There are many beautifully crafted sentences in this book that I enjoyed. However, I thought the author was overly fond of similes. Here are a few examples – all within just a few pages of each other:
Then she frowned again and refocused on my face, her gaze circling like a compass needle unable to find true north.
The old woman…collapsed and lay on the threshold as motionless and crumpled as a pile of tossed laundry.
My thoughts slowed, as if they were slogging through hip-deep syrup.
She looked so shrunken and fragile in her rocking chair, like something plucked from its shell and slowly fossilizing.
It was like kissing a page in an ancient book, musty-smelling and dry.
The joviality slid from Locke’s face like clown paint washing away in the rain.
I felt suspended, like some unlucky prehistoric girl preserved forever in a glacier.
I felt like something recently taken apart, scrubbed clean, and reassembled, except nothing was quite where it used to be.
I have no objection to similes and metaphors, and Harrow created some really nice ones. For example, after January’s injury, when adrenaline was keeping her from feeling the effects, she wrote that the pain “waited politely at the edges of my vision, like a well-bred houseguest.” Good imagery!
Here’s another, from Yule Ian’s section: “Here my memories grow reeling and confused, blinking in and out like a bad bulb in a projector.” Perfect description (at least for those of us who still remember projectors)!
So it’s not that they were bad, it’s just that there were too many of them. At one point, I had to set the book aside because it became distracting: I was watching for the next simile instead of the next plot development. 