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First published March 24, 2026
"This was sooooo good!!!
Why is no-one talking about it?! The characters were amazing! The vibes were immaculate! The setting was deliciously Gothic! This has everything I love."
"I think this is going to make my top 10 books of the year.
I can’t even coherently describe this one without sounding like a lunatic, so read the description or don’t, I don’t care, but read this book.
The exploration of the power dynamic and self actualization and independence was just phenomenal.
I don’t know what else to say without giving anything away, but just read this one."
"My heartstrings have snagged on this timelessly simple, yet emotionally intricate tale. This will stick like a burr to me for many years to come.
Fans of botanical horror, character-driven stories, and folklore, this is not one to miss.
(BTW, if you pre-order this and you’re in the US, you can get a lovely bookplate by yours truly!)"
“You should’ve asked me. Rory, why didn’t you ask me before doing this to me?”Daye, our female voice in the gender-alternating dual POV, is the author’s reimagining of Blodeuwedd from 11th-12th century Welsh tales. Daye is made from a selection of trees, flowers, leaves, and ferns, and brought to life by a spell. Fridman-Tell cites the Mabinogion:
“Because you might have said no!”
‘They took the blossoms of the oak, and the blossoms of the broom, and the blossoms of the meadow-sweet, and produced from them a maiden, the fairest and most graceful that man ever saw.Despite alternating between Daye and Rory (the boy for whom she was made as a playmate), ‘Honeysuckle’ is not a love story, and I hate that I’m seeing it described as such online. Bar Fridman-Tell’s debut is a novel about the abuse of a girl growing into a woman under the oppression of her abuser. The author opens up discourse on female bodily autonomy (“it should’ve been my choice”), coercion (“Please don’t ask me to do this”), control (“you don’t get to decide I need to be fixed”), and toxic masculinity (Rory considers ‘how far from grateful [she] was’ and “I didn't think it was a big deal”).
And they baptized her, and gave her the name of Blodeuwedd.’
‘The sky is endless. All she can hear is the sway of flowers, the rustle of feathers, the soft, heavy sound of the snow settling a mere footstep away. And then, faintly, a damselfly-wing brush of sound, her name. […] The words are like fishing rods, lines arching to catch at her skin. Ready to pull her down, down, down. Already, mud is crawling up the arches of her feet, her toes, her ankles, as if preparing to hold her in place. There’s a sinking sensation in her chest. The taste of leaf dust in her mouth, dry and ash-like.’Daye’s story is so similar to classical shapeshifting like Daphne’s in that it is a tale of self-actualisation (she realises only ‘shape and goodwill’ separate her from Rory’s Pygmalionistic experiments in the shed) and self-salvation (she takes the fauna as well as flora into herself as her deliverance to freedom).
‘Daye’s shoulders slumped, helpless relief turning into heavy, loss-tinged guilt, like teeth sinking into a soft plum, only to jar against the stone at its centre. She raised her hands to say … something, then dropped them again.’So tenderly, then, ‘Honeysuckle’ is a retelling of myth, akin to the present-day popularity of writing the voices of the silent female figures back into Greek and Roman mythology (Madeline Miller, Costanza Casati, Pat Barker, and the extensive work of Natalie Haynes). As far as I understand it, in the original legend, Blodeuwedd (‘flower face’) is a dark, unfaithful figure who plots to murder her husband, Clytemnestra-like, eventually cursed to take the form of the most hated known creature, the owl. Even Alan Garner imbued his retelling of the myth with a dark and ominous menace (The Owl Service from 1967), centring the sinister upon his young female protagonist.