Amalia Gkavea

“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”

“Now I will tell you the answer to my question. It is this. The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake. We are not interested in the good of others; we are interested solely in power, pure power. What pure power means you will understand presently. We are different from the oligarchies of the past in that we know what we are doing. All the others, even those who resembled ourselves, were cowards and hypocrites. The German Nazis and the Russian Communists came very close to us in their methods, but they never had the courage to recognize their own motives. They pretended, perhaps they even believed, that they had seized power unwillingly and for a limited time, and that just around the corner there lay a paradise where human beings would be free and equal. We are not like that. We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. Power is not a means; it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship. The object of persecution is persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power. Now you begin to understand me.”

And that's the madness of the human beings in a nutshell...

“I thought I could start over, you see. But now I know you can never start over. Not really. You think you have control, but you are like a fly in somebody else's web. Sometimes I think that's why I like accounting. All day, you are only dealing with numbers. You add them, multiply them, and if you are careful, you will always have a solution. There's a sequence there. An order. With numbers, you can have control....”

“Winter came and the city [Chicago] turned monochrome – black trees against gray sky above white earth. Night now fell in midafternoon, especially when the snowstorms rolled in, boundless prairie storms that set the sky close to the ground, the city lights reflected against the clouds”

‘'To let the Gothic roam where it will, twisting itself into shapes horrible and unseen. To wait for it to open its ancient mouth and to listen - to listen to what this age-old thing has to tell us about the terrors and wonders of our world. So, gather ring the hearth, or light a candle, and enjoy these tales of terror from some of the most talented oral storytellers in Scotland.''

The Warlock and Robbie Ha (Stanley Robertson): The story of a man who wanted to offer his help to an undertaker. But drinking in graveyards can be perilous. A tale full of Scottish humour, curses and spells in the country where there is always a wise old Morag to narrate legends as the wind is blowing over the glens...

‘'A house that caught and smiled with the sun. Yet when you passed it, even on a bright warm day, you could feel cold fingers touch the back of your neck, and your hair moved.''

The House (Seaoras Macpherson): Sometimes, even the darkest and angriest of houses are searching for the right owner...

‘'It is statistically true that when you're the passenger in a car, driving at night along a road outside a city or built-up area, one in four people you see by the side of the road isn't even alive.''

The Researcher (Fiona Barnett): How can you really distinguish a wraith walking at the side of the road?

‘'There's lots of reason people don't like the night-time, but some people are scared because they see what hides there, ‘' he said, looking at me, smiling sadly. ‘'Is that not right?''

‘'There is no rest; those faces that once moved only amongst the night-time shadows now stare at me at every hour of the day, as if pleading with me to gather them up in the warmth of the living, or to usher them forever into the dark. But I am no lamplighter.''

The Leerie (Paul Bristow): Dear Lord, this story was incredible! I've always thought there is magic hidden in the old gas lamplights, and seeing an actual lamplighter in Prague was a sight to cherish forever. This haunting story shows the ones that are hidden in the dark, lost, waiting for someone to point the way.

The Bean-Nighe of Glen Aros (Anna Cheung): A moving poem about the legend of the crone that washes the clothes of the ones who will die soon. I get goosebumps just by thinking of this one.

The Soulmates (Gavin Inglis): A story that begins as a harmless joke played on curious nightly wanderers by a cute couple and evolves into a heart-wrenching tale of loss and eternal love.

Twice-Buried Mary (Pauline Cordiner): A wonderful story of premature burial, resurrectionists and terror. Quintessentially Victorian.

Scan Lines (Ali Maloney): A moving story of a child who tries to contact his dead father in a rather unusual way. On a side note, I always feel a certain kind of nostalgia whenever a VHS is mentioned.

The Girl in the Sauna (Daiva Ivanauskaite): Ah, sweet Lithuania...This is the story of a clever, brave daughter who managed to trick the Devil.

From Abyss to Abyss (Paul McQuade): The desperate musings of an Edinburgh vampire, narrating its journey over the long, endless years.

The Thing in the Corner (Jude Reid): The desperation of a wife, the sacrilege, the return of a wounded soldier. The dark shapes and figures that lurk in the corners of our houses. And our guilts.

The Priest of Forvie (P.D.Brown): The arrival of a strange priest sends a village to a dance of darkness and misery. When children start disappearing, whispers about Dark Arts grow louder. A gruesome, frightening tale.

‘'Until I die. She rubbed where the etched words had caught her. If we had had breath, we would have held it.''

The Keep (Kristy Logan): Some things are natural. Natural. It is natural that Kristy Logan's story is the absolute gem of the collection. It is natural that she took Bluebeard's tale and turned it into a well of haunting darkness, masterful desperation and shuttering cries. It is natural that I read this story three times in a row.

Read this extract, please: ‘'Outside the caravan the rain shushed and the wind throbbed and the moon blinked bright. Inside, time stopped. The chattering burn stole all sound; the spreading leaves took all sight.''

I mean...

The Ghost Wife (Gauri Raje): An exciting story of tree spirits, ghost wives and the curse of having a tyrannical mother-in-law.

I Live Alone (Conner McAleese): What starts as a ‘'compulsive watcher'' story acquires an eerie feeling in the end. Those of us who live alone, are we sure we ARE actually alone?

Possessed by Ravens (Daru McAleece): The tragic story of the Old Ways and a lost young man.

When We Create Our Own Ghosts (Alycia Pirmohamed): ‘'As soon as night ravels, I open my jaws to eat midnight.''

The Wee Singing Bird (Betsy White): A spirited retelling of The Juniper Tree fairy tale.

Poor Anna (Max Scratchmann): A young girl visits her grandma in the Scottish glens and learns of Poor Anna, the child that was lost years ago. A haunting tale of dark callings and fairies with an ending that has stuck in my head for days.

Tala in the Woods (Katalina Watt): The horrifying tale of a young woman, pregnant with her first child, a strange mist and the creatures hiding in the woods. A story that makes perfect use of South American and Spanish folklore.

Lambkin (Sheila Kinninmonth): An old Scottish legend of curses and retribution.

‘'As I record this story, Anna, I am surrounded by this city constructed of towns built upon dead towns and buildings built inside bridges that should not exist.''

Anne of the Dark Eyes (Ricky Monahan Brown): A gruesome murder takes place in haunting Edinburgh. The culprit's name is going to be a thundering surprise.

The Stolen Winding Sheet (Fran Flett): Never steal from the dead...

...The Inheritance (Chris Edwards): How can I describe the sheer perfection of this story? A young woman inherits the ancestral home but make no mistake. This isn't your average haunted-house tale. Far from it...

Buried by the Dead (Jen McGregor): A woman visits her parents' grave and scares the hell out of a girl. I loved this story, its beautifully quiet descriptions of the cemetery in October and its elegant humour.

I didn't include five-six stories that seemed quite silly and borderline incomprehensible. No matter. This is a must-have collection for all horror and folklore lovers. Pay special attention to the haunting (and some of them are quite spooky...) illustrations by Zuzanna Kwiecien.

‘'If there was no reason to be afraid of the dark, why did we need lamplighters?''

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

  ‘'Emma Green is boldly haleHer house is warm but narrowOn scattered grass until she diesShe's wide awake in sorrow.''
‘'Anna Green is old and frailHer house a warmer borrowHer scattered ashes, unbidden eyesStill wide awake and hollow.''
Always look both ways when you cross the street. Don't go anywhere near pylons. Don't ever go to Almanby. Almanby is the Other. Its name is uttered in frightened whispers, the place of mystery, terror and fascination for the youth who is constantly being flooded with the cautionary tales of the adult world. But what if there is actual truth in those tales? What if some places ARE the Other that must be avoided at all costs? 
Three young adults, Heather, Rachel and Antonia, must go to Almanby to find Heather's boyfriend. Many of their friends have disappeared never to be seen again. And this is how a summer Odyssey of mystery, despair, deceit and obsession begins...
And this is how one of the most beautiful and unique books you'll ever read is born...
‘'Front doors changed colour overnight, their locks fit different keyes, they opened outward instead of inward. Pets changed colour, or were slightly larger or smaller than before, or they changed sex. Light switches inverted, windscreen wipers swapped sides, fridge magnets demagnetised, televisions detuned, piano keyboards swapped ends with the high notes on the left and the low notes on the right. Beyond the rash of wild conspiracy theories, nobody had a good suggestion, either for the changes or the ghosts. The best anyone could come up with was that reality itself had become sick.''
First of all, this astonishing novel contains some of the BEST first pages I've ever read. We're talking true, pure Masterpiece Material! Adam S. Leslie has created a dystopia unlike any other and breathed new life into a much-abused genre. The summer seems endless, voices are heard through radio waves, people wither, die and become ghosts. Ghosts lurking in the fields. Ghosts wandering, lost and sad. Ghosts banging on your windows. Ghosts trying to attack you and kill you. This is a land where danger is constant, unpredictable and unbeatable. Your dead relatives will hurt you, silently whispering, watching with dead eyes and lethal intentions. And Almanby is always there, the destination that seems to resemble a different Hell on Earth. And the Earth itself has changed...
‘'Six years of summer.Six years without grey skies or snowdrifts or icy northerly blasts. Six years of sweltering in the same gelatinous humidity.''
‘'Six years ago, a different kind of pollen drifted in on the summer winds.''
It is a world of suffocating beauty. A world of summer afternoons and silent interactions, where ‘'the grass smelled of evening.'' A land of abandoned cars in the fields, of empty towns, of sighs containing terrifying lullabies, of empty funfairs and maypoles moving on their own. A time when you can sit on the grass and let the meadow hear your cries on the way to your meeting your Fate with a sad soul. 
  ‘'Dusk was Rachel's favourite time of day. The heady stink of night-time plants, still hot from the day's glare, filling the atmosphere now with their aromas. Everything red and purple and lavender, at once insubstantial and supremely solid. Nothing was quite real at twilight.''
‘'[...and the sun had baked the sky cobalt blue and naked, burnt all its clothe off. Now just a tortoiseshell of fields lay ahead of them, as flat as the ocean or an alien world, and impossibly green. Woodland, misted blue by the distance, stretched out to their left - and even against its furthest flank, Heather could make out the pinprick- small presence of ghosts. Tiny moments of black and white.''
The way the writer shocks us in the middle of a ‘'simple'' paragraph is nothing short of outstanding. Using references to fairytales and folklore, he has composed a dark folk song, steeped in the light of the midday sun, equally scorching and hypnotising.
This is Folk Horror at its finest, and a genuinely BEAUTIFUL novel.
‘'Emerald green the boat that sailsThe mouse will surely borrowOn shattered glass ‘neath stars he criesTo guide this day to sorrow.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

