Blagica Jankuloska
Interesting Concept
Ecstasy is the kind of book that wants to be more than a story — it wants to be an experience. It's artsy, experimental, and unapologetically weird. Sometimes that works. Sometimes it doesn't. For me, it landed somewhere in the middle.
The novel centers on Lena, a once-wild woman now living in forced domestic stillness after the death of her older, wealthy husband. Her son is pushy and condescending, her past is elusive, and her present feels like a trap. Alongside Lena's narrative, we drift between abstract sections from a narrator called "Before" and a cryptic figure named Luz, who seems to be less a person and more a myth in motion. It’s all told in short, staccato chapters that often read more like poetry fragments or dream sequences than traditional prose.
I am a sucker for a book set in Greece, and a Greek retelling is usually a winner for me. That mythological pull was definitely part of what drew me in — I liked the nod to The Bacchae, especially the image of Dionysus reimagined as a rave DJ. It’s clever, and the hedonistic chaos at the heart of Euripides’ play is a strong match for Pochoda’s vibe. But I’ll admit: the execution didn’t fully click. The novel leans so hard into mood and mystique that it sometimes loses grip on clarity, momentum, or emotional payoff.
The book is short and that compactness could’ve been its strength. But instead of building to a satisfying crescendo, the ending just... stops. It doesn’t feel resolved so much as abandoned. Maybe that's intentional — myth doesn't always need tidy endings — but in this case, it left me cold. I wanted something more from Lena’s arc. More reckoning. More change. Or even just more consequence just more.
Bottom line: Ecstasy is a bold swing. It’s stylish, strange, and occasionally striking. But it also feels uneven and emotionally distant. If you’re in the mood for something quick and surreal, it might scratch that itch. Just don’t expect a cathartic finale or a clear message. It's more of a mood than a story — and whether that works for you depends on how much you're willing to let go and just float.
Interesting Concept
Ecstasy is the kind of book that wants to be more than a story — it wants to be an experience. It's artsy, experimental, and unapologetically weird. Sometimes that works. Sometimes it doesn't. For me, it landed somewhere in the middle.
The novel centers on Lena, a once-wild woman now living in forced domestic stillness after the death of her older, wealthy husband. Her son is pushy and condescending, her past is elusive, and her present feels like a trap. Alongside Lena's narrative, we drift between abstract sections from a narrator called "Before" and a cryptic figure named Luz, who seems to be less a person and more a myth in motion. It’s all told in short, staccato chapters that often read more like poetry fragments or dream sequences than traditional prose.
I am a sucker for a book set in Greece, and a Greek retelling is usually a winner for me. That mythological pull was definitely part of what drew me in — I liked the nod to The Bacchae, especially the image of Dionysus reimagined as a rave DJ. It’s clever, and the hedonistic chaos at the heart of Euripides’ play is a strong match for Pochoda’s vibe. But I’ll admit: the execution didn’t fully click. The novel leans so hard into mood and mystique that it sometimes loses grip on clarity, momentum, or emotional payoff.
The book is short and that compactness could’ve been its strength. But instead of building to a satisfying crescendo, the ending just... stops. It doesn’t feel resolved so much as abandoned. Maybe that's intentional — myth doesn't always need tidy endings — but in this case, it left me cold. I wanted something more from Lena’s arc. More reckoning. More change. Or even just more consequence just more.
Bottom line: Ecstasy is a bold swing. It’s stylish, strange, and occasionally striking. But it also feels uneven and emotionally distant. If you’re in the mood for something quick and surreal, it might scratch that itch. Just don’t expect a cathartic finale or a clear message. It's more of a mood than a story — and whether that works for you depends on how much you're willing to let go and just float.