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Content Warning: death, abortion, reproductive violence, forced sterilization, racism, misogyny, classism, ableism.

It's 1973 in Montgomery, Alabama, and Civil Townsend has just started her job as a nurse at a Family Planning Clinic. The Clinic serves all women, but mainly those who are poor, Black, and on some type of public assistance. Civil is ready to make a difference, and her first case is two sisters, Erica and India Williams, who are requiring their next round of the birth-control shot Depo-Provera. When Civil arrives at their rundown, one-room cabin, she is shocked by two things: the level of poverty they live in, and the fact that the two girls are only eleven and thirteen. Civil promises herself she won't get involved, but it's nearly impossible not to, when the girls have lost their mother and take so naturally to Civil's presence. As Civil grows closer to the girls, their father, and their grandmother, the unthinkable happens, and Civil is suddenly not so sure whether what she's been doing is really for the greater good or not. Years and years later, Civil begins to tell the story of Erica and India to her own daughter, knowing that those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. 

A book like this makes us remember why historical fiction is so important. Not only does it open up a portal to the lives of people years and years ago, but it also makes us aware of things that we otherwise might've been ignorant of. To some degree, I was aware of the history of reproductive violence against women of color, poor women, and the mentally ill -- anyone deemed "unfit" was apparently a prime candidate for birth control, some forms of it much more permanent than others. While we condemn the eugenics that took Germany by storm during Nazi rule, many of us are not as aware of American's own eugenicist past. 

From the very beginning of the story, I found myself sympathizing with Civil, rooting for her, and understanding how she struggles with knowing what exactly "the right thing" is. What does that even mean? Especially for those living in poverty, for young black women, for the disadvantaged? It's a question that eats away at her throughout the course of the novel, and her own complicity in the system that belittles those they consider "lesser" is something that she can't forgive herself for. She truly stands out as a heroine, even while she blames herself for many of the horrible things that happen to the two little girls she loves as her own. I liked that, although this is a story that is ultimately hopeful, Perkins-Valdez doesn't hesitate to let us sit with sorrow, with the "what-ifs" that plague both Civil and the Williams family as they try to process the horror done to them.

Although Perkins-Valdez's writing is simplistic, verging on the slightly dry, it somehow works perfectly for the story being told, as well as for Civil's practical voice, and this style works excellently in Perkins-Valdez's capable hands. The plot and pacing are all wonderfully executed, though I would argue that this story is more character-driven (which is, personally speaking, my favorite kind of story). It is India and Erica who motivate the entirety of the narrative, and it is they who drive Civil to becoming the person that she is. There's undoubtedly a bittersweetness to Take My Hand, but with its subject matter, how could it not be? It felt appropriate for the tale being told, and I applaud Perkins-Valdez for her beautiful way of handling a story that is so fraught with pain and anger.

Highly recommended.

NOTE: In Perkins-Valdez's afterword, she goes on to discuss reproductive violence and reproductive justice. Today, Black women are over three times more likely to die in pregnancy (and postpartum) than white women. That is just one of the many huge issues facing Black women's reproductive health -- they are also more likely to experience uterine fibroids, have less access to contraceptives and research shows that Black women receive less quality care than white women.

Resources on Reproductive Justice:

National Black Women's Reproductive Justice Agenda

National Partnership for Women & Families 

Sister Song

Center for Reproductive Rights 

Book Review: The Fervor by Alma Katsu

 

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Thank you to NetGalley and Penguin Putnam for allowing me to read this ARC!

Content Warning: death, murder, violence, racism, xenophobia, misogyny.

In 1944, the war is still raging on, and Meiko Briggs has been forced to live in one of the many interment camps popping up all over the US. Although her daughter, Aiko, is American-born, it makes no difference: they are Japanese, and therefore, automatically suspected of being spies, no matter how farfetched that sounds to anyone with common sense. They're just struggling to get through each day, desperately wanting to go home, when a strange outbreak begins at their camp -- Camp Minidoka, Idaho. This bizarre disease corrupts the minds of those it infects, making them violent and paranoid. Meanwhile, Fran Gurstworld, a journalist, is hoping that she might be getting her big break when she discovers something odd in the woods around Lake Ogallala. As she begins to think that perhaps everything is connected to the illness at the interment camps, she also quickly realizes just how dangerous it is to get involved in something the military might want hidden. Only Meiko, with her past on a mysterious island in Japan, holds the key to both unraveling this mystery and saving the lives of those afflicted.

