will be its fate? Who knows whether it will successfully withstand the storms awaiting it?''

Erpenbeck writes and her words enter your soul and mind and haunt you for days. The essence of the story is overcoming ordeals and sometimes this is just not possible. How do you overcome the loss of a child? It is against the law of Nature, it is Hell on Earth. The paragraphs describing the mother's pain and the superstitions related to Death are powerful and poignant. The claustrophobic feeling created by all the unnecessary do-gooders who believe they know what is right. In addition to biological death, there is also another kind of loss. The need to abandon your homeland in search of a better life. The ordeal of the immigrants arriving in New York, the move to Vienna, to Prague, and Moscow, the Berliners who found themselves isolated and downgraded in the blink of an eye. There is no home for the ones who are rejected by society and the domestic environment is no less harsh or oppressive.

‘'Hear my prayer, O Lord, and give ear unto my cry; hold not thy peace at my tears; for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.''

Religion plays a significant role in the story. Christian and Jewish citizens fall in love with each other, people are branded because of their religious beliefs, hunted and massacred. Throughout the story, the writer poignantly demonstrates how we all share the same feelings despite the fact that we may pray differently. People of different religions and nationalities are united by the same hardships and fears. No matter how we call God, we all want one thing. Peace.

‘'Someone should declare war on war.''

War is the bane of our existence. Erpenbeck uses ominous symbols like lightning, storms, and earthquakes to refer to eras shaken by the vicious human nature. It doesn't matter where we are. Vienna, Prague, Moscow or Berlin. Whether we are in 1920 or in 1938 when Hitler's darkness spread over Europe, leading to the Second World War when Stalin's dominance in the Soviet Union became absolute. Sometimes, peace seems only an illusion in the darkest moments of History and the period following a war is even more difficult because societies are in ruins and populations are devastated.

Erpenbeck enriches the novel with various cultural and historical references. She vividly paints the various eras and places of action. The descriptions of the Viennese streets are so beautiful...Die Fledermaus by Johann Strauss, a favourite operetta, Oscar Wilde's Salome, one of my favourite plays, Ibsen's The Wild Duck, the legend of Melmoth. Rosa Luxemburg, the KGB, the daily life in the GDR, the massacre in Lviv pass before our eyes. In various writing styles (stream of consciousness, monologue, unpunctuated dialogue, non-linear narrative), Erpenbeck writes about motherhood, death, despair, and hope, ending in the time of the Reunification of Germany.

Time means everything and nothing. Nothing changes and yet fundamental alterations take place in the blink of an eye. What would have happened if...?The eternal unanswered question that defines History and the fate of us all. You do not want to miss this masterpiece....

‘'And what is the deepest layer one can lay back? In the end, does coming clean mean scraping the very flesh of your bones? And then, what are bones?''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Focus, Mary. Don't let him go now. So what if you're tired and hungry. So what if you've crawled to the end of another miserable day in a job you hate, and tomorrow will bring only more of the same, which will feel not the same but worse, and you can't sleep and can't eat, which means there's only waking and working, waking and working.''

Mary isn't really at her best. For quite some time, she has been trying to cope with an ugly break-up, a mundane work where an incompetent colleague constantly spies on her, and her weird neighbors. Her monotony is interrupted by the sudden appearance of a male fox, a beautiful creature that seems to understand her better than any human being close to her. Mary finds comfort in its presence but the neighbors don't share her opinion. Before long, Mary finds herself in the middle of problems that aren't hers and a struggle to protect this unique animal. The question is where is the end of love and the beginning of obsession?

Paula Cocozza has written an extraordinary novel, one of the most unique I've recently read. Haunting, beautiful, puzzling. The setting of the suburbs in London during the sultry summer nights (primarily) creates a seductive and suffocating environment, while the woodlands neighboring the urban scenery emphasize Mary's connection to nature and her growing isolation from the weird human beings that want to have their say in her life. Cocozza's writing is so beautiful and so hard to summarize. The novel is full of vivid descriptions in an exceptional marriage of urban and nature scenes. I was able to ‘'see'' the soft afternoon light on the houses, the blue evening sky. I was able to ‘'hear'' the own and the insects, to ‘'smell'' the distinctive summer night air. All these features paint the picture of a summer night when everything can happen and everything can go wrong. It is amusing how the tone changes from one moment to the next, keeping the reader alerted, waiting.

