Reviews with content warning for Abortion - The Mercies

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The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave

3 reviews

mairi_red's review against another edition

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adventurous dark emotional hopeful medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? A mix
Strong character development? No
Loveable characters? Yes
Diverse cast of characters? No
Flaws of characters a main focus? No

3.75

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bookforestsprite's review against another edition

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dark mysterious slow-paced

Strong character development? No

2.0

Obwohl ich das Buch am Anfang sehr mochte, lässt es mich doch nicht los, wie wahnsinnig enttäuschend die Geschichte verläuft. Die Schauplätze im hohen Norden Norwegens sind sehr eindrücklich und atmosphärisch beschrieben, einige Bilder wie der Wal bleiben im Kopf und die Prämisse ist sehr spannend. Aber statt einer feministischen autonomen Gemeinde, die sich gegen patriarchale Widersacher behauptet, bekommen wir zwei völlig passive, hilflose Protagonistinnen vorgesetzt, die viel entsetzt schauen, aber nichts tun, bis wirklich alles zu spät ist und die einzig coolen Figuren aus dem Weg geräumt sind. Einige Charaktere und übergreifende Themen wie Trauer und Verzweiflung führen ins Nichts und das Buch endet mit einer komplett unangebracht positiven Stimmung (why do you talk as if you are empowered?! EVERYTHING WENT WRONG!). Mit Feminismus hat das nichts zu tun Spoiler , allein schon, weil die zwei Frauen, die Minderheiten angehören - eine queer-coded und eine indigen - brutalst umgebracht bzw. vertrieben werden .

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strabbyfieldz's review against another edition

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dark emotional sad tense medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? Plot
Strong character development? It's complicated
Loveable characters? It's complicated
Diverse cast of characters? Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus? No

3.75

Book smell rating: Read it as a physical copy, it smelled really good, that sharp sort of new book scent that makes you excited to read more.

idk how to make spoiler tags work, but be warned this is full of them

If no man is an island, what is an island with no men? A tragedy, of course, for those who have lost husbands, brothers and fathers. Perhaps an act of God, or of Satan. For some it is just one of life’s many callous losses. For the characters of Hargrave’s The Mercies, it is the end, and then the beginning.

Death stalks the pages of this novel. It is a swarming cycle that cannot be escaped or outrun. Only shut out temporarily. Ignored for a while behind a wooden door, pushed away with companionship and a shared meal. Hargrave, having admitted to latching onto ‘a strong image’ begins her tale of love, loss, trauma, and community with an evocative premonition of death that is very quickly fulfilled.

Maren (one of our protagonists) watches as a beached whale dies. A dream, but one that contains just enough reality to make things feel insubstantial. It dies, not as a consequence of being beached, but is instead snatched from a natural death by a swarm of men, seeking to gain from a world that gives and takes so very quickly. Hargrave has stated that such a dream actually came to her one night, and she used it as inspiration for writing this story. The origins of a tale have much to say about its nature. Just as Frankenstein was said to emerge from the nightmare of its creator, the ‘hideous progeny’ of a teenager’s troubled dreams, The Mercies emerges from its author's imagination with all the vivid brutality of the extinguishing of an innocent creature’s life. That The Mercies came from and opens with the loss of so much life, of the brutal exploitation of the innocent, the inevitability and inability of Maren to do anything about it says much for how it eventually ends.

