Pilgrimage 3

Pilgrimage #6-8

by Dorothy M. Richardson

Includes 'Deadlock', 'Revolving Lights' and 'The Trap'.

Genres: Fiction, Classics, 20th Century, Feminism, Literature, British Literature, Novels

Mass Market Paperback

First published June 1, 1917

About the author

Dorothy Miller Richardson

Richardson was born in Abingdon in 1873. Her family moved to Worthing, West Sussex in 1880 and then Putney, London in 1883. At seventeen, because of her father's financial difficulties she went to work as a governess and teacher, first in 1891 for six months at a finishing school in Germany. In 1895 Richardson gave up work as a governess to take care of her severely depressed mother, but her mother committed suicide the same year. Richardson's father had become bankrupt at the end of 1893.

Richardson subsequently moved in 1896 to Bloomsbury, London, where she worked as a receptionist/secretary/assistant in a Harley Street dental surgery. While in Bloomsbury in the late 1890s and early 1900s, Richardson associated with writers and radicals, including the Bloomsbury Group. H. G. Wells (1866–1946) was a friend and they had a brief affair which led to a pregnancy and then miscarriage, in 1907. While she had first published an article in 1902, Richardson's writing career, as a freelance journalist really began around 1906, with periodical articles on various topics, book reviews, short stories, and poems, as well as translation from German and French. During this period she became interested in the Quakers and published two books relating to them in 1914.

In 1915 Richardson published her first novel Pointed Roofs, the first complete stream of consciousness novel published in English. She married the artist Alan Odle (1888-1948) in 1917 – a distinctly bohemian figure, who was fifteen years younger than she. From 1917 until 1939 the couple spent their winters in Cornwall and their summers in London, and then stayed permanently in Cornwall until Odle’s death in 1948. She supported herself and her husband with freelance writing for periodicals for many years. In 1954, she had to move into a nursing home in the London suburb of Beckenham, Kent, where she died, forgotten, alone and ignored, in 1957.

Richardson was one of a select group of writers who changed the rules of prose fiction at the beginning of the twentieth century. With James Joyce in Ireland, Marcel Proust in France, William Faulkner in the United States and, in England, Virginia Woolf, Richardson invented a new form of writing. She can claim, with Proust and Joyce, to have been at the forefront of a revolution in literature. The first ‘chapter’ of her long work, Pilgrimage, was begun in 1912 - a year before the publication of the first volume of A La Recherche du Temps Perdu, two years before the first appearance of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and seven years before Woolf’s first experimental novel Jacob’s Room.

Richardson also published short stories in a variety of periodicals (a collection was published by Virago in 1989) and a handful of poems. She was the author of numerous articles in periodicals such as Adelphi and Vanity Fair. She began her literary career reviewing for the vegetarian journal, Crank. Between 1912 and 1921, she wrote a regular column, ‘Comments by a Layman’, for the Dental Record. She translated eight books into English from French and German. Between 1927 and 1933 she published 23 articles on film in the avant-garde little magazine, Close Up.

Richardson’s aesthetic was influenced by diverse currents of thought. She was part of the alternative, bohemian culture at the turn of the century that embraced vegetarianism, feminism and socialism. Olive Schreiner and Charlotte Perkins Gilman made an early impact on her work and one of her first reviews was of a book by the advocate for homosexual rights, utopian socialist, and Whitmanite poet, Edward Carpenter.

If you are interested, please join the Goodreads group on her that can be found here: https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/...

Reviews

[Jonathan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Development of mind, of a sense of self, emergence of a tougher feminism, of an engagement with the Fabians, of a recognition of the trap of mediocrity and marriage, of the danger of settling for safety and ease, of conflicts between and within the genders and of the promise of a life full of writing and a room of ones own

[Jacob]

I somehow got stalled reading Deadlock and Revolving Lights and couldn't continue, so I skipped ahead to Volume 4. I might return to this volume again, if I reread the Pilgrimage sequence in its entirety (quite likely, with Oxford University Press republishing her work over the next few years), but I can't see any reason to go back to it right now. Much easier to forge ahead with the fourth volume, followed by her shorter work, letters, and bio; going back right away would probably just frustrate me. I'll just have to settle for all of Goodreads knowing I only finished volumes 1, 2, and 4 of the Pilgrimage cycle--but that's still three more volumes than most people have read...

