If I knew there was a stand-up comedy element of this book, I probably wouldn’t have read it tbh. I hate when a book tells me someone is meant to be funny and I just… don’t laugh once. That being said, I pretty much enjoyed everything else about this book. I get why people label this “women’s fiction” as opposed to it being a romance because, truly, the romance is just not the main priority of this novel. Instead, you’re following Georgina as she battles infidelity (on multiple fronts), job insecurity and the feeling of being behind while in your thirties. I would’ve loved to see more from Georgina and Luca after the grand love confession… I think that’s my biggest criticism.
She used to rub lavender behind my ears before I went to school and in this way I felt that She too was always watching me.
This book suffers real bad from being marketed as one thing and actually being something else. Based off of the synopsis, I genuinely expected Noelle (our main character) to be having (or maybe it would be more accurate to say using) sex to either heal from her religious trauma, or confront said trauma and the repressed emotions its brought about. Instead, this book really doesn’t do that. Sure the exploration of religious trauma is there but that’s all done through very dialogue-heavy scenes of Noelle and Moses (our apparent vampire) just walking around Scotland, talking. I think this book has an unflinching character dissection of Noelle—she’s equal parts a victim and a villain, which was interesting to navigate—but I don’t think it was enough to endear me to this book. Honestly, my unmet expectations really got in the way here LMAO… maybe I’ll reread it in the future when I’m in the specific mood for Weird White Woman literature.
There is a time, she thinks, at the start of any relationship, when the process of falling in love softens a personality, like wax in a warm room. And so two people in love change, just a little, pushing their wax figures together, a protuberance here smoothed down but creating a dip there. It doesn’t last long, the time when love can gently change who you are, and in the relationships that she’s visited over the last six months, the moment has long passed.
I enjoyed this book as like a fun filler read but outside of having a whacky premise, there’s not much else going on here. Outside of knowing that Lauren is single prior to all this happening, we don’t really learn anything concrete about her as a person and why this sudden predicament is a learning experience for her and her in particular. There’s surprisingly no character exploration with Lauren which is interesting because this whole novel is literally about her and her interpersonal relationships. I won’t hold it against the author that no explanation for the why behind the attic husbands was given (this is magical realism, after all) but if you’re going to keep the magic vague the least you can do is steep it in solid character development, solid theme exploration, some sort of overarching message to take away at the end. This book is about human connection, about relationships and the way in which they can change us, but even these themes weren’t tackled with much oomph because of the restart button she has with each and every husband that she encounters. The moment we started dealing with any sort of conflict with some depth, Lauren would send them up the ladder.
I’m a little confused by the ending as well. So, what’s the moral of the story? To settle? LMAO God forbid.
The prose is pretty plain as well, so I didn’t even really enjoy picking the language apart but I do think this is a good reading slump fixer.
For a guy that didn’t know Gwen existed until like two seconds ago, Alex falls for her really bloody fast. That was fun to read (I won’t lie) but it did make their relationship and the quick progression of it kind of unbelievable. Still, this was cute albeit a bit predictable. For example, the moment we were told that Declan was a lawyer, I already knew that he’d play a hand at getting Alex out of his contract. Gwen is also a bit of a spineless silly billy which made the plot but, god, got annoying pretty fucking quick. There would be no plot if she ignored Alex and Mabel’s pretty clear warnings and I get that, but as I just said… the warnings were pretty fucking clear and the evidence of the proof of those warnings were somehow even clearer. It was genuinely annoying to see Gwen trusting people that clearly shouldn’t be trusted. I did, however, really like how Alex’s POV was inter-spliced into the narrative. It was interesting dipping into his brain, even though we didn’t spend a lot of time there. He’s easily the most interesting character of this book.
You can’t trauma-proof life, and you can’t hurt-proof your relationships. You have to accept you will cause harm to yourself and others. But you can also fuck up, really badly, and not learn anything from it except that you fucked up. It’s the same with oppression. You don’t gain any special knowledge from being marginalized. But you do gain something from stepping outside your hurt and examining the scaffolding of your oppression. You’ll find the weak joints, the things you can kick in. When I look back at myself on the bridge year, I see that I thought I was doing something constructive, escaping exploitation by becoming exceptional. In fact, what I was doing was squeezing my eyes shut and singing la la la at the gathering darkness, as if the gathering darkness cared that I couldn’t see it.
