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A review by sidselgchr
Red Clocks by Leni Zumas
4.0
"There are many names for fog. Pogonip. Brume. Ground clouds. Gloom. Mínervudottír had written every name in her brown leather notebook. She stood now in a dense, creamy mist, the worst ice fog she'd ever known", p. 339
Like Mínervudottír before them, every character in this book becomes ingulfed in a dense mist, a gloom that encapsulates the entire story. It weaves itself into every house, every man, woman and child. It comes from the ocean they live on the cusp of, but also from their country itself. From Washington, from Canada. From everyone who refuses to help, everyone who stood by while laws were passed from one day to the next. It creeps into their lives and changes them, changes the teenagers, the witches, the mothers, the childless.
The gloom is dense, and seemingly impossible to get through. And yet, they do.They keep their legs. They keep moving, like sharks.
Like Mínervudottír before them, every character in this book becomes ingulfed in a dense mist, a gloom that encapsulates the entire story. It weaves itself into every house, every man, woman and child. It comes from the ocean they live on the cusp of, but also from their country itself. From Washington, from Canada. From everyone who refuses to help, everyone who stood by while laws were passed from one day to the next. It creeps into their lives and changes them, changes the teenagers, the witches, the mothers, the childless.
The gloom is dense, and seemingly impossible to get through. And yet, they do.They keep their legs. They keep moving, like sharks.