The Glass Woman by Caroline Lea | Book Review

The Glass Woman by Caroline Lea
Published by Michael Joseph, 2019
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I was instantly hooked by this richly atmospheric tale set in 1600s Iceland. We follow Rósa as she moves to a remote village to join her new husband, Jón – a relative stranger. But Rósa is not Jón’s first wife, and the locals whisper of the mysterious circumstances surrounding her predecessor’s death, with Jón having buried her alone in the dead of night. Talk of witchcraft, strange goings on, and a locked attic soon fuel Rósa’s own suspicions about her husband’s past.

Many readers will immediately pick up on the early references to Jane Eyre and Rebecca. These are very deliberate, paying homage to the gothic classics that came before, and establishing certain expectations that Lea can enjoy indulging and subverting, keeping us on our toes throughout. Several layers of mystery and an evocative setting make the whole thing a real page turner. That said, there is also meaningful and poignant commentary on the fear of being ostracised, the damage caused by secrets and lies, and the importance of perspective in understanding the truth.

Lea also goes a great job of reflecting how hard life could be at the time, with everyone existing at the mercy of the stark landscape, the brutal weather, and each other’s prejudices.

Without spoilers, the only downside for me was the inclusion of a certain trope at the book’s end. While in many respects it feels appropriate given the narrative’s historical context, it’s an outcome we’ve seen many times before, and something a little more unexpected would have been welcome.

Still, I flew through this chunky novel, and enjoyed every moment I spent in its company.

---

Connect: Twitter | Etsy | Goodreads | Ko-fi

Hex by Jenni Fagan | Book Review

Hex by Jenni Fagan
Published by Polygon, 2022
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Set on the eve of a young woman’s execution in 16th century Scotland, this is a look at how fear and hearsay were used as tools of oppression.

The narrative primarily focusses on Geillis as she reflects on her short life, recounting how and why she came to be accused of witchcraft and sentenced to hang for it. There is, however, a thread of magical realism that runs throughout, which sees Iris, a woman from the present day, seemingly travelling through time and space to comfort Geillis in her prison cell on her final night, before transforming into a crow so she can watch over her.

Thematically, this connection between two women across the years is used to comment on the fact that, while witch trials are a thing of the past, misogyny and abuses of power are still very much alive. While this resonates, and I remained intrigued at the time, on reflection I find it a little counterproductive. While Geillis is poignantly stoic in her declaration of innocence, determined to denounce the men who have unjustly wronged her, Iris’s role within the story suggests that magic and witches are in fact real, somewhat undermining the book’s commentary on the harm of lies and corruption.

Aside from feeling a little too on-the-nose at times, the book is nonetheless well written, and it manages to get you invested in its characters and pack an emotional punch despite its relatively short length.

---

Connect: Twitter | Etsy | Goodreads | Ko-fi

The Madwomen’s Ball by Victoria Mas | Book Review

The Madwomen’s Ball by Victoria Mas
Translated from the French by Frank Wynn
Published by Doubleday, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Though the narrative arc follows a fairly familiar and predictable trajectory, this historical novel is an absorbing look at the treatment of women, particularly with regards to their mental health. Set in 19^th century Paris, we follow the perspectives of two women: Genevieve, a senior nurse working in an asylum for troubled women, and Eugenie, a 19-year-old entrusted to the asylum for claiming to communicate with the dead. Initially at loggerheads, Eugenie gives Genevieve reason to believe her claims are perfectly sane, and the two form an unlikely alliance.

Chiefly, the novel is concerned with power, particularly in the context of gender and class. It comments on the ways in which society was structured to keep women “in their place”. This includes how asylums were often a front for removing anyone bold enough to defy the role ascribed to them, but also the ways men in healthcare exploited the women around them – both nurses and patients alike.

The prose is nice without feeling overwrought, and this helps to evoke the era while remaining highly readable. Still, certain threads felt underdeveloped, resulting in some untapped potential in both the plot and its themes. Though it may seem strange to say so, given it is in many ways the driving force of the novel, the supernatural element felt largely extraneous. The same, very real historical context could have been explored without it, and the notion of women being unfairly ignored, silenced, and incarcerated could arguably have been driven home with greater power had Mas chosen to go down a more accurate, believable route.

