I'm at book 2 from my plan to reread Carlos Ruiz Zafón's books, but in Spanish (I read "Marina" last year), and it's been - of course - a fun journey I'm at book 2 from my plan to reread Carlos Ruiz Zafón's books, but in Spanish (I read "Marina" last year), and it's been - of course - a fun journey so far. Zafón's YA novels may not have the depth of the tetralogy, but they foreshadow the strong gothic vibes and the brilliant character work from his later novels.
"El Palacio de la Medianoche"/"The Midnight Palace" is a dark and atmospheric story, full of secrets and ghostly figures. At its core, there's a deeply emotional mystery about a group of teenagers who must face a chilling enemy. The story is set in 1930s Calcutta, where a group of orphaned teenagers form a secret society that gathers in the abandoned ruin they call the Palace of Midnight, where they share stories and dreams.
One of these children, Ben, finds out he had been abandoned in the orphanage by his mysterious grandmother and raised apart from his twin sister, after their parents died under odd circumstances, in hopes that they would be protected from the mysterious Jawahal. As the twins turn 16, their destiny comes to haunt them.
And here’s where the book starts to get deliciously creepy. Fires, whispers, shadows stalking them... it quickly becomes clear that someone - or something - is after them. Jawahal, thought to be long dead, seems to be haunting them, literally. He appears in ghostly form, commanding fire and chaos. So was he undead? Possessed? Some kind of vengeful spirit? Zafón never fully explains the mechanics of his return, and it left me wondering: how exactly is he back? His actions are terrifying but unfortunately some of the plot threads are never fully explained, which left me a bit frustrated in the end.
Some of the ghostly lore and backstory could have used more development. That said, the story’s gothic style and haunting atmosphere made it a captivating read, and the emotional stakes get higher and higher as the dramatic end grows closer.
I loved the character work - it is, after all, one of the author's strengths. Ben is a classic Zafón protagonist - loyal, thoughtful, reckless at times, and suddenly thrown into a world of dangerous truths. Sheere, on the other hand, is intelligent and spirited, and there’s an almost mythical quality to her presence. But one of the most intriguing characters in the book is their grandmother, Aryami. She clearly knows more than she lets on. Her motivations are complex: on one hand, she’s trying to protect the twins from danger, but on the other, her silence made things worse. I wish there were more complexity to her character, especially towards the end, where she kind of disappeared.
The members of the Chowbar Society (Isobel, Seth, Michael, Roshan, and Ian) bring warmth and depth to the story and are more than just background characters; each one has a distinct personality, and their loyalty to one another adds real emotional weight to the story. Although I'm not a fan of epilogues, I appreciated the author showing us a glimpse into their future and not giving them a storybook ending or promising an everlasting friendship. Most of the times, childhood friendships don't last into adulthood, even those based on shared trauma.
Of course, Zafón’s prose shines. His writing is lyrical and deeply atmospheric. He doesn’t just tell you a story, he paints it in fog and candlelight. His descriptions are so vivid you can almost feel the humidity and hear the whispers in the shadows. It's not a fast-paced, clear-cut mystery; to the contrary, the beginning is quite slow. But I've always loved the way he carefully builds his stories and lets his readers get acquainted with the characters before throwing them into chaos.
It’s not just about what happens, it’s about how it feels, and Zafón is a master of mood....more
To paraphrase a Romanian saying, not too too, not very very... As a long-time lover of Gothic literature, both clas2.5* with extra points for the cat.
To paraphrase a Romanian saying, not too too, not very very... As a long-time lover of Gothic literature, both classic and contemporary, I have high expectations when publishers label a novel as Gothic. Unfortunately, except for the atmosphere, "Starling House" had nothing memorable. And it reminded me of many other books or movies; it started feeling like a "Beauty and the Beast" retelling and ended with strong "Stranger Things" vibes.
It's messy, meta, and moody gothic. That is the only way I can define it. It has the ingredients of Southern Gothic - a decaying house full of secrets, an outcast protagonist, and a sense of creeping doom. Opal, our protagonist, is poor and stuck in a dead-end life in Eden, Kentucky, a town that offers nothing but bleak futures and whispered legends about Starling House, a cursed mansion on the outskirts of town. Starling House was built by E. Starling, a mysterious 19th-century writer whose book, "The Underland", became a cult classic. Its only inhabitant is Arthur, the grumpy, reluctant heir who is clearly hiding something.
