My Absolute Darling | raw, violent, unflinching

Review: 3 stars

‘My Absolute Darling’ was one of NPR’s top picks for 2017, and also earned rave reviews from Stephen King, who crowned it a ‘masterpiece’. ‘Turtle’ Alveston is our hard-edged teenage narrator - molded in the unforgiving ways of survivalist living by her emotionally, physically and sexually abusive father, Martin. The theme of hunter and prey pervades throughout the novel . Turtle, for all her fierceness and strength, cannot break free from her father’s psychological hunting grounds. She degrades her own worth, appearance and intellect to match the level of depravity Martin bestows upon her. Turtle is not immediately conscious of her victimization, her shame, nor her role in the ongoing abuse, but she is shocked time again back to reality by the new levels of cruelty Martin achieves.

The novel is a very uncomfortable read, and intentionally so. Tallent includes scenes such as Martin forcing Turtle to do pull ups, dangling above a knife, in addition to the attempted rape of a 10-year old girl. Turtle is inadvertently saved with a chance encounter with two schoolmates - Jacob and Brett - who bring her back into the orbit of normalcy. The development of a crush on Jacob and the simple desire to attend a high school dance are events that bring the extremity of Turtle’s double-life into sharp relief, and compel her to save herself. The climax is incredibly vivid, action-packed and thriller-like - with the stakes of Martin and Turtle’s cat and mouse relationship elevated to all-time highs.

Tallent is a very ambitious writer for tackling a tale of this complexity and difficulty, told from a vantage point so different from his own. There are quiet scenes he includes, that speak to Turtle’s true character beyond the abuse (which can tend to be buried at times). Take for example, the care and art with which she cleans her guns, or seasons the cast iron skillet - signs of her fastidiousness, pride. Her character-defining arc is anchored in her evolving relationship with Cayenne, the young girl Martin grooms as Turtle’s successor. Seeing the abuse play out on another human is what catalyzes Turtle to no longer accept her reality as fixed.

I found the novel powerful and disturbing, and do not recommend it for the faint of heart, or those looking for a light read. It can be dark and offensive, but is one novelist’s perspective on what female strength looks like, and how complex relationships can be.

The Song of Achilles | mythical, original, poetic

Review: 4 stars

‘Circe’, Madeline Miller’s sophomore novel, has been atop my to-read list forever. When I saw ‘The Song of Achilles’ on sale, I decided to give it a spin first. I’ve completely forgotten my Greek mythology, aside from a brief re-watching of Troy several years ago, so I came to the character of Patroclus afresh.

‘The Song of Achilles’ is a re-telling of Achilles’ journey from brash golden child to tragic hero, etched in the canons of Greek history. It is an original perspective, told through the observations and emotions of Patroclus, Achilles’ sworn companion and secret lover. Patroclus is the perfect foil to Achilles - his dark, weak frame and penchant for failure, versus Achilles’ bronze, demi-god physique and battle prowess. Yet against all odds (and the efforts of Achilles’s sea-nymph mother, Thetis), the two fall passionately in love and embark on an entwined journey to manhood.

The well-known tale of the siege of Troy is enriched greatly by Miller’s willingness to place Patroclus’ and Achilles’ love affair at the centre of the saga. With this novel lens draped over the fated sequence of events, we learn that it is actually this love that drives the unfolding drama and tragedy. From Pactroclus’ fatally successful pantomime to Achilles’ grief-consumed death at the hands of Paris - each pivotal event is spun from their inseverable bond to one another. As Achilles forages into the iron-scented, blood-soaked realm of the warrior, Patroclus strays deeper into morality - becoming a healer and offering a hearth for Trojan refugees. Patroclus remains Achilles’ most sage confidant, the only true knower of his heart.

Miller also offers a well-researched take on the politics of warfare - from where the Greek encampments could be placed depending on positions of honour, to the sequence in claiming the spoils of war. This account of Troy is dramatic, deeply personal and engrossing. I recommend this to aficionados of Greek literature as equally as I do to those who have forgotten their grade school lessons in Greek mythology.

The Remains of the Day | nostalgic, unhurried, exquisite

Review: 5 stars

I first discovered Kazuo Ishiguro in my 9th grade English class, when we read ‘Never Let Me Go’. Since then, I’ve been in an Ishiguro drought, and it wasn’t until he won the Nobel Prize for Literature that he popped back on my radar. I took this book on holiday to Italy with my extended family, and found a quiet afternoon in La Spezia to sip rose and to finish this book on a little balcony overlooking a busy side street.