At its very core this book is about displacement, assimilation and the ways in which someone must shroud or completely abandon the truth of themselves in order to better fit into society, to better succeed. I really enjoyed the constant parallels drawn between these white expats and their bridges from ethnic minority groups—it was interesting seeing the ways the expats did better at blending in despite being from a different time, all because of the ever-present privilege of their whiteness or their maleness.
There’s also a broader discussion about political correctness and how shallow some people who engage with such practices can be. Our narrator claims political correctness, claims the wide acceptance expected from a more modern person, yet we watch her fall short throughout the whole book. Despite the narrator’s personal shortcomings, the narrative voice here is just so entertaining that it doesn’t matter. There’s a very dry, unbelievably British sense of humour threaded throughout this novel that just works so well for me. And… the prose? Argh. Such skilful use of metaphor for a debut novel.
Forgiveness, which takes you back to the person you were and lets you reset them. Hope, which exists in a future in which you are new. Forgiveness and hope are miracles. They let you change your life. They are time-travel.
“Little cat” as a pet name? OH I COULD JUST DIE. SO FUCKING CUTE I WANT TO EAT MY ARM OFF.
I think the ending botched the overall novel, though. It got really messy and convoluted (in a way a lot of time travel media often does) which is a shame. I’ll probably reread to try and wrap my head around it a little more but doing that with time travel stories is more likely to uncover more plot holes than fill in any. I also don’t think the author writes very compelling action scenes so the stakes never felt that high to me tbh. Like I never felt the danger. Oh well. Still, this was such a fun read and I loved the message.
I’m certain that blue eyes would taste amazing, much better than brown ones. Especially George’s eyes. I have no scientific evidence to prove this, but to me there’s nothing appetizing about brown. Brown is the mud scraped off the bottom of your shoe or the muck left at the bottom of the sink when you’re done washing the dishes. Brown is the color of decay.
The character work in this really didn’t work for me. I felt like the author was bashing me over the head with certain characterisations and it just led to all the characters reading like… caricatures tbh. Like, I get it. George fetishisizes Asian women. Geoffrey is a self-proclaimed liberal who refuses to check his superiority complex which stems from his own existence as a white man. Alexis is the otherworldly, pretty, levelheaded black friend only there to act as an antithesis for Geoffrey. There’s not only no nuance with these characters—there’s also no subtlety. While reading this it felt like the author didn’t trust my ability to get it and that resulted in some excessive telling rather than showing, as well as scenes repeating the same lessons for the reader over and over again. For example, how many scenes must we endure of George and the family eating Asian fusion takeout only for George to end up perving on the waitress? Surely we’ve grasped that he’s a freak and his “appreciation for the culture” is a kind of orientalism (lumping all the cultures together). This heavy-handed character work got tedious and boring really quick for me, unfortunately. It’s a shame because I was expecting to like this a lot more.
I did, however, really enjoy and appreciate the linking of blue eyes to privilege (and, by extension, white supremacy). I definitely thought that was interesting and it’s that through-line that held me when the characters fell short, but I’m such a character-oriented reader that I simply can’t look past how little fun I had exploring the ins and outs of the characters presented to me. In fact, I didn’t have to explore them at all. They were spelled out for me with such bold lettering that it was almost abrasive.
You grounded me here, with both feet, on both knees, stooped on all fours, heaving to bring you forth. I have known death since before I was born, but I had not truly known life until I gave it to you.
Elizabeth's writing is actually spectacular, so spectacular that I think I might stop being an asshole and finally bother with a YA novel in order to read the rest of her work. I'm realising that I'm just such a sucker for a multi-generational family saga, and this book gave me everything that I want to enjoy from this particular story-type. I loved the interplay between all the generations of women and the added magical realism element was such an interesting layer to use to not only show how they interact with each other, how they are similar, and also show how their differences set them down different paths in their lives. I'm really impressed by how different each character voice is, especially since this book gives us SEVERAL perspectives. Seriously, it was all so impressive to me.