  ‘'There comes a time in everyone's life when they have to ask a really simple question: Do I do what's right and face the consequences, or do I leave well alone and forget I ever knew anything?''
Frank hasn't experienced a spiritual revelation. He hasn't explored the edges of the Earth, he is not ‘'extraordinary'', he hasn't discovered any therapy, he hasn't committed a crime. He is not popular or notorious. He is a father and a husband, his family is ordinary. And this is the reason why his story is the story of all of us, an ‘'ordinary'' tale that narrates the ups and (numerous) downs of a relationship and the ties that bind two people together, the values and principles they pass to their children. And in this sense, Frank and Liz's story is the most extraordinary of all. Because it is real, all around us.
In short chapters written in the spirit of Flash Fiction, rich, elegant and direct, Debbi Voisey narrates the life of a man and a woman that constantly lose one another only to be found again. Even though I don't agree with Liz's choices, I can understand the origins of her patience and determination and I respected her character immensely. As for Frank, Voisey succeeds in making a relatively unsympathetic character interesting and tangible. These are people who experience love, disappointment, exhaustion and hope. Feelings we experience on a daily basis. What made this novella so powerful was the ‘'earthy'' feeling of Voisey's writing and the beautiful - allow me the inappropriate use of the adjective - way in which dementia is presented. Respectfully, quietly, we enter the life of a family that has to face the nightmare we all dread. I won't go into details but I will say that I was moved to tears as this issue has always been one of my greatest concerns and it keeps growing as my parents grow older.
I won't tire you. This beautiful addition to the beloved Fairlight Moderns series is a lyrical and raw chronicle of a family that could have been our relatives, our friends. A family that could have been hours. It is a moving journey to the feelings of the human soul and how we find the courage to keep our sanity in the darkest of times.
‘'How can you be lost if you don't know where you are?''
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/
 

‘'It's as if someone is cutting into me while I sleep and gradually stitching weights into the muscles and tendons of my body. And though it's not debilitating I find it harder each day to fight to the surface.''

A married couple is trying to cope with the tragic loss of their onlychild while a strange illness is sweeping over the USA. Starting from Oregon, it spreads all through Washington, Nevada, Idaho and soon the entire country becomes a victim caught on deadly claws. Sudden fever hallucinations. The victims begin to know things that are impossible for them to know. And then, they disappear...

Giacomelli creates a story that works on both levels. First, it is the chronicle of the most terrifying experience a human being can go through, the loss of a child and the struggle to redefine yourself as a wife and a husband after the nightmare. Secondly, it is a tale of another kind of Dystopia, where people aren't threatened by a totalitarian regime but by an even more dangerous enemy that no one can defeat.

The writing is excellent, the prose is haunting and in certain parts mesmerizing and whimsical in a dark way. The descriptions of the culmination of the illness are terrifying. There are certain hints as to the man's sanity and lead that may involve hauntings, provoked by the sound of running water. When the novel ends, this feature acquires a whole new meaning. The dialogue is natural and flowing but the strength of the book lies in the descriptive passages that are truly beautiful. However, there were a few issues that prevented this from being perfect, in my opinion.

The concept of a pandemic has been done to perfection in Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel and it acquires an interesting twist in The Therapist. A disease that causes you to disappear, literally disappear, in plain sight is unique as far as I know and the process is powerfully depicted. However, it became a bit too Sci-Fi veering on Horror gore for my tastes. It seemed over-the-top to me. Certain musings about love and relationships felt forced, pseudo-philosophical and out of place. The two characters, while very humane, are neither memorable nor very interesting.

The ending comes out of nowhere. Up until that point, I was convinced that Simone was a deeply unsympathetic character, almost intentionally so. The last chapters, however, turned the entire book upside down. Still (—spoiler alert link on Goodreads— it was too The Sixth Sense for me and this has been done to death in Literature and films.) So, it didn't stay with me and the surprise factor didn't last long.

Overall, a powerful and original novel, an interesting study on loss and grief. In that sense, I'd say that it is a work that deserves to be talked about. Speaking strictly for me, it was the choice of certain Sci-Fi/Horror elements that prevented me from fully loving this one so 4 stars it will be. I by the sadness and the unknown that define the setting of the story and Giacomelli is definitely a writer that deserves our attention.

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/

 

‘'Years ago in the blue mists of memory, there was a street in Paris called the Street of Tailors. Men sat outside their shops like kings on their thrones, and they nodded to each other or tipped their broad brimmed hats and said, ‘Shalom', and smiled. [...] Then one day the whole street disappeared and all the people in it.''
Three men invite us to a world painted blue. Blue as memory, glory, secrets. Blue as loss and injustice. Blue as the sky and the sea and the Virgin Mary's mantle. Blue as the threads of Tekhelet that bring fortune and a closer contact to God, according to Jewish tradition. Henri, a Jewish tailor, Yves Klein, one of the most important artists of the 20th century, and our narrator, haunted by his father's memories and a melancholic love. In the shadow of the Eiffel tower, a play that involves every aspect of the human soul - from togetherness to massacre - is being unfolded...
‘'Blue is a feeling and a time and a memory. Blue is distance and nearness and touch.''
This is a tale told in blue. The sacred colour of divinity, spirituality and tranquility. It is a story of the quest for peace of mind and truth. For the things that should have happened and the things that did and made the world collapse. A tailor who survived the worst atrocities in the history of mankind, an artist who wanted to make a difference, a collector who loved a blue-eyed girl. This is a fable of Montmartre and the colours that make our lives worth living. A legend for St Rita, the saint of the impossible, St Sebastian and St Irene, and St Joseph of Cupertino. The celestial is united with the mortal. It is a story about the power of Art as Van Gogh's Starry Night mirrors the nostalgia and serenity of a world of make-believe, a world that awakens the need to understand that there is more to life than birth and death.
‘'There were stories that came after they were gone. Stories too cruel to be true. Except that when the war was over what could not be true was proven to be true. So many men and women and children, all of them disappeared. Nothing of them to say prayers ever, nothing but blue smoke adrift in the Heavens.''
Human beings created moments of divine beauty. But many creatures that do not deserve to be called ‘'humans'' or even ‘'beings'' created the Holocaust. On 22 June 1940, Marshal Pétain agreed to ‘'cleanse'' his country of all the ‘'undesirables'', obeying to Germany's ‘'rules''. When all the windows in the Street of Tailors were broken, when all the atrocities committed by the Nazi monsters and their filthy allies and collaborators started taking place, there were no angels' feathers to help. Everyone looked the other way, living in their own blue dream, believing in evil blue lies.
‘'God is here. Stand well back or burn.''
Through heartbreaking and shocking moments, during an uncertain summer echoing the flight of the sparrows, in a world that is being blinded by blue lies, Douglas Bruton creates a modern masterpiece.
‘'And in the end we are the voices of the dead, all voices they have, we who live and love and laugh. We are the guardians of their truth and even in what we invent there should be truth.''
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/
 

