What "Dynasty" Teaches Us About Plot Complication

Just three years ago, CW announced that it was doing a reboot of the classic show "Dynasty" starring Elizabeth Gillies, Rafael de la Fuente, James Mackay, and more.

I recently binged the series on Netflix (a great pastime, in case you were wondering; there's 22 episodes per season and each episode is chock full of drama) and as I was watching, I found myself noticing that the show is actually a great vessel with which to look at arguably the most important component of plot: complication.

Briefly, let's talk about complications and how they are important to plot.

In every story, no matter if it's 100 words or 100,000, the plot is defined by key moments of complication in the story. Good stories, ones that have us gripping the pages and hovering on the edges of our seats, are full of complications, and use these complications to propel the story forward and keep our attention.

A complication, simply, is any sort of problem or conflict in the plot. And while that can seem like a big moment—a war, when enemies are born, a fight, an affair—it doesn't necessarily have to be. The beats of all stories are big complications, but a complication in a story can be so small as a young boy not wanting to take off his shoes at someone else's house and the homeowner insisting.

In fact, while big complications are important to stories otherwise there is no climax and there are no beats it, oftentimes smaller complications can be particularly productive and fruitful. Looking at the instance of a young male character not wanting to take his shoes off, but the family whose home he is at insists, we can learn a lot, both about the tone of the story and the characters involved.

This moment could be as quick as this:

"Sweetie, can you take your shoes off?" asked the mother, stooping down with a smile so wide it stretched the edges of her cheeks.

The boy moved behind his father's legs and murmured, "I don't want to."

"Oh, but I must insist," affirmed the mother, shuffling to the left to keep his eye contact. "We just don't want dirt trekked into the house, now do we?"

The woman's smile still lingered, though her words were poisonously sweet.

"Surely that's not a problem," the boy's father said with a half-laugh. He put a hand on the boy's back and said, "Take off your shoes, okay?"

The boy did so with a huff.

In the context of a story, these six lines are practically nothing, a passing moment that in just a few paragraphs will be forgotten for the next complication, but it is incredibly revealing.

First off, this moment sets the tone of the piece as tense. The air is already taut between these two families as the boy defies the homeowner. This isn't necessarily a fight, and nothing should be coming to a head in moments like this, but they're helpful tools if you want to establish tension and electricity in the air before the rest of the plot unfurls.

In addition, this one complication tells us a lot about these three characters. The son is massively uncomfortable, and very particular. He doesn't feel relaxed in this scene, and for whatever reason, taking off his shoes is a big no-no. Similarly, we learn that the homeowner must have things her way, no matter how small and no matter who it is pertaining to. Oftentimes you might have a character make a passing comment about it if they are slightly less uptight and slightly more passive, but here, we see that the mother confronts things head on, and is very particular about everything.

With the dad being the parent that the boy hides behind, you can tell that they have a good relationship, so much so that the boy feels most safe behind his legs. However, in the dad leaning down and asking the boy to take off his shoes with a laugh, we can tell he is a peacemaker and he wants nothing more than to comfortably and politely diffuse the situation.

Do you see how these small complications, these moments that could seem insignificant, could actually produce a lot of useful information in terms of tone and character that will be relevant later in the story?

Thus, complications, both big and small, are essential to stories and are something most writers should strive to have a lot of. If you can pack in these complications—as long as it's sensible and fitting—then the story will be propelled and attention will be hooked.

The show "Dynasty" is a great example of that.

Every episode—hell, every ten minutes—of this show is so full of complications that you cannot get up for even a second because you could be lost by the time you come back. Every time you think you're heading to a solution, every time you think it cannot possibly get any crazier, another wrench is thrown; somebody comes back, a scandal is leaked, somebody goes missing, an old secret is unearthed, etc.

The writers of this show (really, the original "Dynasty" writers, as this is only a remake) are complication geniuses, because not only do they pick the perfect complications to tell us what we need to know and to show us more about people's characters, the complications are always believable.