Few books actually make me laugh out loud, but this one accomplished just that. ‘The Remains of the Day’ follows Stevens, an English butler steeped in the times and traditions of a 1920s and 1930s way of life that has long since faded from vogue. He embarks on a delightful and startling journey which takes him from his place of service at Darlington Hall through the English countryside, to visit Miss Kenton, the former housekeeper he worked alongside decades ago. His travels are far beyond physical in nature - rather, each gently rolling hill and forested vista unlock memories he has neglected in favour of pure concentration on his butler duties.

The humour and magic of the book is created through Stevens’ inability to fully process his past and his feelings. His musings are at times self-deprecating, backwardly self-congratulatory and often lacking in self-awareness. At turns, you find yourself in admiration of his spotless record of selfless service, and then quickly again, you are chuckling to yourself as he convinces himself that perhaps he is one of the most dignified butlers in English history. The prolonged disposition on what dignity means, in addition to Stevens growing understanding of the role Lord Darlington played in managing German-English relations in World War II, are all story arcs that unfold leisurely, without haste. Steven’s eventual admission of former romantic feelings for Miss Kenton (now Mrs. Benn) establishes itself as a pivotal moment of character development. Stevens is able to forgo the airs and pretences of being a butler to allow himself emotion.

While this novel may be too slow for some readers, I was enamoured by the nostalgic depictions of English life - a time when propriety, tradition, service and excellence were the aims of the day. I thought it was a simply delightful read, and probably one of Ishiguro’s most notable, masterful works.

Where the Crawdads Sing | enchanting, romantic, effervescent

Review: 3 stars

‘Where the Crawdads Sing’ has been so widely promoted that I actively avoided reading it because I assumed it would be a bit of a throwaway novel. A much-vaulted pick as part of Reese Witherspoon’s Hello Sunshine Book Club, this novel by Delia Owens was marketed as a romance-whodunit-ode to nature. Finally, intrigued by the unbelievably positive reviews, I decided to purchase a copy from Indigo.ca.

I am glad I didn’t let my initial judgement get the better of me, because I found ‘Where the Crawdads Sing’ to truly be an incredibly meditative homage to America’s swamplands, Geography that is typically thought of as dank, dark and bereft of elegance is recast by Owens as mystical, temperamental and bewitching. Owen’s training as a wildlife scientist shines through unabashedly in how she paints the unrelenting afternoon sun and dazzling dusk skies of the North Carolina coastal marshlands.

Kya, our heroine, is known by the townsfolk as ‘The Swamp Girl’, reviled for her wayward barefoot lifestyle and completely misunderstood. As she is abandoned by her family one by one, she learns to rely only on herself - catching bait to trade for goods at Jumpin’s general store, cooking grits day in and day out for each meal, learning how to maintain the house. The story blossoms into a beautiful adolescent romance when Kya finally allows herself to depend on Tate. First to learn how to read, then to make sense of the natural world around her by naming species, and ultimately to care for her wary, scarred heart. The simplicity and honesty of their love is one element of the novel that makes the book such a compulsive read, and its subsequent unravelling is truly heartbreaking.

From there, the plot evolves into a murder mystery - Chase Andrews, the town alpha male, and Kya’s secret suitor, is found dead below a water tower. Suspicion swings to focus on Kya despite a paucity of evidence, and so begins a trial pitting town against marsh, law against nature and prejudice against girl. Owens is most successful when she is in her own comfort zone - evoking the unassuming charm of the woodlands she is so familiar with. In contrast, passages that elucidate the town’s hunt for justice and the court proceedings feel more mechanical and plot driven.

‘Where the Crawdads Sing’ is an easy, worthwhile read that helps impart a greater appreciation for America’s diverse natural geography and for those who choose to live a noble life amongst creatures not humans.

Pachinko | bracing, hopeful, absorbing

Review: 5 stars

‘Pachinko’ had been on my ‘to-read’ list for quite a while. I am finding that most National Book Award finalists are turning out to be some choice picks for my style of reading. This dynastic, sweeping sophomore novel from Min Jin Lee captivated me from start to finish. It follows several generations of Koreans, struggling to make sense of their self-identity in their homeland and in a highly stratified Japanese society.

