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The Weak Spot
A woman discovers something toxic at work in the isolated village where she is apprenticing as a pharmacist, in this fable-like novel about power, surveillance, prescriptions, and cures by a captivating debut voice.
On a remote mountaintop somewhere in Europe, accessible only by an ancient funicular, a small pharmacy sits on a square. As if attending confession, townspeople carry their ailments and worries through its doors, in search of healing, reassurance, and a witness to their bodies and their lives.
One day, a young woman arrives in the town to apprentice under its charismatic pharmacist, August Malone. She slowly begins to lose herself in her work, lulled by stories and secrets shared by customers and colleagues. But despite her best efforts to avoid thinking and feeling altogether, as her new boss rises to the position of mayor, she begins to realize that something sinister is going on around her.
The Weak Spot is a fable about our longing for cures, answers, and an audience--and the ways it will be exploited by those who silently hold power in our world.
On a remote mountaintop somewhere in Europe, accessible only by an ancient funicular, a small pharmacy sits on a square. As if attending confession, townspeople carry their ailments and worries through its doors, in search of healing, reassurance, and a witness to their bodies and their lives.
One day, a young woman arrives in the town to apprentice under its charismatic pharmacist, August Malone. She slowly begins to lose herself in her work, lulled by stories and secrets shared by customers and colleagues. But despite her best efforts to avoid thinking and feeling altogether, as her new boss rises to the position of mayor, she begins to realize that something sinister is going on around her.
The Weak Spot is a fable about our longing for cures, answers, and an audience--and the ways it will be exploited by those who silently hold power in our world.
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First published February 9, 2021
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March 4, 2023
‘What, I wondered, is the point in being a person if you don’t inspire other people’
Those with power tend to gain or retain their status by manipulating others in order to exert a power over them. Finding their weak spot in order to manipulate is the theme of Lucie Elven’s aptly titled debut novel, ‘The Weak Spot’ in which August Malone, the pharmacist of a small European town, positions himself as a valued listener to all the townsfolk before running for mayor with all their secrets at his disposal. It is a reminder of the way we are all ‘profoundly singular and vulnerable’ and demonstrates the way practicing being a good listener gets others to open up. Our unnamed narrator unlocks this skill under Mr. Malone’s tutelage and reveals a menacing atmosphere around her boss and all his interactions. While much of the story is rather vague, Elven shows the way an unexpected adjective can bring a sentence to life and a well chosen verb can explode into vivid imagery and makes The Weak Spot a true treat that really grips you. The Weak Spot is a slow-creeping examination of manipulation, gaslighting and misogyny as a sinister path to power seen through the lives of those who are used for that purpose along the way.
This is a book where not much happens and what does is shrouded in ambiguity much like the rolling fogs through the town’s countryside, but Elven’s exquisite writing creates such a startling atmosphere while her sentences dazzle into surprising directions. ‘I loved the idea that the right phrase could ease harm,’ the narrator says, ‘the way an effigy of a beast might protect a town from illness.’ Much the same can be said of the way Elven’s prose makes you feel. The writing is crisp and snappy, the chapters economical and brief, moving productively forward with great efficiency not unlike the narrator’s work ethic in the pharmacy. Much of the novel involves her interactions with coworkers and customers and much of the novel deals with interpersonal relationships and power dynamics between people.
‘When I acted like Mr. Malone, it gave me a feeling of magical control.’
Having just arrived in town to work at the pharmacy, it is instantly clear that Mr. August Malone is held in high esteem by the townsfolk. Many come daily to the pharmacy just to chat and to have their thoughts heard and valued. Those who speak to him ‘felt as though he were at the foot of a huge statue,’ so when he puts in his bid for mayor it is no surprise he already has a dedicated following. By following Mr. Malone’s lead and by losing herself into the town, the narrator, too, is able to get people to open up to her. She soon discovers she ‘had no ego left,‘ becoming a pliable persona to coax customers into telling her more. [L]ike a contortionist threading her fillet of a body through her arms,’ she describes herself, ‘I automatically climbed into the customer’s perspective.’
Much like her ability to get people to talk, the narrator develops an ability to see the troubling truth behind the veil of small-town niceness and formalities. For Mr. Malone, however, getting people to open up is more about exposing their weaknesses, and he is more apt to manufacturing scenarios in order to do so:
By doing so he finds he can exert control over others. A manufactured scandal leaves the narrator feeling at his mercy until she discovers later it is a lie. His hold over Annie Milk, an assistant he hired at the pharmacy right before his mayoral race due to her political science degree, is particularly horrifying. To keep her running his campaign and feeling obliged to him, he resorts to outright gaslighting. A day after events ‘he provided a different memory for her to remember,’ or ‘he always acted as though the conversations hadn’t happened afterward,’ refitting reality in order to make her feel out of control. The narrator faces a similar situation with her Uncle, (family issues, particularly unresolved mother tensions, are also a running thread in the novel) who took offense to a disagreement she had with him once and began spreading the rumor that she was a drunk in order to diminish her opinions.
Elven brushes upon the notions of misogyny as defined by Kate Manne as the policing of patriarchy in order to retain power for men and ensure women cannot take any of their own. This treatment extends to Mr. Funicular as well, who is punished when seen in a dress--transness often being viewed as a major threat to traditional masculinity--by having his access to town popularity taken away by shutting down production of his play.
Regarding traditional masculinities, Mr. Malone’s campaign is grounded in ideas to making the town great again and returning to traditional impressions of the town. For Mr. Malone ‘the town’s empty houses pertained to a larger loss of pride,’ one that he feels he is capable of restoring under his lead (though hard-pressed to actually explain to the press how it would be done). The novel works as a subversive commentary on recent election trends, particularly the ways in which surveillance of social media data has lead to manipulative meme politics (Cambridge Analytica, anyone?) to exploit potential voters.
Early in the novel we hear of a fable surrounding the towns history, one where ‘a sullen and extraordinary beast that had settled here, which was eating the girls alive.’ The beast drives people out of town before being driven out of town himself, which draws curious parallels to Malone’s disdain for people leaving town (and away from his grip) and his tendency to use and abuse women for his own purposes. ‘We had all lost parts of our own lives,’ the narrator says referencing herself, Annie and coworker Elsa, ‘so that August could go bashing away at his new one.’ As usual, women’s physical and emotional labor is used to uphold the man and he thinks nothing of it.
This is a quick and effective little book where the ambiguous aspect perfectly plays into the atmosphere of the novel. Much of the book is very destabilizing, even weather conditions are pointedly mismatched from the narrator's inner emotions and impressions of events are often later pushed aside by alternative views. The gaslighting aspects of Mr. Malone is reflected well through this narrative style and shows how Malone is able to manipulate in order to diminish and silence others. By the end we find the narrator giving into her rage, being brash, much less accommodating and with no interest in upholding Malone’s carefully crafted public image. Through this embrace of her true self after having pushed it down and away for so long, perhap she will embody the previously mentioned effigy of the healing beast the town desperately needs.
3.75/5
‘Everyone liked to be taken somewhere. Everyone liked to dream. I recognized all the symptoms.
Those with power tend to gain or retain their status by manipulating others in order to exert a power over them. Finding their weak spot in order to manipulate is the theme of Lucie Elven’s aptly titled debut novel, ‘The Weak Spot’ in which August Malone, the pharmacist of a small European town, positions himself as a valued listener to all the townsfolk before running for mayor with all their secrets at his disposal. It is a reminder of the way we are all ‘profoundly singular and vulnerable’ and demonstrates the way practicing being a good listener gets others to open up. Our unnamed narrator unlocks this skill under Mr. Malone’s tutelage and reveals a menacing atmosphere around her boss and all his interactions. While much of the story is rather vague, Elven shows the way an unexpected adjective can bring a sentence to life and a well chosen verb can explode into vivid imagery and makes The Weak Spot a true treat that really grips you. The Weak Spot is a slow-creeping examination of manipulation, gaslighting and misogyny as a sinister path to power seen through the lives of those who are used for that purpose along the way.
This is a book where not much happens and what does is shrouded in ambiguity much like the rolling fogs through the town’s countryside, but Elven’s exquisite writing creates such a startling atmosphere while her sentences dazzle into surprising directions. ‘I loved the idea that the right phrase could ease harm,’ the narrator says, ‘the way an effigy of a beast might protect a town from illness.’ Much the same can be said of the way Elven’s prose makes you feel. The writing is crisp and snappy, the chapters economical and brief, moving productively forward with great efficiency not unlike the narrator’s work ethic in the pharmacy. Much of the novel involves her interactions with coworkers and customers and much of the novel deals with interpersonal relationships and power dynamics between people.
‘When I acted like Mr. Malone, it gave me a feeling of magical control.’
Having just arrived in town to work at the pharmacy, it is instantly clear that Mr. August Malone is held in high esteem by the townsfolk. Many come daily to the pharmacy just to chat and to have their thoughts heard and valued. Those who speak to him ‘felt as though he were at the foot of a huge statue,’ so when he puts in his bid for mayor it is no surprise he already has a dedicated following. By following Mr. Malone’s lead and by losing herself into the town, the narrator, too, is able to get people to open up to her. She soon discovers she ‘had no ego left,‘ becoming a pliable persona to coax customers into telling her more. [L]ike a contortionist threading her fillet of a body through her arms,’ she describes herself, ‘I automatically climbed into the customer’s perspective.’
I felt like what he said was a thin cloth he held over what he meant, letting me see its shadow or its shape protruding. If I pushed at the veil, the mystery under the surface would poke out.
Much like her ability to get people to talk, the narrator develops an ability to see the troubling truth behind the veil of small-town niceness and formalities. For Mr. Malone, however, getting people to open up is more about exposing their weaknesses, and he is more apt to manufacturing scenarios in order to do so:
Mr. Malone believed that we observe people best from an angle: when they are in a rage, when they are our parents, or when, panicking, they have lost control of themselves.
By doing so he finds he can exert control over others. A manufactured scandal leaves the narrator feeling at his mercy until she discovers later it is a lie. His hold over Annie Milk, an assistant he hired at the pharmacy right before his mayoral race due to her political science degree, is particularly horrifying. To keep her running his campaign and feeling obliged to him, he resorts to outright gaslighting. A day after events ‘he provided a different memory for her to remember,’ or ‘he always acted as though the conversations hadn’t happened afterward,’ refitting reality in order to make her feel out of control. The narrator faces a similar situation with her Uncle, (family issues, particularly unresolved mother tensions, are also a running thread in the novel) who took offense to a disagreement she had with him once and began spreading the rumor that she was a drunk in order to diminish her opinions.