Now, "Dynasty" is a soap opera, so of course some things are going to be overdramatic and of course sometimes the complications are going to feel a bit excessive. If you are a writer and you're writing anything that isn't a serialized soap opera, you probably shouldn't use "Dynasty" as your exact model, but we can look at it to take inspiration for how to create complications.

If you haven't watched the show and want to, I'd suggest you watch the show and then come back, because I am about to spoil the plot of the first episode to show how they create complication.

First, in episode one, we open with introductions to the characters and to their billion-dollar-lifestyle.

Both Fallon and Steven—the children of Blake Carrington (owner of Carrington Atlantic, a Fortune 500 company) have been called to return home, and neither quite know why. Within minutes of the opening shots, Steven and Fallon have had a conversation about Steven not wanting to come home because he feels unfulfilled, pressured, and a misfit in the affluent and corporate world that the rest of the Carringtons live in.

This is already a huge complication (not to mention smaller ones, such as Fallon sleeping with her father's driver, which we find out he doesn't know about, Fallon longing for the COO position in the family business which she is certain she will get) that will drive the plot, but that teaches us a lot about that family's life.

When they arrive in their father's study, they find him on top of a woman, one garment away from having intercourse. There is disgust on both of their faces, only for Fallon to realize that this woman works at Carrington Atlantic. Another two complications in the plot.

Then, Blake and the woman—Cristal—announce that they are engaged and that the children were called back for their wedding. A further complication because as the next scene reveals, neither children really approve of or are comfortable with this marriage, let alone that it is someone from the company.

Keep in mind, all of this has happened within ten, maybe twenty minutes of footage.

The rest of the episode unspools and we see Steven running into a boy at a bar who he recklessly has sex with, and through that it is revealed that his father and his family were not very accepting of his sexuality. Then, moments later, the man he has sex with is shown moving into the Manor that they live in, as he is in fact Cristal's nephew.

Blake and Cristal move up the wedding and lie about the date, and to top if off, Blake names Cristal the new COO of the company, embarrassing Fallon and robbing her of the one thing she'd wanted.

All of these complications (and, quite frankly, probably more that I missed or forgot about) are packed into just the first episode of this sweeping drama show, and you'll notice a few things.

One, all of this charges the air with so much tension and such clear character dynamics that you can't help but marvel at how the writers selected the complications to reveal stuff to us about this family. Two, there is so much in the first episode, you almost have to keep watching because you're so on your toes about how all of these things could possibly play out. Three, all of these things are appropriate conflicts and complications for the characters. It's believable. Because of what we know about Fortune 500 companies, because of what we know about ambitious people and the lavish lifestyle they live. Every thing that happens you can believe because it all fits nicely, if not a bit haphazardly, into the frame.

And this is why "Dynasty" shows so much about complications that all writers could learn from. Is it perfect? No—a lot of this show feels crazy, and it heavily banks on its frame as a soap opera, but through all of the insanity of the show, we can learn a lot about how to create plot and how to use conflict to the very best of your abilities.

P.S. if you keep watching the show, the complications only get bigger and more frequent. It's truly brilliant.

"Scythe" by Neal Shusterman | Book Review

"Scythe" by Neal Shusterman is the first in a series about a dystopian society that has become almost entirely perfect, relegating all control to a technological being called the Thunderhead—a sort of evolution of the cloud that we all have now online. The only thing not under the Thunderhead's control? Scythes—the one thing decided upon society to help keep population under control, as people are now immortal. Scythes have quotas of kills that they must make each term, and they must choose their kills for good reason: based on old statistics of how people died. But as with all power so massive, corruption comes hand in hand.

This novel follows the two main characters, Rowan Damisch and Citra Terranova, as they are chosen to be apprentices of a wise Scythe. The novel follows them through their studies of Scythedom and the moral dilemmas that follow being trained to kill.