Opal, who needs money to send her very smart brother to a private school, takes a job as the housekeeper at Starling House. From there, the story spirals into a mix of supernatural horror, reluctant romance, and "chosen one" nonsense.
The good: atmosphere and the house. The biggest strength of "Starling House" is its setting. The house itself is alive, watching, breathing, shifting. The descriptions of its rooms and its connection to the strange forces lurking beneath Eden are beautifully bizarre. The house itself feels like a character. I also liked how Harrow captured the slow decay of small-town poverty, the weight of generational trauma, and the suffocating desperation of people with no way out.
And then there's the cat - an absolute menace and, hands down, the best character in the book, other than the house itself.
The bad: Opal (So. Much. Stupidity.) The main characters are both insufferable, but Opal takes the prize for the most annoying character of the year so far. Yes, she's had a hard life, but she makes one mind-numbingly dumb decision after another - she lies constantly, even when it makes no sense, she refuses to tell her younger brother about the school because� reasons?, she has zero regard for ethics (stealing, manipulating and justifying everything as if she's the only person who has ever suffered), she's wildly entitled, acting like the world owes her something, and she's supposed to be smart and resourceful, but she consistently makes reckless choices.
Her character arc doesn't feel earned. It's just a series of bad choices that somehow lead to a heroic moment.
At its core, "Starling House" follows a familiar "Beauty and the Beast" structure: a young woman enters a cursed house, gets close to its brooding inhabitant, and uncovers the dark secrets within. There's even a library with hundreds of books, because... of course there is! But instead of a romantic redemption story, it's more about facing down monsters, both literal and metaphorical. Opal, of course, is Special and somehow the only one who can fix everything.
None of the twists are shocking, and the pacing drags at times. The final act is chaotic, full of rushed explanations and conveniently resolved conflicts.
The bottom line - "Starling House" does a good job with its atmosphere, but disappoints in its character development. I enjoyed the eerie descriptions and the house that feels more alive than the people in it. But the characters have no depth, logic, or even basic human decency, which left me feeling frustrated. The cat and the house? Fantastic. Everything else? Meh....more
Yey, I got the killer from the moment they entered the scene! I'm giving myself a prize for this, it rarely happens.
"Ordeal by Innocence" is a standaYey, I got the killer from the moment they entered the scene! I'm giving myself a prize for this, it rarely happens.
"Ordeal by Innocence" is a standalone mystery - quite refreshing, honestly, after a series of Poirot books. (However, the movie features Miss Marple, for some reason.) The novel explores the effects of a false murder accusation and how this affects an entire family.
The story follows a murder that had happened two years before. Rachel Argyle, a wealthy and domineering matriarch, was murdered in her home after an altercation with one of her adopted children, Jacko, who was eventually convicted of the crime and died in prison. Two years later, Dr. Arthur Calgary arrives at the house with proof that Jacko had an alibi. His revelation shatters the fragile stability of the Argyle family, as the only other people who could have murdered Rachel are members of the same family. Suspicion turns inward, and everyone becomes wary of one another.
Agatha Christie questions the nature of justice and the consequences of punishing the wrong person. Moreover, she explores guilt in various forms, not only about the murder, but also in a larger context, because every family member has secrets and hidden resentments. What makes this book particularly interesting is that all the Argyle children had been adopted and, in theory, they should have been grateful to the Argyles for rescuing them during the war from a fate of poverty or worse. However, this is not the case, and each of them grew bitter over the relationship with their adoptive mother. The Argyle family is deeply dysfunctional. Rachel’s controlling nature created fractures between its members, and her murder brings buried emotions to the surface.
I am always happy when we get to know the characters before the mystery unravels. Agatha Christie allowed me to dig into each character's psyche and motivations, and develop theories. Although my first instinct was correct, it's always fun to imagine who could have done it, especially in a book such as this one, where tension is built through interactions rather than traditional detective work.
While the pace is slower compared to her more "traditional" mysteries, I didn't mind it. I appreciated the strong focus on dialogue and character interaction. It might be one of my favourite books of hers yet....more
I've said this multiple times, Isabel Allende is one of my favourite writers. I've had a love-meh rel(3.5, I wish Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ had a wider rating system)
I've said this multiple times, Isabel Allende is one of my favourite writers. I've had a love-meh relationship with her books over the years - I find her earlier books amazing, the newest ones less so. She's a prolific writer and it's only natural to have some misses in between.
