Blood on Her Tongue: A Novel

  ‘'That night, it stormed. The wind stripped trees of their bark and branches. It howled, threw things, like a child having a tantrum. Raindrops cold and hard as bullets smashed against walls and windows and wormed their way into every nook and cranny. Soon, rain trickled down the walls and ruined the wallpaper or dripped from the roof.''
A body unearthed from a bog sets in motion a chain of events that are simply too unfathomable to comprehend. A young woman struggles to help her sister who has found herself in the centre of an impossible fight. How can you battle demons and men at the same time without losing a piece of yourself in the process? This is the reality Lucy is facing in a novel that is the epitome of the word ‘unforgettable'.
I really, really do NOT have the words to describe my reactions as a chapter finished and another started. We are talking about moments that surpass the definitions ‘Dark' and ‘Gothic' and ‘Haunting' and so on and so forth. What we have here is a novel that belongs to the Gothic genre but with a story that centres around female identity, oppression, loyalty and independence. The hunger for blood can be read as hunger for a life that is not dictated by marital and societal rules but by the familial bonds and the interests that cultivate our personality. The characters are deeply flawed - even Lucy, our amazing main character - but the way the narrative has been constructed makes you deeply interested in their fate. They will anger, shock, and frustrate you, but it will be impossible for the reader not to devour the chapters with a pounding heart.
Point one: If you are squeamish about blood, tread carefully. I am the most stone-hearted creature on the planet when it comes to gore and grim but even I had to avert my eyes from the page in certain parts.
Point two: ‘Female rage' - and I have no idea why this absurd term was coined and why it should be considered a new literary genre - is for idiots. Labels are for idiots. Good stories are good stories that need to be told. Woke terms are for political agendas.
Yeah, not interested.
‘'By now, the sun had thoroughly set, but she had the light of the stars and moon to guide her. It was a thin pale light, painting everything around her in hues of gray and blue. Thin tendrils of mist crept from the earth and nipped at her ankles. It was said that they heralded the arrival of the witte wieven, white women who came out at night from the burial mounds that were everywhere on the Dutch heath, hungry for gold, hungry for souls. They were the restless ghosts of witches, or fairies wishing to lure people off the straight and narrow, or perhaps something else altogether.   They could be the ghosts of those unfortunates who have drowned in the bog.''
Many thanks to Poisoned Pen Press and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
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