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lidoffadaffodil 's review for:
Spoilt Creatures
by Amy Twigg
A remote farm tucked away in the Kent Downs. A safe space. A place for women.
With no exaggeration, it has taken me weeks to come up with any kind of words to do this debut justice. A story of obsession and fascination; the longing to be accepted, to be a part of something larger than just yourself (especially when yourself is the last thing you want to be), and how quickly things can fall apart leaving you exactly where you started. [ see also : you cannot outrun your past. ]
From the first words of the novel we know where this story is going. We know where the plot is going to drag us, kicking and screaming against the inevitable, but that didn’t slow me down any. When things are good, they’re good. Grown women indulging in a childlike wonder that was syphoned out of so many at a young age— playing hide and seek, warm naps in the sunshine, indulging in homegrown sweets. Yes, the women work hard, but in the mingling of their sweat with the earth they find camaraderie; haircuts in solidarity against the heat, a single loofah in the shower.
The thing about being led, and having faith in your leader, is that under their watchful eye you can now turn off the part of you perpetually in survival mode, tired. I would argue this particular exhaustion is the very root of feminine rage, branching off as life continues, but it’s always there marinating in its anguished brine. But how safe are we ever, really, in the hands of another? And what if it all isn’t really for us, or about us — what if they were only really looking out for themselves all along?
The accuracy of this novel being compared to The Girls (by Emma Cline) and Lord of the Flies (by William Golding) is unmatched in it's accuracy. Somehow, despite tropes we are familiar with, this novel manages to still be fresh and thoughtful and new. It was everything I hoped it would be, and more.
I think I’m still not over it.
ARC provided at my request by NetGalley.
With no exaggeration, it has taken me weeks to come up with any kind of words to do this debut justice. A story of obsession and fascination; the longing to be accepted, to be a part of something larger than just yourself (especially when yourself is the last thing you want to be), and how quickly things can fall apart leaving you exactly where you started. [ see also : you cannot outrun your past. ]
From the first words of the novel we know where this story is going. We know where the plot is going to drag us, kicking and screaming against the inevitable, but that didn’t slow me down any. When things are good, they’re good. Grown women indulging in a childlike wonder that was syphoned out of so many at a young age— playing hide and seek, warm naps in the sunshine, indulging in homegrown sweets. Yes, the women work hard, but in the mingling of their sweat with the earth they find camaraderie; haircuts in solidarity against the heat, a single loofah in the shower.
The thing about being led, and having faith in your leader, is that under their watchful eye you can now turn off the part of you perpetually in survival mode, tired. I would argue this particular exhaustion is the very root of feminine rage, branching off as life continues, but it’s always there marinating in its anguished brine. But how safe are we ever, really, in the hands of another? And what if it all isn’t really for us, or about us — what if they were only really looking out for themselves all along?
The accuracy of this novel being compared to The Girls (by Emma Cline) and Lord of the Flies (by William Golding) is unmatched in it's accuracy. Somehow, despite tropes we are familiar with, this novel manages to still be fresh and thoughtful and new. It was everything I hoped it would be, and more.
I think I’m still not over it.
ARC provided at my request by NetGalley.