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hibatheescapeartist 's review for:
Mafiosa
by Catherine Doyle
Can I please have a bucket? Why, you ask? Well, I think I am about to puke my guts out from the anxiety that has raked my body over the course of Mafiosa. And the grief. God, the grief.
How could I forget how full of death and loss and misery this book was? I feel so sick with grief, so watered down by death that even the tear-jerker love story between Luca and Sophie couldn’t make up for it. Every time you think Doyle has killed off enough characters that she so despicably made you love, she goes off and does it again, twisting the knife of grief that is plunged in your heart mercilessly.
I have said this before in my reviews, and I will say it again: why do I punish myself by reading trilogies like this? I am so worn down by my anxiety, by the fear I held out for each and every one of the Falcone (except Felice--I spit on this man and all that he represents) scouring this dangerous underworld. I hate the fact that Doyle so successfully humanised characters I wanted to hate, that she made them so endearing and so lovable only to snatch them away mirthlessly. Even though this series has come to an end, the lingering taste of violence and fear is still on my tongue thanks to that Epilogue.
This series is slept on, it really is. Even by me, someone who could only truly appreciate the worth of this series (especially the last two books--Vendetta really doesn’t do the other two books justice) only after reading it twice. It has everything that a true bookworm craves: adventure, plot-twists, forbidden love, enemies to lovers, loss, loss, loss, pain, death, redemption, healing, cruelty, even sarcasm.
It was utter perfection.
I will try to calm the nerves gnawing at my insides, will try to blow away the loss clouding my heart. Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil.
P.S.
How could I forget how full of death and loss and misery this book was? I feel so sick with grief, so watered down by death that even the tear-jerker love story between Luca and Sophie couldn’t make up for it. Every time you think Doyle has killed off enough characters that she so despicably made you love, she goes off and does it again, twisting the knife of grief that is plunged in your heart mercilessly.
I have said this before in my reviews, and I will say it again: why do I punish myself by reading trilogies like this? I am so worn down by my anxiety, by the fear I held out for each and every one of the Falcone (except Felice--I spit on this man and all that he represents) scouring this dangerous underworld. I hate the fact that Doyle so successfully humanised characters I wanted to hate, that she made them so endearing and so lovable only to snatch them away mirthlessly. Even though this series has come to an end, the lingering taste of violence and fear is still on my tongue thanks to that Epilogue.
This series is slept on, it really is. Even by me, someone who could only truly appreciate the worth of this series (especially the last two books--Vendetta really doesn’t do the other two books justice) only after reading it twice. It has everything that a true bookworm craves: adventure, plot-twists, forbidden love, enemies to lovers, loss, loss, loss, pain, death, redemption, healing, cruelty, even sarcasm.
It was utter perfection.
I will try to calm the nerves gnawing at my insides, will try to blow away the loss clouding my heart. Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil.
P.S.