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A review by andipants
The Lost Apothecary by Sarah Penner
1.0
This is probably my biggest letdown of the year so far. Dual timelines, historical research, mysterious artifacts from the past, women subverting an unfair system— all of that is 100% exactly my catnip. How could it go so wrong?
To start, the historicity in the 1791 timeline is shoddy at best. This problem permeates everything from small details (fine ladies walking down the street carrying shopping bags) to significant plot points (an establishment openly advertising itself as a "magick shoppe" — and being written up glowingly in a newspaper as such — in a time and place where simply claiming magic was real was a criminal offense). The only thing that seemed to get any real attention to detail was the poisons, and my god did the author want you to know she'd done her research on old-timey poisons — there's an entire list of ingredients and goddamn instructions in the back of the book, for cripes' sake. It honestly got a bit tedious.
Plotwise, the entire 1791 storyline relies on mind-blowing negligence. Nella's shop is disguised as a storage room, with a secret method of placing orders without the customer seeing her — but when they come to pick up the order, she greets them face to face and brings them back into the secret area of the shop anyway, so what was the point? Her insistence on writing down her customers' names — and crimes — as a means of preserving their existence for posterity, in a book she can never share with anyone else, is utterly pointless and careless. She couldn't at least have created a code to disguise what they were buying? Come the fuck on. And why on earth would you send out poisons in branded packaging? Literally none of this story would have happened if Nella had a single ounce of common sense; as it is, it's entirely unbelievable that she's lasted this long.
In the modern timeline, the description of Caroline's forays into research are distractingly facile. A vague, two-word search of the library catalog immediately brings her an obscure document that is key to solving the mystery. Later, a single search in a newspaper database (spanning hundreds of years and publications) for a not-terribly-unique name immediately brings up an article (as the first hit, even!) talking about the exact person she's seeking and going into extremely convenient and credulity-breaking detail about the exact things she wants to know. Every step in her quest is marked by extraordinary leaps of logic and coincidences, leading to her.
In fact, nearly everything in the modern timeline suffered from a significant case of that's-not-how-things-work-itis. Caroline becomes BFFs with Gaynor, a library employee, after meeting her in a professional capacity exactly twice. She assumes that Gaynor, a history buff, will be horrified that she. She decides almost on a whim to And she assumes that
The subplot with Caroline's ex was likewise awful. It starts out okay, if very clichéd, with the discovery of his infidelity and her reflecting about the dreams she'd set aside in favor of their relationship. Then he follows her to London without permission — whoa buddy, red flag there — but we're focusing on Caroline's conflicted feelings; okay, this could still be interesting. Then, James is ARGH. Fuck. That. Noise.
And that brings me to my final point, which is the pervasive attitude of misandry that seems to be bubbling under the surface for most of the book. As a feminist and a lesbian, I can certainly understand frustration with men as a group and chafing under a monstrously unfair patriarchal system, but Nella's vow to poison unfaithful men out of vengeance for her own betrayal at the hands of a man isn't systemic critique; it's individualized hatred. The only male character who isn't a clear antagonist is Tom, and he appears in one short scene and has maybe half a dozen lines of dialogue; literally every other named man in the book is an adulterer, abuser, or some combination of the two. We're clearly supposed to see Nella's refusal to harm women specifically as noble, but it feels like this was only set in the past so the author could have an excuse to create a sympathetic man-hating serial killer. Even when Nella briefly reflects on the mistakes she's made, she doesn't seem to regret pursuing gendered vengeance for its own sake, but rather because it seems negative consequences are finally imminent. And the book further undercuts this regret by having it just be a brief narration of her thoughts, compared to the copious loving descriptions elsewhere of the various poisons and their methods and Nella's work manufacturing and dispensing them. In some places, it felt a bit like hanging out at some reactionary stereotype of a feminist book club, where every discussion about female empowerment somehow devolves into just bashing men and high-fiving each other. It felt very radfemmy, and not in a good way.
So long story short, I did not enjoy this book. It had so many elements I was prepared to love, but they were betrayed by poor writing, lazy characterization, and an unexpected streak of misandry.
To start, the historicity in the 1791 timeline is shoddy at best. This problem permeates everything from small details (fine ladies walking down the street carrying shopping bags) to significant plot points (an establishment openly advertising itself as a "magick shoppe" — and being written up glowingly in a newspaper as such — in a time and place where simply claiming magic was real was a criminal offense). The only thing that seemed to get any real attention to detail was the poisons, and my god did the author want you to know she'd done her research on old-timey poisons — there's an entire list of ingredients and goddamn instructions in the back of the book, for cripes' sake. It honestly got a bit tedious.