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

  ‘'The garden lies quiet, as if it's sleeping. Nothing grows this late in November, and everything is sad and grey. The only thing of beauty is the lake that lies at the bottom of the slope, glittering and winking in the last of the sunlight. I trudge back to the house. I must prepare for their arrival of the Ladies.''
In Lucie McKnight Hardy's eerie, unsettling, exquisite stories, the danger is lurking inside our home, within the soul of what should have been our protective family. Motherhood is not the be-all and end-all of a woman's existence. Of course, it isn't. There is popular belief and preconceptions and then, there is real life. Real life plagued by mortal and immortal spectres, curses and crimes. By a society that oppresses its citizens. By estrangement and terror. And yet, hope does exist. Weak and fragile and frail but it IS there to sustain and support us.
This collection is a treasure. An enchanting journey into darkness and despair. And love. The only power that can prevent our demise...
Dead Relatives: In a story that confuses and enchants you in the most twisted way, we meet Iris, a young girl who lives in a house that provides shelter to Ladies. That is, to women with unfortunate pregnancies. But this isn't a House of Life. It is a House of death in which dead relatives need their peace and dead trees need to be fed. What a way to start a brilliant collection! The imagery will leave you breathless, and there is a distinctive Southern Gothic feeling permeating the narrative.
‘'It is the light that has brought them here. That cold, lucid light that trips in over the North Sea, bringing with it the threat of ice and nightmares. ‘'
Jutland: A couple with two children moves to Jutlan to satisfy the husband's ‘'artistic'' needs. It is a rugged land. The house is old, and there seems to be something wrong with a boy that stands all alone next to the shore... My God, this story is... Perfect? Terrifying? All of the above?
Badgerface: The arrival of a soldier from Afghanistan brings back memories of loss and pain in a moving story with a young protagonist that will break your heart.
The Pickling Jar: In a small community, the death of each husband becomes an opportunity for a macabre cooking contest on the day of the funeral, with strict rules and suspicious ingredients...
Cavities: A visit to the dentist triggers childhood memories whose roots produced rotting fruit. A story full of sadness and cruelty. One of my favourites in an incredible collection.
Resting Bitch Face: A woman is caught between a rock and a hard place, between a good for nothing husband and an abusive father, between indifference and hostility. I won't forget this story anytime soon, the metaphors within the narrative provide ample food for thought and discussion.
The Puckering: A lyrical story steeped in sea folklore. Poetic and haunting, and so sad...
Parroting: A parrot unites a young boy and a mysterious old lady.
Cortona: A woman travels to Italy for her annual visit to Cortona, in the most tragic of pilgrimages. The way in which the story slowly unfolds is phenomenal!
Chooks Don't Have Teeth: A teenage girl finds her anchor in the presence of a schoolmate's mother since her own mum doesn't seem able to provide the necessary support and understanding.
The Devil of Timanfaya: A family travels to the Canary Islands for their holidays, in a neighbourhood that hides a dark secret. This story gives me chills even now. One of the most striking Horror stories I've ever read, reminiscent of Robert Aickman and Daphne du Maurier.
Wretched: A story of love, resistance and the weak, flickering flame of Hope within the heart of a dystopian Britain ruled by a totalitarian regime.
The Birds of Nagasaki: A story of unbearable beauty and sadness. Of the sweet atmosphere of home and family. Of the terrors that may lurk underneath. Of the bond between siblings and the past that always haunts our steps...
‘'The flutter is still there in the darkness. I lie for a moment, absorbing the familiar rustle. It is neither comforting nor distressing, but has become an indelible part of my existence. My eyes have now become more accustomed to the darkness, and a pale halo glows around the window, the faintest indication of an outdoor, moonlit world.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

Emancipated heroine, full of pseudo-feminist contemporary remarks: Check
Said heroine is a reluctant part of the richest family in the USA: Check
Said heroine has a superficial sister: Check
Said heroine has a strict mother: Check
Said heroine was once engaged to her sister's evil-looking fiance because obviously: Check
Said fiance has a strict mother n.2:Check
New York setting in the year of Our Lord 1911 because we definitely need to be fashionable and pretend we are writing a Great Gatsby for the modern audience: Check
Bookish references because we need to show we are educated: Check
Secrets in a coastal area: Check
More secrets in a coastal area that are implausible and horribly presented but what the heck, let's do it! : Check
Instant love because that's how we roll: Check
The wealthy girl disregards everything for the love of an artist: Check
More instant love:Check
Maidens (or not...) ‘'melting in broad chests...:” : Check

...No way...Abandoned at 50% in fury that a mediocre writer had the audacity to think that a 350-plus page ‘'novel'' of naive romance and pseudo-magical realism that tried to be The Great Gatsby, The Night Circus and The Age of Innocence could actually work. I am sure it will work for many, but for me, those were three days of my life I will never get back...

How could I think that the writer of the snoozefest ‘'The Blue'' could actually produce something of quality is beyond me. It must have been the Christmas champagne...

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

''As we get older, we still sense the wonder of those takes we know from childhood. They whisper to us with every fleeting glimpse of what might just be a fairy in the woodlands, or a giant peering through a crevice in the rock.''

Dee Dee Chainey is a world treasure. She is a cultural icon for those of us who adore Folklore and recognize its vital importance and impact on all aspects of our life, and the way tradition has the owner to many issues we face. The online magazine #FolkloreThursday is a wealth of knowledge of World Folklore and probably the only reason making Twitter useful. This beautiful volume, wonderfully illustrated by Joe McLaren, is a true treasure covering every ‘‘branch'' of British Folklore, the dark and supernatural, the human and earthly.

Folklore of the land and the animal kingdom, the seasons, the holy wells, the mountains and the seas. Giants, witches, kings and heroes, elves and fairies. Ghosts, changelings. Death, birth, work and marriage. Did you know that in Lincolnshire it is unlucky to eat the whole Christmas cake on Christmas Eve? In Suffolk, the light are turned off that night and I was surprised to find that we have a similar custom in Greece, related to New Year's Eve. ‘First footing' is very important in Scotland and one of my favourite British celebrations is Up Helly Aa taking place in Shetland, possibly commemorating the Viking heritage of this beautiful Scottish corner. Beltane, Lughnasadh, Lammas, St. John's Day and the custom of jumping through a bonfire for luck are well-known festivities, each one steeped in legend.

We are tracing the steps of the Druids. Rocks come alive stull retaining healing powers in Wiltshire, Glamorgan, Argyllshire, Orkney. We stand at the banks of mysterious rivers, full of myths and legendary creatures, waiting for a Scottish Kelpie to appear. Well dressing reassures us of nature's blessings and in Derbyshire, a drum over water will reveal where a corpse lies. Mystical forests hide centuries-old secrets. Birch woods, chestnut and apple trees, the sacred elder tree, the acorns and yews to ward off thunder and witches, and the mandrake with its dark spells. One of the greatest gifts of Nature, the bee is a companion to be revered and should always be informed of a death in a family, as is the robin that plucked away the sharpest thorn from Jesus' forehead, easing His unimaginable pain.

We visit legendary places like Glastonbury Abbey and the Mount Badon, where Arthur fought the Saxons. We walk in the steps of Emrys, our Merlin, and his vision of the two dragons, the red victorious and immortalized on the Welsh flag. Boudicca, Robin Hood, Lady Godiva, St. Winifred and a surprisingly ‘‘alive'' pantheon that populates a vast wealth of beautiful myths. The Green Man is watching us along with a very particular (and arguably unwelcome...) guest. Only in the folklore of the Czech Republic have I found so many myths related to the Devil. Fairies, elves, goblins, the night raids in Northumberland and the Fairy Flag of the MacLeods of Dunvegan Castle on the island of Skye. Scottish redcaps, will-o'-the wisps, brownies. The Lancashire Witch Trials, John Dee, the ghost of the unfortunate Anne Boleyn and Halloween divinations that reveal a future husband to young women. Customs related to cooking and the gatherings at the table. Selkies, sea legends, and superstitions. Yorkshire harvest traditions and the haunting procession on St. Mark's Eve of those who are going to die within the year.

This is only a small reference to the plethora of customs and traditions that can be found in this superb volume. Embellished with an extensive Further Reading section and an informative list of folklore events and festivals for each month, Dee Dee Chainey's work must find a place in your collection.

''Even now, walking ancient pathways, our legends unravel before us. If we listen carefully, we might fancy we can still hear the whispers of giants, witches, fairies, and the ghosts of the warriors that still sleep under verdant mounds. When we gaze over the meadows, we might just glimpse the elf-arrows glittering in the sunlight, peeking through ploughed fields from their hiding places in the ancient brown loam of history.''

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

‘'The places we are born come back.''

Sometimes, when we have the chance to read the debut work of certain writers, we know that they are destined for great things from the very first pages. Lately, this has happened very frequently with incredibly talented young women who have created wonders. Jen Campbell, Hannah Kent, Sarah Perry, Kirsty Logan and Daisy Johnson. As soon as I finished her painfully beautiful short stories collection Fen, I knew. I just knew. And now her debut novel Everything Under is longlisted for the Man Booker Prize. But it doesn't matter in the slightest. Prizes or not, this novel is an experience one cannot easily forget.

It is extremely hard to summarize the story in Everything Under. We go back and forth in time, mainly following Gretel who has been estranged from her mother for years. She wants to find her and comes in contact with the people who influenced Sarah's life one way or another, trying to understand the motives for her behaviour, trying to discover the secrets Sarah never entrusted to her. The key lies to a character named Marcus who is at the centre of the unfolding events. If this sounds vague to you, you're right to think so because to say anything more is strictly out of bounds.