I did bristle a little bit where Matilda and Ona's storylines were concerned given the topic of bearing children but even though I didn't agree wholly with the importance both women attached to the ability of having kids and their own self-actualisation, I would be lying if I said the author didn't do great work in explaining WHY both women attached such importance to children. Matilda with her traditional upbringing; Ona coming to terms the fact that despite her uncanny control of her vagina, she can do nothing to bring about child-bearing.
A demented cycle. Children devoured as babes, children devoured as adults. Children are but food. Food for a cruel god.
Didn’t really care too much about the characters, but the atmosphere of this book? The atmosphere in this book was amazing; there were times where I genuinely had to pause my reading because I was starting to get very uncomfortable. I’ll always enjoy gothic books, where the author takes age old gothic tropes and reuses them to their own benefit. The commentary provided about colonialism, racism, memory and the tireless strive for legacy was devastating yet brilliant. It speaks of trauma that can be passed down between generations and how this trauma may not only be stored in the body, but also stored in the very infrastructure of the family home. Despite the intensity of the themes explored, this was a fun and quick read for me.
Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
When I got past the corny jokes and attempts at humour, this book opened itself up to be a really good time and that’s almost entirely because of how interesting Nora is to me. I think she’s such a complex yet well rounded look into the way people-pleasing can manifest; she preemptively sacrifices herself for people without them asking, shrinking herself (emotionally, but also in other ways) in the process, causing the people she shrinks herself for to be upset that she’s made herself so small. We see that mostly in her relationship with Libby, which I really enjoyed exploring. When Libby said that Nora should stop trying to be her DAD? Great. Literally so fucking good. I’ve never seen the “over-bearing older sister” thing get looked at from the lens of the Mum making the daughter take on a PARTNER role. That was interesting. Charlie was great, too. Was he a little too perfect too quickly? Probably… especially because this is apparently meant to be “rivals to lovers,” but tbh tropes mean very little to me so I won’t hold that against this book. I really do enjoy how this book is mostly about someone loving you where you’re at (physically, emotionally) as opposed to love being this mystical, magical transformer.
Oh, I had a lot of fun with this. I’ve been so jaded where modern, post-2010 contemporary romances are concerned so I picked this up, wanting to research how the authors of the past got down to business and I’m not at all disappointed. This novel had a touch of magical realism that I wasn’t expecting but I found delightful; Daisy reads like a Disney princess but not in a way that I found annoying at all. The premise is absurd but the author commits to the bit so much that I found myself wilfully believing it, charmed by it from page 1 right until the end.
The author doesn’t shy away from the genuine difficulty humans have with communicating with each other and instead of it just being sprinkled in as a trope at the 70% mark, it’s genuinely explored as an overarching theme throughout the whole book. Miscommunication between workers and bosses. Miscommunication between parents and children. Miscommunication between lovers—past tense and present. Hell, there was even miscommunication between animals and humans. No one in this book is a perfect communicator and, as result, that leads to harm and setbacks and large mistakes that gave the book tension. I enjoyed the sheer humanity of that messiness. This book isn’t a how-to on having a perfect relationship, instead it’s a book about a relationship burdened by messy human nature. A lot of people wouldn’t like that; according to some reviews, a lot of people don’t. I loved it because it made the story feel so real and not like the cookie cutter shit we see so often in romance novels nowadays. The author has messy ass characters and spends the time sorting through this mess ON THE PAGE (rather than through lazy time-skips or scene jumps or one line apologies that are meant to mend all).
I can’t give this a five because that whole pregnancy moment left a genuinely bad taste in my mouth. I felt that Alex was pretty fucking clear as to why he didn’t want children and not only did Daisy bulldoze over that, but it felt like the author did the same thing. Saying you don’t want children with someone isn’t a consequence of not loving them. Alex not wanting children had absolutely nothing to do with Daisy, and I wasn’t too big of a fan how that was flattened into him just “not accepting that he loved her at the moment.” I’m guessing that that might just be a product of the time this was written but, still, it knocked off a pretty big star for me.