‘'Mary deleted all her messages. She wanted no one else's voice in her house.''

Poor Mary with all the lunatics she has to face day after day....Her supervisor, her ex-fiance who is rather intriguing and enigmatic but immensely controlling and manipulative, and her neighbors who stand on the razor's edge, facing serious issues following the birth of a baby girl. Mary seemingly finds a way to go through a few unpleasant encounters with the aforementioned obstacles and the Fox slowly becomes the one stable point in her life. Soon, the animal is turned into an object of obsession for everyone, a symbol of the unacceptable disturb of the suburban life. Mary will leave you puzzled and fascinated right until the end. Personally, I loved her. Her whimsical nature, her thoughts, and sensitivity... In my opinion, she's an extremely memorable character.

Despite the playful, whimsical tone and the ‘'feeling'' of a British urban fairytale, there is a kind of darkness and a tense, foreboding atmosphere throughout this unique story. The owls, Michelle's depression, the emphasis on lack of sleep, the woodlands and the frequent mention of the fences, the noise of the city, the summer nights. These are only a few of the ingredients that make Paula Cocozza's novel such a haunting read, painted in a very particular background. The parts of the story that depict the perceptions of the Fox are some of the finest passaged I've ever read.

How To Be Human is one of the best books I've had the good fortune to read this year. A fascinating mix of Literary Fiction, Mystery and Fairytale, a modern allegory that speaks of obsession, isolation, understanding, threat, and refuge. Of disappointment and the strength that may come through it. Simply outstanding...

‘'That's where civilization was. Up there, glowing with the borrowed light of street lamps and tower blocks. Down on the ground was desolate. It seemed to her that the purple haze of London's night sky had been lowered like a lid of light over the clearing to seal all the darkness in place and her inside. She was a tiny specimen in a giant jam jar, thoughtfully provided with a twig floor and cuttings of familiar habitat, awaiting examination through the convex lamp lens above.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Rollrock is a lonely island of cliffs and storms, blunt fishermen and their fierce wives. Life is hard for the families who must wring a poor living from the stormy seas. But Rollrock is also a place of magic.''

When I read (and adored) Kirsty Logan's The Gloaming, my dear friend Marina recommended Margo Lanagan's The Brides of Rollrock Island because she knows how much I love myths, islands, and selkies. I can honestly say (one more time) that Marina knows me frighteningly well. If you love island communities, the Scottish landscape, myths and tales, witches, weird births, seals and selkies or if you just need to read a quality tale, then you need this book in your life.

In an island that definitely resembles the Scottish Hebrides, a community is torn asunder by Misskaella's abilities to turn seals into beautiful, alluring, seemingly docile young women. Families and relationships are turned upside down. This is Misskaella's way of exacting revenge for years of contempt and abuse, even from her own mother. She demonstrates the evil, the hypocrisy, and ruthlessness of men, their willingness to put everything at risk because of an itch.

‘'The north road swung up over the cliff almost gaily, and we walked it up into the teeth of the wind, and it battered our hair and flapped our coat-collars. The sea on our left tossed moon-twinkles about, rushed and smashed at the cliffs, drummed in the road underfoot.''

Lanagan makes excellent use of the fairytales of the sea and the legends of the islands, focusing on the beloved myth of the selkie women. However, she develops the famous story and takes it one step further, in a brilliant twist of the age-old legend. Furthermore, she brings the children of the selkie wives out of obscurity and gives them the chance to express their feelings of belonging to two worlds that are so close and so far away. Where do they belong? What is it that makes an island community so harsh and unforgiving? What happens when the laws of nature and its balance are violated because of men's desires and endless ego?

Lanagan's writing is excellent. She depicts the language of the islanders and the younger members of the community faithfully and vividly, the dialogue is flowing and natural. There are many beautiful descriptions of the island at night, the community of the seals, the fishing villages, the harsh domestic life as a responsibility of the resilient mams. There were quite a few moments that reminded me of Logan's The Gloaming and this is the highest compliment for Lanagan's beautiful novel.

