Category Archives: Historical Fiction

The Twelve Tribes of Hattie by Ayana Mathis

The Twelve Tribes of Hattie - Ayana MathisThe Twelve Tribes of Hattie – Ayana Mathis
Hutchinson, Random House, 2013
Review copy from Netgalley

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The Twelve Tribes of Hattie is the story of Hattie Shepherd who moves from Georgia to Philadelphia as part of the Great Migration. Her story spans many decades, from the 1920s to the 1980s.

Aged 17, Hattie’s story begins with the death of her twin babies, Philadelphia and Jubilee. Hattie’s disappointments in life have just begun, but the death of her first children will cast a shadow over most of what happens afterwards. Her husband cheats and squanders their money which leaves her and the long row of children they have together in poverty. The rest of the story is told through the alternating viewpoints in which these children usually take the lead. Most of them face difficulties in live, and they often remember their strong, but mostly unloving mother, during these episodes. While most of the story actually is not told from Hattie’s point of view, and is usually removed from the direct domestic sphere of Hattie’s household, this novel consisting of 10 chapters all seemingly telling a different but intertwined story in the end all revolve around Hattie in some way or other.

However, The Twelve Tribes of Hattie is more than a story about one family and ultimately the lasting impact of one mother. It is packed with larger themes such as a returning reflection on the nature of the US south:

“He thought of the South as a single undifferentiated mass of states where the people talked too slow, like August, and left because of the whites, only to spend the rest of their lives being nostalgic for the most banal and backwoods things: paper shell pecans, sweet gum trees, gigantic peaches.”

And a commentary on religious belief. Religion recurs in the stories of Hattie’s children, but in the end also appears in the final pages as a metaphor, or perhaps as commentary, on her broader outlook on life, while also posing the question if Hattie’s individual life could be read as the lives of many women of the great immigration:

“She had been angry with her children, and with August, who’d brought her nothing but disappointment. Fate had plucked Hattie out of Georgia to birth eleven children and establish them in the North, but she was only a child herself, utterly inadequate to the task she’d been given. No one could tell her why things had turned out the way they had, not August or the pastor or God himself. Hattie believed in God’s might, but she didn’t believe in his interventions. At best, he was indifferent. God wasn’t any of her business, and she wasn’t any of his. In church on Sundays she looked around the sanctuary and wondered if anyone else felt the way she did, if anyone else was there because they believed in the ritual and the hymn singing and good preaching more than they believed in a responsive, sympathetic God.”

The thing is, perhaps I like the idea of The Twelve Tribes of Hattie better than its execution. The alternating viewpoints sometimes almost lead you to believe that you are reading ten different stories that are not altogether a coherent whole. The family tree becomes somewhat confusing sometimes. The fact that as a reader you only see episodes from each of these lives sometimes interferes with a deeper understanding of the characters – something I would have liked a little more of. And, as is often the case, some of the characters’ stories did more for me than others. I felt I persevered, and had to tell myself to do so, through parts of this book. And perhaps the only chapters that glued this book together, and “saved” it for me, were the rather touching beginning and ending.

There is some wonderful prose, some wonderful insight into what emotions, stress, and social circumstances will do to family life while also underlining love next to heartbreak.. And yet, The Twelve Tribes of Hattie failed to grab me, convince me, as such a heartbreaking story might be expected to do.

Other Opinions: BookLust, Boston Bibliophile,  Book Monkey, Reading on a Rainy Day,  Devourer of Books, nomadreader, A Bookish Way of Life, Lovely Trees Reads,  Amy’s Book Obsession, Sam Still Reading, Follow the Thread, Bibliophile by the Sea, Curled Up with a Good Book and a Cup of Tea.
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Possession by A.S. Byatt

Possession - AS ByattPossession – A.S. Byatt
Vintage, 1991

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That’s right, I have finally read Possession. And I loved it, as everyone predicted I would, though that love was not present from the very start.

