The Weird Sisters

Oh friends. I like this book. I like it very much. It’s funny though, because I bought it about a year ago while I was living with my aunt and uncle in Odessa and working at a job I did not enjoy very much, and the first time I read it I didn’t think anything of it. Not that I didn’t like it, more just that I finished it and set it aside in order to make room for the next book. I also remember my lovely aunt Di (featured in this post) asking me about it and I don’t even remember what I told her.

This time was different, y’all.  And I’m not the only one who likes this book, look at all the nice things written on the cover. I like that cover. That’s a nice cover. I’m pretty sure I bought this book because of the Shakespeare connection. My degree in Theatre Performance comes with a requisite interest in anything minutely related to Shakespeare. Sort of. That’s a lie, really, I’ve never been that into Shakespeare.

sorry hot stuff. we’re just not meant to be.

Whether you’re into ol’ Shaky or not, this is a good’un. The tale of three sisters who come together supposedly because of their mother’s illness but really because of the crumbling nature of their own lives is breathtakingly relatable. Or at least it is to this gal who’s own life has an irritatingly crumbly nature. In case you haven’t picked up on it yet, I’m in love with books and characters and stories that feel human. This doesn’t mean it has to be a book like this one, about lives that are realistic and a world that is our own (albeit with many more references to Shakespeare than most people can claim), just that I want to see a character and find myself. I think this is an inherent reason why storytelling in all it’s forms exist. Good storytelling allows us to take a break from our own lives while still finding ourselves in the other. This is just one reason why I think representation in all forms is very important. I’ m also just seriously in love with Eleanor Brown’s prose. I’ve never read a book before told in first person by three different people (at the same time) and I have no idea what to call it. Nevermind, that’s lazy of me so I looked it up and with the help of a quote on the back of the book and this article from the Guardian I think it’s called first person plural narrative. I don’t know how I’ll feel if/when I come across this type of narrative voice again, but it worked so very well in this book. On the very unlikely chance the author should ever happen across this post, let me just say brava. What a beautifully written book. For example, one of many of my favored passages:

 “Oh, our Rose. Her hair up like a Gibson girl, her skin stained pretty pink from the blushing, face bare of makeup, one of those flowing outfits that hid her curves, beauty and honor in her are so mingled…but would he see it? Would he see, beneath her self-consciousness, the way she could clean that stain off his tie with only club soda and the edge of her shirt, catch spiders we would be too afraid to touch, marshal our forces to pack the car for a trip so everything would fit and nothing was forgotten, pick the perfect fresh flowers to make the breakfast table seem like a celebration, hold us a after a nightmare, put herself aside to make sure we were happy? Would he see why we loved her so? We held our breath. “Would you like to go to lunch?” has asked. He saw it.”

So good. I don’t have sisters, I have one baby brother and our relationship is a veritable roller coaster of I-don’t-have-any-actual-way-to-classify-it. Still, I can understand these sisters. It feels like I’ve sat on the couch listening to them before, arguing with them, and supporting them. Read this book friends. It’s definitely worth it. Feel like following my advice? Would you buy the book from Amazon anyway? Well click-a on this little link here and it won’t cost a pretty penny more, but it will help me out!

(in case it’s not clear, the picture of the book is the link)

for next week:


by Lynne Bryant

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