The jewel of the story is Misskaella, a heroine that will stay with you. She is such an interesting character, so fierce and proud. The way she copes with her awful family and the heathens that surround her with their notions of propriety and their superstitions. I believe every thinking girl will find herself connected to her. She is the Witch, the ‘'Other'', the one who doesn't comply, the one who rebels.

The Brides of Rollrock Island is a novel rich in beautiful imagery, themes that require our attention as it happens in every well-written tale and a main character that you will love.

‘'Complain? It's only noise.''

* Marina, I can't thank you enough for this gem! Hvala ti! (If I didn't get that right, someone will find himself in trouble...) *

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'It was a promise. Promises have to be kept.''

What can one find in an antique shop....Objects graced with the beauty of a bygone era. Trinkets that once held sentimental value. Expensive creations of the past. However, once in a while, an object that seems neglected, worn, dull can hide so much more for the one person who will decide to become its new owner. This is what Maggie will discover in our story. A young girl, who wants to become an artist, seeks inspiration in an antique shop. A coat attracts her attention, worn and shaggy, dating back to the ‘40s. And then, the dreams and visions start. Maggie is haunted by the presence of two girls from a dark, nightmarish past and the living hell of Auschwitz. Aided by her friend, Taj, and Miss Gittel Berk, a strange, kind elderly lady, Maggie tries to find the answer to a mystery and discover her true self.

‘'A crow lands on top of the tombstone in front of me and caws, its screech loud and accusing. Its beady golden eyes stare at me threateningly. Edvard Munch's painting, The Scream, shrieks in my head, its swirling blacks and oranges tighten around my throat.''

With references to Irish myths and with the use of the theme of reincarnation, Rosinski creates a haunting, almost claustrophobic setting for her story. And how could it have been otherwise when pain and loss form a dark tableau for young Maggie. There is a deep sadness in the family because of her father's death and Maggie comes face-to-face with the darkest, most frightening moment in World History. The Holocaust, the period of unimaginable terror that reigned over the world. Her only escape is Art, her love and dedication to the ability to create something beautiful. Her ‘'weapon'' is her determined, gentle and resilient nature that helps her stay firmly focused to what she believes in, closing her ears to people like her sister and her classmates, creatures of a fibble, superficial, empty society.

‘'I could have been a thousand different people: Muslim, Buddhist, African American, Chinese, who knows, but my soul was always my soul. And if it's true for me, it could be true for everybody.''

Loss, discrimination, isolation, racism, violence, death. All these words rarely leave our daily vocabulary, our daily news. Words that have branded mankind, leading to scars that are always present. Are these threats extinguished just because we're not in a time of a World War? Far from it. The treatment Taj receives for not matching the teenagers' definition of ‘'normal'' is a ruthless witness. The disgusting notions of ‘'popular'' and ‘'unpopular'' children is a form of extreme racism from a very young age, a plague for every society. Thank God I grew up in an era and a country where such attitudes are still unheard of. There lies the only weakness of the story, in my opinion. The character of Patty was so irritating and stupid. She disgusted me and damaged the solemn tone of such a touching story. This was my only complaint in an otherwise excellent work by Colleen Rosinski.

Do we have to suspend disbelief to fully appreciate this novel? My answer is ‘'no.'' Realism doesn't mean anything at all. What we should care about is the message of the story, the belief that discrimination and racism lurk on our doorstep. No matter how many novels I read, no matter how many documentaries and films I watch, the abomination of the Holocaust still shakes me to the core. And this is understandable. We must never get used to the unthinkable horrors of the past because the human race has the inclination of repeating every fault in the future. Stories like this one should be read by our young learners because where else can we place our hopes for peace and equality?

‘'My Soul Is Always Free.''

Many thanks to Schiffer Publishing and Edelweiss for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'After all, autumn is the natural world's gentle memento mori; it's when the year's cycle begins to slow as spring's generative energy and summer's riotous fruition at last start to fail, prompted by shorter days, falling temperatures and the need shared by so many living things for a period of quietude and senescence.''

What is it that makes us love autumn so much? Is it the crispy mornings after the thick, suffocating humidity and blinding sunshine of our summers that become hotter and hotter by the year? Is it the dress that nature chooses to wear, painted in shades of brown and yellow and red? The sound of the leaves, the wind that makes the trees whisper to each other? The apples and the pumpkins? The atmosphere of mysticism brought by Bonfire Night and the ruler of festivities, the Halloween season, when we love to get scared? All these you will find in this collection dedicated to the beloved season and edited by Melissa Harrison.