The Soul of a Woman is not Allende's first memoir. She has quite a few of those, more so than any writer I've encountered. She has lived an interesting life, with a lot of ups and downs, so of course there are things to tell. But, unlike her previous memoirs, this one falls a little bit short. One of the main reasons I like her so much is her amazing capacity of empathy and introspection, which I did not find to the same extent in this book.
This volume was written, as she states in the last pages, during the March 2020 quarantine. This year was, for all of us, a good time to take a good look at our lives and at the world we live in and to understand what are the things we need to change moving forward. Equality (gender equality, in particular, being the subject of this book) is one of the main issues we need to push on, as a society. People who know me understand why I jumped for joy when this book was published and ran to buy it for myself and as a Christmas present for my friends. An essay on feminism and the role of women in this (and past) society is just what I feel I need from time to time, to remind myself what is important.
The book is structured in short chapters and it reads easily. Allende draws upon her life experiences in order to make feminism approachable - she takes snippets from her life, her childhood, her family, her marriages and divorces, her motherhood years and mixes them with sociological musings in order to create an ode to feminism. It's a very honest, raw opening into her life (not unlike Paula or The Sum of Our Days). Her honesty and easiness with which she approaches subjects like sexuality, partnership, motherhood make her the cool aunt we all wish we'd had.
However, I felt that some things were missing. Maybe the book being so short or her writing it so fast made it less deep, somehow. It barely disturbed the waters, if I may say. There are many more things to say about womanhood, inequality, violence, topics she touched only on the surface. These are reflexions, sometimes disparate, not a full study on feminism - and it left me with a strong wish of more cohesiveness and depth....more
If you're like me and have to read romance for a challenge, but you hate romance, then "The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches" may be a good idIf you're like me and have to read romance for a challenge, but you hate romance, then "The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches" may be a good idea. Unless you're like me and hate cutesy. Then it's not. So... yeah.
The book follows Mika Moon (at least she makes fun of her name as well), a witch who has spent most of her life in isolation, because of rules that prohibit witches to spend too much time together as magic attracts unwanted attention and can be dangerous. She had been raised by the strict and distant Primrose, the head of their region. However, Mika maintains a secret online presence by posting playful witchy videos, assuming no one will take them seriously. But, to her surprise, someone actually takes her seriously and she receives a message from Nowhere House, a secluded home that shelters three young witches, who desperately need guidance in controlling their growing magical abilities. The house’s caretakers, an unconventional group of non-magical adults, ask for Mika’s help in teaching the children before their magic spirals out of control.
Mika accepts the challenge, without the other witches' knowledge, and finds herself drawn into the chaotic but loving environment of Nowhere House. The story is cute and cozy and reminded me a lot of TJ Klune's books, exploring the found family trope and every other theme that's so typical of the genre - loneliness, belonging, finding love and one's destiny. And, not to forget, there's also a bit of grumpy-sunshine (gosh, I hate these tropes and I've never thought I'd write about them in a review!).
I found the characters stereotypical, there's little originality in writing them. Sure, they give the book a certain charm, especially through the "supporting cast", and the interactions between the inhabitants of Nowhere House vary from quirky to emotional to frustrating. The household as a whole learns to embrace change, showing that breaking old rules and forming new bonds can be a source of strength rather than danger. Sangu Mandanna made a point to have a diverse cast as possible, as is the "fashion" these days, but it doesn't feel forced, which I appreciate.
I don't even know where to place this book. It's perfectly YA, except for one particular paragraph that's quite adult. And also unnecessary. The book was fine without that one page of smut. Why do authors feel the need to include cringy sex everywhere?
The book has a warm, almost fairytale-like atmosphere, making it perfect for those who love feel-good stories. However, it follows a familiar formula, there are no shocking twists and the outcome is completely predictable. Also, if you're in search of lore, like I am, this isn't the story to give you that. The magical system isn’t really explored, as the book leans more into character relationships. It's just cute, somewhat uplifting, inoffensive, but utterly forgettable....more
It was... not the best of books; it was not the worst of books.
I know "A Tale of Two Cities" is supposed to be Dickens' best novel, but I didn't vibe It was... not the best of books; it was not the worst of books.
