JESS JUST READS

A BOOK REVIEW BLOG

The Witches of Vardo by Anya Bergman

Norway, 1662. A dangerous time to be a woman, when even dancing can lead to accusations of witchcraft. When Zigri, desperate and grieving after the loss of her husband and son, embarks on an affair with the local merchant, it’s not long before she is sent to the fortress at Vardo, to be tried and condemned as a witch.

Zigri’s daughter Ingeborg sets off into the wilderness to try to bring her mother back home. Accompanying her on this quest is Maren – herself the daughter of a witch ¬- whose wild nature and unconquerable spirit gives Ingeborg the courage to venture into the unknown, and to risk all she has to save her family.

Also captive in the fortress is Anna Rhodius, once the King of Denmark’s mistress, who has been sent to Vardo in disgrace. What will she do – and who will she betray – to return to her privileged life at court?

These Witches of Vardo are stronger than even the King of Denmark. In an age weighted against them they refuse to be victims. They will have their justice. All they need do is show their power.

Anya Bergman’s debut novel The Witches of Vardo is a retelling of the seventeenth century Norwegian witch trials, an evocative story of women rendered voiceless and powerless amidst a time of great suspicion and accusation.

In one narrative we meet Ingeborg, daughter of an accused witch who teams up with another young woman – Maren – to save her mother from imminent death. Interspersed throughout the book is a third perspective. Anna, disgraced and now living in Vardo. Eventually, her path crosses with Ingeborg and Maren. These three women refuse to succumb to the expectations placed upon them, and work to rebel against the witch-hunting, religious fanatics that surround them.

“This was the change in Ingeborg’s mother. She no longer cared what any soul thought of her. What did it matter now her boy was gone and her husband lost? But this change was more dangerous than her mother could ever imagine, more than Ingeborg had an inkling of.”

The Witches of Vardo is a feisty female narrative, reclaiming and retelling true events in our history. A blend of fact, fiction and magical realism, the books hits its stride about halfway through when Ingeborg arrives at Vardo. The first half of the book is admittedly a little slow and directionless, but the second half – when Ingeborg and Anna’s storylines finally intersect – draws readers in and will maintain engagement until the final page.

There is no doubt that the author has researched the subject matter meticulously, and so credit must be given for capturing the era and the setting – for bringing the locations and the atmosphere to life. The suspicion, the inaccuracies, the fear. It’s an interesting era to look back on, and so it formed a very intriguing backdrop for the tale.

“Ingeborg knew she should break up the dance. She knew it was wrong. But her body wouldn’t let her. The rhyme was one she had never heard before, and yet it felt as if she knew the words before Maren uttered them.”

This is definitely more of a plot-driven story than a character driven one. In fact, many of the characters started to blur together throughout the story, and I’m not convinced that the author’s structure and storytelling was enough to hook me in.

Whilst there were some fantastic elements to the story – ancient folklore tales and a suite of badass female characters – some of the dialogue felt forced and unnatural, the pacing was inconsistent throughout the story, the villains weren’t nuanced and had very little depth to them, and decisions made in the book didn’t make a huge amount of success. Relations between characters felt a bit unbelievable, and moments of realisation skimmed over in favour of plot. The ending, too, felt unsatisfying.

It felt like the setup of the story took so long that I wonder if it started in the right spot. Should the story have started with Ingeborg’s mother already imprisoned? To kickstart the journey to Vardo a little sooner?

“Maren was a poor fisher girl like the rest of them, and yet when she narrated her story Ingeborg could see the old Norse Goddess Freya within her – in the dewy dark softness of her eyes, and the bite of her over lip. Love and War.”

A promising retelling of Norwegian history, Anya Bergman’s The Witches of Vardo will appeal to female readers, and fans of historical fiction and mythical or factual tales. Readership skews 25+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

The Witches of Vardo
Anya Bergman
February 2023
Allen & Unwin Book Publishers

The Marriage Portrait by Maggie O’Farrell

Florence, the 1560s. Lucrezia, third daughter of Cosimo de’ Medici, is free to wander the palazzo at will, wondering at its treasures and observing its clandestine workings. But when her older sister dies on the eve of marriage to Alfonso d’Este, ruler of Ferrara, Modena and Reggio, Lucrezia is thrust unwittingly into the limelight: the duke is quick to request her hand in marriage, and her father to accept on her behalf.

Having barely left girlhood, Lucrezia must now make her way in a troubled court whose customs are opaque and where her arrival is not universally welcomed. Perhaps most mystifying of all is her husband himself, Alfonso. Is he the playful sophisticate her appears before their wedding, the aesthete happiest in the company of artists and musicians, or the ruthless politician before whom even his formidable sisters seem to tremble?