At its heart, it is an immigrant story - one of unwanted pregnancy, of discrimination, of cherished yen earned through toil and desperation, and of the eventual reckoning of one’s self with parentage and parenthood. The story follows various characters, but Sunja’s voice rings throughout. Her actions as a teenager set off an inexorable series of events that culminates in hope for future generations, and a devastating blow to one branch of the family tree. Her secret affair with wealthy Koh Hansu on the shores of her fishing village is the genesis of how Hansu covertly becomes the puppet master of her clan. This includes protecting her family from certain death during the war, providing her with reputable employ to keep her family afloat, and funding their son Noa’s education to help him transcend the class he was born into. Despite Hansu’s behind-the-scene machinations, it is Sunja and Kyunghee’s powerful roles as breadwinners and family binders that make this a female-forward story.

The prose is delicate, honest and incredibly compelling. I was completely pulled into the narratives of each character, and invested in an internal debate between what qualifies as honourable and dishonourable. As a Chinese-Canadian, while I haven’t experienced anywhere close to the degree of ostracism that Noa and his brother Mozasu suffer in Japan as Koreans, I empathize with the impulsive desire to assimilate completely at times. Noa’s journey to mask his ethnicity through education and later through adoption of a Japanese name and personage proves futile in the end - his Korean heritage and struggle to come to terms with it becomes his eventual undoing.

This was an incredible read - and one of my most recommended books to friends. I also increasingly appreciate tragic, bittersweet endings, which ‘Pachinko’ successfully delivers upon. Hope you have a chance to delve into ‘Pachinko’ - it is well worth your while.

Macbeth | clever, bloodthirsty, corruptive

Review: 3 stars

My good friend Patrick, with whom I exchange books every Christmas, recently became a father! In advance of being sucked into the black hole of parenthood, he gifted me ‘Macbeth’, a very apt selection given I’m a fan of Nesbo’s “Harry Hole” series.

‘Macbeth’ is a modern day retelling of Shakespeare’s tragic classic - this time set in a drug-plagued 1970s small Norwegian town. The main players are all present, from Macbeth (a high-performing “SWAT” team leader), Banquo (his “trusty” sidekick), to Duncan (head of the police force). Nesbo makes clever reference to the original cast and circumstances, while ensuring his own story maintains its fidelity. For example, Hecate is now recast as the lord of a mysterious drug ring, selling “brew”, and his workforce is comprised of blind Chinese workers - an interpretation on the other blind witches who cast Macbeth’s fate. Lady Macbeth, assumes the mononym “Lady”, and as the fiery proprietor of a high-end casino in town, propels her lover Macbeth to maddening heights of power.

I last studied Macbeth in ninth-grade English class, so it was truly nostalgic to read Nesbo’s version. His elaboration on each character’s back stories created much rounder characters of the secondary cast - Duff, Lady and Banquo are each imbued with noble ambitions and self-destructive flaws. I found myself constantly shifting allegiances to the characters as I learned more about the regrets and motivations that defined each. This made it difficult sustain my sense of “true North”, which Nesbo offers to define as the betterment of the town and its people. The novel also poses the central question of what does “good” truly look like, when leaders trade one gang for another and claim victory for one population while sacrificing another. A question of democracy and transparency vs. efficient autocracy also arises - when is it rational for a leader who can truly effect change, to turn to mercenary means to achieve them? Does that in and of itself negate that leader’s progress towards good?

I thoroughly enjoyed this read. As always, Nesbo delivers high-octane plot development and careless bloodshed in this “game of thrones” thriller. HIs descriptive writing heightens the readers’ senses - placing us firmly in the rain-drenched chill of the Fife container yard, or in the backyard after a family’s massacre; the wet laundry still listing in the breeze, pockmarked with bullet holes. There are a few flaws - for example, the positioning of the various antagonists in the final battle scene is difficult to render, the interjections of the supernatural feel tangential, and the repeated missteps of a modern, well-equipped police force are not credible. However, by in large, ‘Macbeth’ gave me several days of engrossed, page turning escape, which was exactly what I was looking for.

A Separation | slow, melancholic, fading

Review: 2 stars

‘A Separation’ was the December pick for the ‘Now Read This’ bookclub, and also a well-highlighted book on a number of end of year lists. It also happened to be on sale at BMVQ for one-third the usual price, so I snapped it up. I had heard very mixed reviews about it, as it is “a slow burn of a novel”, but I was optimistic.

The novel follows an estranged wife of a man, Christopher, who has gone missing in Southern Greece. She narrates through a tone that feels emotionally-detached, spoken by someone viewing herself go through motions and reactions, versus experiencing them firsthand. Out of marital duty, she travels to Greece in search of her husband, all the while questioning whether she is the right person to search or to care.