‘'What would you say about yourself if you were going to die right at this moment?''

Johnson creates a unique tale, channeling an ancient Greek tragedy, in a voice that is almost unbearable raw at times. Full of a strong symbolism, it is a novel that defies genres and labels. At the heart of the story is the relationship between mothers and daughters. A very particular, very difficult relationship, a bond that is unbreakable, a bond that, more often than not, goes horribly wrong, especially with a mother like Sarah. It is an exploration of a highly problematic childhood, a time of threat, of the moments when the roles of the mother and the child are reversed. The lack of clarity is central to the development of the story. Told in 1st person through Gretel and in 3rd person through Marcus, words become jumbled, conveying cryptic messages. As Sarah is struggling with dementia, there is an extreme confusion of words and intentions and communication is lacking. It is not accidental that Gretel is a lexicographer working on a dictionary and that she and her mother had invented a language of their own. There is also a focus on riddles, often without any provided answers.

A trope that was done to perfection in Johnson's Fen was the use of folklore, legends, and symbols. This is also present here and elevates the novel. Most of the action takes place in a boat on the river. A boat that can go nowhere since its engine is broken. I saw water as a metaphor for fluidity. Fluidity of gender and identity, of intentions and desires. The foliage hides unspeakable secrets and complex feelings. Even Gretel's name is symbolic, the name of a child who tried to find her way, a child of a dark fairytale. And in Everything Under, darkness is everywhere. Its personification the Bonak, a water monster that brings threat and fear. There is a constant foreboding feeling that comes from the presence of a monster that damages and violates the soul of the characters,

Johnson weaves a tale that is impeccably rich. Piece after piece of the puzzle is discovered under layers of unspoken words and untold stories. For what else can our past be other than stories worthy to be told. We often say that one has to read a book in order to understand it. This phrase finds its true meaning in Everything Under. Noone can explain the feelings it causes to you, you have to experience it to realise its impact.

Is it wrong that even though I haven't read (yet) the other books longlisted for the Booker, I want, NEED this to win?

‘'There are more beginnings that there are ends to contain them.''

Many thanks to Penguin Randon House UK and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

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

‘'Remember about the albatrosses? We got one on our trail now. I didn't know what it was when I saw it. It was too big to be anything real. I keep thinking about them carrying dead sailors around them.''


I am ashamed to say that I was completely ignorant of the existence of this book. It wasn't included in any of the recommending reading lists I receive and I hadn't read any review of it on Goodreads. I had the luck to become aware of it after a suggestion by the wonderful Jen Campbell in one of her lovely videos that contain treasure for the lovers of haunting fiction. And I searched high and low until I found it. And when I read it, I knew I was suddenly holding one of the best books I've read this year.

This is a collection of short stories by Daisy Johnson connected by the theme of desire, loss and the Otherness in every shape and form and the way we experience these notions particularly during our teenage and early adult years. Here, we have a girl that transforms herself into an eel. Three alluring female vampires are in trouble when they start acting like their unfortunate, highly edible victims. A house comes alive out of jealousy and vindictiveness. A young man returns to his wife. The problem is that he was dead...A sailor's pregnant wife reaches her limits surrounded by the fisherman's superstitions. A mother with a strange and very familiar offspring who wishes to take unto himself the sins of the world. Three siblings share a dark, twisted fate that would put the Lannister House to shame. A woman reminisces on her life while waiting her blind date. A lighthouse keeper is obsessed with a sea creature. These are some of the stories included in this haunting collection. My favourites are: Starving, Blood Rites, Language, The Superstition of Albatross, A Heavy Devotion, The Scattering

My first question was why ‘'Fen''? Why naming the book ‘'Fen''? What is the symbolism? So, I did my homework and connected my limited knowledge on the subject to new information and everything made a lot more sense. I knew that Fensalir was the dwelling of Frigg, the Norse goddess of Wisdom and Foresight. A domain of bogs, marshes and springs. And, naturally, most of us know Fenrir, Loki's monstrous offspring that tries to exact revenge for its mistreatment. And then, I discovered that the beautiful fen is associated with water and mists. The Fens landscape, extending from Cambridge to Lincolnshire, is a marshland interrupted by tiny communities of fishermen. It's a land steeped in legends and stories of the paranormal. The Will o' the Wisp, the Black Hound called the Black Shuck...Think of The Hound of the Baskervilles and you'll get the picture.

Τherefore, Folk elements exist throughout the stories. And fens are everywhere. There is obsession, sexual passion, the notion of virginity, the desire to be different, the trouble of being a teenager. The writing is exceptional. Cryptic, poetic, haunting. There is a distinct haziness, as if a mist is hovering over the stories, everything is blurry and grey. The reader needs to read between the lines, see behind the sentences and try to decipher any conclusion that may be there. And this is exactly the kind of quality that makes Fen such a mesmerizing, uniquely beautiful book. It definitely reminded me of Jen Campbell's The Beginning of the World in the Middle of the Night but in a darker and much more twisted, almost sinister, way.

Is this a book for everyone? No, it isn't. It requires us to suspend all disbelief, to be attracted to bleak, twisted, dark choices. But if you want to experience a unique way of writing and if you love short stories with characters that could easily be protagonists in their novels, then Fen is right there for you. And, in my humble opinion, it's a masterpiece of the genre.

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

''Far beneath the surface of the earth, hidden from the sun and the moon, upon the shores of the Starless Sea, there is a labyrinthine collection of tunnels and rooms filled with stories. Stories written in books and sealed in jars and painted on walls. Odes inscribed onto skin and pressed into rose petals. Tales laid in tiles upon the floors, bits of plot hung from chandeliers. Stories cataloged and cared for and revered. Old stories preserved while new stories spring up around them.''

I don't think there are words to describe this book accurately. If magic, dreams and the essence of what stories mean for us could be found within the pages of a book, tangible enough for us to touch, this would be it...

Zachary is tempted by a strange book that has been forgotten in his university library. He is soon shocked to find that it contains secrets of his own childhood, along with beautiful, mystical legends of love and loss. Fate brings Mirable and Dorian in his way, two mysterious characters who seem to hold the answer to Zachary's quest for an explanation. And somewhere close by the owls are watching...

''Isn't that what anyone wants, though? [...] To be able to make your own choices and decisions but to have it be part of a story? You want that narrative there to trust in, even if you want to maintain your own free will.''

Morgenstern has created a tale out of tales, a fable out of the human need to seek and explain, to dream and understand. Zachary's story is closely connected to an array of beautiful stories/myths that focus on the unique ability to make the impossible possible. Each door leads to another step (but is it really a step forward...?), each character is a puzzle piece that can acquire multiple places on the board. Matryoshka dolls open and close within the pages as we try to guess and navigate along with Zachary, Mirabel, and Dorian.

''These doors will sing. Silent siren songs for those who seek what lies behind them.For those who feel homesick for a place they've never been to.Those who seek even if they do not know what (or where) is that they are seeking.Those who seek will find.Their doors have been waiting for them.''

Morgenstern's stories elevate the novel to perfection. From our need to touch the stars, to acquire the unattainable, to turn our dreams into reality, to throw our nightmares away like torn pieces of paper. Stories that are dark and menacing, stories of light and hope, on impossible love and dangerous antagonists, storied born in a world where dollhouses expand and create actual communities, where the Sun and the Moon meet to discuss the future of the world, where the Moon falls in love with a mortal man and Time falls in love with Fate, where young girls converse with ghosts, where women sculpt stories, where pirates and young women embark on adventures in the Starless Sea.

This book is for each one of us. The ones who love stories and magic, travelling to a place where we need to expect the unexpected. This isn't about liking Fantasy or any other literary label. This is about living in a story the likes of which we haven't seen before. This is about experiencing what it means when we talk about unbearably beautiful writing...

''Why then do you think the stories continue to be told once the children are grown?''

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

‘'Each of my pilgrimages aims at some other pilgrim. In this case the pilgrim is in pieces, broken down.''

This might very well be the first time that I have no clear ‘'picture'' in my head regarding this review. Flights is the winner of the 2018 Man Booker International Prize and this is one of those cases where the verb ‘'like'' and its negative form can't retain any significant meaning. So be patient with me while I am trying to -clumsily- explain the impact Flights had on me.

In a magnificent translation by Jennifer Croft, Flights is a modern Odyssey of the human being amidst eternal journeys from country to country but, most importantly, within ourselves. Anatomy and transportation are combined to demonstrate the continuous search, the change, the fight for self-discovery. Individual stories, taking place over different eras, born out of curiosity and despair. Tokarczuk's work is a hymn to human emotions, to independence, to unfulfilled wishes.

‘'He said that death marks places like a dog marking its territory.''

