Reviews
I’ll admit to being somewhat disappointed by this one, as I’d hoped for slightly more from it, but I nevertheless enjoyed reading it, and found it to be a great book to dip in and out of.
While the concept of ‘Book Eaters’ was interesting, it sometimes felt underdeveloped- I found myself wanting for more at times.
One thing I struggled with was actually caring about the characters- none of them were particularly likeable, and I found myself uncaring about their fates. This could, however, be reflective of the characters’ themselves, who are typically apathetic towards those not of their own kind- which makes it hard to root for them completely. If anything, it emphasises the ‘us and them’ mentality pushed forward by The Families.
A very clear point about ‘cults’ and institutional-thinking is made, and as a reader you’re aware of it the entire time. Seeing different characters respond to this, with varying degrees of understanding made for some interesting dynamics.
Some areas I was hooked on. Interestingly, the most-so was during some scenes from Devon’s past, particularly with her second marriage- the intersect between past and present in these moments was cleverly done, as it balanced the reader knowing better against Devon’s lies in the present.
Overall, it was a decent read. I enjoyed it, casually, and found the concept interesting.
Highlights
"That's what fairy tales do to us," Devon said, rueful. "If we grow up think- ing that we're princesses and someone else will rescue us, then we spend our lives waiting for that rescue and never trying to escape ourselves."
“Our childhood books always ended in marriage and children. Women are taught not to envision life beyond those bounds, and men are taught to enforce those bounds. We grow up in a cultivated darkness and don't even realize we're blind.”
For here was the thing that no fairy tale would ever admit, but that she understood in that moment: love was not inherently good.
Certainly, it could inspire goodness. She didn't argue that. Poets would tell you that love was electricity in your veins that could light a room. That it was a river in your soul to lift you up and carry you away, or a fire inside the heart to keep you warm. Yet electricity could also fry, rivers could drown, and fires could burn; love could be destructive. Punishingly, fatally destructive.
Really, it was pointless to apologize. Victims didn't want your sorry-so- sorrys when you were hurting them, they wanted you to stop.
"None of us are truly good," the vicar said, at last. He put a hand on her shoulder, so gently, so kindly, and she almost threw up on the spot. "All we can do is live by the light we are given.”