It's not all that common to find an author who is able to seamlessly capture a dark period of American history and incorporate elements of the supernatural. I'd previously been interested in reading Katsu's The Hunger, a paranormal-slash-thriller take on the infamous expedition of the Donner Party, but somehow, I'd never gotten a chance to actually read it. I'll be making it a priority now, as I was so impressed not only with Katsu's simple, evocative writing, but also with her ability to bring to life a historical time period and her effortless way of making the mundane frightening.

At the heart of this tale is Meiko and her daughter and, subsequently, their Japanese culture and heritage. Katsu weaves in many tales of yokai -- Japanese demons, some malevolent, some mischievous -- and other Japanese folktales, with an emphasis on memory and familial history. I loved Meiko from her very first chapter: she's sensible and down-to-earth, but she also encourages her daughter's creativity and doesn't shy away from telling Aiko about Japan and the beautiful pieces that make it a whole in Meiko's memory. While Meiko is Issei, born in Japan and having immigrated to America, Aiko is Nisei, a first-generation American. She's also biracial, half-white, and Katsu beautifully shows us how this impacts Aiko and her interaction with others in her community, and on the other hand, how people perceive Meiko because she was born in Japan and is therefore just as othered as Aiko is, but for different reasons.

There are two other characters that get POV chapters: Fran, the spunky journalist, and Archie Mitchell, who knew Meiko and Aiko (as well as Meiko's husband, Jamie) before they were forced into the camp. I greatly enjoyed Fran's chapters, as her character takes no shit from anyone, particularly men, and is determined to make a name for herself. She's also Jewish, and I think this aspect of her life helps to bring about a connection between her and Meiko. Archie, on the other hand, mostly grated on my nerves, but I think his character arc serves a very specific purpose and does it well. By the end, I felt that all of the characters' journeys were fully-realized, and their arcs were satisfying. 

The plot moves quickly, and I struggled to put this one down, eager to see where this wild journey would take us next. I did feel that the ending was a touch abrupt, and that we might've benefited from seeing a bit more of the aftermath, but in all honesty, that's really my only complaint. The rest of it is frightening, touching, unnerving and brilliantly put-together. 

Katsu makes mention in her author's note of how we are seeing the same things happening over again, and how little it seems we sometimes learn from our histories and pasts. America, as we all know, has its own extremely dark issues, and the internment of Japanese people during WWII is one that is perhaps little discussed. It's particularly relevant at the moment, when we are seeing such a rise in hate crimes against Asian-Americans, "justified" and "explained" by the COVID pandemic. Once again, hatred seems to be at the forefront of White America. It doesn't matter how senseless it is: it's pervasive. We can only hope that, perhaps, newer generations will continue to make strides in their fight against injustice and discrimination. And that we might begin to learn from the mistakes of history. 

Highly recommended! 

Book Review: They Never Learn by Layne Fargo

 

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Content Warning: death, murder, violence, misogyny, homophobia, sexual violence, rape, sexual assault, suicide, domestic abuse, victim blaming.

Scarlett Clark is an English professor at Gorman University. She's also a serial killer. She's been doing this for years, but right as she begins to put one of her biggest murder plans into action, an on-campus investigation into the suicide rates at Gorman throws her into a mess she isn't sure she'll make it out of. Managing to worm her way into the graces of the woman in charge, Dr. Samina Pierce, Scarlett is thrown even further off-balance by the tender feelings she's developing for Mina. On the other hand, freshman Carly Schiller is relieved to be free of the toxic household she lives in, and away from her controlling, manipulative father. As she grows closer to her roommate, Allison, beginning to fall for the vivacious girl who welcomed her so openly, something happens that upends Carly's world: Allison is sexually assaulted at a party. And Carly is going to make him pay.

As soon as I delved into the pages of this book, I had a feeling I'd enjoy the chaotic journey. First and foremost, I have to talk about Scarlett, the main star in this book, who displays a power and intoxicating coldness that I've rarely encountered in other stories. She's not quite a sociopath or a psychopath, but she's certainly something very, very close to it: the remorse she feels for murdering is...well, non-existent. The people she feels for are the victims of these men, the countless girls and women who are unable to speak up, who shrink into themselves, who find themselves becoming something different after being victimized. If they can't take up for themselves, Scarlett is only too happy to do it for them.

