#both mine

Thoughts in brief (not that brief, lol):

You might notice in the photo I posted that this book is already looking a little worse for wear. If the amount of damage to a book is an indication of how well-loved it is, then this one is very, very well loved. Of all the Margaret Rogerson books I've read (granted, this is only the second), Vespertine is - in my opinion - the best yet. And it's going to be a series - how awesome is that?!

As I was reading, I kept flipping the pages back, trying to find bits of information that I had overlooked in order to better understand the place I was at. I was so invested in the plot and characters that I read late into the night and actually had to make myself put the book down.

I would like to applaud Rogerson (as well as all her supporters, promoters, editors, etc), because for her, this was an incredibly difficult book to write. She was in COVID isolation and was, in her words, "the most depressed I'd ever been in my life." Massive, massive respect and kudos to you, Madame Rogerson.

I cannot rave enough about Vespertine's MC, Artemisia. She was so well-rounded, so well-written. A character like her runs the risk of being unlikeable, but thanks to Rogerson's writing, this is never the case. Rogerson makes you care about Artemisia and care what happens to her - which is exactly what I, as a reader, want in the characters I'm reading about.

The world-building was really well done too - so carefully crafted and intricate, with the relics, spirits, nuns and the other religious aspects. I'll admit it took a while for me to fully grasp how it all worked, but once I did, I was invested and committed to the world that Rogerson had created.

Now I've talked about the worldbuilding, I simply must mention the revenant, the incredibly powerful, murder-hungry (at least at first) spirit that comes to inhabit Artemisia's body (apologies for my poor explanation, it makes more sense in the book, I promise). Despite its mass-murdering tendencies and hatred of the clergy (known as the Clerisy), it has a delightfully snarky wit and it grows to genuinely care for Artemisia, who, thanks to abuse suffered during her childhood, often forgets to eat or get proper rest. She, in turn, comes to increasingly rely on the revenant for lending her its power and its often blunt advice, and the two develop a close bond which is really heartwarming. The supporting characters were well-drawn too, particularly Mother Dolours and Marguerite.

Despite a slow start - and there were other places where it dragged a little (only a little!) - the plot moved along at a good pace and the eventual twist leading to the climax made logical sense, but also managed to be genuinely surprising.

Thoughts in brief:

I have a lot of thoughts about this one but I feel like these would be better shared in bullet-point format rather than fully-formed paragraphs. So here goes!

The incorporation of German folklore (from what I looked up as I was reading) into the story seemed to be very well done, Meyer clearly did her homework. All the elements made sense plot-wise and it never felt shoe-horned in.

The romance was sweet if maybe a tad rushed. I did like Gild.

500 pages long! It managed to hold my interest despite some weaker parts, but I think it could have been trimmed.

If you like your fairy tale retellings dark a la Grimm Brothers, this one will be right up your alley. I know I've already said this, but please take the trigger warnings seriously. There is blood. Lots of blood. Animals are hunted for sport. And children die (gruesomely). I'm still spooked thinking about it all. Was it overdone? I don't know - but it kind of makes me uneasy.

Serilda is a strong, feisty, quick-witted heroine - far from your typical damsel in distress.

The Erlking (or Erlkönig) is one of the best villains I've ever read. He is truly frightening and I'm rooting for him to get his comeuppance. Painfully.

Cliffhangers suck.

Thoughts in brief:

What a strange, unsettling book this is.

I'm writing this review several days after I finished it, at least in part because I genuinely did not know what I would say about it.

I know Rebecca appears on many "best-of" book lists, and I can see why - it's absolutely dripping with atmosphere and suspense, like no other book that I have read for some time. Du Maurier's descriptions of the natural world struck me as particularly vivid. And it is quite a page-turner - I did often end up reading for longer periods than I had originally planned to.

I gave this book three stars for those reasons - but if you asked me whether I enjoyed it, I don't know if I'd be able to give a concrete answer.

Perhaps part of the problem lies in the fact that this novel is very much a product of its time - its attitudes to race, class, gender, body image and disability are incredibly dated and jarring for a contemporary reader. There were two examples that stood out to me:

Around about halfway through the novel a costume party takes place. White characters dress up in an Orientalist fashion - among them an Arabian sheikh (who appears in brownface) and an Arabian courtesan, as well as a Chinese courtier (yellowface). Blackface is also discussed briefly.

A man with a profound intellectual disability is referred to several times as an "i***t" (I use asterisks here, hopefully, it is clear what term is meant). To provide some context, in the 19th and early twentieth centuries, this term, which today is rightly regarded as deeply offensive, was used as a medical/psychological classification.

Many of the characters were incredibly unlikeable, some probably intentionally so. Worst of all was probably the housekeeper, Mrs Danvers, who is a bully of the very worst sort and even, at one point, encourages the protagonist to commit suicide (not carried out). The protagonist's husband, Maxim de Winter is cold and patronising, as well as being twice her age. I never really bought into her infatuation with him, and the sudden transformation in her character towards the end was not terribly believable. Our heroine, who is never named, was understandable at first in her awkwardness and shyness, and I sympathised with her plight. But there were times when I wanted to tell her to stand up for herself, and I didn't like the way she was so dismissive of other people.