Upon reaching Greece, she begins to pull back the veil on her husband’s public facade. The novel that he was 'almost finished’ has barely begun, the hotel concierge is yet another bedded mistress, his rented room is a slovenly mess. In the scorching sun of Gerolimenas, the small Greek fishing village where Christopher was last seen, her marriage appears desiccated, the could haves and should haves hollowed out. Upon finding her husband’s whereabouts, her reaction is muted, the shock dull and formless. In fact, our narrator appears to muster more empathy for a feuding couple - Stefano and Maria - than she can for Christopher or his parents. Christophers’s fate may come as a surprise to some, but it felt rather anti-climatic in its delivery.

My principal critique of ‘A Separation’ is the deliberate, slow pacing. It may have been selected to conjure the stifling nothingness of a small Greek village in blazing summer heat, or as a metaphor for how a failing marriage dismantles itself, action by action. However, it wore my patience thin, and I found myself flipping ahead constantly to see when the next major plot milestone would take place. I also found it incredibly difficult to connect with the main characters - each felt so cold and removed from one another, and had few redeeming qualities to elicit deep empathy.

I fully appreciate that many could see ‘A Separation’ as a study in careful observation. I also think Kitamura fundamentally achieved what she set out to create. Unfortunately, the story, and more importantly the style of narration, did not resonate well with me.

Washington Black | outlandish, questioning, expansive

Review: 4 stars

I always feel inspired by Indigo’s slogan - “The World Needs More Canada”. With that in mind, I picked up a copy of Esi Edugyan’s multi-award winning novel, ‘Washington Black’ to see if the hype around this Canadian author was deserved.

The novel opens on the Faith Sugar Plantation in Barbados, where our young, eleven-year-old protagonist, Washington Black, is a slave at the mercy of a cruel, new master. The adventure begins when Black is taken from the fields to serve as an assistant to Titch, the master’s brother. The two quickly defy the odds, developing a friendship founded upon scientific curiosity and mutual respect. Edugyan masterfully builds up the tenuous warmth of the bond, as Titch tends to Black’s wounds after an accident, praises Black for his artistic brilliance and saves Black from fatal punishment after an unexpected death occurs.

The pair escape Faith in a “Cloud-Cutter”, and as they wander further and further (Nova Scotia, Canadian Arctic), instead of relishing freedom, they become enslaved to their fear of recapture. The investment that Edugyan has made in the familial relationship between Titch and Black is ripped away without notice. Black is stranded, bereft of the sense of identity and worth that Titch had bestowed upon him. The remainder of the novel unravels through twists and turns, enriched by romance, tormented by the fear of being hunted, and encircled in unanswerable questions.

Edugyan’s central theme revolves around what it means to be free. Big Kit, Black’s closet caregiver on the plantation, asserts that freedom is “to [go] wherever it is you wanting”. Clearly, Black was beholden to the chains of slavery on the plantation, his very breath extinguishable on the whim of Master Erasmus. However, even after he escapes, Black is not truly liberated. He is monetarily and emotionally dependent on Titch, unable to imagine an independent path for himself. He has freedom from abuse, forced labour, brutality, but not freedom itself. After Titch’s disappearance, Black remains imprisoned in his own anxieties, as Willard, a brutish bounty hunter, draws nearer and nearer. In the final chapters, Black continues to be tethered to Titch, unable to extricate himself from perennial questions of “Why” and “How could you” as he scours the globe for his elusive friend. It is only in his final act of the novel that Black releases himself from all bondage, and goes where he is wanting, to the incredulity of the reader.

I thoroughly enjoyed this novel for its complexity, inventiveness and ability to approach the oft-visited theme of freedom across so many dimensions. Edugyan’s writing is meticulous in its fidelity to the novel’s temporal and geographic settings. Washington Black as a narrator is completely believable, and engenders deep reader sympathy as well. I would definitely recommend this book, and look forward to reading ‘Half Blood Blues’ - Edugyan’s prior work.

The Queen of Hearts | breezy, predictable, forgettable

Review: 2 stars

In February, I attended a company training in Scottsdale, Arizona. After a heart-pounding, lactic-acid inducing sprint to my gate, I ended up missing the connection, leaving me stranded in O’Hare for six hours. I found Barbara’s Bookshop in my terminal, and after thumbing through several titles, settled for “The Queen of Hearts”.