Full of banter, cold killing, political maneuvering, and twists, "Scythe" is a mostly successful dystopian novel.

In my opinion, other than the world that they are in, characters are the most important thing in a fantasy or science fiction novel. A lot of people can dream up a world with new gadgets or magic or different political controls as ours, but for the most part, a reader won't care about that if the people in it aren't interesting and close enough to themselves that at some point they can see themselves in the novel.

Thus, in this world of the Scythes—delicately crafted to be so similar to our world and so realistically in the future for us that you can't help but wonder if this is how we'll turn out—I was mostly interested to see how Shusterman would place his characters inside it. For the most part, I was satisfied.

Many of the Scythes were reasoned and knowledgeable, old souls who had seen a lot and had access to whatever knowledge they wanted, with the exception of a few wildfire scythes providing part of the conflict of the book. This was as expected, however done in a way that didn't feel pretentious or annoying, and still managed to surprise me every now and then.

In terms of character, my gripes came with the main ones: both Citra and Rowan annoyed me. They felt inconsistent, crafted from stereotypes and then deviating from them only when it was convenient to the plot, or when you hated them so much you would put the book down without a break.

I found both of them to have a problem with everyone and always be hot on their feet. Now, most teenagers are in fact like that (me, in particular) but for main characters, it made their internal dialogue annoying to read, particularly toward the end.

Beyond that, the world was intricate and intriguing, and there was a good twist in the plot halfway through the book that I truly did not expect.

However, in terms of depth and intrigue of the plot, I had a few more issues. I predicted the ending immediately after the halfway point of the novel, and I found myself a little bit disappointed that as I read, it happened exactly as I expected.

That final scene between Rowan and Citra where they must face off didn't shock me one bit, and I was surprised that no one—not a single member of the Scythedom who have all been alive for years—could predict what Citra was going to do. It felt like a cop out, or a let down.

For most of this book, Shusterman steers the story deftly and deeply, even if the vessels weren't my favorite to tell the story, but the ending really left me feeling disappointed.

"Scythe" still said a lot about our world and had me thinking about technological advances and where that could go, and in that way, the novel stayed with me even when I wasn't reading which is always a good sign. But the plot just didn't do it for me here, leaving me conflicted on how I feel about the book as a whole.

Does that mean I won't read the rest of the series? No, not necessarily. There was enough redeemable and even formidable about this novel that I would be interested in continuing the series, however it's not exactly at the top of my TBR list.

Plot: 70%

Depth: 90%

Intrigue: 85%

Style: 80%

Characters: 80%

Overall: B-

Tana French is the Epitome of Crime Writing | "The Trespasser" Review

Before I start, I have to admit, I technically read this series out of order. I read the sixth of the series without reading any of the before. As far as I can tell, it is the type of series that you don't need to read in order, but if the characters and location are continuous, then I might be missing brief character history.

I just finished "The Trespasser" by Tana French, and my overall opinion is that it is excellent. The novel is dense, real, clever, and the near-perfect slow burn crime novel.

We follow our main character: Detective Antoinette Conway as she struggles through the tangled web of being a new (and sexistly picked on) member of the Murder Squad. It was always her dream to be on it, but since she was she got the bottom-of-the-barrel, low feeder cases that failed to stimulate her. In this novel, she's reaching her breaking point with all of the rude comments, the jokes, and the lack of respect.

All of that changes when her and her partner Stephen Moran get assigned the case of Aislinn Murray—what appears to be just another run of the mill domestic violence case with just a little bit more tied up in it.

This story begins with the preliminaries of any case, introducing us to witty dialogue and description with the precision of a knife that laid the groundworks for our characters and for the Murder Squad which we would spend the rest of the novel detangling, and this is the very first time that I was struck by the brilliance of Tana French.