All that said, this was an enjoyable read with hints of the gothic that certainly appealed. While it could have delved deeper, it left me eager to see where Mas takes her writing next.

---

Connect: Twitter | Etsy | Goodreads | Ko-fi

Sarah Hall & Theodora Goss | Mini Reviews

Mrs Fox by Sarah Hall
Published by Faber & Faber, 2019
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Beautifully written, strange enough to captivate, and brief enough to avoid overstretching our suspension of disbelief. This little allegorical tale of transformation could be interpreted in several ways, but to me it spoke poignantly of the difference between love and possession, embracing our true nature, and learning to let go.

As a taster of Hall’s work, it was great, and I’d definitely like to check out more from her in the future.

---

Come See the Living Dryad by Theodora Goss
Published by Tor Books, 2017
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

There’s a great concept here, and I love the sentiment being explored – that those vilified in the past due to ignorance deserve retribution. But sadly, I found it a bit surface level. Granted, given the story’s short length, the author didn’t have a huge amount of scope to work with, but the central mystery plays out exactly as you’d expect, and the final section becomes a bit heavy-handed and literal.

Perhaps with a little more breathing space, things could have rolled out more organically, and these characters’ stories could have made a greater emotional impact.

---

Connect: Twitter | Etsy | Goodreads | Ko-fi

The Doll Factory by Elizabeth Macneal | Book Review

The Doll Factory by Elizabeth Macneal
Published by Picador, 2019
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Set in 1850s London, this wonderfully evocative debut looks at art, autonomy, love, and obsession. Iris makes her living painting faces onto dolls alongside her twin sister, but she longs to be taken seriously as a true artist. When she is offered the chance to model for up-and-coming pre-Raphaelite artist Louis Frost, she agrees, on the condition that he will tutor her in return. But someone else is watching Iris’s every move. Silas is a lonely collector of curiosities with whom Iris shared a brief, (and for her) quickly forgotten encounter. Entranced by her unique beauty, however, Silas’s longings for friendship will soon develop into something decidedly more sinister.

This is such a brilliantly gothic read. Macneal’s writing is lush and intoxicating; the sights, scents and sounds of Victorian London practically leaping from the page. Much of the novel is technically a slow-build, and yet the pace never lags, the sense of mounting tension handled perfectly. And though the nature of the final act is arguably predictable (indeed, there is a lot of deliberate foreshadowing), it is no less chilling and gripping when it finally arrives.

Iris is an excellent heroine: talented, ambitious, headstrong, and determined to succeed in a man’s world. The book has really great things to say about the limitations placed on women at the time. With so much emphasis placed on physical beauty, Iris, who has a malformed collar bone and a slight hunch caused by complications during birth, and Rose, her twin sister who is heavily scarred from a near fatal case of smallpox, would both be considered “damaged goods”, unlikely to find a husband. The complex mix of fierce love and bitter resentment between the sisters adds a really interesting aspect to the narrative. That their only real prospect of bettering their station would be through marriage; that they would never earn enough as women to gain true independence; that Iris risks being disowned by her family and disgraced by society for agreeing to model (the act being seen as akin to prostitution at the time); and that despite her talent Iris must rely on the guidance and approval of men are all in for subtle though well-handled critique.

These latter points are explored particularly well. Macneal highlights the fact that using her body, either through prostitution or modelling, was one of few ways for a woman to earn decent money, and yet she would face social ruin as a result. The hypocrisy that men believed they should be able to admire and use women’s bodies while simultaneously vilifying them for it as a means of belittling their worth is both accurately handled from a historical fiction perspective and frustratingly resonant within the current patriarchal society in which we live. Its look at the art world also chimes true with the fact that to this day, far more paintings of women hang in galleries than paintings by women. I love that Iris wanted to prove she had every right to do both; that she was both beautiful enough to model for Louis and talented enough to one day get a piece of her own into the Great Exhibition.

