Elyë

Two stars for being compelling once it gets going, but kind of in a car-crash way. The protagonist is maddeningly obtuse and underdeveloped and the two twists are very obvious. I found myself irritated beyond words at basically every character, even at the end, when their motives are revealed. Won't be reading another book by this author. 

I was a huge fan of Marshall's first book, What Lies In the Woods, so I was really excited for this one. Alas, this isn't her strongest. It starts off incredibly strong–we see some of the hallmarks present in WLITW (a scrappy heroine who with chronically low self-esteem and a partner/spouse so insidiously manipulative, so toxic and passive aggressive, that Marshall must, I'm sure, be writing from experience).

The plot is extremely compelling: family secrets, sisters, fake Satanic panic.

But I found the end of the book was extremely unsatisfying, even confusing. The answers of what happened that night are frustrating and, somehow, the twist doesn't feel earned.

 There are so many consecutive “ok, here's what really happened” scenes from different POVs dripping small pieces of information that when the book FINALLY establishes the truth (sort of), you're just tired from having run through all these alternate scenarios that made sense but apparently didn't happen. The determination to have a pretty complex set of twists and side plots came at the expense of further exploration of these fantastic characters. 

The good: The characterization is realistic and strong– each sister copes with her situation in her own way. And this is definitely a page turner. But by the end, the book employs this “is what actually happened really that impt? idk lol” vibe that I didn't care for. We needed more insight into the girls' mother instead of wondering at her potential motivations. And the fraud/police corruption angle was really underdeveloped.  

So enjoyable and compelling to read but the end fell flat for me. But I'm still a fan of Marshall and will definitely read her next books. 

More successful as a resource on the ancient sacred feminine than as a novel. I found the Author's Note and Bibliography more fascinating than the novel and hugely helpful in pointing to other historical resources like the Nag Hammadi Gospels, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and even some biblical verses citing Asherah, or the divine feminine. 

But, as a novel, the writing isn't the most skillful: the plot is often vague and fuzzy on details, and the writing is repetitive (multiple paragraphs throughout repeating the way in which patriarchy and male tyranny have dominanted women and relegated them as mere “receptacles and vessels.”) This is true, of course, but the same long description appears roughly every chapter. 

I was extremely excited about this book, thinking it would be an in-depth retelling of Lilith and the “creation story”. That's there, but the novel spends less time in it than expected and instead meanders from the “creation” through just about every notable biblical event (including the rise and death of a certain carpenter) and to the present day. So thousands of years will pass in a paragraph in some sweeping generalizations, but you get used to it. 

Additionally, some of the parallels or references to our current world are heavy-handed and literal (“weapons that poison the earth with smoke” and “seas warming) but not ineffective. 

However, as a musing on spiritual philosophy, the book has some moving moments and does a good job of presenting/explaining its patchwork spirituality on the sacred feminine–one that, technically (though briefly) acknowledges the divine feminine in non-Western cultures. These do feel more like afterthoughts, though. 

Speaking of which, there is some uncomfortable cultural essentialism and white feminism going on here–which I feel keeps The book from beng a work of intersectional feminism. It's second or third wave at best.  The book is focused on the Western world, and I did feel slight discomfort at Marmery seemingly using a Mesopotamian-to-Judeo-Christian mythology as something of a blueprint or explanation for the entire world, as though this specific brand of historical and spiritual misogyny is not only universal but also identical across cultures. 

To be sure, some type of misogyny has seemed nearly universal throughout many cultures, but Marmery is not a scholar of indigenous African, Oceanic, American, Southeast Asian, and Eastern Asian mythology, and thus cannot claim that every world tradition ideologically mirrors or follows the same exact pre-Judeo-Christian misogyny presented here. 

At one point late in the book, there is a problematic, if not colonialist and Islamophobic, reference to women who are “cut and covered” and who “burn burqas.” This review isn't the proper space for an exploration into veiling and feminism, but neither was this book. I found those phrases culturally reductive and indicative of Marmery's somewhat muddled attempt to apply a “universal [read: Western-focused]” white feminism lens to the world. 

So, though the novel is not expertly handled, the overall framing of this historical Mesopotamian and Judeo-Cheistian tradition of the divine feminine is vivid. And the book is most successful at documenting the historical sources that formed the basis for many of the novel's characters.