VIVID, COMPELLING AND BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN
There is an overpowering feel of gloom and claustrophobia in the Whitestone household the moment Abigail is born. Mother and daughter don’t connect. Perhaps it’s those tired, weary eyes that stare back at Elizabeth with a blank expression of all-knowing, or the clock stopping at the moment of Abigail’s birth, or it could simply be disappointment the child is not female. Something about this ominous child nevertheless distances Elizabeth from Abigail at the get-go, and will overshadow their relationship. This conflict between mother and daughter, at turns sad and inflected by superstition, at other times outright abusive and cruel, is the lynchpin of this dark and beautiful neo-Victorian literary novel by award-winning Christie Stratos.
The problem of blame for this emotionally violent and dysfunctional relationship is not easy to assign. Richard, the father, taking an extreme Christian position on the failures of Elizabeth to produce a male child (something he tells her is easily within her power were she to pray hard enough), may well be the cause of everything that happens after. Richard himself, however, forms part of the stringent code of a Victorian society obsessed with religion and the belief in male heirs. Whatever the truth, the murky and maze-like circle of blame is something I love about this book. Cruelty begets cruelty, and my sympathies for each character shifted and reformed constantly as the story went on, keeping me emotionally invested to the very last page.
Moral ambiguity and psychological depth are forefront in the novel, but become particularly poignant in Abigail’s early years. There are times when the author delivers moments of sheer sadness of a tragic quality that profoundly moved me. That is not easy to achieve, whatever your talents as a writer. But it is not just Abigail who remains compelling, sympathetic and believable, all the characters (particularly Elizabeth, Richard and Mrs Hinsley), are gripping, marred as they are by questionable actions towards each other, which again made it difficult (in a good way) to know who to root for. Say what you like about the simple gift of a bird cage, here, it is conniving, vindictive, symbolically charged with meaning, and the gateway to another theme that runs throughout the book: revenge.
It’s not just the birdcage, but all the objects featured in the story have huge symbolic and expressive meaning. The grandfather clock, a key, a pearl- and gold-framed eye pin, a broken doll’s head, Indian Cress and Amaranthus flowers, and even wallpaper, all are carefully chosen and woven into the fabric of the story to exteriorise the characters’ dark emotional states.
This careful choice of objects is also reflected in the writing style itself. You can feel that every word and every sentence, gesture or action has been carefully thought out, which gives the novel real value. Most of us writers go charging into the story, smashing our way through with hammers. Not here. There is a real delicacy in the writing style. Restrained almost. Tense. Strange to remark about a novel set in America and written by an American, but the prose almost feels Japanese. I can only compare such delicacy to imagery: a dewy spider’s web trembling in a spring breeze, or gentle evening light trickling through a crystal decanter…
This is the first of five books of this new and brilliant foray into Victorian society that I strongly urge you to read. Psychologically compelling and full of depth, intelligent, beautifully written, literary but easily accessible, Anatomy of a Darkened Heart may well begin a new era of dark Victorian-era fiction.
Merged review:
VIVID, COMPELLING AND BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN
There is an overpowering feel of gloom and claustrophobia in the Whitestone household the moment Abigail is born. Mother and daughter don’t connect. Perhaps it’s those tired, weary eyes that stare back at Elizabeth with a blank expression of all-knowing, or the clock stopping at the moment of Abigail’s birth, or it could simply be disappointment the child is not female. Something about this ominous child nevertheless distances Elizabeth from Abigail at the get-go, and will overshadow their relationship. This conflict between mother and daughter, at turns sad and inflected by superstition, at other times outright abusive and cruel, is the lynchpin of this dark and beautiful neo-Victorian literary novel by award-winning Christie Stratos.
The problem of blame for this emotionally violent and dysfunctional relationship is not easy to assign. Richard, the father, taking an extreme Christian position on the failures of Elizabeth to produce a male child (something he tells her is easily within her power were she to pray hard enough), may well be the cause of everything that happens after. Richard himself, however, forms part of the stringent code of a Victorian society obsessed with religion and the belief in male heirs. Whatever the truth, the murky and maze-like circle of blame is something I love about this book. Cruelty begets cruelty, and my sympathies for each character shifted and reformed constantly as the story went on, keeping me emotionally invested to the very last page.
Moral ambiguity and psychological depth are forefront in the novel, but become particularly poignant in Abigail’s early years. There are times when the author delivers moments of sheer sadness of a tragic quality that profoundly moved me. That is not easy to achieve, whatever your talents as a writer. But it is not just Abigail who remains compelling, sympathetic and believable, all the characters (particularly Elizabeth, Richard and Mrs Hinsley), are gripping, marred as they are by questionable actions towards each other, which again made it difficult (in a good way) to know who to root for. Say what you like about the simple gift of a bird cage, here, it is conniving, vindictive, symbolically charged with meaning, and the gateway to another theme that runs throughout the book: revenge.
It’s not just the birdcage, but all the objects featured in the story have huge symbolic and expressive meaning. The grandfather clock, a key, a pearl- and gold-framed eye pin, a broken doll’s head, Indian Cress and Amaranthus flowers, and even wallpaper, all are carefully chosen and woven into the fabric of the story to exteriorise the characters’ dark emotional states.
This careful choice of objects is also reflected in the writing style itself. You can feel that every word and every sentence, gesture or action has been carefully thought out, which gives the novel real value. Most of us writers go charging into the story, smashing our way through with hammers. Not here. There is a real delicacy in the writing style. Restrained almost. Tense. Strange to remark about a novel set in America and written by an American, but the prose almost feels Japanese. I can only compare such delicacy to imagery: a dewy spider’s web trembling in a spring breeze, or gentle evening light trickling through a crystal decanter…
This is the first of five books of this new and brilliant foray into Victorian society that I strongly urge you to read. Psychologically compelling and full of depth, intelligent, beautifully written, literary but easily accessible, Anatomy of a Darkened Heart may well begin a new era of dark Victorian-era fiction.