Flights is a novel featuring characteristics of essays, biography, and non-fiction, where the voice of the writer reflects the feelings and thoughts of characters in a distant and, at times, clinically sharp way. Tokarczuk's writing brings to mind great authors of Balkan and East European Literature. I found similarities to Daša Drndic and Dubravka Ugrešic although, in my opinion, Tokarczuk lacks the darkness and impact of the two Croatian writers. She focuses on issues that reflect the strangest aspects of traveling and searching for the destination that would mean the end of a fulfilling journey. Or not. What happens when you don't want to reach the end? When you feel that you can't settle, that you don't need a permanent basis?

‘'The apartment doesn't understand what's happened. The apartment thinks its owner has died.''

There is a plethora of information in this beautiful book. Tokarczuk refers to the Recurrent Detoxification Syndrome, the need of the human mind to return to certain images no matter how disturbing or repulsive they may be. It's what makes us freeze, unable to take our eyes off images that make our stomach turn. Another interesting point has to do with the apartment that is left behind, locked and dark, when we depart for a journey, leaving our shelter silent and lifeless. And what about the images that come to mind at the sound of a country's name? What do we recall when we think of e.g.China, Russia, Spain, Lithuania, Serbia, Ireland and every other country of our planet? Each one of us forms a unique, personal picture based on experience, education, and various cultural influences.

The richness and power of Flights lie in the characters and their journeys. I was confused, moved and horrified by the story of Kunicki, a Polish businessman, whose wife and son disappear for three days and for unknown reasons while vacationing in a Croatian island. The story of a Russian woman, a mother in the most difficult position imaginable, who tries to relieve the pain of people who have no destination anymore made me think of loneliness and the horrible feeling that you're slowly drifting away when you aren't strong enough to fight. Nebojša's thoughts on what war leaves behind and the moving journey of Chopin's heart from Paris to Warsaw are outstanding moments.

I don't particularly agree with a few of the writer's views on people and God. They seemed too detached, almost nihilistic, but this is of little importance. Flights should be an undisputed reading choice, a book that can be read while on a journey, in an airport while the night is falling, in a hotel room overlooking the distant glimpses of the city lights. And if you don't travel, do not worry. Olga Tokarczuk and Jennifer Croft are here to be your powerful guides.

‘'I'm a few years old, I'm sitting on the window sill, and I'm looking out onto the chilled courtyard. The lights in the school's kitchen are extinguished; everyone has left. All the doors are closed, hatched down, blinds lowered. I'd like to leave, but there's nowhere to go. My own presence is the only thing with a distinct outline now, an outline that quivers and undulates, and in so doing, hurts. And all of a sudden I know: there's nothing anyone can do now, here I am.''

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

''No one wants to work the land, now; they just want to sit and look out of the picture window and stare at the water. A ‘view', they call is, as if they had nothing but eyes to know this place with- and as if their eyes could ever even scratch the surface of it from where they stand. His friends and family have been dying all around him for years, and some days it seems that there'll only be him left standing at the end of the world. A crumbling saint; a reluctant relic of a way of life that's gone forever. Just like that poem she read, years ago now- about a stone statue, all that was left dissolving in the desert at the end of everything.''

Daphne was turned into a plant to escape Apollo's unwanted attention. Io was turned into a cow to flee Hera's wrath. Medusa fell victim to Athena's illogical revenge. Arachne dared to challenge the Goddess of Wisdom and became a loathsome insect. Greek Mythology is full of stories of women who ‘‘shapeshifted'' with or without their will, because of fear, love, transgression. All cultures are rich in stories of shapeshifting women, each one a universe in itself.
In this beautiful volume, we are given retellings of the tales of old Europe and tales where characters are given a new voice. Sharon Blackie has also included notes regarding the inspiration behind each story.

Wolfskin: A story based on a traditional Croatian/Slavic myth with an interesting ending.
The Last Man Standing: A tale inspired by an Irish myth, set in Scotland. A story of old age and true love.
The Bogman's Wife: A Scottish/Irish story of a mermaid's rightful revenge, inspired by W.B.Yeats' poem The Song of Wandering Aengus.
Foxfire: A Scandinavian tale of the huldra, a woman-fox that seduces men who wander in the forest, exacting revenge on those who fail to satisfy her.

''It was the human skulls on top of the fenceposts that gave the place away. Though I have to say, it wasn't quite what I'd been expecting. Every one of them had a candle inside, eye sockets all lit up, grinning away in the late afternoon gloom like some half=crazed band of jack - o'- lanterns.''

Meeting Baba Yaga: This tale was supposedly inspired by the classic Russian story of Vasilisa the Brave (...and not ‘‘Vasalisa'' as the writer states...). The Russian woods and Baba Yaga deserved better treatment than a story whose main character is the epitome of the middle-aged newly-turned into a hippie who is uneducated, ignorant, disrespectful, whose only source of ‘‘education'' is the ...Tardis and lifestyle magazines. I was disgusted by this treatment of Russian culture. The character (and by extension, the writer) should learn how to spell before they criticize Russia and its vast cultural significance. Appalling.

''We're a fanciful folk here - fanciful and fey. What could you possibly know about our sea-longings, our hill-cravings? What could you know about the eerie half-light of midsummer nights in the glen?''

The Water Horse: A Scottish/Irish story, set in the Highlands, of the legendary each-uisge, the horse that acquires the appearance of young men. A beautiful tale of a girl who didn't pay attention to cautionary tales, a myth of true love that echoed The Gloaming.

''This land, this island of white and snow. Can you follow the sparkling motes of freezing mist through Arctic air? Do you see the aurora's brushstrokes on the pure, translucent canvas of our icebound cliffs? This beauty so pellucid, so serene that your heart would shatter if you thought it might pass forever from this world. This beauty. No wonder you come seeking it. This last bastion of ice; the still point of a burning world. I have seen the icebergs weep; I have seen the dissolution of great glaciers. Snow Queen has raised them from the dead.'‘

''Snow Queen loves silence. Loves the silence of ice and snow.It is Snow Quuen now who knows best; it is Snow Queen who alone has held true. Snow Queen will make an iceberg of your heart.''

Snow Queen: The Danish tale is turned into a Dystopian story set in a world destroyed by climate change, set in an incredibly beautiful and terrifying landscape.
The Saturday Diary of the Fairy Melusine: Melusine is given voice to condemn her husband's abuse in a story inspired by the French myth of the Serpent Wife.

''You have listened to the song of the blackthorn at winter solstice, and drunk from the well at the world's end. Here you are now, and here you will linger on. Forever? You have no stories about forever.''

The Madness of Mis: An Irish tale of a daughter who lost her father and became one with the mountains until she fell in love. Haunting and brilliantly written.
I Shall Go Into A Hare: A tale about the hare and the Easter eggs as symbols of fertility and the association between witches and hares. Set in our era, very raw. Brilliant.
The Weight of a Human Heart: Based on the famous love triangle of the Irish hero Cu Culainn, Emer and Fand. I don't believe this was a positive moment in this book. The final twist seemed to me a cheap gimmick, a bone to satisfy the expectations of the so-called ‘‘today's'' audience.
Flower Face: A tale of scorn, betrayal, unimaginable abuse and retribution, based on the Welsh myth of Blodeuwedd from the Mabinogion.

''She cannot face another hundred years of this. The last time she renewed herself, the Great War had just ended and there was hope. Who'd have imagined they'd do it all again? Who'd have thought, in just one hundred years, they'd have caused so much carnage? What could they do in another century, with all their implacable power?''

No Country For Old Women: A haunting retelling of the Gaelic myth of the Cailleath who becomes young every hundred years by bathing in the lake. Here, she seems utterly done with all the mess we've made...

Apart from two disappointing moments, I loved Blackie's writing and the immediacy of the characters' voices. I appreciated the balance between the two sexes, the focus on love, honour and independence as reasons to transform and escape. This is pure literary quality.

Absolutely beautiful illustrations by Helen Nicholson.

''Perhaps, when the world has turned a few more times, when their remaining relics have all crumbled away into dust- perhaps then she will bathe again on the flat rock by the sea loch at Bealtaine. But she does not think she will.The last of her men was the last man standing. And she will be the last of the fairy wives.''

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

‘'There is melancholy in lights glimpsed from a distance'', she said, ‘'A party to which one has not been invited.''

When I am in the car and the night has fallen, I love gazing at the lit windows of the houses that pass over my eyes. Thankfully, I don't drive, so I can enjoy the scenery to my heart's content. Some windows shed too bright a light, most are dimly lit and soothing. I always wonder what kind of people live inside, what their stories might be. This is one of the times when we might feel like ghosts...Watching lives from a distance, a mirror....

The quote I chose was one of many beautiful moments in this collection. Eight of the most significant British writers of our time have written stories dedicated to their favourite English landmarks, simultaneously paying homage to the great heritage of the British Ghost stories.Sarah Perry and Jeanette Winterson are only two of the writers that speak to us about spectres from the other side. And yet, is there an ‘'other side''? The ghosts that haunt the ruins of buildings lost back in time are very much ‘'alive'' in the world of the living. They haunt land and souls. They want to speak, to love, to punish.

