Hambre azul

by Viola Di Grado

Tras la muerte de su hermano gemelo, la protagonista de esta historia abandona Roma para mudarse a Shanghái, con la esperanza de paliar el intenso dolor que siente por la pérdida. Es la ciudad en la que su hermano soñaba con irse a vivir y abrir un restaurante, pero ella, que subsiste dando clases de italiano en una academia y se pierde diariamente por las calles abigarradas de esta extensísima metrópoli, no percibe más que caos y hostilidad. Al poco tiempo conoce a Xu, una joven enigmática y arrolladora que también huye de un pasado traumático: padre violento, madre ausente, una familia que hubiese preferido que naciera niño. Unidas por una soledad que se asemeja a un hambre implacable, las dos chicas se acercan cada vez más, impelidas tanto por la necesidad de afecto como por la oscura tentación de superar el límite a partir del cual el lenguaje se desintegra y el deseo se convierte en una bestia devoradora. En su quinta novela, Viola Di Grado pone la prosa hipnótica y la capacidad inventiva que la caracterizan al servicio de una historia cautivadora y particularmente sensual, en la que el choque entre Oriente y Occidente da lugar a un sorprendente estallido de emociones que nos harán viajar a los rincones más ignotos del erotismo.

Genres: Horror, Queer, Fiction, LGBT, Lesbian, Contemporary, Romance

176 pages, Paperback

First published March 31, 2022

About the author

Viola Di Grado was born in Catania in 1987. She lived in Kyoto, Leeds and London, where she earned her MA in East Asian philosophies. Her widely translated first novel- Settanta acrilco trenta lana (70% Acrylic 30% Wool) published when she was 23- was the winner of the prestigious 2011 Campiello First Novel Award and the Rapallo Opera Prima Award. It was also longlisted for the Strega Award and for the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award 2014. Her short stories and essays have been published in numerous magazines and journals.

Reviews

[Roman Clodia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Eat me: make me yours, make me disappear.

'We like love because it's an edible feeling': Di Grado does a marvellous job of building this text on metaphors that she intertwines so that they feel organically and thickly connected - the cultural weight of food consumption with the concept of being consumed by desire; the reading of bodies and embodied feelings with the lexicology of ideograms and language ('the ideogram for love contains the one for claws and night'); the way grief and death may lead to a desire to wipe out the self as an act of complicity.

Placing an Italian woman in China adds to the sense of displacement, isolation and alienation as the protagonist mourns the death of her twin brother whose name she takes, and pursues a relationship with the elusive Xu whose own propensity for sexualised biting and ritualistic unclothing that follows the direction of reading ideograms play into the structure of the text.

'Time becomes physical, muscular. Blood is quicker than the brain. Abrasions on the arms and chest, on the fingers, form scabs. The skin defends itself, regenerates, and in regenerating forgets it was ever wounded' : gorgeously written, dense and rich, here the conceit of embodiment merges perfectly the unspoken with the textual.

Many thanks to Scribe UK for an ARC via NetGalley

[Dannie · Rating 3 out of 5]

if you like no plot just vibes, love as “eat me”, lesbian, with a side of depression, books then this might be for you

[Blair · Rating 4 out of 5]

After the death of her twin brother, a young Italian woman travels to Shanghai, where she loses herself in the immense city and the immensity of her grief. Mostly alone, she wanders the streets and adopts her brother’s name, Ruben, subsuming her own identity. Then she begins a relationship with an enigmatic woman named Xu. Xu dominates the self-hating ‘Ruben’ both emotionally and physically, and the book’s central metaphor – Ruben’s willingness to be consumed – is writ large in Xu’s penchant for biting and the strange role of food in their sex life. Di Grado writes a fast-paced narrative stuffed with dizzying images of Shanghai (especially its architecture) and poignant evocations of loss. It’s not exactly a stream of consciousness, but it feels a little like one. Actually, it feels a bit like a number of things it isn’t: a dystopia, an elegy, a crooked love story.