Tana French is detail royalty. Each detail, down to the kind of breakfasts they ate, their specific word choices, their thoughts, their homes, and even their phones are perfect for the characters. There isn't a lot of this novel where you can't perfectly envision the slightly neurotic, tenacious, and worn down Detective Conway, or the nice guy Detective Moran. "The Trespasser" was one of the few novels I've read as of late where I could practically hear every line of dialogue.

That is part of what contributes to the genius of this book. Any book is character-based, but one about murder and its suspects, as well as the detectives behind it, is particularly rooted in characters who move the story along, and the perfection Tana French created here was mind-blowing.

As the plot progresses, a bit slowly at first as our detectives struggle with their allegiances and various possible leads, there are theories that tangle members of the Murder Squad into the crime. Conway and Moran suspected Breslin to be involved with a gang and that gang to be responsible for Aislinn's death, which was another brilliant touch by French upon the ending of the book.

In terms of plot, I think this book's plot could have been more complicated, for there was a lot of it that I predicted, but it still doesn't stop the thrilling feeling I got reading it while French took her main detectives on wild limbs and chasing theories that were so close to the truth you began to believe it too.

And, of course, it being a crime novel, there were multiple long scenes of interrogations that I simply couldn't get enough of. As she's so good at dialogue, these scenes where the cops settle into their roles and learn things about both the suspects, but one another as well, were some of the finest of the book, and ultimately were vessels to reveal main plot points—something a bit unconventional seeing as the plot points didn't have anything to do with the suspects and everything to do with the detectives.

With the history of crime writing general, I also have to say that reading a female main character written realistically was just ridiculously refreshing. Men dominated this genre for years and always seemed unable to write deep, multi-dimensional female characters. Tana French is the epitome of crime writing, and she brings with it many things that I was tired of not seeing before. For that, I'm incredibly grateful.

To put it firmly: This will not be the last book of Tana French's that I'm reading. Crime writing is a difficult thing to tackle, but Tana French is an expert.

Characters: 100%
Plot: 85%
Depth: 90%
Style: 95%
Intrigue: 90%
Overall Rating: A

"What It Means When A Man Falls From The Sky" | Lesley Nneka Arimah

I'm not one for short story collections. Of course, expertly done ones grab my attention, but for the most part I prefer following characters for longer arcs and full novels. It's just a strange preference that I've always had.

But the moment I saw What It Means When A Man Falls From The Sky in the bookstore, I knew I wanted to read it. The title grabbed my attention instantly and the cover was beautiful and the back cover was full of praise so high, I decided to take a leap.

And I'm so glad I did.

Every story in this collection is engrossing, developed, diverse, and spoke to me in various different ways.

Arimah's prose was stunning and clean, effortless in the one liners and wise descriptions she provided. Throughout the whole collection, there were clear themes that stayed consistent: race, class, gender, etc. and it was tasteful and done with the hand of an expert. She wrote with the passion of someone who had suffered, developed the stories with the cleanliness of premeditation and hard work, and she created a rich collection that forces you to look at the world around you and how you fit into it.

It's rare that I find an author who truly makes me wonder, who sends my mind into spirals and who makes their writing both an escape and a painfully real commentary on the world. Arimah does it with ease, allowing you to fall into these worlds but forcing you to take a step back at the same time and look at our very own.

The characters were rich and faceted, and Arimah's eye for detail was so keen that even side characters or people with mentions seem developed, real, and I think that adds the texture to this collection that makes it so compelling. From what the characters wore, to how they spoke, to what they noticed, it was all in line and all delivered cleanly.

I think of these stories, almost every single one engrossed me from the moment the story began to the moment if finished. I cannot say that about many other anthologies.

Occasionally, they fell short in their pacing or in their development. For example, the title story, What It Means When A Man Falls From The Sky, spanned a futuristic world that discussed both the human hunger for what we see as advancement as well as international relations. Arimah threw us right into the story which was engaging but at times a little bit confusing. It felt like it was reaching to show her versatility (which Arimah absolutely has) but there just wasn't room to fully develop this new world and the strange dynamics that we were dealing with in my opinion.