As is usually the case within the gothic tradition, there is a romantic subplot throughout, as Iris and Louis grow increasingly close to one another. While not often a fan of such subplots, the chemistry between the two was so well realised, and permitted to develop organically over time, that I was completely won round. There are several great supporting characters too. I particularly adored Albie, a young orphaned lad who lives in a brothel with his sister, gathering dead animals to sell to Silas to try and raise enough funds to better their lives. When he begins to suspect that Silas may pose a threat to Iris, he determines to help her. His point-of-view chapters also do an excellent job of further exploring the stark contrast between the lives of the rich and poor.

I just loved every moment I spent with this book. It completely absorbed me as both a richly layered piece of literary fiction and as a compelling story. It’s true I felt the denouement was a little abrupt, but with prose, atmosphere, themes, characters, and a setting that were all so vividly drawn, this was just the gothic romp I needed; a fantastic look at womanhood, freedom, and resilience in the face of madness.

---

Connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Ko-fi

Wolf Hall Trilogy by Hilary Mantel | Mini Reviews

Full disclosure: I fully anticipated that this series wouldn’t be my cup of tea, but having determined to read the entire 2020 Women’s Prize longlist (which includes the third book in this trilogy), I had to make my way through all three volumes. Here are some thoughts!

---

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel
Published by Fourth Estate, 2009
My rating: ⭐ ⭐

Mantel’s multi-award-winning trilogy chronicles Henry VIII’s desperate attempts to bring about a male heir, from the perspective of one of his most trusted advisors; the ruthlessly ambitious Thomas Cromwell, who endures his own meteoric rise to power, and spectacular fall from grace.

Let’s start with what I liked! It’s immediately apparent that Mantel is a very talented writer. Her prose is rich and poetic, engaging the senses and painting vivid pictures of the historic setting, with a fantastic eye for the finer details. The plot is intricate but skilfully handled, with Mantel capturing the many subtle manipulations inherent to the characters’ struggles for power.

That said, the book can feel bloated by these details, resulting in a novel that is very long and slow. With all of the main players being rich, self-important egomaniacs who care only about getting as close to the throne as possible, I found it hard to feel invested in the stakes. This is particularly true given that it’s the kind of book in which much of the action takes place ‘off-screen’, with the bulk of the narrative comprised of conversations discussing what has been taking place elsewhere. And while I admit this is unavoidable given that she is writing about real people, it is incredibly irritating how many of the characters share the same few names, making it tricky to keep track of who everyone is and how they fit into the bigger picture.

Overall, this was the kind of book that I could respect for its craft, but which never managed to engage me on an emotional level.

You can pick up a copy of Wolf Hall from Book Depository by clicking here.

---

Bring Up the Bodies by Hilary Mantel
Published by Fourth Estate, 2012
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I enjoyed this more than the previous book! Covering a shorter span of time, it was considerably easier to keep track of the various threads and characters, and it felt like the narrative was gathering some steam. Though not a slim or pacy read by any means, it’s also a fair bit shorter in general than Wolf Hall, meaning it doesn’t suffer from the same bloated feeling.

Mantel’s prose continues to be rich and inviting, and I thought the handling of Anne Boleyn’s character was a particular highlight.

You can pick up a copy of Bring Up the Bodies from Book Depository by clicking here.

---

The Mirror and the Light by Hilary Mantel
Published by Fourth Estate, 2020
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I must say, the way this final novel brought everything to a head (lol, pun) was very satisfying. It’s certainly the one that managed to elicit the strongest semblance of emotional investment. It’s a shame it took until this late in the day, but still impressive in its own way, considering I knew how everything was going to pan out.

I admit this is an odd criticism, given that the books are so heavily informed by real events, but I couldn’t help but find it a little clunky that each of the three novels essentially ends in the same way. Unavoidable given the facts, perhaps. Intended to reflect the cycle of violence that defines history, very possible. I do appreciate that Mantel had to adhere to certain details and divide the narrative according to natural moments of crescendo and climax. And yet, from the perspective of storytelling craft, something about it bothered me.

Her prose is at the height of its power, however, with some gorgeously evocative passages that continue to bring the past to life. Though once again, this has the side-effect of slowing down the pace and story progression to quite an extent at times.

