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Unconventional: Love and Distraught in the time of Corona
262 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2025
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
February 6, 2026
In this book, one of the short stories, Scarlet, proves that it is not just a title but a presence that runs through the narrative like a pulse. Scarlet becomes a colour, a feeling, a state of being it holds desire, pain, rage, blood, and silence all at once. It reflects the inner world of the woman at the centre of the story, and also the shared reality of many women whose experiences are often unnamed and unheard. Scarlet is what remains when a woman is stripped of voice but still feels deeply, remembers intensely, and survives invisibly. This book is really different from all the books I have read so far. Scarlet bleeds onto the pages visceral, intimate, and unrelenting. This is not only a story, but a confrontation with marriage, with womanhood, with the kind of violence that leaves no bruises yet hollows out the soul. As a woman, I completely agree with this. There are so many incidents that happen with us, and they leave wounds deep inside our souls.
Scarlet is the anatomy of a woman reduced by a husband, by society, by silence into flesh without a voice. As a woman, I completely agree how women are reduced by their husbands or by society. The narrator’s body becomes both a battleground and evidence. Desire, shame, and despair exist in a space where love is twisted and intimacy is distorted. It exposes how a woman’s sexuality is policed, exploited, and then used against her.
While reading this book, something made me uncomfortable in the most necessary way and that is its accuracy. Emotional abuse here is not theatrical; it is mundane, repetitive, and exhausting. The gas lighting, the verbal cruelty, the constant surveillance disguised as care, everything unfolds with chilling similarity. The husband never needs to raise his hand; his power lies in language, intimidation, and the slow erosion of self worth. This is a kind of abuse that society struggles to recognise, let alone condemn.
I have seen this with my own eyes. There are so many issues related to women that society simply ignores and tells us to be patient, to adjust, to believe that everything will be fine.But Scarlet shows that sometimes, patience is not virtue it is survival.
One scene that touched me deeply is the image of the scarlet lake filled with countless women nameless, faceless, and reduced to bodies floating together in silence. That moment disturbed me in a way I cannot forget, because it did not feel imaginary it felt symbolic of so many women whose suffering is unseen and unheard. It touched me because it was not just about one woman’s pain, but about generations of women carrying inherited violence, expected to endure quietly. While reading that scene, I felt heaviness, anger, and sadness all at once, as if the book was holding up a mirror not just to the narrator’s life, but to society itself. The recurring imagery of mirrors, blood, water, and the colour scarlet is very effective. Dreams bleed into waking life, and the line between imagination and reality dissolves. The scarlet lake of women nameless, faceless, reduced to bodies is one of the most haunting metaphors in the book. It does not speak only as an individual suffering, but as a collective inherited violence against women that remains normalised and invisible in society.
The book also talks about how the lockdown increased the horror. What was already suffering became inescapable. The home, traditionally framed as a place of safety, is transformed into a sealed chamber of psychological torture. I also felt this many times that there are so many things which are not normal, which are psychological torture, but people say, “That’s how it is.” And even then, everything becomes complicated by guilt, memory, and the lingering voice of the abuser that refuses to die.
This book is not easy to read, nor should it be. It made me uncomfortable. It made me angry. At times, it even repelled me. But it is precisely in this discomfort that its power lies. This is a book that refuses to romanticise survival. It asks difficult questions: what does freedom look like after prolonged captivity? How do you reclaim yourself after being systematically dismantled? And why is a woman so often expected to endure rather than escape or fight back?
This book is not about healing in neat arcs. It is about rupture, about memory, about the cost of staying silent. This book forced me to look at the kind of violence that leaves no police report, no visible scars only a woman standing in front of a mirror, trying to remember who she was before she was taught to disappear.
The way the author has written this book and identified the horror within society is powerful and unsettling.
Scarlet is the anatomy of a woman reduced by a husband, by society, by silence into flesh without a voice. As a woman, I completely agree how women are reduced by their husbands or by society. The narrator’s body becomes both a battleground and evidence. Desire, shame, and despair exist in a space where love is twisted and intimacy is distorted. It exposes how a woman’s sexuality is policed, exploited, and then used against her.
While reading this book, something made me uncomfortable in the most necessary way and that is its accuracy. Emotional abuse here is not theatrical; it is mundane, repetitive, and exhausting. The gas lighting, the verbal cruelty, the constant surveillance disguised as care, everything unfolds with chilling similarity. The husband never needs to raise his hand; his power lies in language, intimidation, and the slow erosion of self worth. This is a kind of abuse that society struggles to recognise, let alone condemn.
