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Girl, Serpent, Thorn by Melissa Bashardoust | ARC Review

Cover of Girl, Serpent, Thorn (Melissa Bashardoust)

Girl, Serpent, Thorn by Melissa Bashardoust, read by Nikki Massoud


AUDIOBOOK REVIEW

Content warnings: kidnap, torture, murder

This is a breathtaking and artful retelling of Persian mythology and fairy tales. From the beginning of story, I fell in love with Bashardoust’s writing and Massoud’s narration.

Yeki bood, yeki nabood. There was, and there was not a cursed, poisonous girl named Soraya (18, bi+). She was the young shah’s twin sister, but kept away from everyone because of her venomous veins, deadly upon touch. When the shah captured a div—parik Parvaneh, Soraya knew she owed herself to seek answers of her own curse from the prizoner. And then there was Azad, a young man who understood her, giving Soraya the unconditional acceptance and love she craved the most, despite her poison. As she learned that the only way to undo her curse was to put her family’s lives at risk, would Soraya exchange their safety—a family who were ashamed of her monstrous quality—for her own human self, or keep herself tucked away for the rest of eternity?

Girl, Serpent, Thorn is a story about three outcasts of their own respective families. Soraya, Parvaneh, and Azad are all haunted by their past, their present, and each other. Each of them a monster in their own way, they are all very conflicted characters who embody good and evil simultaneously.

Every single scene in the story was carefully illustrated and meticulously planned. The references within the book as well as to existing Persian stories weaved Girl, Serpent, Thorn into one of the most beautiful tapestries of a book. There were reveals I did not see coming; there were surprises I knew were inevitable.

Apart from the prologue, the story was told exclusively in Soraya’s third-person limited point of view. With the many deceptions and omissions of truths, we jump as Soraya is caught off guard and are anxious as she anticipates the worst. In the first half of the story, we never really know where anyone’s loyalties lie nor who is trustworthy, who is not. We continue to question the truth as each character has their own warped version of it, each believing in their own righteousness. It is as easy to love the villain as it is the protagonist. With Soraya, Parvaneh, and Azad all carrying regrets and suffering from the consequences of their own past actions, they are all so human and monstrous at the same time, making them entirely relatable with their layered complexities. They form a twisted love triangle due to their bond—they easily find themselves in one another. In a way, they complete each other so fittingly and dangerously.

[Soraya] wished for sleep, for a temporary reprieve from thought and memory, but instead, she spent the time sinking into a kind of waking nightmare, too awake to find peace, but too exhausted in every possible way to pull herself out of it.

There was a lot of miscommunication in the plot, yet strangely enough, it never seems contrived nor angsty, only understandable and believable. Withholding information is not an act of stubbornness, but misguided protection, intent deception, wavering trust, and fear of losing love. Miscommunication is the root of all chaos in the story. Soraya, Parvaneh, and Azad seek forgiveness, love, and acceptance from each other, and that in turn means asking for self-forgiveness, self-love, and self-acceptance.

All three of them are persecutors, victims, and rescuers at different times. This is Karpman Triangle demonstration at its finest. I love how the protagonist is sometimes evil and hurtful and that the antagonist is sometimes empathetic and helpful in their own way. The story also sends a wonderful final message of no longer blaming oneself for the actions and inactions related to another’s manipulation, and being proud of who one truly is. Everyone is the hero of their own story.

A very important aspect in Girl, Serpent, Thorn is the idea and action of touch. Since Soraya’s touch is deadly, she cannot experience skin-to-skin contact without consequences—the immediate death of the other party. Touch is an impossible luxury to Soraya, and I find the craving for contact an added layer to her yearnings for proximity, acceptance, and love.

“Be angry for yourself.”

Parisa

Bashardoust vividly describes scenes, emotions, and thoughts through similes. Her words are precise, beautifully haunting, and hauntingly beautiful. I also find the poison and other traits associated with the divs an allegory for being queer. The non-acceptance of Soraya, Parveneh, and Azad’s own families is a parallel to the stories of many homeless LGBTQ+ youths. There are a lot of hidden rhetoric questions within the story. How do you forgive others and yourself when damage is done? What is freedom when the price is the people you love? As a language geek, I also love that the author’s note provide more information and further resources on Persian mythology, fairy tales, and languages.

Massoud’s narration made the whole reading experience perfect. Her breathing is on point, accent and voice for each character clear and distinctive; her own voice is calming and almost hypnotizing. I love that Soraya’s voice always sounds a little scared, Parveneh’s sing-songy, and Azad’s calm and gentle. As a book with borrowed Persian words, the audiobook also provides great pronunciation references in addition to more noticeable rhyming and alliterations that are occasionally present.

Girl, Serpent, Thorn has rocked me in a wonderful way. It is incredibly beautiful, well-written with precise imageries and similes, and has strong plots in both the literal and figurative sense. Adding the audiobook performance, the story is perfect. This book depicts the complexities of being an individual, and what it means to trust, love, and forgive. [25 Sep 2020]

I received an audiobook review copy from Macmillan Young Listeners via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

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