Elven brushes upon the notions of misogyny as defined by Kate Manne as the policing of patriarchy in order to retain power for men and ensure women cannot take any of their own. This treatment extends to Mr. Funicular as well, who is punished when seen in a dress--transness often being viewed as a major threat to traditional masculinity--by having his access to town popularity taken away by shutting down production of his play.
Regarding traditional masculinities, Mr. Malone’s campaign is grounded in ideas to making the town great again and returning to traditional impressions of the town. For Mr. Malone ‘the town’s empty houses pertained to a larger loss of pride,’ one that he feels he is capable of restoring under his lead (though hard-pressed to actually explain to the press how it would be done). The novel works as a subversive commentary on recent election trends, particularly the ways in which surveillance of social media data has lead to manipulative meme politics (Cambridge Analytica, anyone?) to exploit potential voters.
Early in the novel we hear of a fable surrounding the towns history, one where ‘a sullen and extraordinary beast that had settled here, which was eating the girls alive.’ The beast drives people out of town before being driven out of town himself, which draws curious parallels to Malone’s disdain for people leaving town (and away from his grip) and his tendency to use and abuse women for his own purposes. ‘We had all lost parts of our own lives,’ the narrator says referencing herself, Annie and coworker Elsa, ‘so that August could go bashing away at his new one.’ As usual, women’s physical and emotional labor is used to uphold the man and he thinks nothing of it.
This is a quick and effective little book where the ambiguous aspect perfectly plays into the atmosphere of the novel. Much of the book is very destabilizing, even weather conditions are pointedly mismatched from the narrator's inner emotions and impressions of events are often later pushed aside by alternative views. The gaslighting aspects of Mr. Malone is reflected well through this narrative style and shows how Malone is able to manipulate in order to diminish and silence others. By the end we find the narrator giving into her rage, being brash, much less accommodating and with no interest in upholding Malone’s carefully crafted public image. Through this embrace of her true self after having pushed it down and away for so long, perhap she will embody the previously mentioned effigy of the healing beast the town desperately needs.
3.75/5
‘Everyone liked to be taken somewhere. Everyone liked to dream. I recognized all the symptoms.
January 22, 2021
The pharmacy was somewhere in Europe in a part of the country "that deviants run away to in books, a place for murders, thieves...a landscape full of abrupt drops, deep craters...I wanted to see if I could measure up to this wildness...so I applied..." to be a pharmacist's apprentice. After completing a two-month mentorship with Mr. Malone and being approved by the pharmaceutical board, I would be a full fledged pharmacist. Local legend described this isolated town as "The Land of the Beast"- an extraordinary beast in the mountains was said to have eaten girls alive in days of old. "By all rights, I shouldn't have inserted myself into this close-knit mountain town...", only accessible by funicular. Why this town? Why this pharmacy?
To the dwindling populace, Pharmacist Malone conveyed the image of a frugal, refined, hard working but authoritarian, fifty year old gentleman. He often positioned himself on a stool behind our unnamed narrator, and listened as she tried to master his method of serving the townspeople.
"[Mr. Malone] believed that a pharmacist's role was to enhance the locals' potential by listening carefully...to experience customers' needs more urgently and their disappointments more keenly than [one's] own." "All our talking was not part of any sales strategy...the customers came in one by one and disclosed, as if at confession, and usually left without spending a cent." Soon Mr. Malone "appeared to have delegated his whole job to me...his mentorship would be of the more oblique, unscientific kind...". Why? Mr. Malone stated his political aspirations-to be mayor of the town.
"I tried to embody a youthful energy...often sacrificed safety or comfort for the sense that [I was] giving or saving...[but] the more abstinent I seemed, the more [the customers] talked. I was distracted by daydreams...I fantasized about being a mannequin". As manipulative Mr. Malone campaigned for mayor and the atmosphere became more sinister, our narrator emerged from her fog and began to "think and feel" for herself.
The Weak Spot" by debut author Lucie Elven introduces the reader to the cast of residents in the remote town. The unconventional characters included a historian, a gossipy market seller, an opinionated accountant, and a funicular driver. Mr. Malone's political game created "an aura of crisis" in creepy, fable-like fashion in this unpredictable novel. An excellent read, however, it might not be everyone's cup of tea.
Thank you Soft Skull Press and Net Galley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
To the dwindling populace, Pharmacist Malone conveyed the image of a frugal, refined, hard working but authoritarian, fifty year old gentleman. He often positioned himself on a stool behind our unnamed narrator, and listened as she tried to master his method of serving the townspeople.
"[Mr. Malone] believed that a pharmacist's role was to enhance the locals' potential by listening carefully...to experience customers' needs more urgently and their disappointments more keenly than [one's] own." "All our talking was not part of any sales strategy...the customers came in one by one and disclosed, as if at confession, and usually left without spending a cent." Soon Mr. Malone "appeared to have delegated his whole job to me...his mentorship would be of the more oblique, unscientific kind...". Why? Mr. Malone stated his political aspirations-to be mayor of the town.
"I tried to embody a youthful energy...often sacrificed safety or comfort for the sense that [I was] giving or saving...[but] the more abstinent I seemed, the more [the customers] talked. I was distracted by daydreams...I fantasized about being a mannequin". As manipulative Mr. Malone campaigned for mayor and the atmosphere became more sinister, our narrator emerged from her fog and began to "think and feel" for herself.
The Weak Spot" by debut author Lucie Elven introduces the reader to the cast of residents in the remote town. The unconventional characters included a historian, a gossipy market seller, an opinionated accountant, and a funicular driver. Mr. Malone's political game created "an aura of crisis" in creepy, fable-like fashion in this unpredictable novel. An excellent read, however, it might not be everyone's cup of tea.
Thank you Soft Skull Press and Net Galley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
November 9, 2024
I just finished The Weak Spot, and wow, it left quite an impression. This book is very much up my alley—it's vague, nebulous, subtly sinister, and full of gaps for the reader to fill with their own theories. There's a lot of creepy lore in this mountain town setting, and it's the type of unsettling story where each interaction feels just slightly off, leaving you with this looming sense of dread. I found myself deeply engrossed in the tension and the mysterious setting.
One thing I loved about this book was how the main character evolves in response to the people around her, especially her boss, Mr. Malone. She gradually picks up some of his mannerisms, and we start to see his sinister influence creep into her own behaviour. Mr. Malone, the pharmacist, is incredibly charismatic but also deeply manipulative. He has this almost magical control over the people in town, and it's clear that everyone fears and reveres him in equal measure. His ability to control people through subtle hints, strategic withholding, and emotional manipulation was both fascinating and chilling to watch unfold.
Elven's writing style is sparse yet beautiful, with a lot of empty spaces—both literally on the page and figuratively in the story. The gaps between each line feel like they're holding space for secrets we, as the reader, have yet to uncover. Her prose is filled with intriguing metaphors and quietly gorgeous moments, and the restrained language feels profoundly intentional, letting the tension gradually build with each page. There were times I'd read a simple description of the protagonist's day or a visit to the abbey, and then suddenly, there'd be a single phrase that would stop me in my tracks, forcing me to re-evaluate everything I'd read up to that point. This slow, subtle way of unravelling the story created an intense, looming feeling of something sinister just beyond the horizon, which I adored.
Without spoiling too much, I'll say this story explores the darkness lurking behind the mundane. Themes of control, misogyny, and the subtle ways communities disregard certain evils felt deeply layered in the story. For anyone who enjoys an open-ended, interpretive read—one that encourages you to engage actively with the story—The Weak Spot offers a unique and haunting experience. It's a slow, careful exploration of manipulation and vulnerability, a dive into the sinister side of small-town life, and an unsettling look at the ways people can lie to themselves and each other.
I gave this book five stars because it's one I'll be thinking about for a long time. I rarely re-read books, but this one might be an exception. For fans of "weird lit" or anyone intrigued by quiet, eerie fiction that leaves a lot up to the reader, I highly recommend The Weak Spot! Lucie Elven has crafted a novel that doesn't just tell a story—it invites you into it, challenging you to fill in the gaps and unearth the horrors hidden in its shadows.
Weird Lit Reading Vlog with full review (including well-marked spoilers): [https://youtu.be/z87Modokypw](https:/...
Trigger/Content Warnings: misogyny, abuse, sexual assault, psychological abuse, gaslighting
You can find me on...
Youtube | Instagram | TikTok
You can join our book club over on Patreon...
PBB Book Club
One thing I loved about this book was how the main character evolves in response to the people around her, especially her boss, Mr. Malone. She gradually picks up some of his mannerisms, and we start to see his sinister influence creep into her own behaviour. Mr. Malone, the pharmacist, is incredibly charismatic but also deeply manipulative. He has this almost magical control over the people in town, and it's clear that everyone fears and reveres him in equal measure. His ability to control people through subtle hints, strategic withholding, and emotional manipulation was both fascinating and chilling to watch unfold.
Elven's writing style is sparse yet beautiful, with a lot of empty spaces—both literally on the page and figuratively in the story. The gaps between each line feel like they're holding space for secrets we, as the reader, have yet to uncover. Her prose is filled with intriguing metaphors and quietly gorgeous moments, and the restrained language feels profoundly intentional, letting the tension gradually build with each page. There were times I'd read a simple description of the protagonist's day or a visit to the abbey, and then suddenly, there'd be a single phrase that would stop me in my tracks, forcing me to re-evaluate everything I'd read up to that point. This slow, subtle way of unravelling the story created an intense, looming feeling of something sinister just beyond the horizon, which I adored.
Without spoiling too much, I'll say this story explores the darkness lurking behind the mundane. Themes of control, misogyny, and the subtle ways communities disregard certain evils felt deeply layered in the story. For anyone who enjoys an open-ended, interpretive read—one that encourages you to engage actively with the story—The Weak Spot offers a unique and haunting experience. It's a slow, careful exploration of manipulation and vulnerability, a dive into the sinister side of small-town life, and an unsettling look at the ways people can lie to themselves and each other.
I gave this book five stars because it's one I'll be thinking about for a long time. I rarely re-read books, but this one might be an exception. For fans of "weird lit" or anyone intrigued by quiet, eerie fiction that leaves a lot up to the reader, I highly recommend The Weak Spot! Lucie Elven has crafted a novel that doesn't just tell a story—it invites you into it, challenging you to fill in the gaps and unearth the horrors hidden in its shadows.