‘'Autumn in New York. Autumn in Rome, Paris, London: the great cities might be made for the seasons, their towers of lights shining for longer as the months roll darker, and in the cooling mornings the sweet and smoky smells.''

Certainly, there are some cities that seem to be made for autumn, but this is a season to be enjoyed by those of us who live in a big metropolis and the fortunate people who reside in a rural area. In this beautiful collection, you will experience autumn in the Highlands, in Shetland, in North Yorkshire, in London, in Dublin and Cork, with brief visits to Berlin that flourishes in late September.

‘'There is a distinct smell in the air now that I haven't smelt for almost a year. It's hard to locate exactly- I don't know if it's the damp rotting wood, the overripe fruit, or the moss that's growing more brightly and more densely as it soaks up the rain.''

Walk among the birches and the oaks. Don't forget to take a look at the fungi lurking by your feet. Smell the apples. Be careful not to disturb the proud stags, the badgers and the sweet squirrels. When dusk descends, ‘'the time of mauve and moonlight, of shapeshiftings and stirrings, of magic,'' a moment of enchantment in every season, crows may fly somewhere near, heralding the rising of the Harvest Moon. And if you decide to take a walk in the moorland, owls await.

September, the melancholic month, when we begin to realize that another summer has ended. October, the quintessential autumn month, the most beautiful month of the year. November, the herald of winter, the month that calls for Christmas thoughts. Horatio Clare has written a beautiful ode to autumn through the eyes of an educator. The feeling of autumn in the city, the way the air changes. Written with tenderness and a small dose of melancholy. Caroline Greville writes a beautiful passage on the changing of nature. There is a rather melancholic text on the sadness of September by Nick Acheson, an extract from H Is For Hawk by Helen Macdonald. Poem In October by the great Dylan Thomas, The Stag by Ted Hughes and November by John Clare. The Wild Swans at Coole, one of my favourite poems by William Butler Yeats. The two texts I loved the most was a passage by Louise Baker containing the most beautiful description of autumn I've ever read:
‘'It is thick, sticky mud and the stains on your boots, the glow of a candle within a deep orange pumpkin, and the flurry of birds that come to feed in your garden. Stand bathed in the in the glow of a bonfire and watch fireworks dance across a deep purple sky.''

And an atmospheric text on All Hallow's Eve and autumnal ghosts by Sinéad Gleeson:

‘'The wind rushes through hundreds of branches, a hypnotic symphony reassuring and eerie all at once. The dark nights roll in with Halloween and, in the forest's charcoal depths, it's hard to ignore the supernatural, Watcher in the Woods feel. The hills and trees are spooky in the evening gloam.''

This collection, edited by Melissa Harrison, is like autumn itself. Atmospheric, cozy, melancholic, hypnotic, beautiful....

‘'Autumn is an adventure, a season of transformation, and a time to prepare for the long winter ahead. It is a thousand leaves falling to the ground and nourishing the soil beneath; it is heavy rainfalls that catch you off guard and drive you to shelter; it is the refreshing winds that sweep the haze of summer away; it is the calm before the storm.''

My reviews can also be found on: https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

Sarah and her young son leave London for Sarah's home country, New Zealand. Sarah wants to reconnect with an old friend, to make sure that the past can no longer haunt her. Her country is in a dark situation, following the 2011 earthquake in Christchurch that caused the death of 185 people. Her memories of troubled, life-draining family relationships are an additional devastating weight on her shoulders. The story doesn't sound like something I would choose to read but the beautiful cover, the title and the New Zealand setting convinced me to try it. Plus, I really wanted to read a book by Fairlight Moderns. Unfortunately, it was a major disappointment.

The chapters alternate between the present and the past and the setting comes alive and becomes rich through the unique New Zealand folklore. The dark colours are everywhere, creating a rather foreboding, claustrophobic atmosphere, despite the beauty of the mysterious landscape. Sarah's thoughts are as haunting as the nature around her. The descriptions of the natural and urban environment are vivid and become the strongest part of Sarah's story.

