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A review by tepidgirlsummer
The Lost Girl by Sangu Mandanna
5.0
Sometimes when I review a book I spend a ridiculous amount of time waffling about what rating to give it. Usually if I give something five stars it’s because it’s a 4.5 star book and I rounded up. But The Lost Girl is not a 4.5 star book. It is not a book whose rating and impact I had to consider. The whole time I was reading this book, I knew. I knew I loved it and that Eva’s story would stay with me for a long time. It isn’t five stars “for what it is”; it is five stars because it is an incredible book and deserves every bit of that rating. I have never encountered such an engrossing, beautifully-written novel which deals so poignantly with the topics of love, grief, and humanity.
Eva is an Echo, made in the image of her Other, Amarra, with the intention of taking Amarra’s place when she dies. Created at the Loom by one of the Weavers, Eva’s entire life is spent learning to be Amarra. She watches videos, reads notes, takes tests, perfects Amarra’s accent, studies Amarra’s family and friends. Eva’s life is not her own and for her to be herself is an unpardonable crime; to try to escape it all could result in a Sleep Order and her destruction. If anyone finds out Eva’s an Echo, she’ll be treated as an outcast and possibly killed—and that’s assuming she’s in a country where it’s even legal for her to exist. To the world, Eva is an abomination.
Despite all this and in spite of her restlessness, Eva has a relatively peaceful existence in England. She has a loving family in Mina Ma and her Guardians and a friendship/forbidden love with Sean, a Guardian roughly her age. She considers herself real, individual—human. When she is unexpectedly called to India to take Amarra’s place, Eva tries to be a good Amarra, but through a series of unfortunate events she is faced with a choice: accept her fate or fight for her freedom.
This was a heartbreaking read. Within the first two chapters, I felt claustrophobic on behalf of Eva. I can’t imagine being in that position, having everyone hate me just because I was made at a Loom instead of in a womb. It’s the ultimate in “I didn’t ask to be born!,” only instead of fighting with your mom about curfew you’re fighting for your right to exist because some people you’ve never met had you made to take their daughter’s place when she dies so they’ll never have to live without her. And how must it have felt to be Amarra, knowing every day of your life that someone out in the world is ready to take your place the moment you die? I felt the injustice of being created as a replacement and of being so easily replaced right along with the two girls.
Frankly, the idea of creating a person who looks and acts exactly like your child to come in and take her place in the event of her death is gross. But the way Mandanna wrote it, I could see where Amarra’s parents were coming from when they made that decision, and my heart ached for them when having their daughter’s Echo around didn’t turn out to be anything like what they’d hoped. When we suffer the loss of a loved one, our grief can become almost sentient—a big, hulking shadow following us everywhere, breathing down our neck. Our loss is always there. Mandanna captured that feeling perfectly, and because of that it was impossible for me to view Amarra’s parents as the bad guys. They were merely two brokenhearted parents trying to do right by their daughter. Their choices were selfish, yet that selfishness was hopelessly interwoven with love.
Oh, and you know how I loves me some beautiful prose? Here, have a taste:
But maybe that’s what the dead do. They stay. They linger. Benign and sweet and painful. They don't need us. They echo all by themselves.
“Your life is dangling by a thread. And I’m scrabbling to hold on, but it keeps slipping through my fingers. I’m here because I can’t stand not to be. It’s not some big noble sacrifice. I want to be here. I don’t like the world without you. I need you to be alive.”
The cottage by the lake is now over the hill and far away, and Jonathan and Ophelia and the other little ducks are there, and if I dream hard enough maybe, like the song, I will go after them and find them and one day all the little ducks will come back.
Sangu Mandanna is definitely an author to watch. With The Lost Girl, she has created a vivid world in which Frankenstein’s Monster is born every day. She explores what it means to love, to grieve, to belong, and to be human. Every character, from Eva down to Sasha, had an impact on me. The ending is written so the story can stand on its own; however a sequel would also fit. So I’ll be over here, re-reading this book and keeping my fingers crossed for another one. Or another Sangu Mandanna book about anything. The life and times of a speck of lint, maybe. I’m not about to be picky.
Eva is an Echo, made in the image of her Other, Amarra, with the intention of taking Amarra’s place when she dies. Created at the Loom by one of the Weavers, Eva’s entire life is spent learning to be Amarra. She watches videos, reads notes, takes tests, perfects Amarra’s accent, studies Amarra’s family and friends. Eva’s life is not her own and for her to be herself is an unpardonable crime; to try to escape it all could result in a Sleep Order and her destruction. If anyone finds out Eva’s an Echo, she’ll be treated as an outcast and possibly killed—and that’s assuming she’s in a country where it’s even legal for her to exist. To the world, Eva is an abomination.
Despite all this and in spite of her restlessness, Eva has a relatively peaceful existence in England. She has a loving family in Mina Ma and her Guardians and a friendship/forbidden love with Sean, a Guardian roughly her age. She considers herself real, individual—human. When she is unexpectedly called to India to take Amarra’s place, Eva tries to be a good Amarra, but through a series of unfortunate events she is faced with a choice: accept her fate or fight for her freedom.
This was a heartbreaking read. Within the first two chapters, I felt claustrophobic on behalf of Eva. I can’t imagine being in that position, having everyone hate me just because I was made at a Loom instead of in a womb. It’s the ultimate in “I didn’t ask to be born!,” only instead of fighting with your mom about curfew you’re fighting for your right to exist because some people you’ve never met had you made to take their daughter’s place when she dies so they’ll never have to live without her. And how must it have felt to be Amarra, knowing every day of your life that someone out in the world is ready to take your place the moment you die? I felt the injustice of being created as a replacement and of being so easily replaced right along with the two girls.
Frankly, the idea of creating a person who looks and acts exactly like your child to come in and take her place in the event of her death is gross. But the way Mandanna wrote it, I could see where Amarra’s parents were coming from when they made that decision, and my heart ached for them when having their daughter’s Echo around didn’t turn out to be anything like what they’d hoped. When we suffer the loss of a loved one, our grief can become almost sentient—a big, hulking shadow following us everywhere, breathing down our neck. Our loss is always there. Mandanna captured that feeling perfectly, and because of that it was impossible for me to view Amarra’s parents as the bad guys. They were merely two brokenhearted parents trying to do right by their daughter. Their choices were selfish, yet that selfishness was hopelessly interwoven with love.
Oh, and you know how I loves me some beautiful prose? Here, have a taste:
But maybe that’s what the dead do. They stay. They linger. Benign and sweet and painful. They don't need us. They echo all by themselves.
“Your life is dangling by a thread. And I’m scrabbling to hold on, but it keeps slipping through my fingers. I’m here because I can’t stand not to be. It’s not some big noble sacrifice. I want to be here. I don’t like the world without you. I need you to be alive.”
The cottage by the lake is now over the hill and far away, and Jonathan and Ophelia and the other little ducks are there, and if I dream hard enough maybe, like the song, I will go after them and find them and one day all the little ducks will come back.
Sangu Mandanna is definitely an author to watch. With The Lost Girl, she has created a vivid world in which Frankenstein’s Monster is born every day. She explores what it means to love, to grieve, to belong, and to be human. Every character, from Eva down to Sasha, had an impact on me. The ending is written so the story can stand on its own; however a sequel would also fit. So I’ll be over here, re-reading this book and keeping my fingers crossed for another one. Or another Sangu Mandanna book about anything. The life and times of a speck of lint, maybe. I’m not about to be picky.