The stories are as particular and unique as their creators. These aren't ordinary, average writers and the tales included aren't the common, run-of-the-mill, ghostly ‘'products''. Some of them may even have you wondering why they're actually called ‘'ghost'' stories. There is no shocking factor here, no violent descriptions, no slasher-films gimmicks. These are tales that touch on perceptions, beliefs, feelings and memories.

The stories that stood out, in my opinion, were:

‘'They Flee From Me That Sometimes Did Me Seek''by Sarah Perry. Perry isn't able to write an average text, even of she deliberately tried to. I think we have established this by now. Possibly the best new voice in the endless wealth that is British Literature, here she creates an exquisite tale that touches the thin line between the metaphysical and the absurd. The title, derived by Sir Thomas Wyatt's beautiful poem, is the heart of the story but you'll have to read it to understand it. One of the most attractive, elegant stories in the collection.

‘'The Bunker''by Mark Haddon. A weird, hallucinatory story, written in impeccably beautiful language.

‘'Foreboding'' by Kamila Shamsie. A haunting story of finding yourself in a foreign country, realizing that ghosts aren't the worst thing that can happen. A tale that talks about the pain of the refugees and the themes of family and death.

‘'Never Departed More''by Stuart Evers. One of the strangest stories in this collection. What starts as an unusual method of a troubled actress for a film based on Ophelia, becomes a journey through this world and the one beyond that is closer than we think. An -almost- psychological study, a tale steeped in madness and obsession.

‘'The Wall'' by Kate Clanchy. A sad, yet hopeful story of a mother and a daughter who decide to deal with tragedy and rediscover themselves in the ruins of Hadrian's Wall.

‘'As Strong As Death'' by Jeanette Winterson. Possibly, the finest story in the collection. Well, small wonder since it's Jeanette Winterson we're talking about. A tale that centers on love, loss and acceptance, while taking glimpses in many pivotal moments in British history.

The Afterwards section is dedicated to a short analysis of the unique development of the British Ghost story tradition, referring to some of the most well-known spectres of the Old Albion. There is also a brief history of the landmarks that become the stage for these beautiful, absurd, haunting stories. Poetic texts, informative and a bit nostalgic for the presence of the past, inexplicable and fascinating.

To say that the writers of the stories stept on ‘'familiar'' tropes or to claim that they ‘'played it safe'' is more than simplistic. It's sacrilege, permit me the use of the word. With Rowan Routh as the editor, eight gifted souls joined forces to create not mere ghost stories, but passages that touch the heart of the readers. They brought forth all that is good and inspiring and dignified in what we call ‘'Literature''...

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

This was one of the rare cases where I let myself judge a book by its cover. The moment I saw that black and red picture- red as the blood in which we all come into the world, the blood which symbolises life and death- I knew I had to make it mine. A black clootie tree is standing ominously. A scarecrow, a seal peering through the water, a cross, a mirror, a violin, a cage, a black cat, a beautiful long-haired woman with black birds making circles above her head. These images are not accidental, they are elements of the four stories that comprise this marvellous, shockingly good collection by Jean Rafferty.

The stories are woven around two central themes, motherhood and womanhood. The way each woman views the process of being a mother, what it means to be a woman and trust and love yourself before you trust a man in your life, the struggle to fulfill expectations, her own and the others'. Is every woman programmed to become a mother? What about those of us who love children but wish to have none of our own? Why is it still considered unnatural in certain instances by narrow-minded people? Why should I, as a human being, as a woman, have to put up with the ‘‘kind advice'' of relatives to whom I owe no explanation as to why I have no inclination to get married or have a child? “I have 64 wonderful children, thank you, I don't want one waiting for me at home”. This is my usual way to shut their mouth and their poisoning opinions away.

All four stories take place in Scotland, the land of mystical haunting beauty and folklore. They are contemporary with a brief snipet of the era of Mary Stuart. All four heroines share the name Mary in different versions. Mary... a simple, beautiful name and yet so unlike any other. For those like me who believe, it carries a special meaning, profound and soothing. It is the name most mothers call in their hour of need and hope.

''It was dark down there, murky, with the salt sea stippling their skin and the hissing sound of heir flippers swishing through the water''

''Wishing Night'': Rafferty makes frequent use of folktales from her beautiful homeland. Here, we have the myth of the Selkie, and a heart-wrenching story that strongly reminded me of the marvellous 2014 animated film ‘‘Song of the Sea'' (‘‘Amhrán na Mara''). Our heroine's name is Mhairi. Also, I couldn't help thinking that another source of inspiration for the tale was the song ‘‘The Siren'' by Nightwish. ''A lady with a violin playing to the seals...'' The question that lies at the heart of the story is whether sacrifing a world, a way of life is the price to pay in order to create a family?Should we leave everything behind?

''What is the point of all the bleeding, the discomfort and mood swings if you don't have a child?''

''A Faerie Child'': Is a woman unwhole if she doesn't have a child? Our heroine seems to think it so. Mara is a young woman that faces many difficulties on her way to become a mother. It has turnt into an obsession, and as her patience grows thin, she starts placing her hopes in the clootie tree. For those unfamiliar with the practice, the clootie tree (or the clootie wells and springs) is a place of pilgrimage in Scotland and in Ireland. A custom that has its roots in the pagan age of the Celts. Strips of cloth and rugs are left on the branches as part of a healing ritual or an invocation for the coming of a child. I was very surprised to see the number of offerings on a clootie tree when I was in Scotland, actually. Rosaries, crosses, icons are given as gifts. It is a unique spectacle, beautiful in its tragedy.

''For years Mercedes was never sure whether Callas was the priestess or the goddess''

''The Diva'': Ah, Maria Callas, another great of the Marys...I always feel a surge of Greek pride when I come across her name. Allow me a small confession. This story was very special to me. You see, I grew up with another beautiful Mary in my house, my Italian grandmother. She was beautiful, like a Madonna, with blonde hair and big green eyes, and brought up her grandchild with arias. Caruso, Callas and Pavarotti were my first introduction to the world of music and culture.
Here, Mercedes is the Diva of the title, strolling around with the gowns of Tosca, Lucia, Turandot, Norma, breathing the tragedy of the greatest operas into the tragedies of everyday life. Rafferty is in top form in this story. She gives us some of the finest descriptions of sexuality, using poetic, elegant language, even when she talks about the rawest of emotions. As a sidenote, Rafferty provides the most beautiful, unique analysis of the famous aria Casta Diva from Bellini's Norma?(P.S. If you don't know this divine aria, what are you doing with your lives?)

''Do the cries of the tortured echo down the centuries? Can the dead speak?''

The Four Marys: Marina is in the midst of a PhD project about the ballad of the Four Marys, made famous by the fragile, shuttering voice of Joan Baez. According to tradition, the song has its roots in the 16th century, inspired by the Marys who were the maids of honour to Mary Stuart, the tragic Queen of Scots. The narration in the story is divided between the present and the turbulent times of Mary's reign. Marina and Mary, a maid of honour, are trying to cope with motherhood in a severe way, with being pregnant by a man who is not their husband. We see that for all our progress and emancipation speeches, we go on falling into the same traps and are condemned by society's double standards.

Jean Rafferty has created a unique collection that should be read by all, women and men. It is beautiful, raw, honest, distrurbing and haunting. A dark fairy tale of real life, a way of reflecting every woman's hopes, dreams, fears and struggles to gain the ground that belongs to her, to live a life dictated by her own terms. A book that is a hymn to the mothers and grandmothers that set bringing up strong daughters and granddaughters as their high purpose, that communicate the need to trust and love yourself above any man, above society's norms, above other people's ‘‘kind advice'' and patronization.

You will allow me to dedicate this review to my grandmother, my own beloved Mary, who taught me never to back down, never let anyone manipulate me and direct my life. Who taught me to keep my faith alive and my stubborness level up. So, Nena, this goes up to you, wherever you are now...