At the outset, we are introduced to two equally impressive protagonists, Zadie and Emma, who trade leading the narrative throughout the novel. Both are beautiful, wealthy, successful physicians, who have found their soulmates in one another. With bonds forged through the all-consuming world of medical residency, the two are inseparable, until we learn of a “Dr. X”, who could lead to the unravelling of their sisterhood.

Martin crafts Zadie and Emma as foils of one another - Zadie is the relatable mother, bathed in warm sunshine and sensuality, whereas Emma is the meticulous, over-achieving ice queen. This set of contrasts heightens the mystery surrounding Dr. X, who we quickly learn is Zadie’s former lover and the object of Emma’s contempt.

Without giving away the details, I will say that the novel is entirely predictable, and it is clear why outlets such as Southern Living ad Elite Daily heralded this as one of 2018’s most anticipated reads. It is a perfect antidote for an eventless summer day - incredibly plot-driven with excessive use of foreshadowing. The novel reads like a soap opera with its unfinished conversations, multiple attempts at revelations, and convenient misunderstandings. “The Queen of Hearts” is an absorbing, casual read, but not one that is memorable or distinctive.

The Immortalists | fatalist, enchanting, tender

Review: 3 stars

My office recently relocated close by BMVQ - what an amazing coincidence! On one of my walks home, I took a roundabout way and just happened to find myself grabbing a flat white and croissant at Praise Patisserie, which is the coffee shop at the back of BMVQ. I also took a gander at the staff picks bookshelf, and lingered on “The Immortalists”, before ultimately buying it.

The novel is segmented into four parts, each starring one of the Gold siblings. Preceding this quartet of life is a prologue, which sets up the alluring premise of the novel. The Golds visit a mystical forecaster of death, who provides each child with their expiration date. The central question is posed: how would you live your life, if you knew the date of your death? We explore this through the trials and tribulations of Simon, Klara, Daniel and Varya, and how a date shapes their destinies and longevity.

I found the novel immensely readable, and at points I had to pace myself from reading too quickly as each character hurtles towards their inexorable end. I inwardly pled with Simon and Klara to embrace safety and convention as their compounding decisions pushed each of them closer to fates that seemed fully avoidable. By the other hand, I found myself criticizing Varya’s chosen path - one that was awash in sterility and single-minded in its intent to avoid errors. At the conclusion - the reader is easily faced with a multitude of questions: Does the scale tip in favour of free will or predetermined destiny? What makes a life worth living? How does immortality express itself - through longevity, memory, legend, art, story?

Benjamin’s writing is most poignant when she employs the metaphor of the monkey longevity experiment - which tests the hypothesis of whether severe diet restriction can lengthen life exponentially. The scene where Varya experiences an epiphany with Frida, a monkey for which she has deep affection for, is one of the most searing, extracting heightened angst and reflection from the reader.

The sibling narrative also rang very true for me. As the middle sister in a family of three, I understand how time and distance can separate, but also how the bonds of childhood endure. I cannot shape my siblings’ decisions anymore than they can shape mine, as we are now each adults with separate daily orbits of people, dilemmas and opportunities. However, our shared stories and memories are what tie us inextricably to one another, and what compels us to help one another reach what we each perceive to be “success”, however conventional or unconventional our definitions are.

Overall, I would recommend this as a thought-provoking and relatively easy read, with a captivating, well-paced plot.

Asymmetry | inventive, intelligent, metafiction

Review: 3 stars

I returned to work in November of last year, and while I’ve kept up with my reading, I haven’t with my blogging! Catching up now, I’ll start with Asymmetry, which had been on my radar for the past few months. I was very taken by the beautiful cover design, and it also helped that it was on the NYT 10 Best Books of 2018 list.

Asymmetry is the debut novel by Lisa Halliday, and upon initial examination, appears to be two completely disparate stories bound together only by the printing process. The novel opens with “Folly”, a chapter that outlines the whimsical, entirely charming encounter between Alice, an impressionable young writer, and Ezra Blazer, an acclaimed author in his sunset years. Their romance unfurls with the lovely nostalgia of knowing that the golden years are here and soon to fade. Little traditions like baseball games and blackout cookies bring their relationship startlingly to life. However, as much as you want Ezra and Alice to succeed, there is something that nags at you and forces you to probe beneath their quirky affection for one another.