She's really a fascinating character, particularly because she's not so far off from the likes of Hannibal Lecter or Patrick Bateman. Like most serial killers, she has her own agenda and beliefs, and she operates with a cool, calm clarity that belies her inner rage. Carly is more reserved, spending most of her days being anxious and trying to parse her feelings for Allison, but she slowly begins to gather her strength and fury as the chapters go on. 

Fargo's writing is simple, quick, and flows easily. It's important to note that this is not a mystery, but a thriller, through-and-through: there are a few twists, but most of them are relatively predictable. Still, this book makes for compulsive reading, and, pardon the pun, it'll make you flip through the pages at a breakneck speed. 

I feel it's only prudent that I should mention the intense criticism I often see this book getting. Instead of putting themselves into the shoes of Scarlett and the other women in this book, people immediately decide that they can't enjoy the story because Scarlett is an unrepentant murderer. What's the point of reading, if not to explore things that are simply unthinkable in the real world? And why is it that, controversial though it may be, American Psycho is a masterpiece, while a story detailing a woman taking vengeance on predatory men is glorifying violence and advocating for murder?

If you're uncomfortable with gory details and exploring the dark sides of humanity, then certainly, this is not the book for you. Other reviewers also lambast the "misandry" (which, by the way, does not exist in any real or systemic way like misogyny does), the oversimplification of nuance, the feeling of being "bashed over the head" by a feminist agenda. Perhaps the message is simplified, but ultimately, while Scarlett's methods undoubtedly go way beyond what most of us could ever fathom, is the punishment of predators and men who hurt women really so unbelievable? Why is rape considered a crime less severe than murder? Simply because those hurt are left alive? 

The intention of this review isn't to get on my soapbox (which I have obviously failed at), but some of the criticisms of this book strike me as strange. I don't think adults need to be handled like children, and I think we can come to our own conclusions about books, even ones that purportedly romanticize murder. It's not often that media convinces people to become serial killers, no matter what conservative politicians will have you believing. 

Although this review is already far too lengthy, I do want to speak on some things that left a bit of a bad taste in my own mouth, and which kept this from getting a full five stars. There's many strange voyeuristic moments in both Scarlett's chapters and Carly's, mainly to do with men ogling them when kissing or being intimate with other women, or descriptions of them wearing lingerie. It was odd, especially since it is first-person POV; it felt out-of-place, and a little icky. I don't know if it was intentional or accidental, but regardless, it didn't feel quite right to me. I also disliked that Carly criticized Allison for using her for attention, but moments before, she would be thinking about how the boy she (sort of?) likes must be thinking of her and Allison when they're together. It gave off a bit of a weaponized femininity vibe, which I thought we had (mercifully) left back in 2014.

However, this is a fantastic story that will leave you feeling satisfied afterwards. Some things were perhaps a little too convenient, but I greatly enjoyed the characters and the plot. 

Highly recommended! 

Book Review: Fireheart Tiger by Aliette de Bodard

 

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Content Warning: death, violence, parental abuse, colonization, racism, arson, attempted rape (non-graphic), abusive relationship, implied grooming, implied homophobia.

Princess Thanh was sent away to the foreign court of Ephteria as a child, and now, she is returning to her home country as an adult. Promoted to head negotiator and diplomat, she struggles with her mother's expectations and the weight of traumatic memories of her hostage past. When her first love, the striking Princess Eldris, comes to Thanh's mother's court, it sends her into a panicked state, unsure of how to deal with Ephteria's increasingly forceful demands or the love she feels for Eldris. There's something else Thanh must contend with, too: the powerful fire that burned down Ephteria's royal palace... and the magic that has followed her home.

I was so excited to read this novella that takes place in a fantasy world inspired by pre-colonial Vietnam, complete with a sapphic romance and comparisons to Howl's Moving Castle. The first few pages intrigued me, particularly because of the extraordinarily beautiful writing, but the longer I read, the more I found myself disliking Thanh's characterization and the paper-thin world. In spite of the aforementioned gorgeous writing style, there's little description to evoke the imperial palace that Thanh resides in, and the rest of the characters feel like little more than stereotypes.