Weird Lit Reading Vlog with full review (including well-marked spoilers): [https://youtu.be/z87Modokypw](https:/...
Trigger/Content Warnings: misogyny, abuse, sexual assault, psychological abuse, gaslighting
You can find me on...
Youtube | Instagram | TikTok
You can join our book club over on Patreon...
PBB Book Club
February 22, 2021
One simple declarative sentence after another, each more surprising than the last, makes this novel a delightfully propulsive read. Elven’s writing reminds me of the surrealist master Leonora Carrington who also had the rare talent of writing sentences that kept on going in ever more surprising directions. This novel didn’t just make me laugh with surprise at where the sentences were taking me. I actually snorted now and then. In a good way.
I don’t think the book description does justice to the eerie fun that this book provides its reader. What an unexpected pleasure.
When I had rushed to the town and moved into the empty house, I bought chairs on the internet, surprised by their quick shipping and apparent value for the money. When they arrived they turned out to be made for a dollhouse, no more than a thumb high. I returned them with apologies and compliments to their maker, but not before I had arranged them in each of the empty rooms, by the kitchen table, at the food of my bed, next to the bathroom sink, to see them dwarfed by the surroundings. I found this very funny and had to sit down on the side of the tub. In the mirror I could see telltale silver hairs, somehow longer than the others, streaking my crown. It occurred to me that there was something comforting about the obviously dangerous Mr. Malone to someone like me who worried all the time....
Just great fun and a delight to read.
I don’t think the book description does justice to the eerie fun that this book provides its reader. What an unexpected pleasure.
When I had rushed to the town and moved into the empty house, I bought chairs on the internet, surprised by their quick shipping and apparent value for the money. When they arrived they turned out to be made for a dollhouse, no more than a thumb high. I returned them with apologies and compliments to their maker, but not before I had arranged them in each of the empty rooms, by the kitchen table, at the food of my bed, next to the bathroom sink, to see them dwarfed by the surroundings. I found this very funny and had to sit down on the side of the tub. In the mirror I could see telltale silver hairs, somehow longer than the others, streaking my crown. It occurred to me that there was something comforting about the obviously dangerous Mr. Malone to someone like me who worried all the time....
Just great fun and a delight to read.
April 23, 2021
I am puzzled. I cannot really say if I liked or disliked this. It is a debut novel and it has an interesting voice, but it also seems determined to say as little as possible.
On the good side, I like Elven’s sentences. They are restrained and oblique, but not minimalist; sometimes they open up into something complex and interesting. A more or less random example:
The weather was turning. On the square, the wind stirred through the leaves of the tree like a reader shifting in bed. A mouse scratched its magnum opus in the walls. Mr Funicular wrapped himself up to go back outside and Elsa laughed. He was beautiful in a way that the word didn’t cover: the silhouette of a chess piece, a drop of molten metal, in his bowler hat and a pregnant belly where he was carrying a parcel underneath his long black overcoat.
I also like her landscapes. Her nameless, fictional town is, she has said, partly inspired by one in France where she spent time as a child, all sudden crags and steep drops and a golden abbey on a cliff. The appeal of such a setting may have convinced me to read this!
It’s hard to know what she’s doing though. I mean, I’m simultaneously reading Can Xue and it’s not hard like that is: there’s a plot here, there’s development, but it’s very determined not to announce itself, not to draw any obvious conclusions, to be very hint hint and hush hush. The publisher copy informs us that it is “a fable about our longing for cures, answers, and an audience—and the ways it will be exploited by those who silently hold power in the world.” Yes, that’s all there, but why?
I suppose my feeling is that there’s a lack of passion here somewhere. I would like to see this writer in a rage, in love, discombobulated, but no, it’s restraint, restraint, restraint. It’s possible that she and I simply have entirely different logics as readers. Because I didn’t hate it. There was just a corresponding lack of passion in myself.
Catherine Lacey blurbs that the prose is reminiscent of Fleur Jaeggy. Again, I can see that. But in the Jaeggy book I read earlier this year, two words that leapt, again and again, from the page were “love” and “passion.” They were very coldly described. But it was that collision of heat and ice that spun the magic spell. Here there is no heat. The experience is more of a chilly mountain stream that disappears under ground frequently, then gurgles up for a bit, then goes to ground again.
On the good side, I like Elven’s sentences. They are restrained and oblique, but not minimalist; sometimes they open up into something complex and interesting. A more or less random example:
The weather was turning. On the square, the wind stirred through the leaves of the tree like a reader shifting in bed. A mouse scratched its magnum opus in the walls. Mr Funicular wrapped himself up to go back outside and Elsa laughed. He was beautiful in a way that the word didn’t cover: the silhouette of a chess piece, a drop of molten metal, in his bowler hat and a pregnant belly where he was carrying a parcel underneath his long black overcoat.
I also like her landscapes. Her nameless, fictional town is, she has said, partly inspired by one in France where she spent time as a child, all sudden crags and steep drops and a golden abbey on a cliff. The appeal of such a setting may have convinced me to read this!
It’s hard to know what she’s doing though. I mean, I’m simultaneously reading Can Xue and it’s not hard like that is: there’s a plot here, there’s development, but it’s very determined not to announce itself, not to draw any obvious conclusions, to be very hint hint and hush hush. The publisher copy informs us that it is “a fable about our longing for cures, answers, and an audience—and the ways it will be exploited by those who silently hold power in the world.” Yes, that’s all there, but why?
I suppose my feeling is that there’s a lack of passion here somewhere. I would like to see this writer in a rage, in love, discombobulated, but no, it’s restraint, restraint, restraint. It’s possible that she and I simply have entirely different logics as readers. Because I didn’t hate it. There was just a corresponding lack of passion in myself.
Catherine Lacey blurbs that the prose is reminiscent of Fleur Jaeggy. Again, I can see that. But in the Jaeggy book I read earlier this year, two words that leapt, again and again, from the page were “love” and “passion.” They were very coldly described. But it was that collision of heat and ice that spun the magic spell. Here there is no heat. The experience is more of a chilly mountain stream that disappears under ground frequently, then gurgles up for a bit, then goes to ground again.
April 27, 2021
2.5 stars
I will be upfront and say I'm not sure I understood this book. I'm accustomed to brief, weird books in translation (most translated books seem to be brief and weird in my experience). But this is a weird, brief book NOT in translation. But it seems like some of the odd choices here could have been oddly translated. I'm all for weird, nonsensical books! But there doesn't seem to be enough here for me for even that to make sense. Or possibly with a focus on three similar characters and another three similar characters, this book is too brief to include all six of these characters. I'm not sure I understand the point in general... Sometimes books are fine without a point... and this book had some lovely, fun, memorable moments. So I guess I'll take those. If there was more to this book, I would have been more of a fan.
** Thank you to the GoodReads Giveaways program for this copy!
I will be upfront and say I'm not sure I understood this book. I'm accustomed to brief, weird books in translation (most translated books seem to be brief and weird in my experience). But this is a weird, brief book NOT in translation. But it seems like some of the odd choices here could have been oddly translated. I'm all for weird, nonsensical books! But there doesn't seem to be enough here for me for even that to make sense. Or possibly with a focus on three similar characters and another three similar characters, this book is too brief to include all six of these characters. I'm not sure I understand the point in general... Sometimes books are fine without a point... and this book had some lovely, fun, memorable moments. So I guess I'll take those. If there was more to this book, I would have been more of a fan.
** Thank you to the GoodReads Giveaways program for this copy!
March 4, 2023
Why aren’t we all reading this?
Let me just say, the writing is so delicious I felt like licking my lips whilst reading every other sentence.
We need to work on new literary genres, though, this is fresh and original. Feels like a Frankenstein made of the bones of an observational thriller, carrying the flesh of a coming of age story.
Let me just say, the writing is so delicious I felt like licking my lips whilst reading every other sentence.
We need to work on new literary genres, though, this is fresh and original. Feels like a Frankenstein made of the bones of an observational thriller, carrying the flesh of a coming of age story.
February 19, 2021
I think the author was aiming for "mysterious" with this book, but it came across as "vague and listless."
Not much happens here, which is fine because I love a good character-centred story, but the characters here are shallow and didn't interest me. The protagonist has started a new job as a pharmacist in a small town and finds herself compromising her values to the benefit of her boss, a guy who we all have a bad feeling about. But we don't know who she was before moving here, so we just have to assume she didn't use to make such weird decisions. Her boss is vaguely bad at first, and then we learn more about him but nothing much comes from that. I think the protagonist's coworker Elsa was my favourite because she was really the only character with explicit goals that she was working towards: getting a garden.
The writing was a bit winding but that works in service to the fairy-tale atmosphere of the story. A couple baffling similes would pull me out of the narrative.
I did enjoy the women coming together despite the antagonist manipulating them to keep them apart. Love to see female solidarity in the face of creepy, powerful dudes.
Not much happens here, which is fine because I love a good character-centred story, but the characters here are shallow and didn't interest me. The protagonist has started a new job as a pharmacist in a small town and finds herself compromising her values to the benefit of her boss, a guy who we all have a bad feeling about. But we don't know who she was before moving here, so we just have to assume she didn't use to make such weird decisions. Her boss is vaguely bad at first, and then we learn more about him but nothing much comes from that. I think the protagonist's coworker Elsa was my favourite because she was really the only character with explicit goals that she was working towards: getting a garden.
The writing was a bit winding but that works in service to the fairy-tale atmosphere of the story. A couple baffling similes would pull me out of the narrative.
I did enjoy the women coming together despite the antagonist manipulating them to keep them apart. Love to see female solidarity in the face of creepy, powerful dudes.
March 7, 2021
i honestly do not understand what i just read but i do know it had some of the most beautiful descriptive language i’ve ever encountered
the atmosphere of the book was odd, ominous, unnerving, like heavy humid air right before a storm
it’s a short book but definitely worth the read
the atmosphere of the book was odd, ominous, unnerving, like heavy humid air right before a storm
it’s a short book but definitely worth the read
February 4, 2021
THE WEAK SPOT by Lucie Elven is kind of a weird book but good! It’s about a woman who moves to a remote town and works at a small pharmacy. And then the residents and her coworkers begin to take over her life. I really enjoyed the distinctive writing style including the short chapters, chapter titles and word choices. It was interesting how you wonder if this entire town is just living in their own world and if it’s even real. This is definitely a unique book that I’m glad to have read!