As Lucrezia sits in uncomfortable finery for the painting which is to preserve her image for centuries to come, one thing becomes worryingly clear. In the court’s eyes, she has one duty: to provide the heir who will shore up the future of the Ferrarese dynasty. Until then, for all of her rank and nobility, her future hangs entirely in the balance.

Set at the heart of the treacherous political world of the Italian Renaissance, Maggie O’Farrell’s The Marriage Portrait centres around a young woman’s tumultuous marriage to someone she is convinced will murder her.

O’Farrell has found her comfort zone with 16th century heroines. In The Marriage Portrait, she crafts a story around Lucrezia, who was the third child of Medici, ruler of Florence. Married off at age 13 to the Duke of Ferrara – Alfonso – she died not long after the wedding and was long thought to have been poisoned by her husband. In The Marriage Portrait, O’Farrell imagines a story around this historical saga, brining Lucrezia and Alfonso to life with a vivid tale.

“Lucrezia said nothing, just pulled a piece of parchment towards her. It was the only way to deal with Isabella’s fits of temper: ignore them, let them run their course. Securing the page with one hand, she held her pen poised. How to begin? Dearest Alfonso? Your excellency?”

Structurally, we first meet Lucrezia one year into her marriage. Failing to fall pregnant and give Alfonso an heir, she knows that he will murder her so that he can re-marry. The novel then moves back in time so we can understand how Lucrezia came to be in this situation.

The setup of the novel is beguiling and intriguing, and the latter third of the book builds in an enticing manner, but for most of the novel the pacing lacks and the tension never builds to where it needs to be. Perhaps the novel is too long. Perhaps too few characters cross our path and so we’re largely forced to read only about Lucrezia who grows a bit monotonous at certain points in the novel.

Truthfully, I wanted to love this novel but in reality, I had to force myself to continue.

“The plaits are arranged, criss-crossing her head, looping over hear ears and the jewels there, up the curve of her neck, and secured at the crown of her head. The veil is brought down around her while they affix the golden diadem, brought by Vitelli himself, from the iron-lined strongroom.”

One of the strengths of the novel does include O’Farrell’s description – rich and full, if at times a little too lavish and long. She revels in how she brings an author to a setting and an interaction; O’Farrell cannot be accused of stripping back her prose too much. At times though, her description boggles and slows down the pacing, traps its reader instead of keeping us propelled forward.

I wonder if there just wasn’t enough to the plotting to craft a faster paced story, and so Maggie had to fill the gaps with excessive prose that brought the novel to an unnecessary 440 pages.

“Except for little Lucrezia, tucked into a bed with both her sisters in a room under the eaves of the palazzo roof. Lucrezia of the solemn gaze and pale, wispy hair – incongruously so, for all her siblings had the sleek fox-dark colouring of their Spanish mamma.”

The Marriage Portrait is best suited to historical fiction readers, with a particular pursuit towards literary fiction. Readership skews 40+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

The Marriage Portrait
Maggie O’Farrell
September 2022
Hachette Book Publishers

Haven by Emma Donoghue

Three men vow to leave the world behind them. They set out in a small boat for an island their leader has seen in a dream, with only faith to guide them. What they find is the extraordinary island now known as Skellig Michael. Haven, Emma Donoghue’s gripping and moving novel, has her trademark psychological intensity – but this story is like nothing she has ever written before.

In seventh-century Ireland, a scholar and priest called Artt has a dream telling him to leave the sinful world behind. Taking two monks – young Trian and old Cormac – he rows down the river Shannon in search of an isolated spot on which to found a monastery. Drifting out into the Atlantic, the three men find an impossibly steep, bare island, inhabited by tens of thousands of birds, and claim it for God. In such a place, what will survival mean?

Set in seventh-century Ireland, Emma Donoghue’s Haven follows a priest and two monks in search of a solitary island far from their monastery.

Brother Artt returns to the monastery after time afar and dreams of a mission from God – take two monks and journey to an island far away in the Western ocean, and build a bastion of prayer. It’s a mission of solitariness and immense devotion, and Artt’s obsession with purity and peity grows dangerous over the course of the book.

“Now that the Prior’s taken up Cormac’s oar and the boat’s speeding along, no one is in the stern to steer her. Sick or not, Cormac should at least keep an eye out for hazards – mudbanks, logs, whirlpools, rocks, or rapids.”

This book is incredibly slow – too slow. For most of the book, it’s the journey to the island, which proves dull after a while. Whilst well-written and providing astute commentary on a number of different themes, and therefore loved by critics, I can’t help but feel this book is highly inaccessible for the average reader. I almost didn’t finish it, but because it’s not a very big book – only 250 pages – I forced myself to complete.

Haven does provide stark observation and characterisation, pivoting around the three monks as the colder weather closes in and Artt’s expectations grow increasingly unrealistic. Soon, Trian and Cormac’s loyalty begins to waver. In the final pages, a secret unravels the group and tensions reach their peak.

“They’re passing close by the black slope of the nearest island, where turf-cutters are working. A woman straightens up. A man does the same, and raises a hand. Friendly? None of them seems to be raising an alarm, or running for a weapon. Trian waves back.”

Similarities between Haven and Donoghue’s Room include its limited characters and claustrophobic, secluded environment. These characters are determined to preserve their humanity and dignity amongst complete isolation and encroaching madness.

It’s clear that Donoghue has undertaken heavy amounts of research ahead of writing the novel. Donoghue captures the era and setting with ease. The island of Skellig Michael, with its barren landscape and inhospitality, is brought to life with description and vivid imagery – fans of Star Wars will recognise the unforgiving, jagged terrain.

“Now the Great Skellig is revealed in all its strange glory. Twice the height of its neighbour, sharply fingering the sky. Eroded by wind and water; littered with rockfall, smeared with emerald vegetation.”

Slow-build, resilient literary fiction, Emma Donoghue’s Haven is recommended for seasoned readers. Readers will require commitment to get to the end of this one. Readerships skews 35+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

Haven
Emma Donoghue
September 2022
Pan Macmillan Publishers

The Patron Saint of Second Chances by Christine Simon

Local vacuum cleaner repairman and self-appointed mayor Nino Speranza is in trouble. Without the thousands of euros in taxes that he could never bring himself to collect from his neighbours, the water board will cut the town off. All 212 inhabitants will be forced to leave.

His usually reliable Compendium of Saints yields no answers to his prayers. So, in a desperate bid to save his hometown, he starts a rumour that major movie star Dante Rinaldi is filming his next movie in the village.

Soon, all the locals want to be involved: Speranza’s assistant has written a screenplay and the local butcher will invest – each of his fifteen enormous sons is given a role. It seems the only way to save the town is to actually make the movie.

And Nino Speranza starts to think he might have created the second chance they all needed . . . until word of the production reaches Dante Rinaldi himself.

Christine Simon’s debut novel The Patron Saint of Second Chances is a charming, fleeting, over-the-top tale of a struggling Italian town and their mayor’s ridiculous efforts to secure $70,000 euros to keep it from closing down.

The premise is clever and inviting — Signor Speranza, mayor and local vacuum cleaner repairman, starts a rumour that famous actor Dante Rinaldi will film his next project in their small town of Prometto. Signor plans to secure funding from enough vendors to cover off the town’s debt, but, as expected, things do not go according to plan. And soon, this rumour catches the attention of Dante and his unimpressed agent.

“This, Signor Speranza thought, was his best shot at avoiding mortal sin. If he were just to let slip, casually, that it would really be something if some famous person — Brad Pitt, for example — were thinking of buying a house in Prometto, then he wouldn’t actually be lying, would he?”

Strengths lie in the small Italian setting — there’s a strong sense of place in the novel, which upon reading Christine’s authors note, feels even more real. There’s a claustrophobic element to these kinds of settings, where everyone knows everyone and secrets do not stay hidden for long. There’s genuine concern for the younger generations, who don’t seem to understand the charm of the town as much as their parents and grandparents, and so they’re fleeing Prometto in droves.

Christine’s voice and style of writing makes the book incredibly accessible. Her writing feels almost stream of consciousness, with ample internal monologue and dialogue to give depth to the main characters. There’s a conversational tone to the novel, rendering it an appealing read for sporadic readers or reluctant readers.

“Signor Speranza regarded the pig’s carcass hanging in the window of the shop, and his spirits quailed. Don Rocco was right, of course. Maybe this was crazy. If it all blew up in his face, as Betta had said, he wondered which would be worse, being carted to jail, or having Signor Maestro after him.”

Overall, the novel is quite over-the-top and sensationalist, and rather unbelievable at times. Some elements of the plot I did find rather silly, but I know there’ll be readers who’ll find it charming and fun. I can’t say I ever laughed out aloud during this read, but I did find it an uplifting read, which is a nice discovery amidst the gloom of the world right now.

One small gripe, but there are so many characters in this novel it was really hard to keep track. There is, in particular, a lot of characters with names starting with S, and I got them confused on a regular basis.

“Fate. Chance. The Hand of God. Signor Speranza believed in the last of these, although over the next few days he did not recognise it when he saw it.”

Light-hearted, uplifting and written for the optimistic reader. Recommended for fans of comedy and familial sagas that are just that little bit over-the-top and too extreme to be believable, but are still well loved. Readership skews female, 35+

Thank you to the publisher for mailing me a copy in exchange for an honest review.

The Patron Saint of Second Chances
Christine Simon
April 2022
Hachette Book Publishers Australia

The Atlas Six by Olivie Blake

Secrets. Betrayal. Seduction. Welcome to the Alexandrian Society.

When the world’s best magicians are offered an extraordinary opportunity, saying yes is easy. Each could join the secretive Alexandrian Society, whose custodians guard lost knowledge from ancient civilizations. Their members enjoy a lifetime of power and prestige. Yet each decade, only six practitioners are invited – to fill five places.

Contenders Libby Rhodes and Nico de Varona are inseparable enemies, cosmologists who can control matter with their minds. Parisa Kamali is a telepath, who sees the mind’s deepest secrets. Reina Mori is a naturalist who can perceive and understand the flow of life itself. And Callum Nova is an empath, who can manipulate the desires of others. Finally there’s Tristan Caine, whose powers mystify even himself.

Following recruitment by the mysterious Atlas Blakely, they travel to the Society’s London headquarters. Here, each must study and innovate within esoteric subject areas. And if they can prove themselves, over the course of a year, they’ll survive. Most of them.

Olivie Blake’s fantasy novel The Atlas Six is the first in a planned series, centring around the elusive but esteemed Alexandrian Society, inheritors of lost knowledge. When six of the most promising young magicians are recruited to join their ranks, they’re told only five will be accepted into the society. And it’s not guaranteed that all of them will make it out alive…

The setting is deliberately claustrophobic — we are confined inside the walls of the society for most of the novel, and so we experience as the characters’ world grows smaller and smaller. For twelve months, they can only confide in each other, largely inside the same walls that surround them. Characters who normally wouldn’t have anything to do with each other suddenly seem to form unacknowledged alliances as they work together in this strange new environment.

“That sneaky little monstress. This was Nico’s punishment, then. Forced communication with people who mattered to him — which she knew he loathed — all for implying that her boyfriend was precisely what he was.”

The characters’ magic did feel creative and interesting, and certainly like their abilities were outside the realm of usual fantasy tropes. Early chapters of the book very much function as an introduction to each of the six characters, as we move through their perspectives and come to understand who they are and what their magic encompasses.

Action scenes appear intermittently throughout the book, breaking up the slower chapters where it’s mainly conversation and world-building. Admittedly, the world-building did feel quite complex, certainly at the end of the book as the climax unfolded. But with morally ambiguous and multi-layered characters, tension in this dark academia novel run high and stakes are maintained throughout the novel.

“So this, too, came with strings. That was obvious. Reina had never liked this sort of persuasion, but there was a logical piece of her that understood people would never stop asking. She was a well of power, a vault with heavy doors, and people would either find ways to break in or she would have to simply open them on occasion. Only for a worthy purchaser.”

For a lot of the book, the chapters consist of dialogue between the young magicians — bickering, fighting, or flirting. There’s a lot of scene-setting and exposition, and characters hooking up with each other. It all felt a little inconsequential for a while there. Even if you like the characters, after a while, you’re desperate for something more to happen! I definitely think this novel could’ve benefited from more plot.

The ending did feel satisfying, as Olivie tied together the mystery and revealed what was really at stake here — what the society is attempting to achieve and what the true purpose of these six magicians has been. In saying that, I do look forward to subsequent novels when the true nature of this society is more deeply explained — quite a few moments in the book went over my head, and explanations around magic and physics and certain characters’ true intentions were a little lost on me.

Moments of humour pepper the novel, keeping conversation light and enjoyable whilst maintaining tension and stakes and this impending build-up of dread. You know something is about to happen, you know the bubble is about to burst, you’re just not quite sure what or how.

“Lust was a colour, but fear was a sensation. Clammy hands or a cold sweat were obvious markers, but more often it was some sort of multisensory incongruity. Like seeing sun and smelling smoke, or feeling silk and tasting bile. Sounds that rose out of unseeing darkness. This was like that, only stranger.”

Recommended for YA fantasy readers. Punchy and imaginative, the readership for The Atlas Six skews female, 16+

Thank you to the publisher for mailing me a copy in exchange for an honest review.

The Atlas Six
Olivie Blake
March 2022
Pan Macmillan Publishers