The main issue is probably that this is a novella -- it's hard to truly worldbuild in only one-hundred pages, and unfortunately, it didn't quite succeed here. I would've loved to know more about Thanh's home country, Bình Hải, but sadly, the glimpses we get of it are tantalizing, but not enough to truly capture any depth. The same goes, then, for the characters: Eldris, in particular, is a strong example of being so blatant in her motivations that it's almost laughable. The most intriguing character is actually Thanh's mother, who at times shows compassion for her daughter that is always quickly eclipsed by criticism and disappointment. The relationship between Eldris and Thanh is not compelling, and it's hard to see what exactly is it that Thanh finds so beautiful and interesting about her. 

I can't say much about the fire element of the story without spoiling it, so I'll keep it brief, but it was another aspect that felt full of potential and ended up falling flat. I also found it hard to believe that a certain relationship Thanh develops happens so quickly and abruptly. It just didn't make sense to me -- perhaps on the other person's end, but on Thanh's? 

With all of this being said, I do want to emphasize once more that de Bodard is an extremely talented writer, and that the problem is, perhaps, more to do with the format that this book is published in. It's just incredibly difficult to make a novella feel fully-developed due to its brevity! de Bodard has published many other stories and books, and I'll certainly be giving them a shot, as I do feel that this one was full of potential, regardless of its flaws. 

Book Review: Glory by NoViolet Bulawayo

 

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Content Warning: death (including that of children), murder, violence, rape, racism, genocide, misogyny, homophobia, police brutality.

In the fictional country of Jidada, where all the inhabitants are animals, Old Horse has ruled for decades. Following the deposition that topples him from his figurative (and perhaps literal) throne, and the animals living in Jidada who are fighting for their freedom, Glory is inspired by the real-life overthrow of Zimbabwe's tyrant Robert G. Mugabe in the 2017 coup that shocked a nation. Brimming with hope and optimism even amidst oppression, brutality and the haunting legacy of a genocide, Bulawayo's sophomore novel gives voice to those living under cruel regimes, all through the eyes of Jidada's animal population.

I actually picked this novel up just by chance in my local bookstore. Intrigued by the cover, and vaguely familiar with Bulawayo's name, I read the premise and was immediately intrigued by its originality. Yes, there are shades of Orwell's Animal Farm here, in the usage of satire and animals to commentate on politics, but Bulawayo's novel is totally and completely its own. With one of the most unique writing voices I've ever experienced, full of humor and moments of darkness, I feel lucky that I decided to purchase this on a whim. This could, without a doubt, be a modern classic, the kind of novel that children will be reading in schools in decades to come.

To really delve into this book, you will probably be required to have some prior knowledge of Mugabe and his reign of terror, as well as Zimbabwe's history, both before its liberation and after. I'm only vaguely familiar with these topics, and I actually credit this book with educating me on it, as I was inspired to research and look into all of this whilst I was in the middle of reading Glory. It will help to give you context for the soul and heart behind this book, and to see the ironic, devastating humor in Bulawayo's on-the-nose rendering of real-world politicians into her characters. At its core, though, this book is a tale about humans and humanity (in spite of the fact that the characters are goats, pigs, horses, cows, and the occasional bird or cat!), and you will be able to immerse yourself into it regardless of where you come from, your gender, your race, or anything else. 

All of us can relate, to some degree, to the struggles and issues that Jidadan's population struggles through. Even here in America, where many of us are privileged enough to not have to deal with power cuts, no running water, or total internet shutdowns, we have recently experienced a political climate that is getting more and more fraught as the days go on (and this, too, is played at in Bulawayo's novel, with a baboon who is the president of the United States, an inclusion that certainly tickled me). The Ukraine is currently being forced into a brutal war with Russia, and in Putin's dictatorship, we see mirror images of the Old Horse, who believes he is "decreed by God himself to rule and rule and keep ruling."

Ultimately, this beautiful, moving novel was so powerful that I often had to take breaks in between passages and chapters. While Bulawayo uses satire brilliantly, she also doesn't hesitate to speak on brutality, on evil and the many atrocious things the Jidadan (and, therefore, Zimbabwean) government has actively encouraged and participated in. The Gukurahundi, the genocide/democide that Robert Mugabe's Fifth Brigade committed against the Ndebele peoples, is at the forefront of the collective memory in Glory. It is something unspeakable, made speakable, by Bulawayo's confrontation of it. 

There are many, many characters, all of them used purposefully and with great artistry, but is it the young goat Destiny that we see ourselves in and who we love and root for, alongside her mother, Simiso. It is Destiny's life and Destiny's family history that we live through, in which we find the beautiful roots of Jidada, hidden for so long beneath the hatred, fear and intimidation. Her story will be enough to bring readers to tears.