.
Thank you to Soft Skull Press for my advance review copy!
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Thank you to Soft Skull Press for my advance review copy!
February 8, 2021
I cannot overstate how much I loved this book. It was unlike anything else I've ever read. If I had to compare, I'd say the writing reminded me of Lucia Berlin and Italo Calvino. Berlin because of how beautifully Elven observes people and their mannerisms throughout the book; Calvino for the world-building that borders on surreal. In other words, The Weak Spot is the kind of book that makes you realize how strange, interesting and beautiful real life, architecture, and landscape actually is if you pay close enough attention. Every sentence was like a sip of wine that you want to savor. Some examples I loved:
"From a young age I'd had the permanent feeling of having narrowly escaped a bad crowd."
"He seemed to be constantly pre, mid or in the aftermath of a yawn."
"The sediment sucked inward, emaciated over time, or bulged out in lumps, as though objects—people?—had been hidden in the rocks."
It was also the ideal pandemic read, full of the kind of cordial social dynamics we are so starved of in lockdown, with people who are not strangers but not friends either. Co-workers, perhaps, but also shop keepers, accountants, characters about town who you know by name and engage in 'small' talk with. I put quotes over 'small' because this book has led me to believe there is no such thing as small talk. Every character in The Weak Spot, even if they show up just for a moment, is so alive, so particular, and their words read like an extension of them.
So pleased to have read this truly one-of-a-kind book, which I've now read twice and sometimes pick up just to read a re-read chapter. The length, longer than a novella but shorter than a novel, lends itself to this well.
"From a young age I'd had the permanent feeling of having narrowly escaped a bad crowd."
"He seemed to be constantly pre, mid or in the aftermath of a yawn."
"The sediment sucked inward, emaciated over time, or bulged out in lumps, as though objects—people?—had been hidden in the rocks."
It was also the ideal pandemic read, full of the kind of cordial social dynamics we are so starved of in lockdown, with people who are not strangers but not friends either. Co-workers, perhaps, but also shop keepers, accountants, characters about town who you know by name and engage in 'small' talk with. I put quotes over 'small' because this book has led me to believe there is no such thing as small talk. Every character in The Weak Spot, even if they show up just for a moment, is so alive, so particular, and their words read like an extension of them.
So pleased to have read this truly one-of-a-kind book, which I've now read twice and sometimes pick up just to read a re-read chapter. The length, longer than a novella but shorter than a novel, lends itself to this well.
February 3, 2021
I found the unnerving tension that builds in the background of this short fable-adjacent book incredibly compelling. There is a strangeness to this book which, although they differ wildly in plot, brings to mind the Memory Police or Fever Dream— suspenseful stories of visiting a place cut off from reality. In The Weak Spot, it’s a tiny town atop a mountain with a secluded square housing a pharmacy and little else, and where the narrator is working before being certified as a pharmacist. She meets Mr Malone, who runs the shop and has an immediate disliking to her, her co-worker Elsa, who harbours a family resentment over a garden plot, and the other townsfolk. The pharmacy operates in a slightly unorthodox manner, something not dissimilar to talk therapy and as she hears more of the townsfolks’ problems, the narrator becomes increasingly caught up in their lives. As Malone’s nefarious character is revealed in a few small but arresting anecdotes and he plans a mayoral run, the narrator fears the power he holds over the townsfolk and their secrets. At the same time, she becomes directly implicated in his campaign, taking over duties from a troubled employee who abruptly leaves town. As she struggles to maintain boundaries between herself and her employer, the narrator hardens slightly in her mannerisms before realizing what it is she really feels and acting in accordance with her inner state. At times it is difficult to grasp the severity of what is really at stake; this may be due in part to the narrator’s careful detachment, the archetypal positioning of certain characters, or my own failure in fully conveying the strange, disquieting mood that the book inhabits.
January 24, 2021
2,5
This book is mainly about power relations. The writing is interesting but also detached, which made me not care for the characters very much, and even the main character is hard to interpret. I have to admit that I occasionally struggled to continue. On the positive side, I could really see the village, mountains and funicular in front of me though and would love to visit this imaginary location sometime ;-)
Thank you Soft Skull and Edelweiss for the ARC.
This book is mainly about power relations. The writing is interesting but also detached, which made me not care for the characters very much, and even the main character is hard to interpret. I have to admit that I occasionally struggled to continue. On the positive side, I could really see the village, mountains and funicular in front of me though and would love to visit this imaginary location sometime ;-)
Thank you Soft Skull and Edelweiss for the ARC.
November 17, 2021
POWER, SPEECH, AND SILENCE: THE WEAK SPOT BY LUCIE ELVEN
When I was nineteen, I worked at a Waldenbooks in the mall. The manager was a stalky, balding, mercurial man with a deep and complicated love for the fantasy fiction of Terry Brooks. It was like any mall bookstore in the United States—obnoxious discount signage dangling from the fluorescent overheads, tables full of pink romance paperbacks, endcaps, lots of magazine racks—but it was also a quietly disturbing place to work. For example, there was a woman who would regularly come into the store and meow softly, her face hidden behind the cover of Vogue. Afterward, she would approach the register and ask if anyone had heard a cat, and then she’d chuckle into her turtleneck when we each nodded our heads yes. I worked there for a year—a very long year—before I finally told my manager I was through. He listened intently, then explained to me that, as a key-holder, I would need to finish out the month. I’d never heard of this rule before, but I agreed to stay for that time. Imagine my surprise when the next month came and my name was still on the schedule. Heart in throat, I went to the manager and reminded him that I’d put in my notice. He nodded, patted my shoulder gently, and said he understood. Just one more week, he said, smiling. I worked that week, each day returning to the back room to see if the schedule had been updated, each day seeing that it had not been, each day feeling crazier and crazier. On the last day of the week, I taped my key over my name and walked out.
While my story may not be particularly common, it illustrates, I think, a type of everyday abuse of power that happens behind a smile and a pat. Many of us have stories like this—a moment when our personal agency is subordinated to another’s private interest—but rarely are these day-to-day aggressions named. I knew what he’d done was manipulative, but I didn’t see it as an offense though without a doubt it was. Choked, wrenched, like a dog on a leash—that’s how my body responded when I saw my name on the schedule.
The subtle ways authority warps individual autonomy is central to Lucie Elven’s debut novel The Weak Spot. The story follows an unnamed narrator as she arrives in a tucked-away European mountain town to apprentice under a charismatic pharmacist, August Malone. Provocative in its simplicity, the novel shows how power is wielded through seemingly innocuous words, acts, and gestures.
Elven’s prose has a hidden, still-waters-run-deep quality, spare and reminiscent of fable, yet the story itself is grounded in concrete human situations. The narrative is slow-building, unsettling in the best way, but Elven’s sentences are swift and punctured with wonderfully odd phrasing, dry humor, and elegant insights. With writing reminiscent of Dorthe Nors for its inventive concision, yet as haunting as Bruno Schulz, Elven’s details are strange and startling. Reading her, I am reminded of what Milan Kundera calls “the spirit of the novel,” which “relies on ambiguity and uncertainty, rather than a single truth.” A reader looking for a traditional character arc with a confident narrator that takes them by the arm and tromps them through the story may be somewhat disappointed. The Weak Spot is more interested in the invisible forces that guide our ways of being in the world.
The primary invisible force is the hold Malone has over the townspeople, acting less like a pharmacist and more like a spiritual guide. People come to the pharmacy to make confession, eager to follow whatever advice he prescribes. The narrator sees Malone’s “magical control” over the townspeople as both reassuring and dangerous. Still, being new to the position and the town, she adopts his unorthodox methods, listening to the townspeople’s disappointments, hopes, and ambitions, climbing into their perspectives and offering guidance as Malone would. Casually, almost lazily, she begins to lose herself in their lives:
I felt that each of the townspeople lived inside my body and rocked me from side to side, so that I could no longer judge whose side to privately take in an argument between neighbors, or who was hopeful, who exaggerated, who was insightful, who was bureaucratic, who was merely anxious. It was as if I employed my mouth to make the shapes of the lyrics of whatever song was filling the high walls, sonorous, resounding, vibrato. My opinion of an event could change several times in a day.
As the narrator’s life blurs with the lives of others, she not only loses her sense of self, but also of reality. Or, rather, reality morphs, depending on who might be “employing” her. If it is difficult to follow the narrator’s arc, it is because—for a while, anyway—she hasn’t one. Like Ms. Cogito in Elven’s story “A Hotel of a Woman” published in NOON, she has a “habit of keeping herself just outside of the frame,” blending in or distancing herself.
In this way and others, Elven shows the slipperiness of self and narrative—how easily we buy into other people’s stories, how many of us choose to live inside another person’s destructive narrative rather than forging a path for ourselves, how we look to stories as a cure or to hide, how myths shape our realities. Take, for example, this moment when the narrator feels subsumed by the tales of the town which her uncle imparts:
As we went, he had overpowered us with stories about a mythical monster local to the area that devoured humans neck-first, about a nun who had turned into a hillock, about the black sheep of the family, who had moved to a house nearby and pinned live flies under the needle of a gramophone so that they were slowly dismantled as he listened to Ravel.
In her essay on folk tales in ZYZZYVA, Elven writes about the myths of the Auvergne region, a rural area in France where her grandparents live and where she stayed for a time during the pandemic. She considers the lasting effects of folklore on the history of the region. Of one tale, she says, “the narrator seemed either to be withholding or letting me in on something half-known, something that therefore seemed to have its own agency.” We don’t get a lot of information about the myths the uncle shares, but The Weak Spot seems to suggest that there is danger in this type of myth-making, which might distract or excuse people from the everyday damage at work. The striking image of the dismantled flies underscores the slow, seductive violence that spreads throughout the town.
The mythical monster knows that if it devours its prey neck-first, no one will hear its victim scream. Speaking (or not speaking, or not not speaking) is a recurring motif in The Weak Spot. Throughout, there are curious descriptions of people’s mouths or throats—the titular phrase itself is first used when a character describes her own throat as her “weak spot,” and then later when the narrator is trying to circumvent her feelings, “I have a weak spot, I had taken to telling people, a magic phrase that I used to trick my way out of an emotional hole, glossing over my blues.” Despite her efforts to avoid feeling, the narrator begins to see cracks in Malone’s charismatic exterior, later, when he decides to run for mayor. During a speech, the narrator, now referring to Malone by his first name, August, comments on his voice and gestures:
August became controlled and soft-voiced, so that you could hear rivulets of emotion as he explained how the town’s empty houses pertained to the larger loss of pride, twisting his torso as he went along, using his hand as a pinch, as a skewer, as a caress.