I know "A Tale of Two Cities" is supposed to be Dickens' best novel, but I didn't vibe with it. There are other books from him that I have enjoyed a lot more. I'm just bored of the hero syndrome and the stereotypical black-and-white characters. Except for Sidney Carton (though I didn't like his choice and the whole sacrificial element) and Miss Pross, who is a complete badass, all the other characters were unidimensional.
But it does have one of the most iconic opening lines in the history of literature, so it gets points for that.
It's a historical novel set in the late 18th century, before and during the French Revolution, and it follows the lives of several characters in London and Paris and how their fates become entangled with the events of the times.
The story begins in 1775, when Jarvis Lorry, a banker at Tellson's Bank, travels to France to "resurrect" Dr. Alexandre Manette, a former prisoner of the Bastille, where he has spent 18 years. Dr. Manette is reunited with his daughter, Lucie, in London, where she helps nurse him back to health. Lucie falls in love with Charles Darnay, a French aristocrat who has renounced his noble heritage because of his family's cruelty. Years later, Charles returns to Paris to help a former servant, but being still considered part of the aristocracy, he must deal with the preconceptions and the violence of the French Revolution.
I usually love Dickens' writing and his humor. He uses satire to show the extreme behaviors of the French revolutionaries. Characters like Madame Defarge, who seeks revenge with a fanatic obsession, or the crowds that cheerfully demand the executions of the aristocrats, bring a touch of absurdity to the background. Also, Sydney Carton's self-deprecating humor is used as a defense mechanism to mask his inner despair. However, something about the writing style felt off to me here. Of course, we have Dickens' signature intricate prose and lengthy descriptions, but I found them inconsistent, which made my reading experience tedious. At times, especially in the last third, the narrative moves swiftly, while in other moments, it drags with excessively dramatic dialogue.
The novel is filled with grand sacrifices and sweeping gestures, but somehow, it left me emotionally uninvolved. I think I'm at that point in life where grand gestures make me roll my eyes at their absurdity rather than make me care about the characters. Especially not about characters that are mere stereotypes. Charles is the typical tragic, noble hero, but there's nothing to make him actually endearing or show any evolution. Lucie is absurdly selfless, the symbol of abnegation, but you'd think she'd at least care more about her children than about the man - but no. I've grown bored of these all-or-nothing love stories, especially when we don't really understand why these people love each other. Madame Defarge, the revolutionary zealot, would have made an interesting character if she had more depth. Many of these characters follow conventional literary tropes, with little to no internal struggles or contradictions.
To me, the most interesting aspect about this book was not the plot - which was predictable and stereotypical -, but rather the backdrop of the French Revolution. I'm almost sure that Dickens, as an Englishman, wanted to take a jab at the French. While he doesn't directly ridicule the revolution, he certainly comments on its more destructive aspects by showing the brutality and chaos it unleashes, primarily through his depiction of the mob mentality and the violent actions of the revolutionaries. Dickens paints the revolutionaries as no better than the aristocrats they seek to overthrow - the initial idealism, which promises freedom, equality and fraternity, becomes corrupted by a desire for revenge, leading to a cycle of violence that mirrors the abuses of the monarchy. The mob's desire for justice turns into an unchecked thirst for vengeance, leading to the moral decay of the revolutionaries. There's a shrewd comparison between the two cities - London and Paris - and their different approaches to social reform, which is more measured in England, as opposed to the unchecked violence brought by revolutionary fervor.
This novel did not enthrall me like I was, for instance, by "Great Expectations." Maybe I've become too cynical to believe that this kind of sacrifice can exist in real life, or perhaps it's the lack of subtlety in building the characters. Some of its storytelling choices, such as rushed emotional developments, felt frustrating. This is not a novel I'll remember with fondness....more
(3.5) I went into this book with a set of expectations that were not met. It's my fault, I guess, for expecting something similar to true crime, rathe(3.5) I went into this book with a set of expectations that were not met. It's my fault, I guess, for expecting something similar to true crime, rather than case studies about felons with different psychological or psychiatric problems and how they are helped by the system to overcome these problems. To be perfectly honest, the book challenged me in multiple ways - because, in theory, I know no one is irredeemable, but in practice, I wonder why so much mental health assistance is given to criminals, when so many people who have not committed crimes do not have access to the same care.