Unfortunately, these were the only positive things I've found in the book. The characters were a complete void. Sarah's mother is a weak, bitter, shallow woman. The father is a harsh man. I confess I am getting tired of the tropes of the unloving father and the indifferent mother that seem to be so popular now. It is a cheap and unfair generalization. Same goes for the ‘'evil big sister''. It is lazy and irritating. Another thing that bothered me was the recycling of the stereotype of the ‘'divorced woman.'' So, we didn't start well from the get-go. The writing, in general, was disappointing.

The syntax is strange, the interactions are almost lifeless. The boy uses language that no child at his age would use. How many boys would even think to utter the phrase ‘'no offense''? Less than 2%. In addition, there were times when the boy behaved like a petulant, spoiled child with the mental ability of a three-year-old. So, consistency was non-existent. The dialogue was the major weakness, in my opinion. The parts of the past are bad, I'm afraid. The dialogue suffers from every cliche in Literature. Shame, really, because the descriptive passages of the present were beautiful. As a result, I went through those chapters rather quickly, my attention withering away swiftly. In a book that is under 150 pages long (in e-book edition), this is rather negative. I don't have any patience for melodramatic writing that tries too hard to force the feelings of the reader. Also, the references to The Great Gatsby were ludicrous, there just for the sake of appearing fashionable.

These are a few examples of the strange, wooden syntax:
‘'This look okay to you?''
‘'What a coincidence. That green light over there. Marking the end of a dock.''
‘'I sense some hostility in your tone.''
‘'A few hours. Five maybe.''

I mean, why???

What really broke the deal for me was Patrick's plotline that bored me to no end. I understand that Sarah has feelings but how many times do I need to read about her wanting to call Patrick, to see Patrick, to fall in bed with Patrick? I got it the first time, readers aren't stupid.

So, despite the unusual, haunting setting and the occasional beautiful prose, the unoriginal premise, the boring, empty characters, the repetition, and the amateurish dialogue made me think that this book was a frightfully wasted opportunity. When all is said and done, this one was- to me, at least- one of the worst-written books I've read this year.

Many thanks to Fairlight Moderns and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Five steps to an Ordinary Life:Get a real job.Stop seeing the world as a series of potential paintings.Learn how to talk about the weather.Do the things that normal people do.Figure out what normal people actually do. ‘'

Poor Frieda is at a loss. An ambitious artist who used to see the world in a different light, who refused to conform, who had every potential and a deep passion for her art, threw everything to the wind for the silliest of reasons. Sentiment. I mean, girl, didn't you pay attention to Sherlock? Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. And now, she has to find a way through, away from her superficial roommate. Guided by a suspicious-looking and enticing advertisement, she finds herself under the same roof with a charming elderly man, named Mr. H, and a very special ghost named Gladys. A woman who just wanted to dance but sentiment destroyed her world. And then, we have a fascinating elderly lady, a mysterious son and a former partner, who earns his millions through a disgusting enterprise, but with an interesting mother who claims to be a psychic. And of this sounds all over the place, it's because it is. As it is also vivid and funny. And sad, otherwise we wouldn't be here, would we?

‘'And what if I don't, and what if I do?''

The universe of uncertainty and confusion that is usually associated with artists is excellently depicted and the lively, quirky cast of characters make this a read that is seemingly light-hearted but in reality, it is a rather faithful portrayal of the world of Art and the disappointments that win first prize. It is also a story about the sad, repressive eras when women were not allowed to express themselves without risking their sanity and freedom. Never mind their reputation. Women who were forced to walk the dimly-lit streets, sacrificing their bodies because a man willed it so. Like I said: sentiment does no good. These themes come through a writing style that is humorous and flowing, the dialogue is vivid and realistic and there were quite a few moments when I laughed out-loud. Which happens extremely rarely. I mean, the very questions of Gladys about our modern world are pure gold.

As you can understand, I was invested in the stories of Frieda and Gladys, no doubt about that. What bothered me personally was the focus on Frieda's love escapades and her awful choices regarding that field that came in absolute contrast with her firm, logic self. In fact, this got repetitive and quite detrimental after a while. However, readers who are graced with an actual heart and who aren't bothered by awful romances won't have a problem. In addition, the character of Marilyn didn't really advance the story in a good way and I'd say the same about the character of Girl. As a result, I did a lot of scanning and skimming during the last chapters.