For those who have not read Possession, I am very sorry, but I won’t include a plot summary. Not because I am lazy (or well, perhaps that does play a role), but because I don’t know how to summarise this book exactly without veering into possibly spoilery terrain. I don’t think my thoughts below will be spoilery. It’s just that in order to get a proper outline of the plot, without giving it away, there are too many layers to work through in my head, to get back to that initial unknowing state of when I first started reading a few weeks ago. And this is the kind of book where I am sure you will appreciate exploring by yourself, discovering as you go along. All I can say is: please do read it. And don’t feel daunted and intimidated, as I was. Moreover, remember to stick with it for the first 100 pages (I admit, those can be hard), if any of the themes below appeal to you. The book, and the eventual conclusion, will probably be worth it. It more than was, from my point of view.

So yes, Byatt’s prose, not exactly easy. Even though it is absolutely beautiful, reading it was also a bit of an uphill battle for me. I had to tell myself repeatedly that I had committed to actually reading this during the first 100 pages or so. My engagement with the story was moreover complicated by the initial reserve I felt for one of the main characters, Roland Mitchell. Luckily, excited and interesting things started happening, puzzles were waiting to be resolved, other characters entered the scene (yay for Maud Bailey, Christabel La Motte, and Ellen Ash), and academic tensions started to simmer. It did not take more than those 100 pages to hook me, though I admit, the reading was still difficult at times.

Allow me, for I am a little short on time today, to briefly sum up why I ended up loving this novel so so much, despite my initial struggles:

  • It is (in part) a novel about academia. Remember how I loved the library and research part in A Discovery of Witches? It’s like that, except, I think, even better. Moreover, it highlights both the beautifully romantic about academic life and research, and the cruel, competitive, and not-so-wonderful side, which I think are both very realistically done;
  • Possession highlights the rush, the joy, the curiosity, and the frustrations of not-knowing, in historical research. As you follow two scholars in their quest to find out more, to discover possible connections between two people who haven’t previously been thought of as such before, you get to part of the journey of discovery. The journey that I hope for in my own research. I felt sympathy for Maud and Roland, because like them, discovering some treasure, even a single line in an archive, can have me dancing in my chair (of course, Roland and Maud are a little more sophisticated than me);
  • There is all kinds of gender criticism in Possession. It is literally everywhere. In its portrayal of the dismissal of “women’s studies” in academia at large (oh, how I relate!), in the reflections on the lives of Maud and all those other contemporary women (their relationships, the misunderstandings, the mistakes, the presumptions, the casual sexism), but also in the writing of historical women (you find historical women reflecting on their possibilities, making decisions, reflecting on their pasts, missed opportunities, mistakes). It makes it real, it makes it relevant, it made me love Byatt for it;
  • History! Oh, so much history! And even the mention of some Dutch history (Swammerdam). By the way, it is not that the mention of my national history makes me swell with patriotism, it’s just a small spark of recognition, the idea that someone bothered to mention a Dutch historical figure, out of all possibilities;
  • The (fictional) historical documents contain a lot of reflection on religion. The possible challenges faced by Christianity with the advent of Darwin’s theory, the emergence of spiritualism. Ah yes, (contextualised ideas about) religion + history + gender + good fiction = happy Iris.
  • Literary criticism (not that I know much about that, but it was interesting nonetheless), and the personal importance of reading are everywhere.
  • And can I add the absolute skill of Byatt to that list? Because if this novel portrays anything, it is her skill, I think. Seemingly seamless, she incorporated all these themes and more. Perhaps even more importantly, she also wrote all the different documents that Maud and Roland trace: the poems, the letters, the diary entries, the academic essays about the poetry. I had to double, no triple, check, if it was right that Byatt wrote it all. But she did. I am in awe.
  • I had not expected it at the beginning, but the book also managed to evoke a lot of emotions from me. Those last 100 pages, with all the revelations, the doubts, the feelings, they simply blew me away.

Possession deserved much better than this post by me. Every single one of all of the brief glimpses of thought, or even just brief mentions of themes, noted here, probably deserve a dedicated blog post. And it is not that I do not want to find the time to write it. I would so like to, but my abilities to reflect meaningfully on all of them would probably fall short. And, I know it is a lame excuse, I have an essay deadline approaching. Not wanting to delay on sharing my enthusiasm, I wanted to write this post anyway. Perhaps someday I will reread, and rewrite.

Thanks to Lu and Kim for organising a month-long read along of Possession. Without it, and the participation by other enthusiastic bloggers, I might not have picked this up for another couple of years. And I’m infinitely glad I read it now.