I can't recommend this book enough, to anyone and everyone. I will be reading Bulawayo's first novel, We Need New Names, and eagerly awaiting whatever she comes up with next. Glory is a masterpiece, and Bulawayo's writing is so fantastic, so unique, that I think she will be on my mind for a long time to come. 

Book Review: Atomic Anna by Rachel Barenbaum

 

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Thank you to NetGalley and Grand Central Publishing for allowing me to read this ARC!

Content Warning: death (including that of children), murder, violence, alcoholism, drug addiction, anti-Semitism, misogyny, sexual harassment, war, homophobia (mentioned).

Anna Berkova is a famous nuclear scientist, the brilliant mind who created Chernobyl and its reactors, and in 1986, she is sleeping peacefully in her bed. When the reactor melts down, causing one of humanity's greatest catastrophes, Anna also accidentally jumps through time. She finds herself on Mount Aragats in 1992, and her daughter, Molly -- dying from a gunshot wound. Molly begs her to go back in time and save Anna's granddaughter, Raisa, from whatever unfortunate future is coming for her. Exploring Anna's life as she goes from wartime Berlin to making nuclear weapons back in the USSR, Molly's as she grows up in 1960s' Philadelphia drawing comics and falling for a gangster who will make her life hell, and Raisa's as she tries to come to terms with her family's past, present and future, all three women will be forced together in the hopes of preventing total disaster -- Chernobyl's, and their family's. 

What a powerful, moving novel! I've had some rough reading patches this year, especially with ones I've been eagerly waiting for, so I was so happy to find that Atomic Anna struck all the right notes for me. At its heart, this story tells the history of a family in all its bloody secrets, love and drama, but it also takes a look at life for Soviet women -- both those who remained in the USSR, and those who left. From the very first page, I was spellbound, intrigued by the time travel questions that have captivated human minds for centuries: if you can change something, does that mean you should?

The three main women are all fully-fleshed out, with an authenticity that makes their chapters all equally enchanting. I liked the mixture of historical detail with science, and I felt that Barenbaum seamlessly joined those two different elements together. Out of all three, Raisa is probably my favorite, although I have a soft spot for them all; there were elements of their personalities that were similar, a sort of passing down of strength and intelligence, but also things that set them apart from one another. Raisa has such a powerful voice, and I loved that in spite of her family's complicated past, she fights to both understand it and also to not let it change the person that she is.

As someone who has only a rudimentary grasp of math (and who it does not come easily for), I really enjoyed living through the minds of these scientific women who rose above in their determination to understand the world and ask difficult questions. The writing is simple, distinct, and makes it easy to fly through page after page. This is not Barenbaum's first novel, and I certainly will now be going back to pick up her debut. I think all of us are fascinated by time travel -- how could we not be? Regret is one of the most fundamental human emotions, and aren't there so many moments where we wish we could turn back the clock? The ideas Barenbaum expands on are beautifully done, questioning the morality of nuclear science and the ethics of changing even the smallest events of the past. 

The inclusion of their family's Jewish religion and culture was wonderful. They struggle with it and what it means for them, in times and places where being Jewish is enough to end their lives completely and totally, loving, hating and questioning it in equal measure. The Jewishness of this book is a core element, unable to be extracted from its Russianness or Americanness or female-focus. There are Shabbat dinners, discussion of what it means to be Jewish, bar mitzvahs, the lurking horror of memories of pogroms and destruction. Perhaps it sounds simple, clichéd, but it's beautiful. I applaud Barenbaum for the love and hope in this book, even as it remembers and discusses darkness and fear.

It is, perhaps, timely that this novel is coming out now, when we are recalling Russia's past and also fearful for its present and the future Putin is creating. While we fight for the Ukraine and the voices of Ukrainians, it's important to remember that there are Russians also fighting against this act of cruelty and inhumanity -- just as people rose up against the Soviet regime not so very long ago.

Highly recommended, and in particular, recommended for mothers and daughters. 

Book Review: This Rebel Heart by Katherine Locke

 

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Thank you to NetGalley, Random House and Knopf Books for allowing me to read this ARC!

Content Warning: death (including that of children), murder, violence, war, anti-Semitism, the Holocaust, torture.