To say that this is a tale entirely of brutality though, would be reductive. Having been inspired by the work of Louise Bourgeois, a burning chair surrounded by mirrors, Hargrave similarly attempts to explore the potent drama of domesticity, how the quiet moments of friendship and comradery make quiet betrayals all the more painful. The positioning of the inciting incident, a gigantic storm that completely destroys every man in the village whilst fishing, at the very beginning of the tale allows Hargrave to consider in greater detail a more interesting question. The question of how a small community of women in Norway during the 1620s would survive. Now, such an event may initially draw a skeptical arch of the eyebrow, but before anyone so much as let's slip the words ‘convenient', or ‘plot device’, it may interest you to know that this storm is ripped straight from the pages of history, with such a storm murdering 40 Norwegian men in 1617. However, this is not truly the core of the story, much to its benefit. The history teacher’s pleas to whatever you do don’t tell a tall tale when describing historical events is pretty much turned inside-out when it comes to most effective historical fiction. Hargrave’s determination to, as she puts it, not ‘let anything get in the way of a good story’ is one of the novel's best aspects. The Mercies retains enough fascinating historical detail to solidify events, to be a bit more than just set-dressing but is not so distant as to be alienating. It is these resonances of humanity across history that are often the most intriguing to many a reader, and Hargrave knows this.

Maren, and her counterpart Ursa (whose names fittingly translate to ‘sky’ and ‘stars’, suggesting something linked, but distant) make this the most clear. There are some aspects of both characters that were deeply desiring a bit more, in particular Ursa’s sickly sister, who she has to leave behind to join her husband, a devout Christian called Absalom in traveling to Vardø is quite quickly squashed into something for Ursa to occasionally sigh over.

In spite of the characters perhaps being a bit more sketched as opposed to perfectly illustrated, there are many aspects of them that contain a universality. In particular, their slow-developing romance was evocative enough, heavy with so many painfully human emotions that it swiftly became one of the most intriguing aspects of their characters. It is a slight shame that they could not work as well together individually, pacing-wise, things sometimes feel like they don’t really develop until the two characters are finally brought together. The use of dual narrative in order to create some respite from Maren’s painful grief and isolation ultimately felt like it was barging into what was at times a tense family drama, and an interesting exploration of how trauma can completely change a person. This slight fumble is soon resolved when the two are brought together though, as finally Ursa’s slightly softer attitude ultimately does soothe the building tension and overwhelming despair of Maren’s life. Both characters find solace in each other, making their relationship ultimately more than the sum of its parts. A tale of love that is written with a sort of universal tenderness and genuine tragedy that immortalised Shakespeare’s work is present here, Hargrave understands intimately how to create compelling relationships.

Such a deft blowing up of relationships into something much larger than the characters is clear throughout the novel. Whether that be Maren and her mother’s strained relationship with their Indigenous Sami sister-in-law Diinna reflecting the uneasy relationship between the Indigenous people of Vardø and the Norwegians which often darts from trust to distrust very rapidly, or the relationship of Maren to her own mother after the storm as she grows alienated from her representing a wider atmosphere of alienation between women in the community - watches as grief morphs her into a desperate person constantly worrying at sores both literal and metaphorical. The inclusion and recognition of how the Indigenous people were the first to suffer from the paranoia of the 1620s is deeply important. So often when discussing history, they are forgotten, purposefully. By bringing attention to the struggle of Diinna in a community that only accepts what they deem acceptable versions of womanhood is uncomfortable, but ultimately incredibly moving, and significant to consider in relation to modern white feminist movements.

Often, in times of great crisis and stress, there is a general belief that we, as humans, as women, as whatever community will come together. Hargrave subverts this excellently, in a manner that is much more realistic, and as such much more uncomfortable. The divides between characters like Kirsten, by far the most ‘modern’ woman there, whose flagrant breaking of social norms instantly agitates the ‘Kirk’ (Church) women soon becomes symbolic of the chokehold of tradition on a community’s ability to survive - resulting in the group of women self-imploding over petty, distinctly domestic arguments. Sniffly pointing out poppets on living-room shelves, passive-aggressive comments about who has been missing out on Church, all of it twists and grows unchecked into something quite monstrous.

Even the embodiment of this oppression, Absalom, Ursa’s husband, and the one who begins the witch hunts believes he is in the right due to tradition. By making him more than just evil incarnate, by showing that he has done abhorrent, unforgivable things out of what some might consider a positive trait - loyalty and faith, Hargrave challenges how we can determine our own morality. The tragedy of Absalom is that he, to an extent, believes that he is special, chosen. He uses that to justify the blood on his hands. In fact, he is just another mechanism of a system that doesn’t really care if he lives or dies, just so long as he does what they want before that point.

