Status Updates From Mensonge et sortilège

Finished. Holy shit—what a story, what storytelling. 👏👏👏

Toward the end of Part 6, §8. Sections six and seven again had my pity leaving a bad taste in my mouth; but the taste doesn’t at all stifle my sympathy. Section eight had me crying, then almost immediately laughing—though I don’t know how much of the whiplash was genuine and how much was discomfort spilling over from the characters to me. The way this novel not only manipulates but mirrors your feelings is profound.

Part 6, §§3-5 done. One dark twist after another. The psychological devastations are brutal, even amid their pomp and surreality. A new—no, a reified—tension keeps bubbling. I don't know if I'm ready for the breaking point.

Part 5 is heavy: read at your own risk, only when you can bear such sadness. Part 6, section 2 done. My heart is pounding with anticipation; my stomach turns at a strange pity—I never knew compassion could feel nauseating. I think Elisa’s mom is about to release some straight up savagery...

almost

P. 5, §3 done. I'm exhausted. It’s gotten difficult to will myself to continue reading. Morante is relentless. She doesn’t keep you at a safe height from the ruins: she drags you down into a mire where illusions—many bred by the terror of the ordinary—are chained by vanity, envy, and class-hatred. This story is a bleakness that refuses anesthesia.

P. 5, §1 done. I was waiting for this moment and it utterly defied my expectations. P. 4 closed with a massive narrative rupture, leaving me suspicious and feeling betrayed. Yet P. 5 opens as if _nothing_ happened. And, the devastation hits as if nothing did happen. Tears, sobs, and the air punched out of me all atest to Morante’s merciless sorcery—it doesn’t break when the frame does: it turns the screw. Holy shit.