Overall, it's simply an impressive collection that has depth and skill that struck me blindsided.

Characters: 100%
Plot: 95%
Depth: 100%
Style: 100%
Intrigue: 85%
Overall Rating: A

Why I Reread

So just a few days ago, I reread the Harry Potter series for possibly the tenth time. Now, ten times is excessive, but as I was reading it, I was wondering what productive conversation I could create from the experience.

I know that some people are against rereading (my grandmother, for example, firmly stands by the fact that she has never reread a book in her life and never intends to), but what I realized as I reread Harry Potter is that the reason I reread books or series that I love so often is because I see it as having countless benefits. And in that vein, I realized I should write a blog post explaining why I reread.

First and foremost, I want to talk about this as a reader:

Rereading makes you a better reader. It is my firm opinion that when you reread a book, you pick up on ties and hints and linguistic things that you didn't the first time. Rereading things often will teach you as a reader about the moves that authors tend to make and will give you the intuition to pick up on hints and clues earlier and quicker in new novels that you're reading. I think this makes you a better reader and also a more active one.

Books are full of hints and clues and clever little details that we often miss or don't appreciate, and rereading can let us pick up on those in our second or third (or tenth) read through.

Second, I believe that rereading books can remind you why you read. If you're in a reading slump and nothing is pulling your attention, or you just feel like you're falling out of love with it for one reason or another, sometimes rereading can light that spark in you again. Returning to the pages of novels that you fell in love with from the first chapter can remind you how fantastic reading is, can remind you why you do it and why you love it so much. It can be a beautiful escape that creates a moment of rejuvenation. From personal experience, rereading series like Harry Potter or like Throne of Glass or Percy Jackson and novels like V.E. Schwab's or Rainbow Rowell's, even if I don't connect with them in the same ways now (not meaning I don't love them all the same or connect with them still, it's all just from a different perspective and for different reasons) have infallibly pulled me from reading slumps or hard times in life because they give me the same energy I used to feel when I first read them.

Third, rereading can be a beautiful release of nostalgia. If you're a reader, that means your life is narrated in part by the characters and the words of your favorite novels throughout the years. It means when you were really sad or really happy, when you were tired or overworked, when you were angry or apathetic, you read. Those pages of old novels you once read will hold those memories and can give you the feelings you had when you first read them.

Opening The Fault In Our Stars again can give you that same feeling it did years ago when you first read it, even if you find it cheesy or un-relatable now. And I think sometimes, just that alone is worth it.

If you're a writer, I still think rereading has benefits.

As I'm sure you know, reading can be a helpful exercise in writing. It can show us what works for us and what doesn't, allow us to look at what makes characters seem like real people and how an author stretches mystery and action to keep us turning pages.

Rereading can be even more elucidating on these things. When you're reading something for the first time, you're likely reading for enjoyment. You're figuring out the world, theorizing on the plot, forming opinions on the characters—you're not focused on the technicalities of an author's writing. But when you reread, you can focus more on craft and structure. You can analyze their point- of-view work, how their world building and dialogue and clever one-liners and foreboding chapter titles can all contribute to a book feeling fresh or clever. But you'll notice more of these, or even descriptions and unexpected metaphors, if you reread a novel already having a grip on the characters and the world building.

And this can even be a benefit of rereading bad books. I know, I know, nobody wants to dive back into the book that they found boring and vapid, contentless or too meandering, but at the end of the day, you have to know what mistakes that author made that didn't work for you to ensure you avoid those some errors in your own work.

Furthermore, beyond just learning from the rereading, you can also re-inspire yourself through rereading. Obviously plagiarism isn't cool, but all of us have books that make us want to tell our own stories, or see world building that is so detailed and honest that we can't help but itch to try our hand at it. And sometimes, when the writing well is dry and the books you're currently reading aren't filling it for you, rereading an old book that gave you that feeling can kickstart you back into writing and can remind you what you wanted from that work in progress.