The Children’s Book next?

Other Opinions: Oh so many.

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Bitter Greens by Kate Fortsyth

Bitter Greens - Kate ForsythBitter Greens – Kate Forsyth
Allison and Busby, 2013

Review copy from The Book Depository
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In Bitter Greens Kate Forsyth tells the stories of three women.

In part, it is a retelling of the story of Rapunzel, through its focus on Margherita who is taken from her parents when they make a promise to a witch over a handful of bitter greens. Margherita is taken to a convent and later locked up in a tower surrounded by red-gold tresses of hair.

It is also the story of witch Selena Leonelli who lives in Renaissance Venice, was once the muse of the artist Tiziano, and is becoming exceedingly afraid of time.

But most of all, Bitter Greens is the story of Charlotte-Rose de la Force, who is exiled from the court of Louis XIV and sent to a convent. There, she struggles to submit to the nun’s rules, especially as she is now without a means to write down her stories. Charlotte-Rose story is told both through flashback to her time at court, as well as by glimpses of her time in the convent, where she learns about Margherita’s story, and where she eventually came to write down the version of the tale of Rapunzel which we are now most familiar with.

As you might gather from the extended plot summary, Bitter Greens packs a lot. And I have not even told you about the most interesting elements of the book yet. For Bitter Greens is not only a retelling of a fairy tale, or a wonderful immersion in three different historical settings, it also contains reflections on the importance of storytelling (especially as we witness Charlotte-Rose relating to Margherita’s tale), and ultimately, it is the story of the fates of women, their possibilities, their lack of opportunities in diverse settings, and their efforts to (re)gain agency in their own life. In that manner, I cannot help but draw parallel’s to Margo Lanagan’s fiction. Not because I want to discuss which is better, but because there are parallels that I think many readers of Lanagan’s fiction will appreciate in Bitter Greens

It need not be surprising that the intertwinement of great storytelling with reflections on the possibilities of women in diverse historical settings and a slight fantasy twist was what I appreciated most in Bitter Greens. I really liked how the story was not just about the lack of such possibilities, but instead portrayed the trial and error of people in a subordinated possition finding their own way. I appreciated the attention paid to the complexities of several things that can work both to empower and imprison women. There’s beauty and its drawbacks and advantages in the different stories. There’s sex of both the freeing and the damning kind. And there’s love of the healthy and unhealthy variety. And, of course, through the discussion of the diverse settings in which these three women move, convents, cities, courts (which are all wonderfully brought to live, I might add!) there are the restrictions and boundaries placed upon such basic things as movements and thoughts in different ways.

At a certain moment, when Selena Leonelli is faced with a choice concerning her future, there’s a rather bleak, but also powerful passage in which she is both offered a choice, but at the same time faces the lack of choice available to her:

‘You are very beautiful, Selena, as I’m sure you know. You must understand that your beauty is as much a curse as a blessing. It will give you power, if you use it wisely. But it does mean that you must choose your sphere of influence. There are only three choices of women in this world that we live in. You can be a nun, or a wife, or a whore. Which will you choose?’

‘I want to be a witch like you.’

‘Then you must be a whore.’

For a moment, I could not speak, my ears and eyes filled with memories like maggots.

Then I realised Sibillia was right. A nun was locked away behind high walls, never to step foot outside again. Even if the tales of nuns tunnelling through the walls to let in their lovers were true, the fact remained that they were bound in service to their god and had little freedom or power in their lives. And, in Venice, wives were kept almost as close as nuns. At Carnevale time, men took their mistresses out to see the festivities while their wives stayed at home with their children. They went out only to church, or to visit family in their private homes, their hair tucked under demure caps, their bodies encased in armour of fathingales and petticoats. I could not bear such a life.

The interesting thing to me is how in Bitter Greens power and the possibility of choice for these women always comes with responsibility. In becoming a witch like Sibillia, Selena in the end oppresses others. She can give a position and protection to people in difficult circumstances, but always at a cost to their own freedom. In court, a similar situation is painted of people always in battle over rights and positions, facing the possibility that one upgrade might mean a downgrading, or even a loss of life, of others.