Malone’s gestures again recall the narrator’s early view of him as a person full of contradictions—someone who is dangerous, but softly. Malone, after all, is not a monster, though sometimes he appears monstrous, just as the narrator sometimes sees herself as such. Malone’s certainty provides the townspeople with a sense of importance—a plot easy to follow. The townspeople, like many of us, long for this story—to be told how to be in the world, to avoid the painful feelings that come with failure or discovery. “I loved the idea that the right phrase could ease harm,” the narrator says. “The way an effigy of a beast might protect a town from illness.” And yet, there is no magic phrase. No single truth. No symbol or tale that can protect us.
Unlike Malone’s, the narrator’s story is not straight, nor clear, nor is it painless, but she does, with the help of others, create a type of jagged route for herself, which I found refreshingly honest in its uncertainty. Again, I’m reminded of Kundera here, this time in his legendary interview with Philip Roth: “it seems to me that all over the world people nowadays prefer to judge rather than ask, so that the voice of the novel can hardly be heard over the noisy foolishness of human certainties.” Ultimately, as she talks to more of the women in the town, the narrator starts to question Malone’s plan. It is through these discussions that she starts to envision a larger life for herself. Some of my favorite passages in The Weak Spot are the moments when the narrator notices the value in such conversations amongst friends. “Helen was an articulate listener,” the narrator says, “carefully continuing our half-formed sentences, giving them body. Talking to her, you felt like a skeletal tree was being sketched faintly around your thoughts, a framework of branches that put them in a broader perspective.” About Elsa, the narrator says, “She spoke with such uncertainty about whether she would be understood that she gave me confidence to articulate feelings that I wasn’t sure were common experiences either.” The importance of these conversations, of course, is not that Helen, Elsa, or the narrator come to a conclusion, but that they all have a voice, an extra dimension to a story they are each trying to suss out.
In the mall parking lot, I sat in my car and cried. I knew that I had every right to quit my job, that I’d given well over two weeks’ notice, but still it felt wrong. Eventually, though, I wiped my face, turned the keys in the ignition, and left the lot. On the drive home, I let the story drain from my mind. Perhaps this was a survival instinct of sorts, or maybe this is what happens when something goes unnamed. The story disappeared—for a while, anyway—but it left inside me a residue. A feeling, hard to define, until later, when I found it in someone else’s story.
Published in THE RUMPUS, November 17th, 2021
When I was nineteen, I worked at a Waldenbooks in the mall. The manager was a stalky, balding, mercurial man with a deep and complicated love for the fantasy fiction of Terry Brooks. It was like any mall bookstore in the United States—obnoxious discount signage dangling from the fluorescent overheads, tables full of pink romance paperbacks, endcaps, lots of magazine racks—but it was also a quietly disturbing place to work. For example, there was a woman who would regularly come into the store and meow softly, her face hidden behind the cover of Vogue. Afterward, she would approach the register and ask if anyone had heard a cat, and then she’d chuckle into her turtleneck when we each nodded our heads yes. I worked there for a year—a very long year—before I finally told my manager I was through. He listened intently, then explained to me that, as a key-holder, I would need to finish out the month. I’d never heard of this rule before, but I agreed to stay for that time. Imagine my surprise when the next month came and my name was still on the schedule. Heart in throat, I went to the manager and reminded him that I’d put in my notice. He nodded, patted my shoulder gently, and said he understood. Just one more week, he said, smiling. I worked that week, each day returning to the back room to see if the schedule had been updated, each day seeing that it had not been, each day feeling crazier and crazier. On the last day of the week, I taped my key over my name and walked out.
While my story may not be particularly common, it illustrates, I think, a type of everyday abuse of power that happens behind a smile and a pat. Many of us have stories like this—a moment when our personal agency is subordinated to another’s private interest—but rarely are these day-to-day aggressions named. I knew what he’d done was manipulative, but I didn’t see it as an offense though without a doubt it was. Choked, wrenched, like a dog on a leash—that’s how my body responded when I saw my name on the schedule.
The subtle ways authority warps individual autonomy is central to Lucie Elven’s debut novel The Weak Spot. The story follows an unnamed narrator as she arrives in a tucked-away European mountain town to apprentice under a charismatic pharmacist, August Malone. Provocative in its simplicity, the novel shows how power is wielded through seemingly innocuous words, acts, and gestures.
Elven’s prose has a hidden, still-waters-run-deep quality, spare and reminiscent of fable, yet the story itself is grounded in concrete human situations. The narrative is slow-building, unsettling in the best way, but Elven’s sentences are swift and punctured with wonderfully odd phrasing, dry humor, and elegant insights. With writing reminiscent of Dorthe Nors for its inventive concision, yet as haunting as Bruno Schulz, Elven’s details are strange and startling. Reading her, I am reminded of what Milan Kundera calls “the spirit of the novel,” which “relies on ambiguity and uncertainty, rather than a single truth.” A reader looking for a traditional character arc with a confident narrator that takes them by the arm and tromps them through the story may be somewhat disappointed. The Weak Spot is more interested in the invisible forces that guide our ways of being in the world.
The primary invisible force is the hold Malone has over the townspeople, acting less like a pharmacist and more like a spiritual guide. People come to the pharmacy to make confession, eager to follow whatever advice he prescribes. The narrator sees Malone’s “magical control” over the townspeople as both reassuring and dangerous. Still, being new to the position and the town, she adopts his unorthodox methods, listening to the townspeople’s disappointments, hopes, and ambitions, climbing into their perspectives and offering guidance as Malone would. Casually, almost lazily, she begins to lose herself in their lives:
I felt that each of the townspeople lived inside my body and rocked me from side to side, so that I could no longer judge whose side to privately take in an argument between neighbors, or who was hopeful, who exaggerated, who was insightful, who was bureaucratic, who was merely anxious. It was as if I employed my mouth to make the shapes of the lyrics of whatever song was filling the high walls, sonorous, resounding, vibrato. My opinion of an event could change several times in a day.
As the narrator’s life blurs with the lives of others, she not only loses her sense of self, but also of reality. Or, rather, reality morphs, depending on who might be “employing” her. If it is difficult to follow the narrator’s arc, it is because—for a while, anyway—she hasn’t one. Like Ms. Cogito in Elven’s story “A Hotel of a Woman” published in NOON, she has a “habit of keeping herself just outside of the frame,” blending in or distancing herself.
In this way and others, Elven shows the slipperiness of self and narrative—how easily we buy into other people’s stories, how many of us choose to live inside another person’s destructive narrative rather than forging a path for ourselves, how we look to stories as a cure or to hide, how myths shape our realities. Take, for example, this moment when the narrator feels subsumed by the tales of the town which her uncle imparts:
As we went, he had overpowered us with stories about a mythical monster local to the area that devoured humans neck-first, about a nun who had turned into a hillock, about the black sheep of the family, who had moved to a house nearby and pinned live flies under the needle of a gramophone so that they were slowly dismantled as he listened to Ravel.
In her essay on folk tales in ZYZZYVA, Elven writes about the myths of the Auvergne region, a rural area in France where her grandparents live and where she stayed for a time during the pandemic. She considers the lasting effects of folklore on the history of the region. Of one tale, she says, “the narrator seemed either to be withholding or letting me in on something half-known, something that therefore seemed to have its own agency.” We don’t get a lot of information about the myths the uncle shares, but The Weak Spot seems to suggest that there is danger in this type of myth-making, which might distract or excuse people from the everyday damage at work. The striking image of the dismantled flies underscores the slow, seductive violence that spreads throughout the town.
The mythical monster knows that if it devours its prey neck-first, no one will hear its victim scream. Speaking (or not speaking, or not not speaking) is a recurring motif in The Weak Spot. Throughout, there are curious descriptions of people’s mouths or throats—the titular phrase itself is first used when a character describes her own throat as her “weak spot,” and then later when the narrator is trying to circumvent her feelings, “I have a weak spot, I had taken to telling people, a magic phrase that I used to trick my way out of an emotional hole, glossing over my blues.” Despite her efforts to avoid feeling, the narrator begins to see cracks in Malone’s charismatic exterior, later, when he decides to run for mayor. During a speech, the narrator, now referring to Malone by his first name, August, comments on his voice and gestures:
August became controlled and soft-voiced, so that you could hear rivulets of emotion as he explained how the town’s empty houses pertained to the larger loss of pride, twisting his torso as he went along, using his hand as a pinch, as a skewer, as a caress.
Malone’s gestures again recall the narrator’s early view of him as a person full of contradictions—someone who is dangerous, but softly. Malone, after all, is not a monster, though sometimes he appears monstrous, just as the narrator sometimes sees herself as such. Malone’s certainty provides the townspeople with a sense of importance—a plot easy to follow. The townspeople, like many of us, long for this story—to be told how to be in the world, to avoid the painful feelings that come with failure or discovery. “I loved the idea that the right phrase could ease harm,” the narrator says. “The way an effigy of a beast might protect a town from illness.” And yet, there is no magic phrase. No single truth. No symbol or tale that can protect us.
Unlike Malone’s, the narrator’s story is not straight, nor clear, nor is it painless, but she does, with the help of others, create a type of jagged route for herself, which I found refreshingly honest in its uncertainty. Again, I’m reminded of Kundera here, this time in his legendary interview with Philip Roth: “it seems to me that all over the world people nowadays prefer to judge rather than ask, so that the voice of the novel can hardly be heard over the noisy foolishness of human certainties.” Ultimately, as she talks to more of the women in the town, the narrator starts to question Malone’s plan. It is through these discussions that she starts to envision a larger life for herself. Some of my favorite passages in The Weak Spot are the moments when the narrator notices the value in such conversations amongst friends. “Helen was an articulate listener,” the narrator says, “carefully continuing our half-formed sentences, giving them body. Talking to her, you felt like a skeletal tree was being sketched faintly around your thoughts, a framework of branches that put them in a broader perspective.” About Elsa, the narrator says, “She spoke with such uncertainty about whether she would be understood that she gave me confidence to articulate feelings that I wasn’t sure were common experiences either.” The importance of these conversations, of course, is not that Helen, Elsa, or the narrator come to a conclusion, but that they all have a voice, an extra dimension to a story they are each trying to suss out.
