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A review by zabcia
Resurrection Girls by Ava Morgyn
3.0
65%
""It's the little things that go first. The way light would play across his face at a certain angle. The expression he made when he pouted. The smell of him in the morning. You go to summon some detail up from the depths and it's no longer there. The dead drift away...you stop trying to recall details because the futility of it is worse than the fried. It's no longer the loss of the person you mourn, but the loss of the haunt."
This kinda feels like an episode of the Twilight Zone in terms of its meandering weirdness, falling short of the spectacularism. The cover and the summary blurb make it seem like this book will be about something entirely different from what it actually is - though I'm not entirely sure WHAT that "it" is definitively. I finished the book mostly because I kept thinking, "surely this can't be it", but apparently, yes it can.
In all honesty, I read the acknowledgements first, and the whole concept of the author losing their own child in the midst of writing a book involving the loss of a child/sibling was more compelling than the story itself.
"I went downstairs thinking I'd get a glass of water, maybe tea, maybe cereal. Something to fill me up inside, to weigh me down."
"Something in me shifted, the way your back can sometimes crack in a good way when you're getting up off the floor - just that accidental kind of movement that takes something so far out of place and knocks it back in effortlessly."
"You think they're seeing you. It can be intoxicating at first, the flood of sympathy that rushes in and surround you like helium, lifting you up. And then, somewhere between the finger sandwiches and the wilting lilies, you realize you are merely incidental. They are crows feasting on tragedy, and you stink of the dead."
"I wondered what made risk takers so attractive to the rest of us. Was it that we knew they could be ripped from our presence at any moment, an unfortunate victim of karma finally catching up to them?"
"My anger prowled beneath my skin like a pacing tiger in a too-small cage...there was nowhere to put it. No way to safely rehabilitate it and loose it into the wild, away from civilization."
""It's the little things that go first. The way light would play across his face at a certain angle. The expression he made when he pouted. The smell of him in the morning. You go to summon some detail up from the depths and it's no longer there. The dead drift away...you stop trying to recall details because the futility of it is worse than the fried. It's no longer the loss of the person you mourn, but the loss of the haunt."
This kinda feels like an episode of the Twilight Zone in terms of its meandering weirdness, falling short of the spectacularism. The cover and the summary blurb make it seem like this book will be about something entirely different from what it actually is - though I'm not entirely sure WHAT that "it" is definitively. I finished the book mostly because I kept thinking, "surely this can't be it", but apparently, yes it can.
In all honesty, I read the acknowledgements first, and the whole concept of the author losing their own child in the midst of writing a book involving the loss of a child/sibling was more compelling than the story itself.
"I went downstairs thinking I'd get a glass of water, maybe tea, maybe cereal. Something to fill me up inside, to weigh me down."
"Something in me shifted, the way your back can sometimes crack in a good way when you're getting up off the floor - just that accidental kind of movement that takes something so far out of place and knocks it back in effortlessly."
"You think they're seeing you. It can be intoxicating at first, the flood of sympathy that rushes in and surround you like helium, lifting you up. And then, somewhere between the finger sandwiches and the wilting lilies, you realize you are merely incidental. They are crows feasting on tragedy, and you stink of the dead."
"I wondered what made risk takers so attractive to the rest of us. Was it that we knew they could be ripped from our presence at any moment, an unfortunate victim of karma finally catching up to them?"
"My anger prowled beneath my skin like a pacing tiger in a too-small cage...there was nowhere to put it. No way to safely rehabilitate it and loose it into the wild, away from civilization."