All in all, I understand people's aversion to rereading, but I found such delight in it myself I thought I'd go into why I myself like to reread and the benefits I find it having.

Until next time!

"Lethal White" | Robert Galbraith

In terms of genres that I normally I read, crime and mystery is not one of them. However, when I heard about Galbraith (or should I say Rowling's) series so many years ago, I knew I needed to try them out, and I've been hooked since. The three years between Lethal White and Career of Evil felt
long, and finally getting my hands on this book was a rush of euphoria.

I began it months ago, but only properly read it this week, hence the late review.

Coming right off the end of the novel, my main feeling is awe with how clever Rowling is at laying details and creating complex, realistic situations and characters that drives stories unlike many other authors can.

Lethal White begins picking up where we left off with Robin Ellacott and Matthew's wedding—something that we weren't sure would go on at the end of the previous novel—and Robin and Strike not speaking. The crime investigation of the novel is kickstarted by a young boy, Billy, stumbling into Cormoran Strike's office and telling him a story of a strangling he witnessed when he was a child.

The rest of the story chugs on shrouded in mystery and tangled in the web of the Chiswell family and the complicated politics of London's Olympic planning offices. This is one of the first glorious things of this story. Rowling does her research; we know this from the five years she spent planning the Harry Potter series, we know this from the way she walks through London and studies every pub and street and train she writes about in the Strike series, and it really shows here. The offices where they organized the Olympics felt so real, she had every detail down to a T, knew the crazy office dynamic she had to create, and she shaded her characters through that.

However, because of all of this planning, the first two or three hundred of this book was very character-focused. First of all, to begin with Robin and Matthew's wedding was necessary, but at times I felt unsatisfied because for a long time we didn't even have a real case that Strike and Robin were investigating. There was interpersonal drama and a new relationship with Strike where he lacked emotional vulnerability and the two of them ultimately struggle throughout the book with that. I might be alone in this, but while I know Robin and Matthew had to go through the struggles of their relationship and unfortunate hanging on even when we know it's doomed, and Strike needs to pretend to himself he's interested in other people, at times it felt gratuitous. At least half of this book was focused on relationships, and Rowling does it well enough where it does not drag, but I found myself frustrated at times for the seeming lack of focus on the crime. We know Robin and Strike are going to get together—it's so painfully inevitable—that so many moments just feel like hiccups that distract from the complicated and fascinating story of the Chiswell family.

Now, on that topic, I will say, I loved the scene where Robin confronted Matthew about his cheating and finally left. It was empowering, it was theatrical and staged in a way that was believable but still gave me as a reader that triumphant moment where I felt like she was finally coming into her own. I was hoping from the moment Matthew accidentally sent Robin that suspicious text that we would get a moment that we had been building to for four books, and I felt so ridiculously satisfied after reading it that I have to give kudos to Rowling for that (and, in a slightly different light, I'm glad that Robin didn't figure it out from that one text—we did as readers because we're reading a book, but in real life, that wouldn't have tipped many people off, and it was a great attribute to her skill to know that Robin wouldn't have picked up on that as a hint that he was cheating).

Steering the ship back to the main plot: the Chiswell family and the original strange confusion about the strangling that Billy told Strike about. then the murdering of their father. This was one of my favorite crimes she's worked with thus far because it was almost entirely caught up in the tangled relations of a messy family and of politics that get spun out of hand.

A lot of this crime showcased the darker parts of humanity, the way we can get tangled in acts and lies, the hive mentality, etc. When Strike and Robin originally go to question the whole family together, we get nearly thirty pages of their various dynamics that confuse the entire situation in mystery and two-sided stories. This is exciting because not many authors can so well capture different characters and how they interact with one another. It allows us as readers, particularly of a crime novel like this, to begin to spin our own theories and involve ourselves in the story in a way that we just can't if there isn't such strong character work.

Furthermore, the setting of the Olympic planning and Kinvara who had her horse obsession living in Northern England all just seemed to fit. Of course, details were astray because the crime was outrageous and not-wholly-premeditated, but it was presented in a way that hinted and nudged the reader in the right direction but still had enough complications with all of the characters that the novel engrossed you once it entered the throngs of the crime.

Rowling laid her clues and put easter eggs throughout the whole story, and kept my interest for the most part. I was glad with the ending, and I liked that there are still plotlines character-wise for the rest of the series. Ultimately, the book was one of my favorites throughout the series thus far.

Now, I just need the TV show to come to America so I can binge it!

Characters: 95%
Plot: 95%
Depth: 100%
Style: 100%
Intrigue: 80%
Overall Rating: A

"Rust and Stardust" | T. Greenwood

This novel hit me like a curveball. "Rust and Stardust" by T. Greenwood is beautiful, harrowing, and chilling, something I needed to read when I did.

Before I dive too far into the review: it tells the true crime story of Sally Horner, an eleven-year old in Camden, New Jersey who was kidnapped by Frank LaSalle—a mechanic who had just gotten out of jail for a previous kidnapping and sex crime charge. Though it does detail real events, the author wrote in her acknowledgements that a lot of the expansions and characters in this novel are fictionalized, and the sentiments are imaginings based off of what she knew of the story.

That being said, this novel tug at my heartstrings like I never expected it too. I picked this up off the shelf on a whim a couple weeks ago, thinking nothing of it, and only even seeing it because the cover caught my eye. But as I fell into the story two days ago, I found myself fascinated.

The plot was dark and disturbing, and at times had me putting down the book so that I could take a breather, calm down, and remind myself that this was all over. But that is the thing; there is little solace to take in reading this story, for it was real. It happened. And it is happening today, in some form, somewhere in the world. That kind of reality to the darkness that is smattered across the pages makes it a difficult, but also compelling read. Rarely do we see authors daring to dive so deep into the psyche of people who have gone through such horrors.

And in her fictionalization, Greenwood built in characters and moments that were almost beautiful, shining stars of happiness to allow Sally, such a young girl, to survive such horrors. For it is logical that for an eleven-year old to come out alive after a two year ordeal filled with unspeakable terrors, there must have been bright moments, figures and images to cling onto that allowed her to see something other than the silky darkness of her situation. And it was these—characters such as Ruth or her teachers—that made this novel not just bearable to read (well, that and the fact that a lot of abuse scenes were written around, dodged or using vague language so we didn't have to fully confront the awful details), but also a fascinating and twistedly beautiful piece of work.

It helps, of course, that Greenwood was able to craft this story with a deft hand, her writing that of an expert as she traverses various viewpoints and situations. She's not flashy with it, drawing up tight connections and details and syntax that make the story ebb and flow at her will rather than drafting long paragraphs stuffed with purple prose. She describes the world in a unique way, weighs in and holds back, and switches perspectives at the perfect time. It is the combination of this, the subtleties in her writing that make it so wonderful, and so fitting to write this novel.

There were moments throughout the book where things felt disjointed or glossed over, days that were written that seemed to perfect and painted Sally as too unbothered to ring true with me, and that presented the only real issue I had with this novel. I worry that it bordered on the edge of romanticizing such a situation, not intentionally but because in an effort to highlight the way people cling onto beauty and light in times of darkness, the darkness began to get edged out of the story. However, these moments were few and far between, and not enough to discount the novel as a successful work.

Despite the dark subject matter and the level of reality to it that makes it feel even more daunting, this novel is, undeniably beautiful. It tells of some of the worst horrors of this world, while still highlighting its beauty. It shows the vileness of humanity, but also the resilience of it.

Greenwood handled the story and subject matter with ease, encompassing exactly what it means to be a writer, hitting the nail right on the head with this one.

Characters: 95%

Plot: 100%

Depth: 100%

Style: 100%

Intrigue: 100%

Overall Rating: A+