Gwen Adshead is a forensic psychiatrist who has worked in the NHS system and has experience working with violent offenders in high-security hospitals and prisons. In this book, she tries to show the public that those who commit horrific crimes are not simply "monsters" but individuals shaped by trauma, mental illness or different social factors. What Dr. Adshead does is to humanize such offenders (or at least trying to - I wasn't quite so easily swayed in all cases), while dealing with ethical questions about rehabilitation and justice. She talks about the role of therapy in preventing recurrences of crime for convicted offenders. Basically, rather than focusing on crime details, it encourages people to reconsider how society treats and understands those who commit acts of violence.
One other point she is making is the challenges within the NHS in the UK, where funding for mental health has been reduced and thus people have difficult access to therapy.
If the book was meant to provide psychological insight into why people commit horrific crimes, I don't think it managed to do quite that. Some cases connect insecure attachment in childhood to later criminality, but this is not true for all. Other factors, such as socioeconomic conditions and systemic failures, are underexplored. I guess a refreshing element is the inclusion of female offenders, as usually such accounts focus disproportionately on male criminals. It's important to understand the complexities of female violence and mental illness and how they differ from the perspectives of men.
One of the most disappointing aspects in the book is that it presents composite cases rather than real-life profiles of criminals. While I understand that this approach is ethical and necessary to maintain confidentiality, it left me unsatisfied, I guess, and a bit on the fence as to whether the stories have any truth to them. My frustration is that we don’t really get to know the individuals behind the crimes. These stories are told in a way that feels distant and left me wondering what’s the real takeaway from it. I can't build empathy towards abstractions.
I'll admit, some of the issues challenged me. Why would offenders have the right to refuse meetings with their victims? The victims should always have priority over the desires of the criminals. Also, she talks about the ethical dilemma of patient-doctor confidentiality when an offender is a danger to themselves or others. When should a psychiatrist break confidentiality? How can a psychiatrist who didn't break confidentiality live with themselves when the offender relapses ?
I guess the book raises interesting questions and the psychological insights are valuable. It's worth reading for those interested in forensic psychiatry and the ethics of rehabilitation. Just maybe read it with an open mind. For me, it was difficult to leave my preconceptions aside....more
So yeah, what did I read... I'm both satisfied and not satisfied, so basically I'm just confused. On the one hand, I'm not a plot reader, so I really So yeah, what did I read... I'm both satisfied and not satisfied, so basically I'm just confused. On the one hand, I'm not a plot reader, so I really appreciated the psychological aspect of this novel, the deep dive into the character's inner world. On the other hand, I need lore - and lore is what I didn't get.
"I Who Have Never Known Men" is an exploration of isolation more than anything. It's coined as dystopia, but I'm reluctant to call it that. Because the story could have been placed in any setting and any time period, real or imaginary, with the same outcome. From the first page, we are confronted with a nameless protagonist, a young girl, trapped in a cage alongside 39 other women, watched over by silent guards. Why are they there? Is this an experiment? A prison? A forgotten remnant of some apocalyptic event?
Then, just as abruptly as the premise is established, the guards disappear. Are they dead? Gone? Abandoned their post? It doesn’t matter—what follows is a desperate attempt at survival in a desolate world. Jacqueline Harpman refuses to give clear answers, leaving us to piece together the world from fragments, though the more we learn, the more disturbing it becomes.
One of the author's most puzzling choices is the lack of chapters. This structure forces almost an unbroken reading experience, which works because of the book's short length. But the structure is also a mirror of the protagonist’s existence, where time flows without clear divisions other than the almost seamless change of seasons, and life continues without guidance or interruptions. It’s frustrating at times, but it works, creating an atmosphere of endless uncertainty.
Just before I started reading this book, I went to a bookclub where we discussed Kazuo Ishiguro's "Never Let Me Go", a book I read last year and which I didn't particularly resonate with. The two novels are similar in that they both follow protagonists who start as children and have no model for expressing emotion, despite being raised among adults. Their emotional growth is stunted and whatever they feel - if they feel anything at all -, they cannot express. But unlike Ishiguro’s restrained and emotionally distant characters, Harpman’s Child, while unfamiliar with traditional human relationships, not only experiences profound feelings of curiosity, frustration, unbearable loneliness, but is capable of making me, as a reader, feel them as well.