In the mall parking lot, I sat in my car and cried. I knew that I had every right to quit my job, that I’d given well over two weeks’ notice, but still it felt wrong. Eventually, though, I wiped my face, turned the keys in the ignition, and left the lot. On the drive home, I let the story drain from my mind. Perhaps this was a survival instinct of sorts, or maybe this is what happens when something goes unnamed. The story disappeared—for a while, anyway—but it left inside me a residue. A feeling, hard to define, until later, when I found it in someone else’s story.
Published in THE RUMPUS, November 17th, 2021
September 15, 2022
This is just a wonderful short novel. Lucie Elven’s incredible prose and off-kilter storytelling relentlessly battered my sweet spot, and accordingly I could hardly put The Weak Spot down. The effect was similar to what I experience when I read Richard Brautigan’s best novels: I know I’m reading a short novel, and I really don’t want to rush through it but it can’t be helped; the prose is just too rich and the story too delightfully strange to be resisted; and so no matter what I do, it’s always over much to soon.
But that’s what rereads are for, and I have a strong feeling that this will be a book I return to again and again and again. My experience of reading it was just too enjoyable not to.
Between her excellent short fiction (see NOON annuals 2016 - 2022 if you aren’t already familiar) and her excellent debut novel, I can’t wait to see what’s next for Lucie Elven. What a talent.
Highly recommended.
But that’s what rereads are for, and I have a strong feeling that this will be a book I return to again and again and again. My experience of reading it was just too enjoyable not to.
Between her excellent short fiction (see NOON annuals 2016 - 2022 if you aren’t already familiar) and her excellent debut novel, I can’t wait to see what’s next for Lucie Elven. What a talent.
Highly recommended.
February 27, 2021
Bluebells embalmed the woods and my daily routine felt like an extension of my dreams.
The Weak Spot is a wee little book about a young woman who moves to a very remote unnamed village to pursue an apprenticeship at the local pharmacy. She finds that her job is less to provide medication than a listening ear, provoking the townspeople to share ever more intimate details about their lives. Slowly she finds herself consumed by the townspeople and the looming presence of the resident pharmacist, losing sight of her own thoughts and feelings in favor of theirs.
This was such an interesting reading experience. I've seen it described as dreamlike in damn-near all the reviews I've read but it really is an apt description. There's also something a bit eerie to it, a bit like gaslighting, as the characters perceptions and self-images are warped by those around them. Unfortunately, I think it was a bit too successful in being dreamlike because, as with a dream, it felt vaporous and after putting it down I would find it would quickly dissipate, leaving me with little memory of the content and only the vague feelings it had given me. There's a nameless and faceless quality to the story that really contributed to this feeling, many characters, as well as the town, aren't named at all. Some characters are more represented as the impression they leave on others than as characters themselves. I've really never experienced anything like it. I will say I did enjoy it while I read it, although I can't say that it will stick with me.
Thank you so much to Soft Skull for providing this book in exchange for an honest review! All opinions are my own.
February 24, 2021
A short and interesting read. For myself, it was a little harder to follow along, as a few points in the story telling I felt I had missed a major plot point, only to find out I actually hadn't. Other than that, an overall good read.
The story is about a woman who begins working at a pharmacy in a small town, that is steadily declining in population. The pharmacy itself, has quite a few visitors, but does not drum up much business. When most of the villagers enter the pharmacy, they tend to sit and talk with the woman. Her boss, Mr. Malone, always is silently listening to the stories in the background, learning all about the villagers and jus what makes them tick. After sometime, Mr. Malone ends up running for mayor, and devises his campaign seamlessly for each villager with all he has learned about them.
This book parallels those who want their hopes and dreams heard, those who are just looking for an audience to tell their experiences too, and those who will exploit that knowledge for their own benefits.
The story is about a woman who begins working at a pharmacy in a small town, that is steadily declining in population. The pharmacy itself, has quite a few visitors, but does not drum up much business. When most of the villagers enter the pharmacy, they tend to sit and talk with the woman. Her boss, Mr. Malone, always is silently listening to the stories in the background, learning all about the villagers and jus what makes them tick. After sometime, Mr. Malone ends up running for mayor, and devises his campaign seamlessly for each villager with all he has learned about them.
This book parallels those who want their hopes and dreams heard, those who are just looking for an audience to tell their experiences too, and those who will exploit that knowledge for their own benefits.
February 18, 2021
This is such a weird book. Not sure what to make of it. I didn’t particularly like it but I didn’t dislike it either. I just felt that the author was being purposely vague at times. Well most of the time. The narrator is an interesting character though. The more she integrated herself into her role as pharmacist the more she lost herself. It probably didn’t help that her boss is a tyrant who gaslights her and others.
There’s something to the story here, but it is told in such a detached way. I would have liked a little more vitality to this book. The ending is very abrupt. All in all, it’s a quick read but not something I would wholeheartedly recommend to friends.
There’s something to the story here, but it is told in such a detached way. I would have liked a little more vitality to this book. The ending is very abrupt. All in all, it’s a quick read but not something I would wholeheartedly recommend to friends.
March 15, 2021
The Weak Spot is an ominous, eerie and odd novel. It is unlike anything I’ve read before and if I wanted to describe it, I would compare it to a theatre play. The whole novel feels like a stage on which characters come and go. Maybe the setting also contributes to this feeling: the village provides a background for the exploration of human relationships and behaviour.
Sometimes the narrative stayed a bit too vague for my taste and I felt detached from it. But if you are looking for a unique reading experience and are not afraid of strange novels, then this book is for you.
Sometimes the narrative stayed a bit too vague for my taste and I felt detached from it. But if you are looking for a unique reading experience and are not afraid of strange novels, then this book is for you.
May 9, 2021
This book is just one gorgeous sentence after another - I basically just dove in without quite always catching what was going on, but just being drawn along by the interesting writing which was sometimes quite funny. I don’t think I’ve read anything else quite like it.
The running theme seems to be about power structures, and misogyny and I think even the title cleverly hints at this. There were a few moments where the main female character basically tries to disappear inside helpfulness which I found to be uncomfortably apt and relatable. There are actually several uncomfortably familiar workplace moments in this book.
It also seems to me to be a really fascinating tale on surveillance - which is something we really should all be thinking about these days - but the book does it in this non-digital/old-fashioned/town secrets sort of way. It almost seems like the pharmacist could be some sort of metaphor for big tech which has only occurred to me now, after finishing the book, and I'd love to think about this more when I read it again.
It seems definitely worth multiple reads or at least another closer read as I feel like my first time through I was so distracted by the fun of her writing. I think I’d perhaps pick up on different things next time. I’m interested in reading more of her works as well!
The running theme seems to be about power structures, and misogyny and I think even the title cleverly hints at this. There were a few moments where the main female character basically tries to disappear inside helpfulness which I found to be uncomfortably apt and relatable. There are actually several uncomfortably familiar workplace moments in this book.
It also seems to me to be a really fascinating tale on surveillance - which is something we really should all be thinking about these days - but the book does it in this non-digital/old-fashioned/town secrets sort of way. It almost seems like the pharmacist could be some sort of metaphor for big tech which has only occurred to me now, after finishing the book, and I'd love to think about this more when I read it again.
It seems definitely worth multiple reads or at least another closer read as I feel like my first time through I was so distracted by the fun of her writing. I think I’d perhaps pick up on different things next time. I’m interested in reading more of her works as well!
June 29, 2025
I have a weak spot, I had taken to telling people, a magic phrase that I used to trick my way out of an emotional hole, glossing over my blues.
At the risk of provoking ire, I came to this from a recommendation from the renowed literary critic ChatGPT. We were discussing the Todorovian fantastic, and ChatGPT came up with some representative names including Helen Oyeyemi (although I think she leans to the marvellous) and perhaps world literature's exemplar Samanta Schweblin. I asked for recommendation of other authors in the vein of those two. The list generated passed the test of coming up with other authors I've enjoyed and whose books roughly met the brief (Can Xue, Sayaka Murata, Silvina Ocampo, Yoko Ogawa, Marina Enriquez, Aoko Matusda, Hiromi Kawakami, Lina Meruane) and including some names I wasn't familiar with, including this, which I discovered was also published by one of my favourite small presses.
Having read the book - it was a great recommendation, although I don't think there's any hint of the supernatural (which is required for the fantastic) at all; it's more offbeat, disconcerting, fabalistic.
The narrator, a woman, arrives in a town in a remote and underpopulated area, to train as a pharmacist. It's an area she visited once as a child with her uncle:
As we went, he had overpowered us with stories about a mythical monster local to the area that devoured humans neck-first, about a nun who had turned into a hillock, about the black sheep of the family, who had moved to a house nearby and pinned live flies under the needle of a gramophone so that they were slowly dismantled as he listened to Ravel. Later learned that it was a part of the country that deviants ran away to in books, a place for murderers, thieves and alcoholic former lawyers to lie low, a landscape full of abrupt drops, deep craters, boars, snakes and wolves - a vast, sleeping bound-ary, a safe haven. At the end of my studies the town had appeared on the list of possible places to train.
I wanted to see if I could measure up to this wildness. No one had quite said I couldn't, so I applied.
From authorial interviews (see below) the region is based on the Auvergne and the first legend mention is that (quoting wikipedia) of the Beast of Gévaudan (French: La Bête du Gévaudan), a mysterious creature that terrorized the former province of Gévaudan in south-central France (modern-day Lozère and parts of Haute-Loire) between 1764 and 1767.
She is placed with the town's pharmacist, August Malone, who quickly explains his approach to running a pharmacy, as well as his concerns over the population trends in the town:
He was briefly generous in explaining his philosophy. He believed that a pharmacist's role was to enhance the locals' potential by listening skilfully. When he was a child, Mr. Malone said, he had told his parents he wanted to restore old cities. The town was forgetting itself year on year and the municipal authorities did such a careless job preserving its dignity and protecting the habits of the community that young women, especially, were moving away. When they visited their families, they had new sing-song voices, as though they were on the radio, which seemed a betrayal to the older generation.
And that's largely what her role consists of - allowing those visiting to open up about their problems - and not just the medical ones - while Mr Malone listens from a room in the back:
But my sense of magician-like importance didn't last. As it grew hotter, my sentences got shorter.
