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3.99 AVERAGE
3.99 AVERAGE
funny
lighthearted
relaxing
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
WOWOW this book has everything: art, lesbians, the northeast
devoured this in a week!
devoured this in a week!
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
this book was so captivating my only complaint is that it should’ve just been about karina and louisa; i did not care for robert or preston at all. otherwise, i absolutely loved this book
dark
funny
hopeful
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Intriguing, flawed characters that carry some of the themes (performative activism, self-loathing) better than others. The dialogue breaks and different modern art styles were neat, but many descriptions the pieces, especially Karinas art, were lacking. I get the muses, but sirens?? Not really
the art world mixed with sociopolitical issues. I liked the first half of this book that took place at a rich art school, but the book slowed way down when the rest of it switched to taking place in NYC. I was hoping for more art school bubble!
I think the characters were believable or at least stereotypical. one in particular, a shitty guy who never really faces much consequence for said shittiness. pretty realistic… I have to give it that lol. anyway overall a good story and didn’t hate how it ended!
I think the characters were believable or at least stereotypical. one in particular, a shitty guy who never really faces much consequence for said shittiness. pretty realistic… I have to give it that lol. anyway overall a good story and didn’t hate how it ended!
medium-paced
Sirens & Muses is a sharp, emotionally resonant, and beautifully written debut novel by Antonia Angress. The author does an excellent job immersing the reader in the chaotic world of art school and the messy, intertwined lives of the people who inhabit it.
This is a nuanced exploration of identity, ambition, politics, and desire, all told through a cast of complex characters. The dynamics between them are layered and compelling. Several characters are deeply flawed, even unlikeable at times, yet you may still find yourself rooting for them. Their motivations feel both deeply personal and reflective of broader social and political forces, making the story feel intimate and expansive at once.
The relationships are tangled, volatile, and heartbreakingly human. Angress doesn’t shy away from the intensity of creative and emotional entanglement, and the result is a novel that feels both authentic and provocative.
It was almost a 5-star read but the ending was somewhat abrupt and open ended. I am conflicted on how I feel about that. After such rich character development and narrative build up, I was hoping for a bit more closure or a stronger emotional payoff.
challenging
dark
emotional
slow-paced
Antonia Angress’s Sirens & Muses is a sharp and immersive debut that probes the collision of ambition, privilege, and artistic identity in the rarefied world of an elite art school and beyond. I picked it up after seeing Kristen Arnett’s praise and, although I was initially skeptical about the “new adult” feel due to the age of some protagonists, I was quickly drawn in by the novel’s character work and thematic richness.
At its core, this is a book about what it means to try and make art when everything—class, history, power, money—conspires to shape not just what you create, but whether you get to create at all. Louisa, a scholarship student from a working-class background, is particularly compelling. Her awareness of how economic insecurity filters into self-perception, ambition, and creative risk is handled with care and nuance.
Karina, by contrast, is a character born into a life of extraordinary privilege—so much so that her childhood bedroom boasted an original Egon Schiele. She has both the name and the talent to succeed in the art world, but when her circumstances shift, her reactions are impulsive and emotionally juvenile. That said, her presence is a fulcrum around which much of the novel pivots; her relationships with Louisa, Preston, and even her family’s complicated past with Robert Berger form the connective tissue of the narrative.
Preston, though equally privileged, lacks Karina’s artistic pedigree. He struck me as a familiar archetype: overconfident, self-aggrandizing, and quick to sulk when his shortcuts don’t yield the recognition he feels entitled to. His involvement with the Occupy movement—and how it translates into personal gain—felt particularly hollow, and his blog and art projects came off as cringeworthy rather than provocative.
Surprisingly, the character arc I found most satisfying was Robert Berger’s. Once a celebrated political artist, Berger is now a visiting professor at Wrynn, wrestling with creative inertia and a complicated legacy. His struggle to reclaim artistic relevance and reckon with past compromises gave the novel an emotional depth I didn’t expect.
While the book is engaging—I genuinely didn’t want to put it down—some elements didn’t fully land. The inclusion of the Occupy movement introduces a topical and timely thread, but the message about income inequality ends up feeling murky. With three of the central characters benefiting from generational wealth or connections, their engagement with protest movements often feels more like performance than principle. Angress does gesture toward this, especially through Berger’s self-awareness, but the critique remains underdeveloped.
The ending, too, left me wanting. I don’t need a neatly wrapped conclusion, but I did crave more clarity or direction than what the final pages offered.
Still, Sirens & Muses is a compelling exploration of the messy interplay between art, privilege, and desire. It doesn’t always stick the landing, but its ambition and intelligence make it a worthwhile read—particularly for those curious about how artistic identity gets shaped by forces beyond the canvas.
At its core, this is a book about what it means to try and make art when everything—class, history, power, money—conspires to shape not just what you create, but whether you get to create at all. Louisa, a scholarship student from a working-class background, is particularly compelling. Her awareness of how economic insecurity filters into self-perception, ambition, and creative risk is handled with care and nuance.
Karina, by contrast, is a character born into a life of extraordinary privilege—so much so that her childhood bedroom boasted an original Egon Schiele. She has both the name and the talent to succeed in the art world, but when her circumstances shift, her reactions are impulsive and emotionally juvenile. That said, her presence is a fulcrum around which much of the novel pivots; her relationships with Louisa, Preston, and even her family’s complicated past with Robert Berger form the connective tissue of the narrative.
Preston, though equally privileged, lacks Karina’s artistic pedigree. He struck me as a familiar archetype: overconfident, self-aggrandizing, and quick to sulk when his shortcuts don’t yield the recognition he feels entitled to. His involvement with the Occupy movement—and how it translates into personal gain—felt particularly hollow, and his blog and art projects came off as cringeworthy rather than provocative.
Surprisingly, the character arc I found most satisfying was Robert Berger’s. Once a celebrated political artist, Berger is now a visiting professor at Wrynn, wrestling with creative inertia and a complicated legacy. His struggle to reclaim artistic relevance and reckon with past compromises gave the novel an emotional depth I didn’t expect.
While the book is engaging—I genuinely didn’t want to put it down—some elements didn’t fully land. The inclusion of the Occupy movement introduces a topical and timely thread, but the message about income inequality ends up feeling murky. With three of the central characters benefiting from generational wealth or connections, their engagement with protest movements often feels more like performance than principle. Angress does gesture toward this, especially through Berger’s self-awareness, but the critique remains underdeveloped.
The ending, too, left me wanting. I don’t need a neatly wrapped conclusion, but I did crave more clarity or direction than what the final pages offered.
Still, Sirens & Muses is a compelling exploration of the messy interplay between art, privilege, and desire. It doesn’t always stick the landing, but its ambition and intelligence make it a worthwhile read—particularly for those curious about how artistic identity gets shaped by forces beyond the canvas.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Emotional abuse, Infidelity, Panic attacks/disorders, Rape, Sexism, Sexual assault, Sexual content, Suicidal thoughts, Classism
dark
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