So, no, this won't be found in a literary award list (...although with the 2018 Man Booker Prize longlist you can never know what atrocities are lurking in the judges' folders....) but it is a funny and moving study of the Art world, the psyche of a disillusioned artist and the cruelty towards women.

‘'It wasn't my job to make the world understand.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'When they were deciding how to bury her, I said she had always wanted to be cremated. It was a lie the size of a graveyard, but I wanted to make sure she was well and truly dead.''

Meet Vivian. A girl that talks to chairs, decides what to eat based on colour preferences, shares Christmas wishes in April, wants to have a friend exclusively named Penelope and to work as a professional bubble blower. In Dublin, a lovely, lively, quirky capital, anything is possible. However, our lovely heroine faces an extreme number of adversities in this unique urban fairytale. Plus, she is positively of the opinion that she is a changeling and the ways out to her world of tales and fairies seem to have closed permanently....

‘'I picture a band of Smurfs combing the city in the black of night with tins of blue paint, dubbing over the street letters that offend them.''

Starting with a beautiful epigraph with the words of William Butler Yeats on the legend of the Changeling, we are taken to Dublin and the places that are filled with Irish enchantment and magic. At least, this is Vivian's conviction as she is always on the search for magical lands, elves, and fairytale creatures. What she wouldn't give to become a mermaid or a tiny elf herself....Eggshells is a tender story with references to James Joyce and the whole style of Lally's writing can be characterized as a contemporary, melancholic, quirky version of the language of the great Irish writer.

‘'I can't explain myself to people who peer out of windows and think they know the world.''

Vivian would have loved to be invisible. The world cannot understand her, she wants to feel safe inside herself. Therefore, the need for lists, for words to rhyme together in harmony, for language to expand. She wants to fully express herself through a newly born language and traces her walks around the city a greaseproof paper, drawing shapes made off her steps. The only ones who can understand Vivian's world are her niece and nephew, the children who always understand what the grown-ups don't. Especially with parents like Vivian's sister and her husband.

‘'I wake on a damp pillow; my dreams must have leaked.''

The book is full of beautiful quotes, Lally uses poetic sentences to share the thoughts and portray our heroine's experiences in a sensitive and confident style. However, underneath the fresh writing lies a deep sense of sadness, loneliness, and an acute feeling that society isolates everyone who doesn't conform to the established ideas of social decorum. Through Vivian's eyes, we see the life of a metropolis. Accurately portrayed, we experience the isolation of the citizens in the crowded, ever-buzzing streets. Each one of us is walking quickly, to work, to our house, to another obligation, drawn to our thoughts, excluded from the life around us.


‘'{..} cemetery sounds too clean and functional- I prefer the vague foggy sound of ‘'graveyard.''

One of the most characteristic moments in the book is Vivian's visit in Glasnevin Cemetery, the final resting place of Michael Collins, Maud Gonne and Brendan Behan among others. Described in a calm, melancholic tone through the voice of an outsider, we see a place of togetherness in death, underlying the loneliness of our sweet heroine. Those who love Dublin will find so many references that will transport you there. I can't help but love the reference to Ivar the Boneless, one of the most well-known Viking leaders. Walk down the Ha'penny Bridge, read The Children of Lir, one of the most famous Irish legends that provided the inspiration for The Wild Swans by Hans Kristian Andersen. I went through so many emotional states while reading Eggshells, down to the atrociously irritating small-talk by every hairdresser in the world that always makes me think I'd actually prefer to visit the dentist....Discover beautiful quotes, like this:

‘'Which side of the river would you say is earth and which would you say is Hades?''

and this:

‘'Every dead person is ‘'Dearly Beloved'' or ‘'Sadly Missed'' but that can't be true for all of them; death brings out the worst of lies.''


If you're looking for a ‘'story'' in the traditional sense of the word, you'll be disappointed. This is a beautiful attempt to enter the unique, difficult world of a wonderful person that views everything in a different, unique way. To understand that difference is beautiful, that caring and listening are more important than any dusty decorum imposed by an impersonal, distant, harsh society.

‘'I don't know why people talk of the terror of being buried alive- surely the terror is in being alive.''

Many thanks to HarperCollins UK and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com