After many lonely years, Abby’s just gotten married. She met her new husband, a recently widowed dentist, when he arrived in town with his young daughter seeking a new start. Although it’s strange living in the shadow of her predecessor, Abby does her best to be a good wife and mother, but the more she learns about her husband’s first wife, the more things don’t add up. Abby starts to wonder: Was Sheila’s death really by natural causes?
Everything Emily Carroll does makes me insane and this book is no exception. I’m barking like a dog at the symbolism delivered to me on a silver platter and the misdirection she leads me on, like jerking my leash while I desperately try to lift the cloche for this delicious meal. It makes me feel desperately close to some epiphany about the story and come up with a dozen things and it also fills me with the numb silence that leaving a good story inflicts upon me.
The knight, crushed into shape, being the dragon, and yet isn’t the dragon. Angie’s small nods to what could be mental illness, perhaps, or just normal growth. Small misremembered things. Her imaginary friend. The way she feels like she is falling apart. The intense lesbian feelings crushed into crush itself into heteronormative domesticity. The gothic trappings in a suburban modern setting.
The fancy, the feast for the eyes. It’s eerie and leaves me questioning. Is it a ghost? Is it a delusion? What was the child seeing? Why mislead Abby? Why did everyone around Abby lie through their teeth? Why, why, why?
God it’s so good. Remy should read this.