The entire book is a mystery. We, as readers, are called upon to decipher everything about the world, the women, the protagonist's past, piece by piece, in search of an answer and in search of hope. Every now and then, the Child would say something that would hint to a certain future, but we don't want to believe her, as it would be too horrific. I feel that these snippets from the future stripped some of the tension from the narrative, by giving us too much too soon, but still, when the ending came, it was distressful, to say the least.
I have so many theories and even more questions. This is not the kind of novel that packs everything neatly with a bow. But it is one of the best psychological studies on loneliness I have ever encountered. To be alone, truly alone, with no one to share a single word with, is a fate few books explore as deeply as this one....more
I would say this book is a must-read for all women of reproductive age. Even if it's not a textbook and doesn't pretend to give every piece of informaI would say this book is a must-read for all women of reproductive age. Even if it's not a textbook and doesn't pretend to give every piece of information on female anatomy - it would be difficult and the book is not meant to be read by doctors, anyways -, I found it extremely informative. It's a compassionate guide to reproductive health, especially for those of us (and I think most women have felt this way at some point) who have felt dismissed, gaslit or simply left confused by the medical system.
I think that the book is accessible to all women, no matter their level of knowledge or their personal experiences. And I loved that she used inclusive language and spoke about issues affecting everyone born with a uterus, no matter their gender.
Tang starts by dismantling the stereotype of "hysteria" and presents how reproductive health has evolved across centuries - a sad, unfair journey that is still far from having ended, given the pervasiveness of male-focused medicine even to this day. Issues such as endometriosis, PCOS, perimenopause are still often underdiagnosed or misunderstood, and many doctors still minimize women's pain and symptoms and treat them ineffectively. As a young girl who's been given oral contraceptives without any blood tests and who's taken years to find the right doctor to understand me and my symptoms, I felt validated.
I appreciated her clear, accessible explanations. She doesn’t just throw medical terms; she walks you through what’s actually going on in your body, and why it matters that you know, while also sharing real stories that show how frequently women and gender-diverse people are dismissed by the healthcare system. She also offers practical tips on how to talk to doctors, what symptoms to track, what tests to ask for.
Honestly, this book felt like a breath of fresh air. Karen Tang manages to explain so many things I wish I had known years ago about reproductive health, and she does it with clarity and zero judgment....more
Această antologie nu este un manual de feminism. Și oricum feminismul este un concept care pare simplu, dar este mult prea complex pentru a fi conținuAceastă antologie nu este un manual de feminism. Și oricum feminismul este un concept care pare simplu, dar este mult prea complex pentru a fi conținut într-o singură carte. În schimb, colecția coordonată de Emanuela Ignățoiu-Sora și Ionela Băluță reprezintă un set de experiențe personale care au condus autoarele pe drumul spre propria variantă de feminism, fie ca reprezentante ale mediului academic, fie ca participante în politică sau în diverse roluri în mediul privat.
Este o carte despre multiplele fațete ale feminismului. Doamnele care au semnat eseurile din această colecție vorbesc despre ce înseamnă să fii femeie în România și abordează teme dintre cele mai diferite, de la rolurile de gen în familie, la mamele adolescente (unde stăm extrem de prost), la contribuția, deseori omisă, a femeilor în istorie și știință, la misoginia instituțională sau intersecțională, la femeia văzută ca obiect, educație, hărțuire sexuală, identitatea feminină.
M-am regăsit în majoritatea textelor, într-un fel sau altul. Sunt puternice, dezbrăcate de cosmetizări inutile, impudice, amuzante, triste, frustrante. Sunt texte de la femei care nu s-au complăcut, care și-au făcut vocile auzite.
Mi-a plăcut, pe de o parte, alegerea doamnelor care au semnat textele din această colecție - nu avem voci „faimoase�, ci voci raționale, persoane care vin din mediul academic, profesoare, scriitoare, profesioniste. Ce pot spune că mi-a lipsit a fost vocea minorităților (de orice fel), singura dintre autoare care vorbește despre rasism fiind Roxana-Magdalena Oprea, a cărei poezie despre comunitatea Roma m-a sensibilizat profund.