Csilla was born in Hungary, but now, she's ready to leave. It's October of 1956, and she's finally made plans to escape Budapest with her aunt, the only living member of her family left. Her parents were murdered by the Soviet government, but when they're unexpectedly rehabilitated by the State, Csilla's world is once again turned upside down. She's always loved her country, but it hasn't loved her back -- evidenced by the Hungarian participation in atrocities against the Jewish community. There's magic in the city, though, particularly in the Danube, something Csilla has always been aware of, and as Csilla decides whether to stay or go, she grows closer to the magic as well as to the truth of who her parents were and who she can become -- and what this revolution might mean not only for Hungary, but for the world.

If you have any knowledge of my previous reviews, you'll probably be aware that I have a huge interest in the history of Communism and the Soviet regime. Whether or not to request an early release copy of This Rebel Heart was not even a question in my mind. Not only does it blend historical fiction with magical realism, but it also tells the story of a young Jewish woman fighting for freedom and hope in a country where repression has (attempted) to crush the human spirit. I was also excited by the inclusion of LGBT characters and stories, so it seemed like a perfect match for me. As this was one of my most anticipated reads of 2022, I'm sad to say that in the end, I was left disappointed and slightly confused by what the summary promised and the book ended up delivering.

You aren't required to have prior knowledge concerning the Hungarian Uprising of 1956, and I do want to applaud Locke's subtle way of telling us about the lives these people have been living under Communist oppression without feeling as if they're hitting us over the head with information. My absolute favorite part of this book is the beautiful weaving in of Jewish culture and history, and how seamlessly Locke incorporates not only those elements into the story and plotline, but also how they give the story a uniquely Jewish type of magic. It's equally devastating and moving to read about the history of Csilla's family, as she grapples with her own losses and those she experiences through her surviving family, and the memories she has of her community before the Holocaust. All of these aspects were heartening, beautiful, and felt fully realized. 

My main issues are plotline and pace. The Revolution that drives this story takes a very, very long time to come to life, and while typically I wouldn't mind the tension building before the event, there was actually little tension to speak of (in spite of the fact that we are constantly reminded of how fragile Csilla's existence is, and how easily she could end up dead or in a gulag somewhere). There's a repetitiveness to her days, as well as to her inner monologues, that kept me from ever feeling as if the plot or characters were actually moving forward. There's so much that, in my opinion, could've and should've been cut -- especially because despite the extra time we're allowed to spend with Csilla, I was never able to connect with her. I think this has a lot to do with the rather abstract, overwrought style of writing, which makes simple actions and conversations into overly complicated, lengthy ordeals. Throughout the novel, I had the feeling that because everything is meant to be so meaningful, and because the characters constantly spout lines that feel poetic rather than genuine, it actually ends up losing its meaning. No one talks like this. Not even people in the midst of uprisings or revolutions.

There are two other main characters, Azriel and Tamás, who feel equally as distant as Csilla. Their chapters did little to help me understand their feelings, thoughts, or motivations. Tamás is the one who tells Csilla that she has the titular rebel heart, but the problem is, before this moment, we never see it. I found myself wondering, where is he seeing this in her? She felt almost one-dimensional, a sort of springboard for us to use to put ourselves into the story, but ends up losing her own personality or characteristics because of this. The relationship that ends up developing between her, Azriel and Tamás was intriguing, but again, I kept thinking, what are they feeling for each other? Why do they feel connected to one another, out of all the other people in Budapest, in Hungary, in the world?

In spite of this, I did like them, and I wanted to root for them and care about them. I also want to comment on the LGBT elements of the story. For me, it was rushed and half-formed, and it seemed to me that it had very little impact on the story or even the characters who identify that way. I am not accusing the author of being disingenuous or anything of that sort, but I was disappointed by the parts of the story that dealt with the LGBT characters and storylines. I hate to say this, but it was as if it was more an afterthought than a well-developed inclusion. 

I found myself warming to them all as we approached the end of the tale, but then, the sudden and abrupt conclusion threw me off-guard once more. I'll say for certain that I didn't like the ending, or its ambiguity, or the way it insinuated hopelessness in a story that, for me, was all about hope. Others probably have better, more thoughtful things to say on it than I do, but it certainly was something that influenced my rating. The magical realism also didn't capture my attention, and just further muddled the story and its plotlines.

I think that, in the end, this just wasn't for me. Many people will love this book, and speaking honestly, it pains me to put out a review that is not very positive. If you're interested in This Rebel Heart, I hope you will still give it a chance, and form your own opinions on it!