Wren
We can’t predict what’ll happen, or whether we’ll be alive tomorrow. We can’t even be sure what already happened. But we can hold onto a feeling, we can all share a feeling together, and that makes us stronger.
This was such a mixed bag for me! On one hand, this is exactly what the blurb promised; on the other hand, it’s an entirely different story than I expected. That’s definitely on me. When I hear “New England academia + witchcraft,” I just automatically assume Lovecraftian flavor. Sorcerers pouring over ancient library tomes, arcane and eldritch rules that lie just beyond the edge of human comprehension but one must aspire to learn them all the same, that kind of thing. Instead, the magic system is all vibes and feels, and generally sways toward a magical realism type of deal, with a rather beautiful emphasis on liminal places in every sense. And while there’s indeed a magical book at the heart of the story, just as advertised, it’s the farthest thing from Necronomicon.
Once I got over my expectations, I can say I greatly enjoyed the magic system for what it is. I also loved all the nerdiness and bookishness ingrained in the narrative, the way Jamie sometimes paused to think about the language we use for things or literary tropes. It felt a bit like Among Others by Jo Walton, but queerer—and I absolutely loved the queerness and the overall inclusiveness as well. I also appreciated the structure and the complexity of it, though I sometimes felt like the structural complexity was given aaaaaalmost more weight than the actual story beneath it, like the author was showing off a little. On the other hand, successfully braiding together two timelines (each with its own share of flashbacks and asides), a made-up book, and an extra story existing within the made-up book is a skill that’s worth showing off, if you ask me!
The thing that made it kind of hard for me to get through the story was the Jamie/Ro storyline and the way the narrative was strongly urging me to side with Ro and accept that Jamie fucked up. Because I guess to me, they both fucked up? And also, I’ve never felt like a partner (or literally anyone) is entitled to the 100% of another human being’s humans experience. Like, yeah, I do want to know my partner’s goals and values, to see if we can be aligned permanently in the important things, and I’d like to know if they’re maybe on some kind of international criminal list, or if their salary was just cut in two, etc, etc. But their inner life, the spiritual things, the stuff they can’t even fully articulate? I’d feel privileged to learn any of it, but it would never be an expectation for them to tell me—and by the same token, I’d be genuinely surprised to learn I’m supposed to share all the equivalent stuff with anyone. So every time the subject of Jamie not telling Ro about magic soon enough came up, I had to ask the book, “But is this really supposed to be THAT big of a deal?”
That discrepancy between my personal convictions and the narrative angle aside, I found this to be a beautiful, thoughtful exploration of grief, trauma, identity, connection, healing, and the messiness inherent to even the most loving relationships. At times, there was just a little too much therapy speak and handholding, but overall, it’s a beautiful and very humane story.
We can’t predict what’ll happen, or whether we’ll be alive tomorrow. We can’t even be sure what already happened. But we can hold onto a feeling, we can all share a feeling together, and that makes us stronger.
This was such a mixed bag for me! On one hand, this is exactly what the blurb promised; on the other hand, it’s an entirely different story than I expected. That’s definitely on me. When I hear “New England academia + witchcraft,” I just automatically assume Lovecraftian flavor. Sorcerers pouring over ancient library tomes, arcane and eldritch rules that lie just beyond the edge of human comprehension but one must aspire to learn them all the same, that kind of thing. Instead, the magic system is all vibes and feels, and generally sways toward a magical realism type of deal, with a rather beautiful emphasis on liminal places in every sense. And while there’s indeed a magical book at the heart of the story, just as advertised, it’s the farthest thing from Necronomicon.
Once I got over my expectations, I can say I greatly enjoyed the magic system for what it is. I also loved all the nerdiness and bookishness ingrained in the narrative, the way Jamie sometimes paused to think about the language we use for things or literary tropes. It felt a bit like Among Others by Jo Walton, but queerer—and I absolutely loved the queerness and the overall inclusiveness as well. I also appreciated the structure and the complexity of it, though I sometimes felt like the structural complexity was given aaaaaalmost more weight than the actual story beneath it, like the author was showing off a little. On the other hand, successfully braiding together two timelines (each with its own share of flashbacks and asides), a made-up book, and an extra story existing within the made-up book is a skill that’s worth showing off, if you ask me!
The thing that made it kind of hard for me to get through the story was the Jamie/Ro storyline and the way the narrative was strongly urging me to side with Ro and accept that Jamie fucked up. Because I guess to me, they both fucked up? And also, I’ve never felt like a partner (or literally anyone) is entitled to the 100% of another human being’s humans experience. Like, yeah, I do want to know my partner’s goals and values, to see if we can be aligned permanently in the important things, and I’d like to know if they’re maybe on some kind of international criminal list, or if their salary was just cut in two, etc, etc. But their inner life, the spiritual things, the stuff they can’t even fully articulate? I’d feel privileged to learn any of it, but it would never be an expectation for them to tell me—and by the same token, I’d be genuinely surprised to learn I’m supposed to share all the equivalent stuff with anyone. So every time the subject of Jamie not telling Ro about magic soon enough came up, I had to ask the book, “But is this really supposed to be THAT big of a deal?”
That discrepancy between my personal convictions and the narrative angle aside, I found this to be a beautiful, thoughtful exploration of grief, trauma, identity, connection, healing, and the messiness inherent to even the most loving relationships. At times, there was just a little too much therapy speak and handholding, but overall, it’s a beautiful and very humane story.