Having now completed the trilogy, my presiding feeling towards it is one of respect rather than enjoyment. Mantel took on a series of complex events, populated by a cast of equally complex characters, and managed to consistently reflect both in a suitably intricate and nuanced way; breathing a kind of life into them that history textbooks never will.

You can pick up a copy of The Mirror and the Light from Book Depository by clicking here.

---

WOMEN’S PRIZE 2020 REVIEWS SO FAR:

1. Girl, Woman, Other | 2. Hamnet | 3. Fleishman Is in Trouble | 4. Girl | 5. A Thousand Ships | 6. Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line | 7. Dominicana | 8. The Most Fun We Ever Had | 9. Weather | 10. How We Disappeared | 11. Red at the Bone | 12. Nightingale Point | 13. The Dutch House | 14. Actress | 15. Queenie

---

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave | Book Review

The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave
Published by Little, Brown and Company, 2020
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

The divide of gender, the dark side of religion, and the resilience of the human spirit are placed beneath the microscope in this evocative historical novel, inspired by real life tragedy.

It’s 1617 and a violent storm has claimed the lives of 40 fishermen off the coast of Vardø, a remote Norwegian settlement. Aside from a handful of elders, this amounts to almost the entire male population, leaving behind a devastated community of women and children. These women spend the next three years establishing a newfound self-sufficiency while navigating their immense collective grief. This matriarchy is interrupted by the arrival of Absalom Cornet, a God-fearing Christian and renowned witch hunter from Scotland. He is summoned by the King of Norway to bring the women of Vardø to heel once more, and to stamp out any lingering trace of native Sámi culture—its spiritualism and strong ties to the land considered an obstacle to establishing absolute reverence for his own God.

With subtlety and tact, Kiran Millwood Hargrave explores the ingrained societal roles that define and separate us, with a particular focus on the trappings of gender and religion. Though distressed by their losses, the women of Vardø experience an unexpected liberty when forced to take over duties once reserved for men.

You can read my full review over on BookBrowse. You can also find a piece I wrote about the real-life victims of the Vardø Witch Trials.

---

You can pick up a copy of The Mercies from Book Depository by clicking here.

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell | Book Review

Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell
Published by Knopf, 2020
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

In a bold departure from her previous work, O’Farrell attempts to paint a portrait of the relationship between William Shakespeare and his wife, particularly concerning the death of their 11-year-old son.

It’s important to note that the names Hamnet and Hamlet were entirely interchangeable in Shakespeare’s day, and so the primary question O’Farrell concerns herself with is why The Bard chose to name that particular play/character after his deceased son. The second (and most interesting) thing to note is that Shakespeare is never actually named throughout the novel. By only ever referring to him based on his various roles in life and relationships to others (the son, the husband, the tutor, the father) O’Farrell cleverly accomplishes two things: Firstly, she humanises the myth, reminding us that Shakespeare was much more than just a writer; he was a man who endured the same hardships and cherished the same things as everyone else. Secondly, she vindicates his wife and children, allowing them to take the spotlight for once, subverting the norm of having them defined solely by their connection to him.

With little detail known about Shakespeare’s wife (now believed to have been named Agnes, rather than Anne) or the death of their son, O’Farrell does a great job of breathing life and emotion into their story. I have to say, however, that the narrative structure and pacing didn’t entirely work for me. The first two thirds of the novel are split into a dual timeline, jumping between the early courtship of Shakespeare and Agnes, and the events years later that lead up to Hamnet’s inevitable death. This nonlinearity added nothing for me, and there’s an oddly drawn out attempt at misdirection regarding the fate of Hamnet and his twin sister that felt redundant given both the book’s blurb, and the story’s real-life historical basis.

Initially, I also felt O’Farrell’s prose was somewhat laboured; the push for a rich, evocative feel coming off as overwritten. Whether she found her stride with the historical setting, or whether I simply got sufficiently drawn in for it to stop bothering me, this problem did lessen as the novel progressed. Where the book excelled unwaveringly, however, was its eventual portrayal of a family blindsided by grief. She captures their bewilderment as individuals and as a unit with real fervour.