While the grief theme is familiar from Di Grado’s previous novels, the reflections on trying to live in a different language and culture reminded me of Polly Barton’s memoir Fifty Sounds, and the more bizarre aspects of the central relationship made me think this might appeal to those who loved Children of Paradise.

[Emily Coffee and Commentary · Rating 4 out of 5]

A dark, sensual study in grief and codependency. Unsettling, fevered, and pulsing with loneliness, Blue Hunger is a fascinating journey into the chasm of grief; it is a trip through the labyrinth of loss, a look into the ways in which we try to fill its void, be it through vices or through relationships. This novella is a deliriously compelling look at the feeling of otherness, the ways that language and emotion shape how we view ourselves and those around us; how we will go to any lengths to feel a part of someone, something. A gripping and powerful story.

[makayla · Rating 4 out of 5]

starting off women in translation month strong

[Phu · Rating 3 out of 5]

“Eat me,” I said. The idea was mine—it was the first time I’d had a thought like that. I was the first to think of my body as brainless pulp. Eat me: make me yours, make me disappear. Something had happened. Something inside me had worked loose, revealing a strange part of the mind...

Mình có thể gọi Blue Hunger là một cơn đói, một nỗi buồn, một sự mơ hồ không rõ ràng... Mình cảm thấy quyển này giống như  của đặt bối cảnh Châu Á và nhuốm một màu xanh buồn bã vậy. Rút kinh nghiệm từ vài cuốn sách khác, lần này mình đọc Blue Hunger với tâm trạng không mong đợi sự kinh dị nào - dù nó gắn tag Horror, nhưng thực ra chẳng có điều gì gọi là kinh dị hay đáng sợ cả xuyên suốt diễn biến cả, chỉ có nỗi buồn và vô định.

Truyện xoay quanh một người phụ nữ - người mình sẽ gọi là "Ruben" - tên người anh sinh đôi đã mất của cô. Sau cái chết của anh trai sinh đôi, Ruben đã rời xa quê hương đến Thượng Hải, Trung Quốc, một cách mơ hồ và không thể xác định bất cứ việc gì. Đó là khi Ruben gặp Xu - cô gái trẻ người Trung Quốc, cả hai sau đó bắt đầu có một mối quan hệ kỳ lạ, vô thức và đáng lo ngại...

Mình thích những ẩn dụ cho nỗi đau của nhân vật chính, sau khi anh trai song sinh qua đời thì Ruben đã mất đi mục đích sống, đánh mất đi cả chính bản thân cô ấy. Ruben chọn cái tên và chọn sống theo ước mơ của anh trai, từ bỏ đi chính con người thực sự của cô ấy. Mình cũng có anh trai sinh đôi, mình cũng đã cảm thấy như Ruben nhưng nó không đến mức cực đoan thế này.

I wanted to be the bumpy asphalt that car skidded on. I wanted to be the ditch, the maddening bumpiness, the rut interrupting the wheel’s perfect propulsion. I wanted to become her nagging obsession. Keep her awake at night, keep her eyes agape. Fill her mind like an airbag that expands on impact. But I knew it wouldn’t happen. It would never happen. I could never become an obsession to anybody.

Bối cảnh truyện thêm phần u ám, buồn bã. Đó là thành phố Thượng Hải rộng lớn và ngập tràn ánh đèn về đêm. Nhưng đâu đó vẫn có sự u tối, đơn độc; mình thấy phần ngột ngạt qua lời kể của Ruben - người xa lạ với Thượng Hải, chẳng thể bắt kịp với nhịp sống của nó. Ruben và Xu cũng như nhau, họ là những con người nhỏ bé giữa cuộc sống xám xịt và rộng lớn.
Điều mình thích ở Blue Hunger đó là những ẩn dụ trong sự đa văn hóa. Có thức ăn, phong tục, những câu chuyện về văn hóa đa dạng; nhưng một phần chính sự đa văn hóa này đã khiến cho truyện thêm ngột ngạt và thực sự u buồn. Ruben không thể hiểu rõ ngôn ngữ nơi đất khách, mắc kẹt giữa những văn hóa lạ lẫm mà cô không biết, để rồi cũng vì sự khác biệt từ nơi sinh ra nên Ruben và Xu không thể dung hoà.