This is where asymmetry as a theme first emerges. Ezra’s “education” of Alice begins gradually, but soon overwhelms. His age, wealth, worldliness and renown make themselves conspicuous. He gives her money with specific spending guidelines, instructs her to buy clothing from S-E-A-R-L-E, annoyingly spells out words for her, dials her at will from a “CALLER ID BLOCKED” number, gives her a list of canonical literature to read, so on and so forth. Although Alice is our protagonist, we are always one step removed from her emotions. She effaces herself from the reader similar to how she dissolves herself into Ezra’s preferred, haute ways of living. An event as traumatic as an abortion earns little less than a passing mention, which is both how Alice and the reader experience the act. When Ezra asks “Do you ever think this isn’t good for you?”, Alice answers immediately that “it’s very good” for her. The richness of Alice’s youth, talent and character are exploited and under-appreciated, and we wonder whether she will ever emerge from Ezra’s shadow to explore her full potential.

This question seemingly goes unanswered through the next two segments of the novel. The first, titled “Madness”, is a story of identity and brotherhood narrated by Amar, an Iraqi-American. The latter is an interview conducted between a BBC host and Ezra, where he relays the soundtrack to his life. “Madness” is a sophisticated exploration of Amar’s connections to Iraq and the experiences of being a man of his heritage, amidst today’s backdrop of ethic suspicion. Halliday’s odd choice of narrator and country are what make this chapter the most astounding. The vividness of Amar’s memories, his culture and his loyalties are truly authentic. Even as I found myself disengaging from this chapter due to lack of common ground, I realized this was the savvy of Halliday’s writing. She had created a narrative so real, in a tone so utterly different from the preceding chapter, that I found the transition jarring and difficult to continue reading with the same mindset.

While the metafiction aspects of the novel and semi-autobiographical details are what have been hailed as a “literary phenomenon” by critics, the connection truly is easy to miss. I won’t reveal it here, but while I found the concept certainly clever, I was simultaneously unconvinced by the true merit of the novel’s structure. It does create a more cerebral read, but the thread between the various segments were so tenuous, that I could not appreciate it during the reading itself.

Little Fires Everywhere | relatable, tender, detailed

Review: 3 stars

I loved Celeste Ng’s ‘Everything I Never Told You’, so I eagerly grabbed her sophomore novel, ‘Little Fires Everywhere’ when it came out. I’m also trying to read more from Asian authors, so this was a great fit for my booklist.

Ng sets her story in Shaker Heights, a meticulously designed neighbourhood in Ohio, her native state. It follows the collision of two families - the Richardsons and the Warrens - and the consequences that arise as each member pursues their selfish interests. The conflicts begin small and crescendo quickly - a hidden teenage affair, a regretful abortion, an adoption controversy, a stolen surrogate baby. The drama ignites and grows into a blazing conflagration by the end, forcing Mia and Pearl Warren to flee town in haste, to the devastation of the four Richardson children.

I found Ng’s writing to be particularly powerful when delving into the pasts of Mia Warren and Elena Richardson, the two matriarchs in the story. She deftly captures the faded could-have-beens for each woman, rendering them as more than mothers. Elena’s epiphany as to why she holds her daughter, Izzy, at such arm’s length also rings with brilliant truth. Sometimes when we are threatened with the loss of something, we try not to love it too much for fear of pain. Ng also is a capable juggler - using Bebe Chow and Linda McCullough’s custody battle for a Chinese baby to further increase antagonistic tensions between the primary families.

You can read Little Fires Everywhere and easily relate to something in it - either the Asian-American immigrant experience, teenage angst, or secrets in one’s past, Perhaps the most relatable element of all is Elena’s articulation of what so many of us feel and practice in daily life: “…passion, like fire, was a dangerous thing. It so easily went out of control…Sparks leapt like fleas and spread as rapidly…Better to control that spark and pass it carefully from one generation to the next…Carefully controlled. Domesticated. Happy in captivity.” As Elena nurses her single flame, her daughter Izzy defies all rules and sets the world ablaze. Perhaps the novel is an ode to how our lives of normalcy are just waiting to be set ablaze by something, or someone.

I enjoyed much of the novel, but felt that the adolescent storylines lapsed into well-tread territory, with little left to discover. I would’ve also liked Elena to have been a more redeeming character earlier on. Her foray into villainy flattens the great character development we have from learning about her past. Although the novel reads as a thriller at times, it lacked the surprise and originality of Ng’s debut novel, which I had so loved. In particular, Mia’s revelation, which the entire story builds up to, seemed to me a let-down once unveiled. I don’t doubt that this novel will have many admirers, but for me, it fell short of a spectacular read.