Scan barcode
A review by novella42
Luster by Raven Leilani
challenging
dark
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
I noticed this book at my library because of its gorgeous cover, and I took it home because I am polyamorous and the blurb mentioned "an open marriage—with rules."
I just need to say... Please don't take this book's depiction of non-monogamy as representative of how to do an ethically open marriage. Holy hell. I feel at a loss to list all the ways Edie and Eric and Rebecca torture each other needlessly. It's a fascinating train wreck to watch, and I found myself looking at my own polycule with renewed gratitude and affection. Leilani doesn't let any of the characters off the hook, and if a lot of their behaviors seem inexplicable to you, well, you won't be alone.
As to the book itself, I appreciated the lyrical, almost psychadelic writing. (If you don't like pose poetry or stream-of-consciousness writing, maybe pass on this one.) Leilani revels in dark Millennial existential dread that kept shocking laughter out of me. She's fantastic at descriptive phrases that catch you off-guard with their originality. I marveled at some of them, their poetic pacing and expansive assumptions, so much I started collecting a list:
"I am suspended in a lurid hypnagogic loop."
"It is impossible to see another black woman on her way up, impossible to see that meticulous, polyglottal origami and not, as a black woman yourself, fall a little bit in love."
"A sudden and swiftly contained conniption."
"Hooked into peripheral intuition."
"The city's breakneck, multilingual carousel."
"Some inconceivable boss-level of concentrated loneliness."
"The bike lanes in Manhattan already terrifying at 11:00 a.m., filled with delivery boys and girls who jet into traffic with fried rice and no reason to live, along with the sentient abdominals who do this for fun."
"The lawn buzzed and alkaline, the vinegar in the wine and carnage in the dew, everywhere the perfume of things that want to live."
I can't imagine what it's like to narrate this as an audiobook, because the rhythm of the words is beautiful and also relentless. Leilani is skilled at pulling you deep into the bewildering internal labyrinth of mental illness and immersive, uncomfortable experiences.
If you carry any traumas, I recommend browsing the full list of content tags. I almost couldn't make it through the scenes with gore and body horror, though Edie's dissociative skills and the eye of an artist made it slightly more bearable. I'm glad I got it in hardcopy instead of audio, so I could skim over difficult dark passages. There were lots of those. I'm not sure why I kept reading, except that I was fascinated. It was hard to look away.
One last thing, a recommendation for anyone who likes disco. I genuinely think one reason I enjoyed this book as much as I did was that in the first 15 pages, Edie references her connection to Idris Muhammad's 1977 song "Could Heaven Ever Be Like This." On a whim, I made a Spotify station out of it and I have to say, it complimented the book and let me surrender to the undertow.
Beautiful writing about broken people living a surreal, twisted story.
I just need to say... Please don't take this book's depiction of non-monogamy as representative of how to do an ethically open marriage. Holy hell. I feel at a loss to list all the ways Edie and Eric and Rebecca torture each other needlessly. It's a fascinating train wreck to watch, and I found myself looking at my own polycule with renewed gratitude and affection. Leilani doesn't let any of the characters off the hook, and if a lot of their behaviors seem inexplicable to you, well, you won't be alone.
As to the book itself, I appreciated the lyrical, almost psychadelic writing. (If you don't like pose poetry or stream-of-consciousness writing, maybe pass on this one.) Leilani revels in dark Millennial existential dread that kept shocking laughter out of me. She's fantastic at descriptive phrases that catch you off-guard with their originality. I marveled at some of them, their poetic pacing and expansive assumptions, so much I started collecting a list:
"I am suspended in a lurid hypnagogic loop."
"It is impossible to see another black woman on her way up, impossible to see that meticulous, polyglottal origami and not, as a black woman yourself, fall a little bit in love."
"A sudden and swiftly contained conniption."
"Hooked into peripheral intuition."
"The city's breakneck, multilingual carousel."
"Some inconceivable boss-level of concentrated loneliness."
"The bike lanes in Manhattan already terrifying at 11:00 a.m., filled with delivery boys and girls who jet into traffic with fried rice and no reason to live, along with the sentient abdominals who do this for fun."
"The lawn buzzed and alkaline, the vinegar in the wine and carnage in the dew, everywhere the perfume of things that want to live."
I can't imagine what it's like to narrate this as an audiobook, because the rhythm of the words is beautiful and also relentless. Leilani is skilled at pulling you deep into the bewildering internal labyrinth of mental illness and immersive, uncomfortable experiences.
If you carry any traumas, I recommend browsing the full list of content tags. I almost couldn't make it through the scenes with gore and body horror, though Edie's dissociative skills and the eye of an artist made it slightly more bearable. I'm glad I got it in hardcopy instead of audio, so I could skim over difficult dark passages. There were lots of those. I'm not sure why I kept reading, except that I was fascinated. It was hard to look away.
One last thing, a recommendation for anyone who likes disco. I genuinely think one reason I enjoyed this book as much as I did was that in the first 15 pages, Edie references her connection to Idris Muhammad's 1977 song "Could Heaven Ever Be Like This." On a whim, I made a Spotify station out of it and I have to say, it complimented the book and let me surrender to the undertow.
Beautiful writing about broken people living a surreal, twisted story.
Graphic: Addiction, Alcoholism, Animal death, Body horror, Body shaming, Chronic illness, Cursing, Death, Drug use, Eating disorder, Emotional abuse, Gore, Infidelity, Mental illness, Miscarriage, Panic attacks/disorders, Physical abuse, Racial slurs, Racism, Sexual content, Suicidal thoughts, Toxic relationship, Violence, Blood, Police brutality, Medical content, Medical trauma, Abortion, Death of parent, Schizophrenia/Psychosis , Alcohol, Dysphoria, and Injury/Injury detail
Moderate: Gun violence, Vomit, and Car accident
Minor: Cancer, Rape, Excrement, Stalking, and Abandonment