"I killed a plant once because I gave it too much water. Lord, I worry love is violence." - José Olivarez
What a gorgeous, captivating piece from Shan Leah. On the eve of her planned suicide, Adelaide, alone in the Blue Ridge Mountains, becomes the keeper of wild twins-- children, feral, and bereaved. Only, of course, at the expense of their wild, naked mother. It's a novel as allegorical as it is materially rich; the wilderness seems to invade both the cabin and the prose. The corporeality takes some warming up to-- but this is easily overcome by the Chomskyan fascination that the children elicit. The narrative, as it bends and twists, soars and doubles back, serves as a kind of apologue, but the message is couched in a gentle pacing that resists its urgent, heavy questions.
It's a novel about womanhood. About the boundless, shrieking, primal rage therein. It's about motherhood, and the unthinkable atavistic impulses within it. It's about how men steal from and women steal back . It's about an ending that is as poetically sweet as it is carnally monstrous, as violent as it is distortedly erotic. An instant classic.