Plotwise, the entire 1791 storyline relies on mind-blowing negligence. Nella's shop is disguised as a storage room, with a secret method of placing orders without the customer seeing her — but when they come to pick up the order, she greets them face to face and brings them back into the secret area of the shop anyway, so what was the point? Her insistence on writing down her customers' names — and crimes — as a means of preserving their existence for posterity, in a book she can never share with anyone else, is utterly pointless and careless. She couldn't at least have created a code to disguise what they were buying? Come the fuck on. And why on earth would you send out poisons in branded packaging? Literally none of this story would have happened if Nella had a single ounce of common sense; as it is, it's entirely unbelievable that she's lasted this long.
In the modern timeline, the description of Caroline's forays into research are distractingly facile. A vague, two-word search of the library catalog immediately brings her an obscure document that is key to solving the mystery. Later, a single search in a newspaper database (spanning hundreds of years and publications) for a not-terribly-unique name immediately brings up an article (as the first hit, even!) talking about the exact person she's seeking and going into extremely convenient and credulity-breaking detail about the exact things she wants to know. Every step in her quest is marked by extraordinary leaps of logic and coincidences, leading to her
Spoiler
locating the apothecary's shop, untouched, hidden behind a single, flimsy, unlocked door, which apparently, despite the area having been extensively built up in the meantime, nobody had bothered to open for over 200 yearsIn fact, nearly everything in the modern timeline suffered from a significant case of that's-not-how-things-work-itis. Caroline becomes BFFs with Gaynor, a library employee, after meeting her in a professional capacity exactly twice. She assumes that Gaynor, a history buff, will be horrified that she
Spoiler
found a phenomenally unlikely historical site and...took some pictures of it?Spoiler
apply for a master's program in a foreign country, and then does so literally overnight — no tracking down 10-year-old transcripts, no scrounging for letters of recommendation, no discussion of admissions interviews or visas, just — does the author think applying for grad school is like filling out a one-page application to work at Wendy's?Spoiler
sharing the detail that it was Eliza who jumped off the bridge, not the apothecary, would "catapult [her] dissertation work to the front page of academic journals". Setting aside, for the moment, the fact that she's doing her degree in literature, not history — no one knows this story to begin with. The newly discovered historical site in the middle of London would likely make a splash, but that specific detail is not a twist to anyone in the world of the book; this is an incident that merited two small articles in a short-lived periodical over two centuries ago, in which neither woman was mentioned by name. No one else knows the story at all, so finding out one woman jumped instead of the other wouldn't subvert expectations; it's just how they would learn the story.The subplot with Caroline's ex was likewise awful. It starts out okay, if very clichéd, with the discovery of his infidelity and her reflecting about the dreams she'd set aside in favor of their relationship. Then he follows her to London without permission — whoa buddy, red flag there — but we're focusing on Caroline's conflicted feelings; okay, this could still be interesting. Then, James is
Spoiler
accidentally poisoned and Caroline has some serious inner turmoil. She genuinely cares about him, but doesn't want to be married to him anymore; he seems remorseful and is giving her space, but him being decent doesn't automatically mean they should stay together. It looks like there is some compelling emotional conflict to work through — until it turns out he INTENTIONALLY POISONED HIMSELF to manipulate her into staying with him. Because NUANCE IS DEAD. We can't have two flawed people bumping up against each other's conflicting needs and mutually working out the best way forward; no, one of them must be an unmitigated villain, else how will we be sure Caroline is making the right decision in leaving him?And that brings me to my final point, which is the pervasive attitude of misandry that seems to be bubbling under the surface for most of the book. As a feminist and a lesbian, I can certainly understand frustration with men as a group and chafing under a monstrously unfair patriarchal system, but Nella's vow to poison unfaithful men out of vengeance for her own betrayal at the hands of a man isn't systemic critique; it's individualized hatred. The only male character who isn't a clear antagonist is Tom, and he appears in one short scene and has maybe half a dozen lines of dialogue; literally every other named man in the book is an adulterer, abuser, or some combination of the two. We're clearly supposed to see Nella's refusal to harm women specifically as noble, but it feels like this was only set in the past so the author could have an excuse to create a sympathetic man-hating serial killer. Even when Nella briefly reflects on the mistakes she's made, she doesn't seem to regret pursuing gendered vengeance for its own sake, but rather because it seems negative consequences are finally imminent. And the book further undercuts this regret by having it just be a brief narration of her thoughts, compared to the copious loving descriptions elsewhere of the various poisons and their methods and Nella's work manufacturing and dispensing them. In some places, it felt a bit like hanging out at some reactionary stereotype of a feminist book club, where every discussion about female empowerment somehow devolves into just bashing men and high-fiving each other. It felt very radfemmy, and not in a good way.
So long story short, I did not enjoy this book. It had so many elements I was prepared to love, but they were betrayed by poor writing, lazy characterization, and an unexpected streak of misandry.