I have seen this with my own eyes. There are so many issues related to women that society simply ignores and tells us to be patient, to adjust, to believe that everything will be fine.But Scarlet shows that sometimes, patience is not virtue it is survival.
One scene that touched me deeply is the image of the scarlet lake filled with countless women nameless, faceless, and reduced to bodies floating together in silence. That moment disturbed me in a way I cannot forget, because it did not feel imaginary it felt symbolic of so many women whose suffering is unseen and unheard. It touched me because it was not just about one woman’s pain, but about generations of women carrying inherited violence, expected to endure quietly. While reading that scene, I felt heaviness, anger, and sadness all at once, as if the book was holding up a mirror not just to the narrator’s life, but to society itself. The recurring imagery of mirrors, blood, water, and the colour scarlet is very effective. Dreams bleed into waking life, and the line between imagination and reality dissolves. The scarlet lake of women nameless, faceless, reduced to bodies is one of the most haunting metaphors in the book. It does not speak only as an individual suffering, but as a collective inherited violence against women that remains normalised and invisible in society.
The book also talks about how the lockdown increased the horror. What was already suffering became inescapable. The home, traditionally framed as a place of safety, is transformed into a sealed chamber of psychological torture. I also felt this many times that there are so many things which are not normal, which are psychological torture, but people say, “That’s how it is.” And even then, everything becomes complicated by guilt, memory, and the lingering voice of the abuser that refuses to die.
This book is not easy to read, nor should it be. It made me uncomfortable. It made me angry. At times, it even repelled me. But it is precisely in this discomfort that its power lies. This is a book that refuses to romanticise survival. It asks difficult questions: what does freedom look like after prolonged captivity? How do you reclaim yourself after being systematically dismantled? And why is a woman so often expected to endure rather than escape or fight back?
This book is not about healing in neat arcs. It is about rupture, about memory, about the cost of staying silent. This book forced me to look at the kind of violence that leaves no police report, no visible scars only a woman standing in front of a mirror, trying to remember who she was before she was taught to disappear.
The way the author has written this book and identified the horror within society is powerful and unsettling.
February 3, 2026
I picked up _Unconventional: Love and Distraught_ in the month of January. I found the storyline intimate and that's because the book is beautifully written.
This anthology doesn’t just talk about COVID—it talks about what isolation does to the human mind. Each story begins like a dream and slowly pulls you into harsh reality, which felt both beautiful and disturbing.
Let's talk about the structure of the book. The writing style is very interesting, especially how two stories mirror each other—one surreal, one grounded. The characters seem to be portrayed painfully real carrying grief, desire, fear, and longing in silence.
The pandemic here is not just a backdrop; it actively shapes every decision and emotion. Some stories stayed with me long after I finished reading, especially the ones dealing with mental health.
The best character from all the short stories is Praveena. She stood out the most to me—her quiet trauma, memory loops, and inner strength were deeply moving. Her journey shows how survival doesn’t always look loud or heroic—it can be silent and fractured.
The book explores love in unconventional forms—romantic, obsessive, forbidden, maternal, and self-love. Not every story is comfortable, but that’s the point. The author also explores themes of love, loss, mental health, identity, isolation, resilience, and dreams vs reality.
Why you should read this book: If you want pandemic fiction that goes beyond the virus and dives into the human psyche, this book offers a haunting and thought-provoking experience.
This anthology doesn’t just talk about COVID—it talks about what isolation does to the human mind. Each story begins like a dream and slowly pulls you into harsh reality, which felt both beautiful and disturbing.
Let's talk about the structure of the book. The writing style is very interesting, especially how two stories mirror each other—one surreal, one grounded. The characters seem to be portrayed painfully real carrying grief, desire, fear, and longing in silence.
The pandemic here is not just a backdrop; it actively shapes every decision and emotion. Some stories stayed with me long after I finished reading, especially the ones dealing with mental health.
The best character from all the short stories is Praveena. She stood out the most to me—her quiet trauma, memory loops, and inner strength were deeply moving. Her journey shows how survival doesn’t always look loud or heroic—it can be silent and fractured.
The book explores love in unconventional forms—romantic, obsessive, forbidden, maternal, and self-love. Not every story is comfortable, but that’s the point. The author also explores themes of love, loss, mental health, identity, isolation, resilience, and dreams vs reality.
Why you should read this book: If you want pandemic fiction that goes beyond the virus and dives into the human psyche, this book offers a haunting and thought-provoking experience.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews