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We're well past poetry month now, but I am here to remind you: poetry knows no such thing as calendars. Poems are for the rainy Spring Tuesdays, for the slow drives to work, for the warm, crepuscular nights that mean summer has finally arrived. Poetry is forever!
A Memoir of facism, childhood, and then motherhood in early 20th century Italy, written in a unique, pointillist style made famous (relatively speaking) by the stylings of Annie Ernaux or the fiction of Renata Adler. Jarre's speciality is writing the unspoken peculiarities of childhood. Read the first paragraph and tell me you wouldn't read 200 pages of Jarre's work. An immense story of a life.
It's Annie meets Lord of the Flies in this haunting story of a young orphan girl who becomes alienated from the other girls in her foster home. While it is a quick read, it is terrifyingly memorable and beautifully translated, and every sentence is truly worth the price.
I didn't expect to care, but by the end I was crying. Not simply a character study of Marie de France, nor your average Medieval Nunnery slice of life; this epic story is also a meditation on power. Groff deftly asks readers is it better to be great than good? Do characteristics that society deem monstrous create the fortitude necessary to affect change? I don't know yet, but sapphic nuns are softly singing me to sleep, so I'll tell you in the morning.
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