Where Butterflies Wander

My Scars Remind Me That The Past Is Real. Wait. Sexton. You're quoting *Papa Roach* to title your review of an emotional women's fiction tale? I mean, you've done some crazy shit in your reviews over the years, but come on, dude. Really??

Yes, really, because ultimately this is a tale of scars and the beauty and pain of healing from them - and of allowing them to get you stuck in the first place. Pretty well everyone in this tale has lost loved ones. For many of the perspectives we live in through this tale - a family who recently lost one of their youngest members - the scars are on the inside, and are eating them alive in various forms. For another of the perspectives we live inside in this tale, the scars are much more open and visible, though even these hide just as many internal scars.

And yet, with her usual skill, Redfearn once again turns in an excellent story of healing and hope, even in some of the darkest times unfortunately far too many face. Hopefully, you, the reader of my review, won't actually have these *exact* scars and thus the exact particulars here won't resonate *as* much with you. Read this book anyway, as it could well provide at least a touch of catharsis and magic for even your own scars, no matter what they may be.

And if you *are* one of those who happens to have some remarkably identical scars to our characters here... you have my sympathies and condolences. Read this book anyway as well, and perhaps find at least a modicum of healing and hope in these fictional words. Hell, maybe even learn a lesson from our family here and use this tale as a catalyst to talk to others about your pain and perhaps heal even more from that.

No rooms ever got particularly dusty while I was reading this tale, but I'm also not one who has suffered these particular kinds of scars. Still, the overall quality of the tale and the writing of it is Redfearn's usual excellence, and ultimately the story is truly quite good on so many levels. Very much recommended.