Hargrave understands that such details, which may be mocked by the modern human, were in fact matters of life and death. Women, forced to operate in a domestic sphere, pitted against each other from the start with fear-mongering are quick to use what little influence they have to tear each other to shreds. Add to that, resentment, trauma, and desperation, and the end result escalates to something that none of the island’s inhabitants can go back from.

Some scenes within The Mercies were so brutal they made me cry. Not necessarily out of shock or disgust, though Hargrave is excellent at creating some truly stomach-turning descriptions. No, what resulted in me being sat up in bed, putting precious energy into mourning a character, who until this point was not incredibly developed, wasting hours of a school night weeping as Kirsten was burnt at the stake, was Hargrave’s deep well of understanding for the most despicable parts of the promise of community. The promise of a union, of working together is twisted and wrenched apart so quickly by doubts, by a man who promises salvation. We are so quick to try and ruin each other, eager to appease some power that does not care, watches with unseeing eyes. And reading the Kirk women scream desperately to the very woman they had condemned to breathe in the smoke and suffocate, instead of burn alive made me sick at heart. It is only once you step over the precipice, and are in the descent, that you begin to feel regret. And of course, at that point, there is no way to prevent the fall. All you can offer at that point is a quicker end.

That these moments are rendered in such visceral detail is to the credit of Hargrave, whose writing style appears to suit the oral tradition of story-telling which would have been how most tales were told at the time. Having watched her read through a chapter of her novel, the way she carefully selected words in order to evoke certain rhythms, to pair together specific syllabus and sentences in order to create something wild and dissonant, but also deeply structured and careful was truly impressive. This is a story that is best heard read aloud, recalling again that maternal image of a bedside story. Perhaps Hargrave is presenting a warning, her attempts to evoke those moralistic tales of old a way of showing that our old tendencies and fears are not truly gone. Sure, we have laid aside the torches, the ropes, and the accusations, but that old creeping fear is much harder to extricate. Hargrave plays with the idea of whether this desire to drag others down in order to stay afloat is innate, ultimately though, she argues that it is not. When you are raised in an oppressive environment, perhaps it is only natural to want to mindlessly act as a conduit for that oppression - doing half of their work for them in the hope they’ll leave you alone. Believing that you must be in the right, because you fulfilled whatever arbitrary rules they required of you. Of course, this never works.

Maren, Kirsten, and Ursa, however, are shown to struggle against this however they can. This story does not have a happy ending for them, it cannot. We are assured of this from the beginning. Maren is stuck, unable to prevent the inevitable from happening. By freeing Ursa, she only traps herself further. The only escape is found in returning to the sea, the site of such tragedy, and falling into it. Accepting the inevitable, reaching an understanding that there can be no happiness for these two in this time. It is a deeply painful ending because Hargrave teases you with the belief that maybe things can change. Perhaps cycles can be broken. Only to swipe that away from you, and end cyclically, inevitability.

Though it is perhaps clear that this is a first attempt into the world of literature for adults, it is such an excellent first attempt. The ability of experienced authors to disguise the mechanics of their story is perhaps not quite as developed yet, one can see the gears and engine of this tale quite easily to extend a pretty convoluted metaphor. Many of the characters felt a bit too underdeveloped to be truly engaging. Maren’s development in particular felt slightly simplistic. In spite of this, what Hargrave has to say about the nature of being a woman, about the poisonous promise of community, and how oppression works is really worth reading. The quality of her descriptive writing is incredible, and there is something so intoxicatingly exciting about a slightly imperfect tale. It promises much, and I can genuinely say that I cannot wait to see what Hargrave creates next. If The Mercies is anything to go by, it will be equal parts heart-rending, and warm.

I rate The Mercies 3.75 / 5 stars!

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