[Ronald Morton · Rating 5 out of 5]

“I write about socialism in an anarchist paper”

Sorry, that line, delivered in all seriousness, struck me as particularly badass, but I’m viewing it much too much through a post-1970’s punk scene prism to have an unbiased opinion about it.

I’ve started putting together some larger scale thoughts on this work as a whole now that I only have volume 4 left to tackle, and will refrain from them for now, as they require confirmation (or refutation) through the final “chapters” of Richardson’s Pilgrimage.

[I’m not talking about anything huge here, this more just goes back to my statement in my review of volume 2 that it starts to feel repetitive praising the same sort of thing through each volume – this is not a criticism of the work, it is an acknowledgment of the work as a single, lifelong, project for Richardson, so the recurring themes and strengths are not only to be expected, but are required for the success of the work as a whole.]

But, I will note that two new points of strength here are the introduction of Mr Shatov – from the early scenes of tutorship to the more intimate courtship scenes – he provides a nice intellectual counterpoint to Miriam, and allows for an externiality to be added to her focused interniality; the inclusion of these more large scale intellectual discussions – as opposed to only the intellectual interior s.o.c. – allows for a further expansion on Miriam’s intellect and psyche. The other point of strength from this volume is Miriam’s transition from her clerical job to her career as a writer, which I’d been waiting for since the opening volume (c’mon, I love writers writing about writers writing); it’s slight in these volumes, but welcome nonetheless.

‘Peace. Yes. But the staggering thing about all these men, the Hamlets and the Schopenhauers, is that they don’t notice that people are miserable about being miserable. And uncomfortable, in varying degrees, in wrong-doing. When they make up their philosophies of life they leave out themselves. Like the people who talk of the vastness of space and the ant-like smallness of humanity. If one man, say Schopenhauer, sees quite clearly all the misery of life, and that it ends, for everybody, in disease and pain and death, then there is something in mankind that is not corruption.

‘Then again all these thought-system people must have an illogical as well as a logical side. A side where they don’t believe their own systems. If they quite believed, instead of making a living out of their bitterness they would make an end of themselves. But you know it ’s popular. There are lots of people who revel in it. Men particularly. It makes them feel superior.[']

[Pia Arambruru · Rating 5 out of 5]

Extraordinario.

[Luke · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5/5

You shall find that it occur, over and over, that where in English is one word, in Russian is six or seven different all synonyms, but all with the most delicate individual shades of nuance...the abstractive expression is there, as in all civilized European languages, but there is also in Russian the most immense variety of natural expressions, coming forth from the strong feeling of the Russian nature to all these surrounding influences; each word opens to a whole aperçu in this sort...and what is most significant is, the great richness, in Russia, of the people-language; there is no other people-language similar; there is no one language os immense a variety of tender diminutives and intimate expressions of all natural things. None is os rich in sound, or so marvellously powerfully colourful...That is Russian. Part of the reason is no doubt to find in the immense paysage; Russia is zo vast; it is inconceivable for any non-Russian. There is also the ethnological explanation, the immense vigour of the people.'

Out of all the 'chapters' that I have encountered thus far in the entirety that is known as 'Pilgrimage', the one known as "Deadlock" had the strongest beginning and, perhaps as a result of such, the most disappointing end. After its conclusion, it was near impossible to take seriously the succeeding entries of "Revolving Lights" and "The Trap," and it remains to be seen whether this particular let down proves strong enough to carry itself over the near two week break I have prescribed for myself before I set forth on the fourth and final volume entry that contains the last five 'chapters' of this weighty piece of literature. You see, there was a great deal of the more of the same that I have grown accustomed to enjoying over the last 800 to 900 pages of the preceding volumes, as well as returns to scenes of delight, such as staying over at the home of a married sibling or returning to a beloved hole in the wall café with a new friend in tow. However, antisemitism that was neither lampooned nor criticized was the constant watchword throughout the second third of this tome, bleeding out from the middle or so of 'Deadlock' and muddying almost the entirety of 'Revolving Lights'. Such increased the noticeability of all the other 'isms' as they appeared, as well as rendered laughable much of what the protagonist had to say about decrying others for hypocrisy, or surface level judgments, or denying the human for the sake of the stereotype. Indeed, the worst part of it was, in places, it transformed the protagonist's formerly wonderfully imaginative and sensitive interpretations of the world around her into spots of abject hysteria, reducing this upright figure to the persona of a petulant child that white women the world over continue to wield as sword and shield in the maintenance of the kyriarchy. The beginning was beautiful and the ending (somewhat) self reflexive enough that I'm hoping for a token of redemptive critical thinking to appear when I take on the last five chapters next month, but there's nothing new about the WASP woman fearing the brutality of the non-WASP man: back then it was Judaism, today it is Islam, and pretending it's only a poor widdle white woman fighting against the bad old patwiachy is as insipid back then as it is now.