Mình tự hỏi, mối quan hệ giữa Ruben và Xu là gì? Đó có thể là yêu, là cộng sinh, hay chỉ là họ xem nhau như những món ăn - khi đói mà tìm đến nhau. Nó vừa đáng lo ngại, vừa đẹp một cách đen tối. Thực sự là mình không muốn tác giả chọn cái kết diễn ra thế đâu, nhưng theo cách nào đó với mình cái kết thế đã đẹp dù có thể nó sẽ chẳng đi về đâu. Lời yêu của họ lại vượt qua mọi rào cảng văn hóa.

Xu’s eyes widened like a saint having a holy vision and she said, “Wo ai ni,” which means “I love you”—although the ideogram for love contains the one for claws, and night, an infinite darkness, if you analyze it, if you really want to analyze everything, which is the worst problem with being alive and human—and I said it back the same way, “Wo ai ni,” careful with my pronunciation, careful to make sure that she believed my words, just as I had believed hers.

[Come Musica · Rating 4 out of 5]

La protagonista di questo romanzo si rinomina Xin, Nuova. Ma Xin “significa anche cuore: stessa grafia, stesso tono, simile a un bicchiere che si rompe.”

E il suo cuore si è rotto, è andato in frantumi dopo la perdita del fratello gemello. Come si fa ad anestetizzare il dolore, a continuare a vivere quando una parte di sé è annientata, annichilita, persa?
Non basta frapporre tra la vecchia sé e la nuova sé migliaia di chilometri di distanza, quanti separano Roma da Shangai, non basta cambiare lingua, dall’italiano al cinese, sostituire l’alfabeto con gli ideogrammi: si continuerà ad aver fame, fame d’amore.

“Mi facevano male le gambe ma volevo percorrere più spazio possibile. Percorrere è meglio di capire. È più confortante. Mettere strade larghe e sconosciute al posto del pensiero. Volevo tornare a casa, ma casa era dove c’era Ruben e Ruben non era più da nessuna parte.”

Non c’è una parola per descrivere la condizione in cui si viene a trovare una sorella in seguito alla perdita del fratello. È un tipo di mancanza che non ha un vocabolo per definirla. E anche Xin colma il vuoto del suo cuore con qualcosa che assomiglia all’amore, per una ragazza di nome Xu, una fame oscura, una fame blu, psichedelica, come le luci fredde dei locali notturni, una fame urlata, per elaborare il lutto

“A me il cinese cosa aveva portato? Amore, odio, frustrazione, solitudine. La mia solitudine in cinese era più piccola o più grande di quella in italiano? E l’amore, che amore era? E poi c’era altro. Un sentimento senza nome: un senso di rimpicciolimento, come avere di nuovo tre anni e un bisogno imperioso di essere presa tra le braccia. Non era esattamente amore, perché era impersonale. Non è amore la stretta dei cuccioli allo zoo che agguantano una madre di peluche. Non era nemmeno solitudine, perché la compagnia non lo estingueva, anzi lo rinforzava. Era una fame oscura, così piena di timore e di speranza da sembrare religiosa. Assoluta come il primo pianto quando si è spinti fuori dall’utero, costretti a venire al mondo.”

Viola Di Grado scrive un romanzo cupo, incalzante, in equilibrio precario tra l’istinto di sopravvivere e il bisogno di sentirsi ancora vivi.