By the end of one month, I decided I had no ego left.
I could be swayed by this or that person, because no part of me resisted being disturbed. Like a contortionist threading her fillet of a body through her arms, I automatically climbed into the customers' perspective. I doubted myself constantly, wondering what I had forgotten and what I had accepted as truth by repeating it. I felt that each of the townspeople lived inside my body and rocked me from side to side, so that I could no longer judge whose side to privately take in an argument between neighbours, or who was hopeful, who exaggerated, who was insightful, who was bureaucratic, who was merely anxious.
…
Sometimes it worried me to think about what Mr. Malone did with the information I was stacking up within earshot, as he sat in the room down the corridor behind me, doing the accounts. I wondered if the customers would have told him so openly about their affairs and debts as they did with me, or started on their trivial worries like whether a cat was still nursing her kittens, or whether to air their houses at night when there was a loud dispute going on next door, banal beginnings that led to something harder that had been numbed. But if the days were hot, too hot even to come out from my hiding place behind the counter and sweat coarsely in front of the clientele, I just wanted to relax, forget about myself and hear a new explosive confidence.
As as the plot, such as it is, unravels, with Mr Malone running for Mayor, so does the narrator's identity as she, her co-workers and the locals, appear to be redefined by the stories the pharmacist manipulates them to tell.
Other reviews
https://therumpus.net/2021/11/17/the-...
https://theartsdesk.com/books/lucie-e...
https://socialtextjournal.org/once-up...
https://locusmag.com/2021/03/ian-mond...
Extract from the novel
https://lithub.com/the-weak-spot/
Interviews / conversations with the author
https://granta.com/notes-on-craft-elven/
https://granta.com/in-conversation-el...
https://maudlinhouse.net/the-process-...
https://www.zyzzyva.org/2021/02/16/fo...
At the risk of provoking ire, I came to this from a recommendation from the renowed literary critic ChatGPT. We were discussing the Todorovian fantastic, and ChatGPT came up with some representative names including Helen Oyeyemi (although I think she leans to the marvellous) and perhaps world literature's exemplar Samanta Schweblin. I asked for recommendation of other authors in the vein of those two. The list generated passed the test of coming up with other authors I've enjoyed and whose books roughly met the brief (Can Xue, Sayaka Murata, Silvina Ocampo, Yoko Ogawa, Marina Enriquez, Aoko Matusda, Hiromi Kawakami, Lina Meruane) and including some names I wasn't familiar with, including this, which I discovered was also published by one of my favourite small presses.
Having read the book - it was a great recommendation, although I don't think there's any hint of the supernatural (which is required for the fantastic) at all; it's more offbeat, disconcerting, fabalistic.
The narrator, a woman, arrives in a town in a remote and underpopulated area, to train as a pharmacist. It's an area she visited once as a child with her uncle:
As we went, he had overpowered us with stories about a mythical monster local to the area that devoured humans neck-first, about a nun who had turned into a hillock, about the black sheep of the family, who had moved to a house nearby and pinned live flies under the needle of a gramophone so that they were slowly dismantled as he listened to Ravel. Later learned that it was a part of the country that deviants ran away to in books, a place for murderers, thieves and alcoholic former lawyers to lie low, a landscape full of abrupt drops, deep craters, boars, snakes and wolves - a vast, sleeping bound-ary, a safe haven. At the end of my studies the town had appeared on the list of possible places to train.
I wanted to see if I could measure up to this wildness. No one had quite said I couldn't, so I applied.
From authorial interviews (see below) the region is based on the Auvergne and the first legend mention is that (quoting wikipedia) of the Beast of Gévaudan (French: La Bête du Gévaudan), a mysterious creature that terrorized the former province of Gévaudan in south-central France (modern-day Lozère and parts of Haute-Loire) between 1764 and 1767.
She is placed with the town's pharmacist, August Malone, who quickly explains his approach to running a pharmacy, as well as his concerns over the population trends in the town:
He was briefly generous in explaining his philosophy. He believed that a pharmacist's role was to enhance the locals' potential by listening skilfully. When he was a child, Mr. Malone said, he had told his parents he wanted to restore old cities. The town was forgetting itself year on year and the municipal authorities did such a careless job preserving its dignity and protecting the habits of the community that young women, especially, were moving away. When they visited their families, they had new sing-song voices, as though they were on the radio, which seemed a betrayal to the older generation.
And that's largely what her role consists of - allowing those visiting to open up about their problems - and not just the medical ones - while Mr Malone listens from a room in the back:
But my sense of magician-like importance didn't last. As it grew hotter, my sentences got shorter.
By the end of one month, I decided I had no ego left.
I could be swayed by this or that person, because no part of me resisted being disturbed. Like a contortionist threading her fillet of a body through her arms, I automatically climbed into the customers' perspective. I doubted myself constantly, wondering what I had forgotten and what I had accepted as truth by repeating it. I felt that each of the townspeople lived inside my body and rocked me from side to side, so that I could no longer judge whose side to privately take in an argument between neighbours, or who was hopeful, who exaggerated, who was insightful, who was bureaucratic, who was merely anxious.
…
Sometimes it worried me to think about what Mr. Malone did with the information I was stacking up within earshot, as he sat in the room down the corridor behind me, doing the accounts. I wondered if the customers would have told him so openly about their affairs and debts as they did with me, or started on their trivial worries like whether a cat was still nursing her kittens, or whether to air their houses at night when there was a loud dispute going on next door, banal beginnings that led to something harder that had been numbed. But if the days were hot, too hot even to come out from my hiding place behind the counter and sweat coarsely in front of the clientele, I just wanted to relax, forget about myself and hear a new explosive confidence.
As as the plot, such as it is, unravels, with Mr Malone running for Mayor, so does the narrator's identity as she, her co-workers and the locals, appear to be redefined by the stories the pharmacist manipulates them to tell.
Other reviews
https://therumpus.net/2021/11/17/the-...
https://theartsdesk.com/books/lucie-e...
https://socialtextjournal.org/once-up...
https://locusmag.com/2021/03/ian-mond...
Extract from the novel
https://lithub.com/the-weak-spot/
Interviews / conversations with the author
https://granta.com/notes-on-craft-elven/
https://granta.com/in-conversation-el...
https://maudlinhouse.net/the-process-...
https://www.zyzzyva.org/2021/02/16/fo...
March 28, 2021
Tight plot, great pacing, done before it can become unwelcome or tedious. Spare, gorgeous writing that mirrors the plot—there’s no filler and it pushes you along with rhythm and grace.
I loved the narrator’s progression along her internal path toward self-respect and autonomy. She finds power in interiority, learns to trust her own experience and intuition, and discovers the joys of human connections made on one’s own terms. She starts to live for herself without shame.
I read this one on Kindle (booooo) but really enjoyed the ability to turn off page numbers, so as I moved through the book I lost track of where I was. When the end came I was both surprised and ready, which I think is the best way you can say goodbye.
Bonus points for Elven’s descriptions of light. The stuff is invisible but also endlessly important, so well done on that.
I loved the narrator’s progression along her internal path toward self-respect and autonomy. She finds power in interiority, learns to trust her own experience and intuition, and discovers the joys of human connections made on one’s own terms. She starts to live for herself without shame.
I read this one on Kindle (booooo) but really enjoyed the ability to turn off page numbers, so as I moved through the book I lost track of where I was. When the end came I was both surprised and ready, which I think is the best way you can say goodbye.
Bonus points for Elven’s descriptions of light. The stuff is invisible but also endlessly important, so well done on that.
March 8, 2021
A bizarre and yet relatable work. It felt sort of dream like, or what it feels like when you’re veering on the edge of losing your mind from being gaslit.
February 9, 2021
Full review available at If These Books Could Talk
Review copy provided by Edelweiss and publishers.
Life in a provisional European town is brought to life in all it’s glory in this debut novel from Lucy Elven: ‘The Weak Spot’. An unnamed individual arrives in an unnamed village to begin their new role as assistant to the town’s influential pharmacist, August Malone. His role in administering drugs is just a small part of his life in the village as our narrator discovers. Soon they begin to inhabit Malone’s role more and more as he focuses on his run for Mayor. Slowly, the narrator takes on both Malone’s good and bad traits, but gradually they realise this affects their own personality and how they regard other residents. Can they pull themselves back and make their own mark on the village, or is the draw of Malone too strong?
From the beginning, the key factor of ‘The Weak Spot’ is the ambiguity throughout the narrative. The narrator is both nameless and genderless (I never found myself assigning a gender to the main character, and I’m sure that’s Elven’s intention), the village is never named, and only those who have a direct influence on the narrator’s actions are identified by name – others are simply referred to by their contribution to the area. While some may be infuriated by this ambiguity, I found it refreshing to not have everything laid out in front of me. Do we really need a character name to hear or understand their story? And this is the attitude out the main character carries with them as they listen to the customers’ issues at the beginning of the novel.
The narrators recalling of events and surroundings have a dreamlike quality to them adding to the questionable feeling you have about the story – this is a masterclass in the ‘unreliable narrator’ technique.
Lucy Elven has an incredible way with language that had me re-visiting and highlighting huge passages of text. Her ability to draw you into the surroundings with just a phrase was the highlight of ‘The Weak Spot’ for me. In a story full of cryptic and vague events, the tone of Elven’s descriptive prose adds a feeling of clarity. Strong, powerfully detailed sketches of location and especially weather, add another layer to the atmosphere of the novel.
As previously mentioned, the ambiguity within ‘The Weak Spot’ may deter some, but if you’re after an intelligent and thought-provoking read then this is the perfect novel. Am I 100% certain of the outcome of the tale? No way. While I did have ‘Oh, of course!’ moments I still have questions, but at only 172 pages, I have every intention of re-reading. This is a truly outstanding debut that will be on many ‘Recommended Reads’ lists for 2021
Review copy provided by Edelweiss and publishers.
Life in a provisional European town is brought to life in all it’s glory in this debut novel from Lucy Elven: ‘The Weak Spot’. An unnamed individual arrives in an unnamed village to begin their new role as assistant to the town’s influential pharmacist, August Malone. His role in administering drugs is just a small part of his life in the village as our narrator discovers. Soon they begin to inhabit Malone’s role more and more as he focuses on his run for Mayor. Slowly, the narrator takes on both Malone’s good and bad traits, but gradually they realise this affects their own personality and how they regard other residents. Can they pull themselves back and make their own mark on the village, or is the draw of Malone too strong?
