Amelia Eilertsen > Recent Status Updates

"there's not a great river anywhere for which men have not died in battle, their blood washed away in a few minutes. And at night after the battles, the massacres begin."

And Sergei Ivanovich confronted him with a dilemma: "Either you're so underdeveloped that you cannot see all that you could do, or you cannot give up your peace, your vanity, whatever, in order to do it."

Okay, this period drama is revving up the political discourse of gentry vs bourgeois/proletariats vs landlord!

Oh dear god, I have encountered a chapter more drab than Kitty's: Ivanovitch and Levin--for the love of Russian literature, pls, do something besides contemplate the peasants, peasantry and country life!

"Why is the Missionary not wicked?"
"He is God's man."
"And God's men are not wicked?"
Sho!

... I need a drink.

Moth POV?!?!??

wait, wait, wait ... is this just lyanna x rhaegar but ... in marshland country?

Perfidy ... Again

perfidy x 2 in one chapter :'(

Beginning to feel as though this was written and edited by machines ... where's the passion? the character? what possessed Ava Reid to write 500+ pages of this story? Like Adele-Blanche said to kid Agnes when she wrote her first story: there's no story worth these pages here!

Imagine: The titular moment you're supposed to be excited for happens--and nobody in the book talks about it?! This book is ... something.

Repetition as Form? Let me introduce: Repetition as Torture

Ever encounter a book which was obviously written around the profane--the garishly disconcerting--with the sole purpose of being garish and disconcerting, only. Somehow, the outlandish seems mundane. Contrite. Rudimentary. I've never encountered such a phenom of "sluggery" until this moment--at least Alchemised had audacity: drama, camp, lasciviousness.

(Speed running this so I can exchange it.)

Generation 2: the gay son emerges

Esi--the opening paragraph alone: harrowing

If I have to read one more chapter about the bland kerchief of a prince, his palimpsest of a daughter--her obsession with Anna Pavlovna, her obsession with squat Mme Stahl and that saintly goodness: her tiresome, tiresome goodness--GOD FORBID!!!

Yael van der Wouden, you have entranced me--This, your debut? Oh, an Elena Ferrante for the sapphic -- brilliant weaving of the background into the foreground, of the buried upturned in the most vital of ways: a lattice of a story world. Had me listening to my "sad girl" playlist, listlessly kicking my feet on my way to run errands when I was half way through. And towards the end? My gosh--complex really is the root.

"Time has set its sights on us and slowly worn us down, sharpening its teeth on our bodies."