[Camila - Books Through My Veins · Rating 1 out of 5]

- thanks to @scribepub for my #gifted copy

I was beyond excited to read Blue Hunger, perhaps too much so. I have grown extra hungry for Translated Fiction in the last few years, and this novel looked like it would tick all the requirements for an impeccable, unforgettable story. But, unfortunately, my reading experience was far from my doubtlessly unrealistic expectations.

I usually enjoy plotless novels that sacrifice their plot for a better, more in-depth characterisation, like in this case. The nameless protagonist's grief journey is relatable, and Di Grado creates moments full of insightful stream of consciousness and commentary. However, it did not strike me as mind-blowing or particularly remarkable, even though it was effortless to understand that most of the protagonist's questionable decisions stem from grieving her brother's death.

What I definitely did not enjoy was witnessing the development of a very unhealthy relationship between the protagonist and Xu, the enigmatic local Shanghai young woman. Beyond my personal judgements, I struggled with believing in their relationship in the first place. The lack of substantial dialogue in the novel did not help create the necessary authenticity for a believable relationship, so I was unable to feel anything for both members of the toxic couple. This lack of empathy could have been avoided had the author invested more time in exploring the couple's encounters and interactions in more depth.

Towards the end, my initial disappointment had waned considerably and I had somehow warmed up a little to the story, but that did not mean I was ready for one of the most infuriating endings I have ever read. Hell, I still get super angry whenever I think about it. It is very personal, of course, but the ending felt like all the admirable work the author had done with such a bizarre story came utterly undone.

Overall, Blue Hunger is an unusual, bizarre story of grief, guilt, toxicity and bad decisions. Not my cup of tea, but I would recommend it to readers seeking slow-paced, character-heavy, plotless novels.

[✿ · Rating 4 out of 5]

people were selling this to me as being way more weird and wack than it actually was but nevertheless i gobbled it up, booootiful writing

[Maria Cecilia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Entre a estranheza, a condenação e o desconforto, eu me vi amando esse livro. Amando a realidade, a crueldade dele. Pode não ser certo amar algo dessa natureza como amei, mas a verdade é que não me importo.


Aviso: GATILHOS dos mais diversos.

Aviso 2: A versão brasileira já existe: fome azul.

[Anaïs Cahueñas · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was a hazy yet electrifying story of an Italian woman grieving the loss of her twin brother, who moves to China and begins a toxic and intoxicating relationship with a sadistic woman.

It’s an intricate study of grief, displacement, obsession and rot under the glittering veneer of Shanghai.

The writhing blend of lust and pain, loneliness and nihilism, was a great example of how grief sometimes creates an all-encompassing need to be distracted, touched, eaten.

I loved the dreamlike stream of consciousness writing, as well as the exploration of sapphic desire and intense lust-filled destruction.

[Mar · Rating 2 out of 5]

Jeg hadde sett på denne boka i flere måneder fordi jeg synes omslaget var skikkelig kult, og jeg likte tittelen. Jeg tenkte: kanskje denne boka hadde vært spennende å lese med bokklubben. Vel den slo ikke så godt an dessverre så jeg ble litt flau. Samtidig ble jeg også skuffet selv, fordi jeg hadde litt høye håp.

Jeg var ikke så stor fan av hvordan denne boka er skrevet. Følte ikke språket var så veldig bra? Eller den prøvde veldig hardt og brukte mange metaforer og sammenligninger som ikke alle traff fullstending. Samtidig var det noen ganger hvor jeg følte den traff veldig.

Denne boka gjorde kanskje den ene tingen jeg ikke ville at den skulle gjøre. Men jeg har ikke helt bestemt meg for om den gjorde det enda.

Denne boka er nok for noen der ute, men jeg ble ikke helt overbevist.

[Synne Sylibris · Rating 3 out of 5]

I enjoyed the reading experience itself, but did I like the book? I don't really know. It felt a little too similar to things I've read before, and it wasn't always very easy relating to the two MC's.
It also felt kind of forgettable?

The ending elevated the book for me though, because it made the book as a whole more interesting.
The writing also had a very nice flow.