Avem nevoie de astfel de cărți, avem nevoie ca ele să nu se limiteze la scrierile academice de proveniență SNSPA, să vorbească pe limba oricui - și a mea, și a bunicii mele, și a femeilor casnice care nu au avut luxul educației, poate și pe limba bărbaților care își doresc să învețe despre lumea interioară a femeilor cu care împart planeta....more
"Orlando" just became my favourite Virginia Woolf book. And my favourite of her characters. I'd never thought someone could outrank Clarissa Dalloway,"Orlando" just became my favourite Virginia Woolf book. And my favourite of her characters. I'd never thought someone could outrank Clarissa Dalloway, but here we are.
It's a novel that plays with time and gender, with a protagonist who moves across centuries in a surreal story that fascinated me from the first to the last page. Orlando begins as a young nobleman in the Elizabethan era, a favorite of Queen Elizabeth I, enjoying wealth and privilege, and ends up as a modern woman in the 20th century, experiencing different roles as a page, a lover, an ambassador, a noblewoman, a poet, a wife.
From the start, Orlando is a bit of a gigolo - charming, indulgent, floating through the courts of Elizabethan England with seductive ease. He falls deeply in love with the mysterious Russian princess Sasha, a passionate relationship that feels like a dream. But then - nope, it’s not. Whatever love he thought he had is shattered just like warm weather shatters the ice on the Thames. This is a pattern that follows Orlando throughout the novel, a symbol of his constant change. Is the way he swings from extreme joy to despair, from man to woman, from century to century, a mirror of the instability that Woolf herself experienced during her lifetime? I've asked myself this question throughout my read.
His/ her continued transformation throughout the book is completely natural. Orlando doesn’t panic; she simply is. On the inside, the same person, but now a woman. And so we follow her through history from new perspectives, navigating her new identity and the rigid expectations regarding womanhood, encountering characters such as the absurd Archduchess Henrietta/ Archduke Harry, another play on the gender fluidity theme of the novel. (Why is she Romanian though? That's not a Romanian name, nor did we have "archduchesses". Slight annoyance.) Meanwhile, people like Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison and Jonathan Swift take us inside the literary world Orlando is trying to be a part of.
Virginia Woolf takes, through Orlando's character, a close look at the way gender roles are viewed across centuries. Orlando doesn't fit into either gender’s patterns and her mannerisms remain fluid even after her transformation. Beyond that, she retains her past experiences and outlook and is able to make insightful comparisons between what being a man and what being a woman feel like and how society views each gender. As a man, Orlando never questioned women’s limitations; he saw them as exotic, mysterious objects of pleasure. After the transformation, she becomes aware of how restrictive life is for women, from the expectations of society to sit in their drawing room and sew to legal issues such as being unable to own property - society wants them silent, invisible, delicate.
I loved how Virginia Woolf uses shifts in setting and detailed descriptions to mark the passage of time. We're barely told what century it is, but the transformations of London, in particular, and of Orlando's house, take the reader through the different eras seamlessly.
This novel is also a satire, not only of gender roles, but also of nobility and even of the literary world, with its rigid expectations of the male-dominated literary canon which Virginia Woolf herself broke.
Like all her novels, "Orlando" is experimental and introspective. Woolf makes use of metafiction to point out even stronger the absurdities of gender identities and societal expectations. It's not a scholarly approach, instead I found it quite playful, something I've never said about Woolf's works before. Just like the author, Orlando is unique and refuses to be framed in a specific category....more
Nu știu ce am citit, nici cum să mă raportez la cartea Ioanei Unk. În sensul că am senzația că mi-a plăcut, dar nu știu exact de ce, și în același timNu știu ce am citit, nici cum să mă raportez la cartea Ioanei Unk. În sensul că am senzația că mi-a plăcut, dar nu știu exact de ce, și în același timp mi-a făcut creierul iubitor de ordine și disciplină terci, pentru că nu are nicio ordine și nicio disciplină. Totul e un haos foarte frumos, dar, deși mi-am luat consecvent notițe și am încercat să construiesc o hartă a relațiilor protagonistei, încă nu știu who is who, care-i timeline-ul și nici cum să interpretez finalul.
Ioana Unk scrie frumos. Proza curge, m-a vrăjit, m-a ținut între paginile ei chiar dacă simt că am bănănăit fără direcție. E o poveste despre iubire și căutarea acesteia, spusă de o femeie care nu-și poate uita iubitul din tinerețe și îl caută în toți ceilalți bărbați pe care îi cunoaște. Naratoarea mi-a părut nesigură în dragoste, mereu în căutarea aprobării celorlalți, înclinată spre raționalizare și victimizare, incapabilă să-și găsească locul. Și imatură emoțional.