Miriam Henderson meets a highly engaging foreigner, nearly gets herself fired, and moves out of her boarding house and into a shared flat, as well as a shared bedroom. Flirtations with Russia and the associated socialism/anarchism ringing through that area during this period have officially begun, and I'll be honest, the bulk of my final star rating for this volume rests rather strongly on that long and beautiful excerpt rhapsodizing on the Russian language that any reader of this review will have to make their way through first before getting to whatever I have to say. What is lacking, though, is the willingness to engage with the unfamiliar and recognize it as another aspect of humanity that overwhelmingly began during the protagonist's Germany and has resurfaced at key junctures every once in a while. Rather, the further things went along, the more that every push of the new resulted in a stultifying hardening of the old, to the point that it seemed that the admittedly valid interpretation of Tolstoy's 'Anna Karenina' feeding, in some ways, into misogynistic stereotypes was used as a springboard to inflict similar stereotypes on everyone so long as they weren't some kind of WASP. Couple that with the fact that the commentary on the sterile and hypocritical nature of masculinity was met by an increasingly idealistic view of woman (not 'Jewesses' or 'Negroes' or anyone with a Cockney accent, mind you), and I started to get a picture of where certain tenets of radical feminism, a particular noxious weed of self-righteous fearmongering that has grown rampant enough in the UK to have indoctrinated a certain extremely famous author of a certain children's series, had gotten their origin.

Things toned down a great deal as the second 'chapter' progressed into the third and final one of this volume, but the vicious spectre of antiblackness that raised its head between D & RL and spots of classism and nationalism were hard to shake off, and as has happened with other texts, I grew distrustful of allowing myself to enjoy what I otherwise would had had its antithesis not proudly proclaimed itself a few hundred pages or so previous. So, the writing of previous volumes is there, as is the flitting about the timelines, and it's rather interesting to see the contentions about Darwinism (even some of its more social aspects) and other ideological movements of the period through a lens that is much closer to their origins than that which is borderline taken for granted, least in my social circles, today. However, what I thought was promised in the first few lovely pages that seemed to embark on a new international exploration of scenes of philosophy, literature, and interpersonal appreciation was not realized, and by the time the protagonist interprets her refusal to acknowledge her having forgotten a small promise to her flatmate as a sign of strength that will simply have to entail a complete burning of bridges in order to avoid her being 'a party to the way of settling differences that is known as feminine', I was more than done. As I said, I have hopes that the contents of the fourth and final volume will tie everything together in a far more trustworthy holism, but until then, so it goes.

It must be said that, in my experience, the second to last section of a work of this length (comparing to my time spent with ISoLT, a 2000+ page edition of the 1001 Nights, and unexpurgated forms of three of the four classic Chinese novels) is often the most trying: the slightest dip in caliber of quality of the text can be extraordinarily irritating after having spent so long at it with the knowledge that there is still a significant way to go before finally laying the work to rest. Add in the travesty of 2020 still carrying its sordid way through 2021 and various other sporadic annoyances both related and otherwise to this overarching pall, and I will admit, my mood is not the greatest. Still, if there's anything I've learned over the years of imbibing hundreds of examples of what is popularly deemed "literature," it's to give authors their due, but not to bend over backwards in musical chair convolutions of intent and all that. Miriam Henderson is not Dorothy Richardson, but it is at best extremely tedious and at worst extremely painful to make one's way through a mind that draws itself up in a dehumanizing huff during one moment and disdains those who do the same in the next, and doesn't even do so in a way that is evocative, engaging, or at base level entertaining. Couple that with what could have been with the Russia and the social movements and everything, and you had something that was in all likelihood as faithful to Richardson's own experiences as the previous volumes had been, but, here, much to its detriment. I'm still committed to continuing on to the final round in April, but I really am hoping for some kind of reconciliation of this third volume with the previous two with regards to the protagonist's character development, or at least some rediscovery of the inquisitive openness and thoroughly pondering sense of wonder that's been a joy to witness during the best moments of this work thus far. Perhaps the reactionary calcification was a momentary defense maneuver in reaction to the death of a sister and the threat of unemployment, along with whatever else was briefly glossed over but must have had far more of a devastating impact for a protagonist so interiorized and even, may I say it, self-obsessed. In any case, whatever comes, I shall read it: whether I will ever have any plans to reread is what is at stake when I finally return.