From the beginning, the key factor of ‘The Weak Spot’ is the ambiguity throughout the narrative. The narrator is both nameless and genderless (I never found myself assigning a gender to the main character, and I’m sure that’s Elven’s intention), the village is never named, and only those who have a direct influence on the narrator’s actions are identified by name – others are simply referred to by their contribution to the area. While some may be infuriated by this ambiguity, I found it refreshing to not have everything laid out in front of me. Do we really need a character name to hear or understand their story? And this is the attitude out the main character carries with them as they listen to the customers’ issues at the beginning of the novel.
The narrators recalling of events and surroundings have a dreamlike quality to them adding to the questionable feeling you have about the story – this is a masterclass in the ‘unreliable narrator’ technique.
Lucy Elven has an incredible way with language that had me re-visiting and highlighting huge passages of text. Her ability to draw you into the surroundings with just a phrase was the highlight of ‘The Weak Spot’ for me. In a story full of cryptic and vague events, the tone of Elven’s descriptive prose adds a feeling of clarity. Strong, powerfully detailed sketches of location and especially weather, add another layer to the atmosphere of the novel.
As previously mentioned, the ambiguity within ‘The Weak Spot’ may deter some, but if you’re after an intelligent and thought-provoking read then this is the perfect novel. Am I 100% certain of the outcome of the tale? No way. While I did have ‘Oh, of course!’ moments I still have questions, but at only 172 pages, I have every intention of re-reading. This is a truly outstanding debut that will be on many ‘Recommended Reads’ lists for 2021
February 3, 2021
via my blog: https://bookstalkerblog.wordpress.com/
𝑨𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔. 𝑵𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏’𝒕, 𝒔𝒐 𝑰 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒅.
Sometimes you read a book that is both hazy and clear, this is such a novel. The narrator of The Weak Spot has come to an unnamed town on a mountain in Europe to apprentice with a pharmacist. A town that serves as a safe haven, she recalls from her youth, for all unsavory sorts of people. August Malone is the pharmacist who hires her and upon her first interview with him it’s evident he is a contradiction, someone who is on guard, behaving strangely as the observed often do. Interesting for a man who is king observer himself! Malone’s belief is a pharmacist’s purpose is to ‘enhance the locals’ potential by listening carefully’. It becomes her job to do as much, as she passes her time alongside Elsa who tends to the dispensing station. Elsa relies on her to confront the things she wishes to change about the pharmacy, as Malone can be intimidating. Elsa has a terminally ill sister named Nelly, whose garden she covets, herself having been left with only a small patch of grass that the sun apparently shuns. Mr. Funicular, is a costume designer, costumes being the only thing he is ambitious about, a superstitious fellow who tells stories about a beast the long ago wreaked havoc until the village dealt with the creature.
Mr. Funicular’s grotesque to ward off beasts reminds her of her mother and her illness, alternative remedies and death. As time passes she hopes to be trusted by the locals, accepted. Malone is a person whom one cannot catch, whose productivity she admires. Their job is to comfort, to give people something to hold unto in their words that heal body and soul of whatever plagues them. Malone eventually takes a sort of ‘sabbatical’, once he has decided to go into politics running for Mayor and what better way to use his skills learned behind the counter listening and learning about the locals needs, desires. Politicians must understand everything about their people.
Our narrator herself learns about performance, giving the customers what they have come for by presenting a sort of confidence. By asking the right questions to get the people to talk and reflecting back at them the pharmacy becomes the perfect place to disappear and feel nothing. At home, she does much them same, refusing to invest herself in music nor art, anything that makes her feel. She says as much, that she seems to be living in a long pause. Either I missed something or she is meant to remain as elusive as the rest of the happenings in this strange village. Reading this story felt more like I had walked into someone else’s dream, and was attempting to understand the symbolism and failing miserably but I delighted in the play between customers and our narrator, their struggle between wanting to believe medicine has answers and disbelieving at the same time. Something is just completely strange about the entire place and it’s people, intimidated by Malone. It’s an odd novel, but the writing was sometimes lovely. I know there are mysteries, weird things happening beneath the surface and we’re scratching to get to the meaty worms but I never felt I captured them. I’m still at a loss for what it’s about beyond the narrator wishing to just forget herself entirely by turning attention to other people.
Publication Date: February 9, 2021
Soft Skull Press
𝑨𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔. 𝑵𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏’𝒕, 𝒔𝒐 𝑰 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒅.
Sometimes you read a book that is both hazy and clear, this is such a novel. The narrator of The Weak Spot has come to an unnamed town on a mountain in Europe to apprentice with a pharmacist. A town that serves as a safe haven, she recalls from her youth, for all unsavory sorts of people. August Malone is the pharmacist who hires her and upon her first interview with him it’s evident he is a contradiction, someone who is on guard, behaving strangely as the observed often do. Interesting for a man who is king observer himself! Malone’s belief is a pharmacist’s purpose is to ‘enhance the locals’ potential by listening carefully’. It becomes her job to do as much, as she passes her time alongside Elsa who tends to the dispensing station. Elsa relies on her to confront the things she wishes to change about the pharmacy, as Malone can be intimidating. Elsa has a terminally ill sister named Nelly, whose garden she covets, herself having been left with only a small patch of grass that the sun apparently shuns. Mr. Funicular, is a costume designer, costumes being the only thing he is ambitious about, a superstitious fellow who tells stories about a beast the long ago wreaked havoc until the village dealt with the creature.
Mr. Funicular’s grotesque to ward off beasts reminds her of her mother and her illness, alternative remedies and death. As time passes she hopes to be trusted by the locals, accepted. Malone is a person whom one cannot catch, whose productivity she admires. Their job is to comfort, to give people something to hold unto in their words that heal body and soul of whatever plagues them. Malone eventually takes a sort of ‘sabbatical’, once he has decided to go into politics running for Mayor and what better way to use his skills learned behind the counter listening and learning about the locals needs, desires. Politicians must understand everything about their people.
Our narrator herself learns about performance, giving the customers what they have come for by presenting a sort of confidence. By asking the right questions to get the people to talk and reflecting back at them the pharmacy becomes the perfect place to disappear and feel nothing. At home, she does much them same, refusing to invest herself in music nor art, anything that makes her feel. She says as much, that she seems to be living in a long pause. Either I missed something or she is meant to remain as elusive as the rest of the happenings in this strange village. Reading this story felt more like I had walked into someone else’s dream, and was attempting to understand the symbolism and failing miserably but I delighted in the play between customers and our narrator, their struggle between wanting to believe medicine has answers and disbelieving at the same time. Something is just completely strange about the entire place and it’s people, intimidated by Malone. It’s an odd novel, but the writing was sometimes lovely. I know there are mysteries, weird things happening beneath the surface and we’re scratching to get to the meaty worms but I never felt I captured them. I’m still at a loss for what it’s about beyond the narrator wishing to just forget herself entirely by turning attention to other people.
Publication Date: February 9, 2021
Soft Skull Press
July 10, 2023
Okay so I picked this up at the HUGE Barnes & Noble sale and I decided to give it a chance because the summary was enticing! The chapters are pretty short and the font is really big also so I considered it an easy summer read.
I went into this book expecting more of an exciting plot but ultimately this book was about something else. Elven uses most of her chapters to describe the world around the characters rather than using dialogue. Everything is so vague and ambiguous. I was absolutely impatient towards the latter half of the book and the ending disappointed me 😭😭. I had expectations for this novel to be thriller-esque but it did not give that.
Maybe this is a spoiler. But the “something sinister” that was happening in this town was that powerful men were exploiting women (DUHHHH 😭😭😭). And yea it’s an issue but it’s such a PREVALENT issue that is very expected from these small remote mountain european towns. I felt so mislead.
I don’t know if I’d recommend it to just anybody. I would say this novel has a niche audience (and I just wasn’t in that target audience).
Ending on a positive note, Elven is an incredibly elegant writer! The novel had so many powerful sentences. I feel like she’d thrive as a poet.
I went into this book expecting more of an exciting plot but ultimately this book was about something else. Elven uses most of her chapters to describe the world around the characters rather than using dialogue. Everything is so vague and ambiguous. I was absolutely impatient towards the latter half of the book and the ending disappointed me 😭😭. I had expectations for this novel to be thriller-esque but it did not give that.
Maybe this is a spoiler. But the “something sinister” that was happening in this town was that powerful men were exploiting women (DUHHHH 😭😭😭). And yea it’s an issue but it’s such a PREVALENT issue that is very expected from these small remote mountain european towns. I felt so mislead.
I don’t know if I’d recommend it to just anybody. I would say this novel has a niche audience (and I just wasn’t in that target audience).
Ending on a positive note, Elven is an incredibly elegant writer! The novel had so many powerful sentences. I feel like she’d thrive as a poet.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 8, 2021
This is an odd little book that I find difficult to describe. A young woman arrives in a small town on the edge of a forest where she has an interview to work in a pharmacy in order to obtain her certification as a pharmacist. The owner of the pharmacy is not exactly warm & welcoming, but she does get the position. Over the following months, the pharmacy owner is odder & odder, and she seems to constantly be trying to meld herself to fit in, until she just gives up.
The story is narrated entirely by her, and she is not an entirely reliable narrator. There are moments of downright charming wit and humor. Overall though, I feel uncertain as to what I gained from dropping into her life. It is a short book, so no harm, no foul in the time I spent with it.
The story is narrated entirely by her, and she is not an entirely reliable narrator. There are moments of downright charming wit and humor. Overall though, I feel uncertain as to what I gained from dropping into her life. It is a short book, so no harm, no foul in the time I spent with it.
April 4, 2022
It is a nice quick read, comforting in a way because it is more like a collection of thoughts than a written story. Some parts are hard to distinguish between reality and imagination but that may be due to me reading it when I’m tired !!
February 4, 2022
A puzzling little book that I would describe above all else as somehow both dense and light. It’s like you nested Convenience Store Woman within Olive Kitteridge within La Sonnambula, but then filtered that through deceptively tricky prose. Funky and I liked it.
February 8, 2025
didnt get it
not a fan of this genre re no real plot one character pov big revelation that is supposed to make them seem complex but never actually takes you there. eh i wanted it to get weirder and deeper
not a fan of this genre re no real plot one character pov big revelation that is supposed to make them seem complex but never actually takes you there. eh i wanted it to get weirder and deeper
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