Avem o carte emoționantă, introspectivă, care explorează complexitatea relațiilor de iubire și a auto-descoperirii prin intermediul dragostei. Naratoarea îl caută pe Filip, dar caută și sensul propriei existențe, și poate chiar sindromul picioarelor neliniștite de care suferă (afecțiune reală, de altfel) e un simbol al acestei căutări perpetue, al neliniștilor interioare și al dorinței de a găsi pace și echilibru.
De principiu, structura - și nu tema - cărții este cea care mi-a dat de furcă. Naratoarea ne duce de-a lungul vieții sale, dar o face în mod neliniar, combinând narațiunea de tip „memorialistic� cu pagini de jurnal, scrisori și ședințe de terapie - și părerea mea e că cel puțin două dintre aceste forme de povestire nu-și aveau locul și nu aduc mai multă claritate, ci dimpotrivă, au fragmentat și mai mult proza.
Mai mult, am simțit că ne învârtim în jurul cozii. Naratoarea (oare Ela o cheamă? Nu cred că i-am văzut numele decât o singură dată și tot nu-s sigură că e acesta) ne trece prin multiplele sale povești de dragoste cu diferiți bărbați, care întruchipează diverse tipologii, revenind, iar și iar, la acest Filip, care pare iubirea vieții ei, singurul pe care nu îl poate uita. Bărbații primesc nume de flori - Carum Carvi, Mușețel, Crocus Sativus etc., aspect care, deși la prima vedere e interesant, nu-mi pare explorat îndeajuns. De ce fix aceste plante? Explicația că tipul din pădure mirosea a chimen nu mă satisface, mi se pare o ocazie ratată de a adăuga profunzime textului. Aspectul acesta s-a dus mai mult în zona de gimmick și nu-mi plac găselnițele introduse în proză doar de dragul de a face ceva „diferit� (având deja și structura haotică, nu a făcut decât să adauge la haos).
Tot un gimmick mi s-a părut și introducerea fiecărui capitol nu doar printr-un set de versuri de la Depeche Mode, ci și printr-un citat din alte cărți. Cumva, cred că a vrut să fie originală, dar a adăugat puțin cam prea multe elemente de „estetică� și a ieșit o mâncărică ce are un condiment în plus care strică tot gustul (și condimentul acela-i coriandrul).
Am rămas cu mai multe întrebări decât lămuriri la final, cu fire narative lăsate de izbeliște (Care-i faza cu Dori și de ce l-am pierdut pe drum? De ce îi trimitea prietenei celei mai bune paginile sale de jurnal? Și care-i faza cu Ludmila Ulițkaia?). Simt nevoia să o iau de la capăt și să o citesc încercând să ignor toate elementele „postmoderne�, poate-poate pun cap la cap harta vieții acestei femei....more
Well, this was predictable. The second the killer walked into scene, I knew exactly who it was. I still had fun, though.
"The Pale Horse" is a murder mWell, this was predictable. The second the killer walked into scene, I knew exactly who it was. I still had fun, though.
"The Pale Horse" is a murder mystery that leans into the supernatural, but ultimately lands squarely in the rational realm. The book follows a secretive organization that appears to cause deaths through occult means. The story is set in the English countryside, where a peculiar former inn called The Pale Horse, inhabited by three women who claim to be witches, becomes the center of attention after various random people claim to have visited it.
The central character, Mark Easterbrook, is a historian with no particular expertise in the occult but is intrigued by the rumors surrounding the inn and the women. He becomes involved in the investigation after a series of deaths which include some people he knows or has heard about, all seemingly dead by natural causes. He goes undercover and discovers an extended network of crime which includes a betting agent and an organization that runs door-to-door polls.
While Christie is known for her clever misdirection, this one doesn’t exactly conceal its culprit well. The moment the criminal steps in, he practically wears a neon sign saying Suspicious Person Here. Or I've seen too many crime series.
In theory, this is considered an Ariadne Oliver book, but she barely makes an appearance. Sure, she gives a hint to Easterbrook that puts him on the path to discover the killer, but I was disappointed by her absence.
Overall, "The Pale Horse" is an interesting read, though it's not Christie’s most surprising mystery. ...more
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