[Alessandra · Rating 3 out of 5]

Non so se mi è piaciuto questo libro. Una cosa la so, e cioè che mi ha tenuta incollata alle pagine perché sicuramente c'era del potenziale in queste pagine torbide, ossessive e disperate. Non mi hanno convinta però alcuni elementi chiave come la lingua cinese, Shangai e la morte del fratello, Ruben: topoi trattati con eccessiva fretta e superficialità ma non senza motivo, anzi, semplicemente non c'è stato uno spazio adeguato per svilupparli e mostrare davvero il loro potenziale narrativo, allegorico e in generale espressivo. In più, Xu ha dei contorni abbastanza sfocati (volontà dell'autrice?) ed è un peccato che il suo personaggio sia stato mostrato solo come "oggetto amoroso" o "soggetto carnefice", senza che questi due aspetti si coniugassero in alcun modo, soprattutto in prospettiva del finale, anch'esso frettoloso.

[El · Rating 2 out of 5]

Finished at 2am because I became as obsessed with Xu as Ruben was, and kept turning the pages hoping she’d reappear. A morbid obsession though like finishing a cold cup of coffee.

[Jenny · Rating 2 out of 5]

Altså hva er dette for en bok?? 2 stjerner er den dårligste ratingen jeg har gitt. Jeg leste ferdig boka, men det er bare fordi den er lettlest og jeg hadde håp om at den skulle bli bedre. Den lille endringen på slutten (de siste 15 sidene) hjalp litt, men generelt var det vanskelig å tro på historien… Og skuffende slutt da jeg trodde hun endelig hadde kommet seg ut av det toxic forholdet. Så hva handler egentlig boka om? En forvirret jente full av sorg og dårlig selvbilde som er i et voldelig forhold, men jeg skjønner ikke hvorfor.

[jen · Rating 3 out of 5]

En helt grei bok. Likte at slutten ryster leseren og tvinger en til å reflektere over jeg-personens oppførsel. Boka et lettlest og derfor tilgir jeg dens tabber.

Noen scener var virkelig ekle og det likte jeg. Når Ruben beskriver at hennes kroppslukt har endret seg etter hun bare har spist involler i en måned—etter hun har vært med Xu i en måned—at hun begynner å bli fremmed for seg selv—ble jeg virkelig satt ut. Det traff ett rart sted inni meg!
Jeg likte slakteri-skildringene. Forfatteren illustrerer et klart bilde av jeg-personens følelser og ideer om hennes kjære Xu. Når Ruben snakker om slakteriet, snakker hun om Xu. Det kinesiske slakteriets iskalde og perfekte funksjonalitet, dens mekaniserte produksjon og hyperrasjonelle holdning [...]. Xu er slakteriet, og Ruben er lammet.

Kunne ønske hovedpersonen og brorens forhold ble utforsket enda mer i denne boka, men setter pris på samtalen mellom Xu og Ruben mot slutten.
"Vi er forskjellige. Det vet du godt. Du elsker meg bare fordi jeg går min vei."
"Ikke forsøk å psykoanalysere meg. Du vet ingenting om meg."
"Jeg vet alt, faktisk. Jeg leser deg som en åpen barnebok. Du elsker meg fordi jeg er der i det ene øyeblikket, og så ikke. Som broren din."

⭐️⭐️⭐️

[Anna Lyche · Rating 2 out of 5]

Klarte ikke helt å bestemme meg for to eller tre stjerner, men lander på førstnevnte ettersom jeg ikke ønsker at flere skal bli misleada av førsteinntrykket boka gir. Jeg glemte også det meste av det som skjedde rett etter jeg leste det, og klarte ikke å bry meg noe særlig om hverken karakterene eller handlingen, selv om boka er ganske lettlest. Det var uansett en interessant leseopplevelse, men jeg skulle nok ønske at jeg satt igjen med andre følelser enn forvirring🥴