Men, and women who imitate them, bleat about women "finding their truest fulfilment in self-sacrifice." In speaking of male art it is called self-realization.

[Samuel Maina · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is the 7th installation on Dorothy’s Pilgrimage series and I have to say, make no mistake that she is a lover of fiction.

The setting is in London and you can very easily see her wide knowledge as exemplified in this book and also knowledge of the history of Europe. All European people have been mentioned be it Germans, The French, The Irish, The Scotch all and sundry including those that converse in Cockney.

I like that bias continues a major theme not forgetting silence. In this installation she talks about writing in such a deep way I just had my mouth agape. In a conversation she asks what is great fiction? And contrasts this with imagination stating that It always seems insulting, belittling, both to the writer and to life. . . .

At another instance when talking about form she states that People who care only for form think themselves superior. Then there is something wrong with them. It is as if you cannot have form without art. You can only talk about form and art on the same line.

The fountain pen as a writing tool has been discussed lengthily and a declaration made that no one can write with a fountain pen. I still remember being in primary school and those lower primary teachers were on our case to always use fountain pens. At that point they insisted that it was to make our hand writing good; I only wish they had read DMR. Of course a comparison had to be made between a writing machine and a fountain pen; here it seems you are better off with a fountain pen than a writing machine…. "nothing else can come through a hand whose fingers are held stiffly apart by a fat slippery barrel. A writing machine. A quill would be the thing, with a fine flourishing tail. But it is too important. It squeaks out an important sense of writings makes people too objective, so that it's as much a man's pen, a mechanical, see life steadily and see it whole (when nobody knows what life is) man's view sort of implement as a fountain pen."

That said, you ought to have the right fountain pen for the job. Machine made things are dead things… Miriam went in hard on this one! "A pen should be thin, not disturbing the hand, and the nib flexible and silent, with up and down strokes. Fountain pen writing is like . . . democracy."

I like how intimately Dorothy M. Richardson (DMR) writes in that I always learn a new thing every time I touch her book. So many insights and good writing. Gaps in narrative is a thing she seems to have mastered and bouts of good writing as well… I will give three instances of good writing:

"Miriam came to dinner silently raging; invisible, yet compelled to be seen. Reduced to nonentity by his wrongly directed awareness, his everlasting demand for bright fussy intelligence. It was her own fault. The result of having been beguiled by joy into a pretence of conformity. "

A kitchen described… "Well, suddenly you are in their kitchen. White walls and aluminium and a smell of fruit. Do you know the smell of root vegetables cooking slowly in a casserole"

Clear thoughts make clear speech - "I am intelligent, Miriam. You're intelligent. You have distinction of mind. But a really surprising lack of expression you know. You misrepresent yourself most tremendously." " You mean I haven't a voice, that way of talking about things that makes one know people don't believe what they say and are thinking most about the way they are talking. Bah."
Moving along swiftly, I will mention that there were moments that while reading I felt like wow! Therefore I would like to call them wow moments:

"My social happiness dependent upon the presence of some suggestion of its remembered features, my secret social ambition its perfected form in circumstances beyond my reach."

"A solid charwomanly commonplace kindliness, spread like a doormat at the disposal of everybody, and an intermittent perfect dilettantism that would disgust even the devil?"

On individuality… "The sense of existing merely as a link, without individuality, was not at all compensated by the lifting, and distribution backwards, of responsibility."

"Light makes shadows. The devil is God's shadow ? The Persians believed that in the end the light would absorb the darkness."

Emancipation - "But the point is, there's no emancipation to be done. Women are emancipated."

The art of making atmospheres as exercised by most women… "Not one man in a million is aware of it. It's like air within the air. It may be deadly. Cramping and awful, or simply destructive, so that no life is possible within it. So is the bad art of men. At its best it is absolutely life-giving. And not soft. Very hard and stern and austere in its beauty. And like mountain air. And you can't get behind it, or in any way divide it up. Just as with * Art.' Men live in it and from it all their lives without knowing. Even recluses."