  ‘'Passengers are advised to board while the train is still in existence.''
If we come to think of it, we daily commuters live in a softened, less threatening (hopefully...) kind of transportation loop. I have been coveting this collection for three years and although we got off to a rocky start, I soon realised that we were simply meant to be. From the eerie feeling of being alone on the platform, closely listening for the sound of the train that will surely carry you home (or will it?) to the congestion that grows and grows like a deranged Hydra, this volume gives voice to each and every fear of the commuter.
From Prague to New York, Paris and - naturally -London, these are 19 little horrors for the daily commuter to despair upon. 
All aboard...
Bullroarer (Paul Meloy): There's nothing extraordinary in this...thing. It is a stinking pile of utter bullshit and one of the most disgusting stories I've ever read...
The Girl in the Glass (John Llewellyn Probert): A young woman finds himself haunted by a girl who hovers between life and death. Quite unique this one...
The Lure (Nicholas Royle): Sensual, tense, elegant. Like a haunting tour of Paris. A young teacher falls prey to the desires of a strange couple. This story needs to be made into a film.
23:45 Morden (Via Bank) (Rebecca Levene): I can't begin to count the number of shocks my brain was subjected to while reading this extraordinary story of a life turned upside-down in the most horrible way imaginable.
End of the Line (Jasper Bark): A story of time loops and psychogeography that could have been better developed. Interesting, nonetheless.
The Sons of the City (Simon Bestwick): An interesting premise focusing on the futile efforts to create an Underground in Manchester, drawing parallels on how technology disturbs the creatures of the Old World that quickly lost momentum. It contains a few scenes of absolute horror, though.
The Roses that Bloom Underground (Al Ewing): I don't know what is more disturbing. Things growing out of the walls or happy commuters trying to accommodate each other...
Exit Sounds (Conrad Williams): Mysterious and fascinating, this story has the old glory of the Cinema and the unnerving setting of the nightly Tube walk hand-in-hand.
‘'Where would you like to go that we've never been before?''
Funny Things (Pat Cadigan): An extraordinary piece of writing, one of the best stories I've ever read! The agonizing battle of a woman against sudden loss and unbearable grief. An elegy of eerie coping mechanisms, a real Odyssey accentuated by sorrow and loneliness. Simply mindblowing!
‘'You might be on holiday, but some of us have to get to work, dear.''
On All London Underground Lines (Adam L.G. Nevill): Accidents, incidents and malfunctions keep on happening and the narrator finds himself in a terrifying loop. As if Kafka wrote about life in the Underground, this story is the definition of life as a daily commuter. An all too familiar masterpiece and may I say that the protagonist is my spirit animal, trapped in an endless There and Back Again.
P.S. Bloody tourists...
Fallen Boys (Mark Morris): A teacher finds herself in an eerie tale while on a school field trip in an old mine. A beautiful, sad story that follows the good old tropes of a quintessential British ghost story. Furthermore, it felt oddly relatable since I am a teacher who has had her share with what others would deem as ‘'troubling students''. 
In the Colosseum (Stephen Volk): A hedonistic, hallucinatory nightmare exposing all the layers of human cruelty.
The Rounds (Ramsey Campbell): An outstanding, heart-pounding story with the epitome of the Unreliable Narrator. Is he paranoid or is he really trying to save his fellow passengers?
Missed Connection (Michael Marshall Smith): A man is trying to go shopping before Christmas but is unable to escape the claustrophobic boundaries of the Underground. All exists closed, the city is different and the nightmare is never-ending.
Siding 13 (James Lovegrove): A passenger is trapped in a train that becomes more and more and more and more congested. I got claustrophobic just by reading this masterpiece!
Diving Deep (Gary McMahon): What if Antarctica had its own underground transport system? Yes, I can't say I liked this one...
Crazy Train (Natasha Rhodes): An intriguing heroine (I ADORED HER!!) and an ode to the dark stories of Rock music, set in LA.
‘'The ground couldn't hold him.''
All Dead Years (Joel Lane): A psychologist is trying to help a woman who has experienced manipulation and abuse but the tunnel seems endless. With traces of the myth of Persephone and Hades, this story is exquisitely elegant.
‘'He once read that those who die by the hand of another are the easiest to see. At the far end of the scale are those who die natural deaths - they can never return. But what about the ones whose departures are simply accidental? What does it take to see them?''
Down (Christopher Fowler): An Underground worker helps victims of the past find their way through the labyrinth of the Tube. Whether those who perished during the Blitz or in tragic accidents, the spirits need a guide. A shuttering ending and if this story doesn't bring wailing tears in your eyes, then you are Satan!

‘'He turned the corner onto something so unexpected that he stopped dead in his tracks. In front of him were the steps which he knew led down onto the southbound platform of the Northern Line. They did not lead down into the usual shuffling malee of irritable shoppers, however. They led down into total darkness.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
 

Few symbols have had such an important part to play in the stories and traditions of our world. Think about it: the tree in Eden, the Yggdrasil of the Vikings,the Bodhi tree in Buddhism, Krishna's banyan tree in Hinduism, the belief that the trees are the homes of the dryads in Greek Mythology, the tree that provided the wood for the Cross upon which Jesus Christ was crucified, the list is endless. It goes without saying that in a country with such a great history, such a wealthy universe of folk tales, myths and legends, the trees would have a pretty significant place. I'm obviously talking about Ireland.

This book provides extensive information about each tree and its significance and influence not only on the myths and legends of the country, but also on the daily life of the past and the present. What I really enjoyed was the fact that Niall Mac Coitir doesn't limit the content only to the Irish traditions, but grasps the chance to refer to similar customs in other European countries. This is an indicant of a good research on the part of the author. Furthermore, he analyzes Ogham, the Celtic Tree Alphabet and the Celtic Calendar in a satisfying way. I've got two reservations, though. First, I don't think that this is a book for someone who has no relation to Celtic dialects whatsoever, it is quite difficult to understand a few parts which are not explained to the fullest. My second reservation has to do with references. The author constantly cites two sources -the names don't matter- and this seemed a little redundant and suspicious, to be honest. Why are these two people experts in the subject? Mac Coitir doesn't explain this either, so I was left wondering a bit.

I would definitely recommend this book to anyone interested in Ireland and Folk tales in general. You just have to be patient and read it with a relaxed and clear mind, because some parts are too difficult for the common reader.

P.S. Bonus points because he often refers to Mad Sweeney stories and poems.
(Don't judge me, the tallest leprechaun from Gaiman's universe has infected my mind and I cannot lie...)

 If you attempt ANY kind of political comments, the exit is THAT way. It's that simple. Don't provoke me, it won't end well.

 “This is not a story of heroic feats, or merely the narrative of a cynic; at least I do not mean it to be. It is a glimpse of two lives running parallel for a time, with similar hopes and convergent dreams.”

Two young men set off for the journey of a lifetime. Their chariot, a motorcycle. Their initial purpose, to know and understand the fascinating world of South America. As they travel deeper and deeper, they come across lands and communities struck by poverty, abandonment, isolation, exploitation, violence, torment, sickness, death. And the two youngsters of our story acquire a new purpose. To help the ones in need with whatever meagre means they have.

Their quest takes them from the north across the Andes, to Chile, the Atacama Desert, Peru and Venezuela. Facing the whims of a demanding nature, encountering people who have been abused and ostracised because of their beliefs, experiencing the sacred impact of Machu Pichu, one of the marvels of human ingenuity, the two young men leave the crazy, alluring, care-free attitude of youth behind towards a new vision. Che's writings, thoughts and experiences in the San Pablo leper colony in Peru are heartbreaking, his determination to aid the ones who suffer by an absurd divide due to false ‘' medical'' convictions is touching and eye-opening.

The young men's names? Alberto Granado. Ernesto ‘'Che'' Guevara.

P.S. Do I really need to mention the marvellous 2004 adaptation starring Gael García Bernal and Rodrigo de la Serna, directed by Walter Salles? If you haven't watched it, do so. You won't regret it.

 “Some give the impression they go on living only because it's a habit they cannot shake”

 “Perhaps one day tired of circling the world I'll return to Argentina and settle in the Andean lakes if not indefinitely then at least for a pause while I shift from one understanding of the world to another.”

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

One of the best thrillers I've ever read. Jean-Christophe Grangé's writing style is direct, full of force and embellished with beautiful, dark descriptions. In this book, the forces of nature, the darkness in the human mind and soul, and the mysticism associated with the Alps lead the two main characters down a spiral of lies and bloody deeds.

Karim and Pierre are realistic protagonists, their interactions are powerful, even entertaining at times. This is one of the rarest of cases where the film is as good and satisfying as the book. Jean Reno and Vincent Cassel are marvellous.

‘'As people stare off into the curved horizon, disappearing as a watery pathway to the unknown, they dream of far-off shores and distant lands.''

Water is life. The seas, the rivers, the lakes have always been crucial for the survival of all species. It is only natural that humans have been attracted to the mysteries of water, creating myths and legends to understand the cast universe that lies underwater. Even today, the sea is our main choice for care-free moments and the rivers retain a unique, almost mystical, fascination in our minds with their special - and sometimes eerie - atmosphere. From creatures and deities to sacred landmarks and mysterious incidents, the Folklore of seas, rivers and lakes is an endless source of excitement. Dee Dee Chainey and Willow Winsham are here to guide us on this journey.

‘'We have looked upon the face of the spirits of our waters, and while they might look different - from Mami Wata to Poseidon, from the fossegrim to the naiads - their role in our lives is the same. They aid us when we are lost. They offer us healing. We plead and bargain with them for their gifts and blessings. Humans everywhere look to the water and see the possibilities it holds in its depths. It is cathartic, cleansing and majestic, with a power to consume all; a regenerative, a force that ebbs and flows like time, with the power to give life or take it away.''

From Coleridge's haunting The Rime of the Ancient Mariner to the myth of Atargatis. The most beautiful, moving narration of Andersen's The Little Mermaid. The Sirens of Homer, the Selkies of the Northern Seas, and the African Mami Wata. Learn how to summon a Selkie lover (brilliant!) and find out about the frightening results of the steel factory in Taranto. Comfort the priestess Io, persecuted by Hera. Meet the Mesopotamian Tiamat, the Leviathan of the Jewish tradition, the Nordic Jörmungandr and the Kraken, Scylla and Charybdis from The Odyssey.