[Gabrielle · Rating 3 out of 5]

Blue Hunger is one of those novels that feel like a fever dream made of obsession and mourning. It's almost plotless. Nothing really happens, yet everything seems to subsume the main character, Ruben—love, loss and language. Much to my delight, these are the three themes that are underscored by the story repetitively:

1. Love: Here, love is toxic, messy and devouring. The entire relationship is overshadowed by the ghost of Ruben's late brother. When Ruben is overtaken by lust for the enigmatic Xu, when Ruben is fighting with Xu, when Ruben is regressing from her obsession with Xu—her brother (whose name she borrowed/stole) is in her mind. To say the least, it paints an unsettling yet brutally honest look at love amidst grief.

"Eat me: make me yours, make me disappear."

Their sexual undertakings are animalistic and—very literally—hungry. There is begging to be eaten and there is a blood on the bed. It's a dark, emotive experience that the reader has to understand to even begin to rationalize how Ruben's depression functions.

2. Loss: I don't think we ever find out Ruben's real name because the entire time, she takes on her twin brother's identity. At first, I couldn't identify whether this was guilt on her part for living past her sibling or if it was like she was treating her brother's memory as a prosthetic for inability to function, but reading about how she let her brother consume her parallel to a relationship consuming her was very uncomfortable for me. An external object, deus ex machina style, sort of acts as a resolution for this, which left me unfulfilled frankly.

3. Language: Oh, where do I start? The author's writing is brilliant and gorgeous and everything I desire from this world. She weaves metaphors about culture and displacement, sets this as the backdrop to Ruben's all-encompassing obsession to Xu in a seamless way. On top of all of that, language, both as a concept for the narrative and the intertextuality of the novel, is used to isolate Ruben further as a foreigner in China; it's a deep-seated displacement that I, as a reader, felt with the character. So. Good.

While I understand that slice-of-life, plotless novels, more often that not, function thematically, to drive us to an emotional high rather than neatly conclude plot strings, I still think that some sort of narrative structure would have benefited Blue Hunger because the ending suffered with the "I don't know what to do with this anymore" syndrome. The resolution was all too abrupt against the 200 pages of slow, dense internalizing of an unhealthy relationship. 

Unfortunately, I don't think I would read
this again despite enjoying it. I would definitely go back to specific excerpts though because the author and translator genuinely did such a wonderful job with this book. It's quotable to the death, but that can't make up for the flaws in narrative that glare at me too much.

Overall, 3/5 ⭐️!

[Cariatide ✨ · Rating 3 out of 5]

L'amore si deposita ovunque, nel corpo, come il grasso. C'è chi ingrassa più nel culo e chi nel girovita. C'è chi ingrassa in volto fino a sformare i lineamenti e diventare irriconoscibile anche a sé stesso. Vale anche per l'amore. Si assesta nelle parti del corpo che meglio reggono il peso e la trasfigurazione. Capita di sentirlo nelle tempie o nella punta formicolante delle dita - una turbolenza simile a uno sciame, a una corsa d'insetti nel buio - o nell'incavo sudato di un ginocchio. Gli occhi si arrossano e prudono. Lo stomaco brucia. I nervi tirano nel gomito come corde sfinite di un vecchio violino. L'amore sfrigola e arde nelle guance o alla base delle orecchie, che assumono il colore morboso delle rose schiacciate nei quaderni. Le ovaie pulsano, i capezzoli acquistano consistenza bovina. Quando l'amore martella nel petto ha ormai attecchito ovunque: bisogna farlo uscire dai genitali e se non esce tutto fare un taglio nel punto esatto in cui è arrivato e iniziare a sanguinare.

[Rachel Louise Atkin · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was okay, it’s about an Italian women who moves to Shanghai and meets a another women and they enter into a really weird sexual relationship where they go to this abandoned slaughterhouse with a bunch of other people and have strange sex. It never really felt important to me and the writing felt cold. There was a bit at the beginning about a pill they can take which suppresses their emotions but this wasn’t expanded upon and kind of just left there and I would have wanted to know more about it. I feel like this was trying to be an edgy cult book but it just wasn’t all that for me, although I enjoyed parts of it.