It is not that there is only oppression in Bitter Greens. Even though the book very much engages with the idea of empowerment at the cost or at the benefit of others, with violence, and moreover with a lot of sexual violence in the form of rape (trigger warning, there are repeated graphic descriptions of rape), there is also a storyline of redemption woven through the book, where there are choices and sacrifices that allow these women to find a place in life. Bounded by circumstances, sure, but definitely with the possibility of some form of peace of mind. And because the reader is constantly shown in what ways these women suffer, I did not read this redemption as a “see, however bad the circumstances, anyone can find happiness” storyline, for it is not. It is rather about the possibilities of finding your own space, at the cost of constantly having to negotiate about that space, a negotiation that you can lose easily in these societies. As I said before, there are stories of selfish love, but also those of a more healthy kind. And very important, there is sex as oppression, but sex is never shamed as such, and its pleasures are also explored.

What I loved about Bitter Greens is how it manages to combine so much of what I enjoy: it is complex fiction, historical fiction, fairy tales, feminist perspectives, reflections on the use and abuse of power, an appreciation for individual circumstances in the midst of societal forces, and even a note on religion (albeit, I think, mostly in a negative way). I fear I cannot even begin to do this book justice, as I struggle to do with a lot of books that are complex and lovely. I hope this reflects some of what I meant to say. I know I will be returning to this story in my mind for quite a while. Days after finishing, I found myself returning to the settings and people that appear in this story, longing for more, even if in itself, Bitter Greens already offers everything and more than I expected (and I had high expectations going in). I suspect this may end up ranking high on my-favourite-reads-of-2013 list.

I would love to discuss this book more in-depth with those who have read it. For example, there is one thing I wonder about: what about the portrayal of GLBTQ characters? There are heavy hints towards two persons having gay relationships, and I felt that perhaps, they were not always handled particularly sympathetic. The king’s brother becomes somewhat of a caricature, and the reader is not offered much beyond the glimpses of his dress and affair with a man. Another character… receives a more redeeming storyline in some respects, but her attempts towards physical contact with members of her own sex are mostly painted in light of power relations and oppression. In part, this fits with this book’s narrative surrounding sex as a means of joy or violence. On the other hand, I wondered at the choice to include gay characters mostly in this manner. I cannot quite make up my mind how to feel about this. If you ahve thoughts, please share them with me.

Other Opinions: The Worm Hole, The Little Reader Library, The Broke and the Bookish,  Book’d Out, Yours?

Once Upon a Time VIIBitter Greens, as a retelling of the Rapunzel fairy tale, fits Carl‘s Once Upon a Time Challenge perfectly. For me, it was a great book to start the challenge with.

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The Reader by Bernhard Schlink

The Reader - Bernhard SchlinkThe Reader – Bernhard Schlink
Translated from the German by Carol Brown Janeway

Phoenix, Orion Books, 1998
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The Reader is not an easy book, nor is it a pleasant one. I found part of it compelling, parts of it repulsive, parts of it a little bit too repetitive, not always completely engaging, and yet rather addictive. In short I cannot quite reduce my opinion to any one single feeling, but I think this is in part what the book means to do. If anything, it will invoke strong reactions in readers, and I think would make a perfect book to discuss among a group of readers.

In The Reader we encounter Michael Berg, a fifteen-year-old teenager who upon meeting Hanna falls in love with her, and starts an affair with her, even if she is many years older. Their relationship is far from perfect, with a lot of tensions beneath the surface, and yet Michael seems caught up in it as if in a dream. However, one day Hanna suddenly disappears. In part 2 and 3 of the book, the reader finds out the how and why of this disappearance, and suddenly a very different light is shed on Hanna and Michael’s relationship.

WARNING: I cannot discuss this book without spoilers, so only read ahead if you are not bothered about them or if you have already read this book.

I had a rather strange experience with this book. First, I was puzzled by my reaction to the subject matter. Here is a description of what is supposed to be a very erotic relationship, between a woman and a minor. Basically, it is p_doph_lia. And yet, I didn’t have as strong a reaction to it as I might have expected, as I rationally knew I should have. As upon reflection I did have. But while reading, I only felt a strange compulsion to read on.