"I feel the atmosphere created by the lady of the house as soon as I get on to the door step."

"Women only want to be. men before they begin their careers. It's a longing for exemptions. – Sad
An insight about women - Women see things when they are not there. That's creativeness. What is meant by women * making ' men."

"Views and opinions are masculine things. Women are indifferent to them, really."

". . . The business of women ; the career ; that makes you all rivals, is to find fathers. Your material is children."

"** Then look here, if you think that, there's a perfect instance. If women's material is people their famous 'curiosity' is the curiosity of the artist. Men call it ' incurable ' in women. Men's curiosity, about things, science and so forth, is called divine." – My word!

". . . Women who are not living ought to spend all their time cracking jokes. In a rotten society women grow witty ; making a heaven while they wait. ..."

"Books about people are lies from beginning to end. However sincere, they cannot offer any evidence about life. Even lifelong loneliness is life; too marvelous to express. Absolutely, of course. But relatively Relative things are forgotten when you are alone. . . ."

"Relations remain the same however much things are changed. Interest in the stars is like interest in your neighbours before you get to know them. A way of running away from yourself."

"Science, the way of thinking and writing that makes everybody seem small, in all these new books."

"*Well, by inventing the telephone we've damaged the chances of telepathy."

The English are so full of themselves… "England has attracted thousands of brilliant foreigners, who have made her, including the Scotch, who until they become foreigners in England were nothing."

That is enough of woe moments.

I want to describe Miriam as described in the book…as a person who does not come off all the time but when she comes she comes off to no end. A ruddy, blazing temper. Can sulk too, abominably. Then one discovers an unsuspected streak of sweetness. A rare talent for forgetfulness and recovery. Suddenly pillowy. She is deep like an absolution. In short there is not getting enough of Miriam.

Bias is a major theme in this book. Men are still being taken to the threshing floor, no relenting on “it’s a man’s world” I feel like she tried to score it out but still not convincing….DMR would have been a modern day feminist….but this looked at with regard to the time this was written must have been what we call an obstructive classic. Look at this example "Women everybody knows nowadays, have made civilisation, the thing civilisation is so proud of—social life. It's one of the things I dislike in them. There you are, by the way, women were the first socialists." Havelock Ellis ; and Emerson quoting Firdusi's description of his Persian Lilla . . ." that is one way of looking at it.

Men have taken a thorough beating from DMR’s writing. That is all I can say for now. In this book I have 25 instances where men have been highlighted in bad light; so much for making a point!
Another theme I want to mention is Women and Art – It seems like men are the only ones who get recognition for art? While ignoring to see women in light of art. Maxim of detachment and control. Deep.

By reading this book, I have come to a conclusion that Jews have got to be the most stubborn people of the earth.

A good read.

[Deanne · Rating 4 out of 5]

Deadlocked
Back in London living at a boarding house and working at the dental surgery Miriam's life continues. A new character Shatov, a russian student arrives and it is the nature of their friendship which is the subject of deadlocked.
Always strikes me as how intelligent Miriam is compared to those around her, finally she seems to have come across someone with whom she can identify.
Revolving Lights
Not really sure what it is about these books, maybe the way that Richardson writes about Miriam's thoughts and feelings. In revolving lights Miriam shares a room with Miss Holland, a woman with whom Miriam seems to have little in common.

[David]

Specifically Revolving Lights: I generally find the philosophizing is more interesting in conversations than it is either in lengthy paragraphs or stream of consciousness meanderings. Miriam slips in and out of first and third person, occasionally even within a paragraph, which sometimes makes the narrative a little hard to follow. But there isn’t much narrative, per se, to follow. These are books of ideas more than they are books of events. As Miriam muses, “Lifelong loneliness is a phrase. With no evidence for its meaning, but the things set down in books…. People who record loneliness, bare theit wounds, and ask for pity, are not wholly wounded…. Books about people are lies from beginning to end. However sincere, they cannot offer any evidence about life.”