[Andrea Muraro · Rating 2 out of 5]

Trama senza contrasti. Sintassi impressionista disturbante: le frasi brevi, a volte nominali, risultano fastidiose. Salvo solo il rapporto della protagonista con il fratello. Il resto è un uso accurato di Google Maps per descrivere Shangai e una storia d’amore incompleta.

[Rachel]

DNF @ page 20

nothing wrong, just not grabbing me right now - will come back!

[Wilma Karlsson · Rating 2 out of 5]

It was nicely written but… unfortunately I didn’t like it. I saw what it wanted to be - but never felt it - and somehow the book felt plotless and bored me a lot.

[Martine · Rating 2 out of 5]

Tenkte egentlig å ikke skrive et review, men prøver meg uansett.

Først og fremst må jeg si at jeg synes boken er skrevet på en veldig «lett» måte, og med det mener jeg at jeg virkelig fløy gjennom. Selv om det var mye jeg ikke tok av metaforer og tullball så gikk det lett videre uten noe problem. Følte det var en del mangler på både plot og skildring av hovedperson, kanskje man skal lese mer mellom linjene? Jeg vet ikke.

En ting jeg synes er verdt å nevne er at mange steder får forfatteren fram at hovedpersonen sørger, på en ikke åpenbar måte. Tror virkelig det er en sånn ting man må ha vært gjennom selv for å plukke opp, for jeg synes det var veldig tydelig at hun sørget, og forstod tankene og valgene hennes til tider veldig godt (andre ganger ikke i like stor grad..!).

Jeg synes boken både var frustrerende og ekkel til tider, og av og til interessant:)

[froschpapi · Rating 2 out of 5]

Even though this started out really well, it in my opinion never developed any necessary depth. I like vibes-only books quite a lot, but for those to actually hit, the themes need to be explored more deeply, in a more meaningful way, and that just didn't happen here - for a short book it even turned out to be quite dull; it was even finished off with an ending that felt contrived and hollow.

[vivi · Rating 4 out of 5]

"se pararmos para analisar, se realmente quisermos parar para analisar tudo, o que é o pior problema de se estar vivo e ser humano" misericórdia livro TENEBROSO de triste

[aimee thompson · Rating 4 out of 5]

Final Aimee read of 2024!!!

Mmmmm she’s definitely different … I mean this in a good way!

Let me tell you I was HOOKED on the noir atmosphere, I’ve never read anything like it. Xu was just so enthralling like I needed to know more.

Just women feeling their feelings … or not!

[Gertrud · Rating 4 out of 5]

Primo dei libri che ho letto per il premio Salerno letteratura 2023. Un pugno allo stomaco. Una scrittura diretta, fluida. La narrazione di un filo invisibile che lega, che condiziona, che stringe, che soffoca.
Sembra quasi un distopico. Ma ti rendi conto che tutto può essere realtà.

[maribelwhatever · Rating 3 out of 5]

Irgendwie dunkel, düster, dicht und doch zu dünn. Ich mag, dass die Geschichte ausschließlich in Blautöne getunkt ist, nicht nur kalt und neon, sondern dass die Farbe Blau auch real ständig vorkommt. Ich mag, dass die Figuren irgendwie drüber, aber gleichzeitig ehrlich und echt wirken und dass auf eine ganz subtile Art dargestellt wird, dass Trauer in so vielen verschiedenen Formen und Farben kommt, dass Trauer manchmal bleibt, dass die Blautöne sich einfach nur verändern. Am Ende konnte ich mich nicht ganz identifizieren und anscheinend ist mir das wichtig beim Lesen, oder zumindest dass ich Entscheidungen nachvollziehen kann, auch die in der Trauer getroffenen.