Now, before you judge me about that, I think that is rather interesting in light of what the rest of the book portrays, which is Hanna as a nazi prison guard who lets girls read to her before they are deported to Auschwitz. I, like most people, was repulsed by the idea of the relationship between Hanna and Michael. But I think the confused feelings I experienced (and in no way did they involve actual romantic or erotic feelings, the most I got from their encounters was this strange obsession, that I somehow equate with how teenage relationships can be) were meant to be there. For when you think of Hanna’s superiority to Michael in age, and her (more dangerous?) superiority as a prison guard to those reading girls, there is a strange overlap. Just as, as some have noticed, there might be a comparison implied between Michael’s “love” for Hanna and Germany’s “infatuation” with nazism?

I don’t know. I think all of this *could* be read into the book. I am not exactly sure how I feel about that. Still conflicted, I think, because it is a strange and somehow unbalanced(?) comparison to make, on the one hand. And yet, it sheds a different light on the theme of WWII and nazism that I have encountered too many times in books, and which usually makes me avoid them. As I’ve said, this books left me SO conflicted, but I feel it would be an interesting one to discuss. Perhaps even in history class?

Because what fascinated me about the book beyond this strange confused feeling I had throughout my reading, and upon finishing, the book, was the book’s preoccupation with generational memory and dealing with trauma’s. I could give you a number of quotes that appeal to this conflict, this not knowing what to do, not knowing how to approach people who were part of that generation; are they accomplices, innocent bystanders? Do we blame them? Forgive them? Is there an in-between? And what about the next generation, are they still guilty, by association, for not speaking out? Etc.

I could tell you it is all summed up in these questions following Michael’s confusion upon realising that Hanna was guilty, and why she kept silence in court upon one thing that she was accused of but actually couldn’t have done:

“I wanted simultaneously to understand Hanna’s crime and to condemn it. But it was too terrible for that. When I tried to understand it, I had the feeling I was failing to condemn it as it must be condemned, there was no room for understanding. But even as I wanted to understand Hanna, failing to understand her meant betraying her all over again. I could not resolve this. I wanted to pose myself both tasks – understanding and condemnation. But it was impossible to do both.”

But most of all I wanted to include the following, because it expresses so much of what I feel is very much a part of the history and commemoration of traumatic experiences, and that makes me wonder if there is ever going to be a “right” approach. There is the question of letting the “facts” speak for themselves, whether presenting them “raw” makes them have more or less impact. It breaches the importance of collective memory for keeping history alive and yet “deal-able”, but also how this sometimes takes away the very directness and awfulness of an episode, the pain, so to say:

“When I think today about those years, I realize how little direct observation there actually was, how few photographs that made life and murder in camps real. We knew the gate of Auschwitz with its inscription, the staked wooden bunks, the piles of hair and glasses and suitcases; we knew the building that formed the entrance to Birkenau with the tower, the two wings, and the entrance for the trains; and from Bergen-Belsen the mountain of corpses found and photographed by the Allies at the liberation. We were familiar with some of the testimony of prisoners, but many of them were published soon after the war and not reissued until the 1980s, and in the intervening years they were out of print. Today there are so many books and films that the world of the camps is part of our collective imagination and completes our ordinary everyday one. Our imagination knows its way around in it, and since the television series Holocaust and movies like Sophie’s Choice and especially Schindler’s List, actually moves in it, not just registering, but supplementing and embellishing it. Back then, the imagination was almost static: the shattering fact of the world of the camps seemed properly beyond its operations. The few images derived from Allied photographs and the testimony of survivors flashed on the mind again and again, until they froze into clichés.”

It is for its reflection on history and memory, on its exploration of the trouble of dealing with dramas, inhumanity, and traumas years after the fact, that fascinated me, even if I am not exactly sure whether or not I agree with, or if I even understand exactly, what Schlink is telling us. Perhaps I am clinging on to this aspect of the story as something that interests me, because I am even more unsure about what the other parts of the novel are telling me. What do I do with the fact that Hanna becomes almost, or possibly even wholly, humane? I think in part she is never forgiven, as is portrayed in the rejection (in part) of one of the survivors of Hanna’s money-donation. And yet the book moves towards a sort of dangerous, uncomfortable zone with the whole narrative. Perhaps uncomfortable because it is so very true that monstrous things can be done by (relatively)  regular people?

Discomfort is truly the keyword here. Which is again, exactly what it means to do, I think. I don’t think it is wrong, per se, in doing that, but I also cannot wholeheartedly say that I loved this book. Like the detachment that Michael describes when he speaks of war stories, that is the sort of detachment I felt for parts of The Reader. A strange sort of detachment, which was compelling and puzzling at the same time, but detached I was.

Please help me snap out of my long tumble of thoughts and share your thoughts and opinions of Bernhard Schlink’s The Reader?

I read The Reader by Bernhard Schlink as part of Lizzy and Caroline‘s German Lit Month, in which they feature German literature for the whole month of November. Please click over to their blog for more German lit.

Other Opinions: Erin Reads,  A Guy’s Moleskine Notebook,  Boston Bibliophile, 1morechapter, Vulpes Libris, Hey Lady, MariReads, Nishita’s Rants and Raves, Mad Bibliophile, BermudaOnion’s Blog,  Steph & Tony Investigate!, S. Krishna’s Books, My Friend Amy, Leeswammes, The Octogon, Chick with Books, A Novel Menagerie, bean bag books, Park Benches & Book Ends, Caribousmom.
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Away by Amy Bloom [audiobook]

Away - Amy BloomAway – Amy Bloom
Narrated by Barbara Rosenblat

Highbridge, 2007
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Away tells the story of Lillian, who one day in Belorussia in 1924 finds her family members murdered on the floor of her home. Every member of her family was killed but her aunt, who tells her that her baby girl, whom Lillian cannot find in her parental home, was killed as well. With nothing left to lose and a life that might be threatened if she were to stay around, Lillian immigrates to the United States. There, she fights hard to rebuild her life, until one day a cousin tells her that her daughter is still alive and living in Siberia. Upon hearing this, Lillian knows that she has to do everything in her power to see her daughter again. And so she embarks on a long and arduous journey across the United States, trying to make her way back to her daughter in whatever way she can.

If, by any chance, you read that summary and thought to yourself “that does not sound like the kind of story Iris usually reads”, then you would be right. It is not. I picked it up on a whim when I was browsing (the rather miniscule) English audiobook shelf at the library. And then when I came home, I found out that there were actually a ton of bloggers who had enjoyed this novel. More than enjoyed it, even.

But the thing is, perhaps this is really just not my kind of story. Most of the time, the story felt more like a summary of events, a description of the things Lillian encountered and felt. Lillian never really became a true character for me. To some extent, some of the characters she met during her travels felt more real than she did. There was also a strange unbalance, I felt, between the first part of the story where we follow Lillian in New York while she establishes herself as the mistress of a rich businessman and his son, and the second part that recounted her travels. More than anything though, I think it was the fact that the story seemed to follow a similar pattern that repeated itself for a number of times: Lillian will do anything she has to, Lillian encounters one or more characters, Lillian usually ends up having sex with most of the men she encounters, Lillian meets an obstacle, Lillian overcomes the obstacle with or without the help of another character, Lillian moves on.. And then this pattern kind of repeated itself again. I was particularly uncomfortable with the sex scenes. This was the kind of novel where I did not appreciate the sex scenes, but then again, I am generally uncomfortable with sex in novels. The thing is, it made me wonder during my walks whether the “strong women will do what she must” storyline had to involve sex quite so often.

I feel I may perhaps be unnecessarily harsh on this book. I am a little puzzled about it myself as so many seem to have loved it, and many of those who did are bloggers I trust and usually agree with. So I don’t know. I think in part my dislike is founded in the fact that I so often struggle with audiobooks that are not stories that I absolutely love (which doesn’t mean the narration of this one is bad – it’s just that often when I find stories fail to capture my interest instantly, I find it more difficult to listen to them on audio than it would be to read them from a print copy). And yet.. would I have liked this book if I had read it in paper form? I sort of doubt it. I truly think this might just be a case of “not for me, but you might enjoy it”.

Other Opinions: Leeswammes, a book a week, Rat’s Reading, Write Meg!, You’ve GOTTA Read This, Life and Times of a “New” New Yorker, The Magic Lasso, Ready When You Are, C.B., Small World Reads, Bibliophile By the Sea, living read girl, Amy’s Book Obsession.
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