Travel to underwater realms and legendary kingdoms. Read about the Breton kingdom of Ys, the moving tale of Urashima and the Palace of the Dragon King. Encounter powerful deities of the sea. Sedna, the Inuit Mother of the Sea, Arnaguagsaq from Greenland, Iemanjua whose origins can be found in the Yoruba tradition. Learn about mysteries and superstitions. Uncover the legends of The Flying Dutchman, the Mary Celeste, the Caleuche and the Bermuda Triangle. Read the tales of smugglers and their crimes that inspired Du Maurier's masterpiece Jamaica Inn.

Wander by the banks of sacred rivers and mysterious lakes, with the deities, the spirits, the mythical creatures. The Acheron and the Styx, the gates of Hades. The moving legend of St Christopher who carried the Saviour on his shoulders. The Arthurian myth of the Lady of the Lake and Excalibur. Maria Enganxa, the water hag of Majorca, Lorelei of the Rhine, the legends of Father Thames, the myth of Oba. Melusine, the Naiads, the Anguane of Italy, the Fenettes of France, the Fossegrim of Norway, the Bean - Nighe of Scotland.

Kelpies and water horses, the Loch Ness monster, the swamps of New Orleans and their secrets, the bog lights pointing the way. Sacred and frightening wells, from the terrifying myths of Malta to the Clootie wells of Scotland, Ireland and Wales, and naturally, the Legend of the Fountain of Youth,

Perfection! Dee Dee Chainey and #FolkloreThrusday, you make our days brighter!

‘'Dare you delve further, reach tentatively beneath the dark swell, to see what you might find? Pirate treasures await you, yet take care when your fingers dip into the deep blackness that their tips don't brush against steely scales lurking under the surface. And don't forget: when you do dare to peer below the dancing waves, always listen well for the siren's call...''

Many thanks to Pavillion Books, Dee Dee Chainey and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

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

‘'My name is Desdemona. The word, Desdemona, means misery. It means ill fated. It means doomed.''

Othello is one of the most famous, most discussed and most problematic plays of the Bard.The questions it has raised through the centuries are endless. Why is Iago so evil? Why is Othello such an idiot? What was Desdemona's motive in marrying him? Was it love? Was it an adolescent infatuation fed off stories of grandeur and glory? Was it an act of rebellion? Desdemona, like Juliet, chose her husband and didn't succumb to the wishes of her family. In this play, Morrison attempts to give Desdemona a voice richer than her presence in Othello. She acquires the spot upon the front stage and we see the events through her eyes. Yet, I'm not certain Morrison succeeded in her aim. Or perhaps, I didn't understand it. Whatever it was one thing is clear. Morrison isn't Shakespeare...Not even close...

‘'I am not the meaning of a word I did not choose.''

Desdemona speaks about her life before Othello, her upbringing by a cruel mother in a golden cage. Othello is given a role, narrating the stories that presumably won her heart but at the same time, they're not really a token of his ‘'bravery'' but of his cruelty. Emilia is also present as is Barbary, Desdemona's mother's maid, a role that is absent in Shakespeare's play. And every single one of them accuses Desdemona of naivety, false modesty, of treating them all like barbarians or servants. I don't think that this is correct or just. While Morrison does accomplish her goal in giving Desdemona a chance to speak about the terrifying injustice that was done to her, her message is turnt upside down by what I considered as vilifying intervals to the girl's thoughts. I am a fervent supporter of the view that we should look upon at each play, each novel within the context of the time it was written, not using them to project our own political or social beliefs. This is my opinion. As is my opinion that while ambitious and potentially visionary, Morrison's play falls frightfully short.

At times, the writing is beautiful. At others, it is unnatural, stilted, like a badly -mimicked Shakespearean monologue, adopted by an incompetent translator. I enjoyed the songs -at least, the lyrics- but I don't see how they shed any new light to Desdemona's course. I may sound strict but a) I know my Shakespeare well and b) Desdemona has always been a character I looked upon with softness and an unusual spirit of protection and I failed to see any justice done to her name in this play. At least, not in the extent I expected to. So, my expectations were high and the result left me cold. In my opinion, the Bard is better left alone sometimes because he requires tremendous chops to be dealt with and in this work, the skills were average, at best. However, the attempt was brave and poignant and many will be able to enjoy the result.Personally, it left me utterly indifferent. And disappointed...

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

  ‘'Sweet little old ladies. At first you don't see them. And then, there they are, on the tram, at the post office, in the shop, at the doctor's surgery, on the street, there is one, there is another, there is a fourth over there, a fifth, a sixth, how could there be so many of them all at once?''

Having read Fox, which proved to be a religiously profound experience, I could'n wait to get my hands on another Ugrešić book. This one tempted me with its title and folklore and whatnot and I was certain I would adore it. But. My hopes were crushed under the boot of inexplicably offensive writing and a few of the most trashy chapters I've ever read.

Baba Yaga Laid An Egg can be seen as an interesting combination of autobiography, Fiction and pseudo-folklore research. Part One is the reason I finished the book and it is a great token of Ugrešić's writing shining in all its glory. A mother is fighting against Alzheimer's and a daughter is giving herself to helping and protecting her. These chapters are a hymn to mother-daughter relationship and love, and the strength of the human soul that refuses to let go. There are instances that seem funny but deep down they are actually bittersweet. Ugrešić takes a daily act, like setting the table or cooking, and graces it with literary value, immediacy and beauty. The trip in Bulgaria provides the chance for some of the most lyrical paragraphs.

 ‘'A powerful storm blew in. I watched through the window as the wind snapped the tree branches. While plastic bags flitted through the air like little phantoms. The rain whipped the windowpane so powerfully it seemed likely to smash the glass.''

Part Two is taking place in a hotel spa and three elderly women are our protagonists, along with three men who are given secondary parts. Thank God. Here, the theme of growing old and retaining your dignity in addition to the ways old age is perceived by society is in full swing and masterfully depicted. There is an elegant, sassy kind of humour, there are references to Art and to Pushkin's poem Ruslan and Lyudmila and the narration is properly darkened by a by a very pragmatic view on the conflicts during the 90s and a heartbreaking narration of the nightmare of the persecution and, eventually, the genocide against Serbs, Jews and Roma by the Ustaše monsters during the years of the Nazi puppet NDH between 1941 and 1945.

And in Part Two we find Disaster No.1...

His name? Mevlo or something like that. Who cares? Now, this was the epitome of disgusting. A misogynist, a brute, the personification of filth. I skipped every page that ‘‘contained'' him and his insufferable musings. Too bad the bomb didn't find its target. Actually, I pity the bomb that had to fall on such a trashy character. One star flew away with quality....

And now, Disaster No2...


Part Three. I suppose it aimed to demonstrate and explain the cultural treasure of Slavic Folklore in relation to witches but many parts were extremely problematic. Scratch that, it's too gentle. In fact, it proved to be a nightmare. The narrator is supposed to be a man, so this may explain the fixation an explaining 70% of the myths through sex and penis references but ut was rude and, in a few cases, extremely inaccurate. The interesting information was very few and far between.

There was an interesting fable from Crna Gora (Montenegro) about an old witch that gave shelter to Jesus, information on the origins of the word ‘'Baba'' and the Baba Yaga figure. The reader learns of the Baba Korizma - the Lent- that walks with seven sticks, throwing away a stick for every week of fasting. This is a Serbian tradition and we also have a similar custom in Greece. Snowy days in March are called ‘'baba's days'', and her belt is a metaphor for the rainbow. There is much information on similar witches in World Mythology e.g. The Befana, widely loved in Italy, Baubo, the old woman who made the goddess Demeter laugh, and a mention of The Feather of Finist the Grey Falcon which is one my favourite Russian tales.

And then...?

References to potential symptoms of autism in relation to the myth of Baba Yaga is ridiculous, to say the least. Blood transfusion is compared to the belief that witches drink blood. Every symbolism is seen through castration fantasies and pseudo-Freudian syndromes, which is wrong. Plain and simple and outrageously so. The traditional Chinese belief of the footsteps of the gods on rocks has nothing to do with a ‘'missing penis'' (my friend who lives in China would like a word with the supposed ‘'writer'' of the section...) and by that point I was positively and irreversibly disgusted. The heroes of the fairy tales became...''guys''. Yes, it's not a football team.

The image of the Virgin Mary is compared to Paris Hilton.

I am speechless.

How could this come from Ugrešić' pen? And yes, dear writer, you're an atheist. We get that. I don't care. I respect your decision. But insulting the readers who believe is WRONG. I will stress this every time I find a book that offends me as a person. I pray to a male God who taught love and compassion. Forgive me for not sacrificing newborns to a dark goddess.

If the writer had chosen to expand Part One this would have been a beloved book of mine. Even if the book had ended with Part Two, I would have thought of it as an absolutely satisfying reading experience. But Part Three was a catastrophe. And offensive, absurd array of disjointed drivel. I cannot believe I am giving this rating to a book by Ugrešić but in truth, this was a one-star for me. So two stars seem generous...

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