[Pip · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have fallen far behind in my reading and reviewing, but I felt well pleased when I finished Deadlock today. I am reading through the lens of thinking how my granddaughter, who is living in London at the moment, might read this book. I justified the purchase by thinking I would pass the books on to her, and have already given her the first two volumes. I continue to marvel how Richardson can sum up internal dialogues in ways that remind me of my own thoughts, particularly when she is feeling uncomfortable in social situations. Her discussions about race a la Nietzsche, and the pull between religion, philosophy and science were the most intriguing part of this volume. She fell in love with Shatov through their parrying about ideas but then "Love was the secret of things". I am interrupted again - will return another day!
Other quotes i enjoyed: In discussing gender roles, "At least she saw. But what was the use of not being deceived? How in the vast spread of humanity expose the sham? How escape, without surrendering life itself, treachourous countenancing of the fiendish spectacle? What good would death do?' "That men never have, never can, understand the least thing about even the worst woman in the world?" "It was not fair that men did not know the whole of this secret place and its compact. Why was God in league only with women?'
I am still uncertain why this chapter was called Revolving Lights. Miriam explores the ideas of Lycurganism (was she meaning Fabianism which was very popular at the time?), Quakers, still explores ideas with Michael although she has broken off their engagement, apparently has a fling with a writer/critic at whose home she is holidaying, decides she does not care for Michael's Jewish friends, keeps her job at the dental surgery after all and may be moving to a new business with one of the partners. She has apparently published the review she agonised over in Deadlock. The critic, who turns out to be Hypo Wilson, apparently really H.G. Wells, encourages her to write, and they have facinating conversations about gender roles. Miriam argues that women do not need to be emancipated because they already are through their "pre-eminence in art. The art of making atmospheres". She contemplates how men and women seldom intersect socially and wonders whether gender differences are really natural or learned. She writes again about her love affair with London and writes several times that "women are Jesuits", a phrase that I found profoundly puzzling. What could she mean? And then, at the end, there is a teaser to read on....
The Trap of the title is probably the shared accommodation with a woman we have not met before (at least I don't think so) but it is also perhaps the situation Miriam would find herself in if she became a doctor's wife. She decided that she would be unable to fulfill that role adequately and decided to break off her relationship with Dr Densley. The living arrangement she set up with a curtain between the two women in one bedroom was intriguing, but unlikely to be successful. After they fought the proximity became predictably unbearable. Miriam joined a women's club and hosted a dinner party which included both Michael, the former fiance and Dr Densley, the new one. She basks in the success of this evening. It reminds me of the Helena May, a club for single women that I used to love visiting in Hong Kong. Hypo Wilson is only hinted at, despite the letter at the end of Revolving Lights. There is a brief mention of the death of her sister Eve, and the emigration of another sister, Harriet. I have become resigned to not knowing much about really important milestones while knowing exactly how Miriam feels waking up on a summer morning. The switching from first to third person or vice versa is beginning to really annoy me. I am, however, eager to start the next volume!

[Tonymess · Rating 5 out of 5]

Opening of CHAPTER VI (of ‘The Trap’ the third part - of three - in Pilgrimage 3)
THE morning lays cool fingers on my heart and stands there an intensity of light all about me and there is no weight or tiredness. When I open my eyes there is a certain amount of light
- much less than I felt before I opened them -- and things that make, before I see them clearly, an interesting pattern of dark shapes; holding worlds and worlds, all the many lives ahead. And I lie wandering within them, a different person every moment. Until some small thing seen very clearly brings back the present life and I find a head too heavy to lift from the pillow and weariness in all my frame, that is unwilling to endure the burden of work to be done before the evening can come again bringing strength.
- Yet what ease of mind I have now. What riches and criminal ease, exemptions and riches. Everything is done for me and I am petted and screened from details. Secretly she plans my comfort, saying nothing.

Wonderful simply wonderful.

[Mark · Rating 5 out of 5]

We continue with Miriam as she travels through life.

Socialism/feminism/the between states/London/always London./Imagination. What is imagination?/for that matter--what is women? is man?/Going home - journeys/to & fro'/distress and depress./Rushing into future/times uncertain;/Joyous truth in loneliness.

These words penned as i concluded chapter 1 of Revolving Lights.

I keep getting more and more taken withhow DMR's style and related beliefs evolve along with the protaganist.

[Alwynne · Rating 3 out of 5]

Rtc

rating: 3/3.5

[Melon109 · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dreadlock, book 6 - Oct. 2024

[Catie · Rating 3 out of 5]

**3.5 Stars**

#PilgrimageTogether group read-along 2022
Deadlock (June) - 4 Stars
Revolving Lights (July) - 3.5 Stars
The Trap (August) - 3 Stars