It’s a daring move for any writer to tackle the intimate life of the writer, and whilst I certainly found it compelling, I do think it ultimately failed to stick a proper landing. O’Farrell clearly undertook this novel with the aim of answering key questions about Shakespeare and his family, but the attempt at a revelatory denouement felt both hurried and underwhelming, proving why those questions have remained unanswered for so long. Still, it’s a book I had high expectations for, and despite feeling it didn’t quite capitalise on its full potential, I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent with it.

---

Thank you to the publisher for an advanced copy via Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.

You can pre-order a copy of Hamnet from Book Depository by clicking here.

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

The Confessions of Frannie Langton by Sara Collins | Book Review

The Confessions of Frannie Langton by Sara Collins
Published by Penguin, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Frannie Langton has been called many things throughout her life. ‘Mulatta’, slave, whore, seductress. And now murderer. Facing the death penalty for the supposed killing of her white master and mistress, Frannie vows she remembers nothing of the fateful night in question, though maintains she could never have murdered Mrs Benham, the woman with whom she was deeply in love. This novel is her testimony, taking us all the way from her birth on a plantation in Jamaica to her incarceration in London, as she attempts to make sense of the life she has lived, and to prove her innocence – to the jury as much as to herself.

Frannie is a phenomenally well-drawn character. Complex, intelligent, passionate, and unfalteringly human, Collins has created a character whose flaws make her all the more compelling. As we learn ever-more about her chequered past, Collins explores the burden of internalised shame and trauma, and asks us to consider where we draw the line on culpability. She does so by laying bare the trappings of race, class, gender, and sexuality, and the admirable though often morally ambiguous fight to gain autonomy in a world that will only ever see you as lesser.

Collins’ prose is also fantastic. She evokes the balmy heat of Jamaica and the opium-fuelled musk of Georgian London with equal aplomb. Visceral and transporting, I was drawn into the rich, seedy world of her heroine from the very beginning; the beauty of the writing itself serving as the perfect foil for the pain of Frannie’s story.

There is also a wonderfully playful, meta element to the book. The whole thing is written in the second person, addressed to the lawyer defending Frannie in court. She sees this as her literal confession, and hopes he may one day be able to get it published. As a woman of colour, she is well aware that her story will be twisted to fit existing narratives informed by misogynistic, racist stereotypes. This is Frannie reclaiming her story; the implication that we are now holding that successfully published manuscript adding a deeply poignant layer of realism to the reading experience.

I flew through this novel in a mere few sittings. There are as many unexpected turns in the narrative as there are tragically inevitable ones, and a consistent thread about the power of books to impart knowledge – and offer escapism – that I adored. Frannie is a heroine I know will continue to haunt my thoughts for quite some time; Collins an author whose career I can’t wait to follow.

---

You can pick up a copy of The Confessions of Frannie Langton with free shipping from Book Depository by clicking here.

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Mary Toft; or, The Rabbit Queen by Dexter Palmer | Book Review

Mary Toft; or, The Rabbit Queen by Dexter Palmer
Published by Pantheon Books, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

When a young woman claims to have given birth to a dead rabbit, the eyes of a nation descend upon her. Through the framework of this true story, Palmer examines the conflict between science and superstition in 18th century England.

The year is 1726 and the sleepy town of Godalming has been rocked by scandal. Called to the bedside of Mary Toft, surgeon John Howard watches in horror as she appears to give birth to the dismembered body of a rabbit. Miracle or abomination, the events draw attention from respected doctors and tongue-wagging gossips alike. Worse still, the birth proves to be the first of many. Summoned to London by the King himself, there is only so long Mary can insist upon the integrity of her story; just as those who offer to help her cannot mask their own pursuits of fame and fortune indefinitely.

Despite being the book’s eponymous heroine, and the nucleus around which the entire narrative revolves, it’s important to note that Mary is not the one telling us her story. Her weary perspective is confined to a couple of chapters — the rest being relayed to us by a chorus of male doctors and clergymen who claim knowledge of the female body far beyond their means.

Read my full review over at BookBrowse by clicking here. I also wrote a piece for BookBrowse about exploitation as a means of entertainment in the Georgian era, to hopefully provide extra context for the book’s setting and themes. You can find it by clicking here.

---

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi