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450 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 27, 2014
“Shortness of breath?” the doctor had asked her. “Muscle tension? Mental distraction?”
She looked down at her hands and nodded. Yes, to each of those things. Hearing them described so simply should have robbed them of their power, she thought; they were only words. But instead, she felt as if she should defend them. No, she would say. It’s so much more. They’re so much bigger than just those words.
Pregnant.She’s not happy, she feels anxious, unsettled, trapped, and she longs for the open water.
Again.
Sometimes Eleanor swore her life was being written by someone else’s hand. Certainly it wasn’t Eleanor’s. Maybe Hob’s. Maybe Agnes’s, even – she’d asked not six weeks earlier for a little brother or sister.
“And we can call her Patricia,” Agnes had pronounced. “Or Patrick!”
She’s grateful that preparations for the new baby seem to have distracted Hob and Agnes. She worries that those terrible, guilty thoughts are readable on her face. Her attacks come all the time now, but she finds quiet, dark places – such as the closet floor, behind Hob’s hanging shirts and sweaters – and cries there, where nobody can see her.Then, one day she goes for a swim in the ocean and doesn’t come back.
Time is a river, and it flows in a circle.
Esmerelda’s death split their family as finely as an atom, and the resulting detonation blinded them all.
(Mea) She is a witness to history, in a sense, observing the membrane’s captured memories like films trapped in amber. Mea has watched so many of these memories that she has ceased to think of them as real events that once occurred in some other realm. A bird who falls from its nest and starves while its mother stares down at it; a planet that forms from the dust of a long-dead star and flowers in the deepest, quietest night, then one day withers away, unnoticed by the universe; a mountain that grows out of deep seismic unrest and rises powerfully into a violet sky and is then immobilized by ice. Each of them beautiful and tragic, each of them far removed from Mea’s home in the darkness.
(Eleanor) She’s too old for these sorts of excursions with her father…one—but Eleanor doesn’t care too much. She knows why she craves these moments. She was robbed of a true childhood, and now, as a teenager, she leaps at every opportunity to regress, even a little. She is her own psychiatrist.
(Agnes) All isn’t lost; I still have Eleanor—but thinking of Eleanor means seeing Eleanor’s smiling green eyes, paired so cleanly with her red hair…and then she can only see Esmerelda’s hair, shreds of it caught in the broken windshield, blood streaked on metal and vinyl, the smell of exhaust and burned rubber, the coppery charge of blood. In these moments, Eleanor becomes a monster.
(The Keeper) This forest has burned and regrown twice since the keeper has lived in the valley. The earth here has never forgotten its pain. It cradles the heat of its own death, always just beneath the surface, as though releasing the memory would be to forget it forever, to risk succumbing again. But forests burn. They always return. The keeper’s valley is an open wound, doomed to scratch itself until it bleeds and bleeds.
(Eleanor) For a moment, Eleanor resents her mother, but this is nothing new. There have been many such moments during the past seven years. There will be many more. This is what it is like when a child must raise herself and her parent.
(Eleanor) And it is miserable to think that this is what adulthood is like: two people, cowering behind their grief, lashing out at each other like injured animals.
This is one of those books that it's easier to review by writing about what it is not, than what it is.
It's not Neil Gaiman (but it's almost that good), it's not typically YA (despite the teenage protagonists), it's not easily categorised (it's somewhere between metaphysics, magic and uhh, time travel, along with a really vivid depiction of a family failing to deal with grief and completely falling apart).
And it is very, very, very good.
If I had access to physical copies of this book, I would probably be that annoying friend going around pressing it into everyone's hands going "you HAVE to read this".
Be warned, for the first four or five chapters, I thought the blurb was for an entirely different book heh. It's not. Bear with it.
Oh yes, there's some magic stuff too. And dreams walking and time travel and dinosaurs and love and loss and grief and pain and redemption, all wrapped up in one hell of a read.
Longer but no less gushing review @ Booklikes