This… This is a lot like S&M. Because this hurts so goddamn much, I can barely comprehend it. Just this howling bleak ripping empty space. But I want more despite the pain. I enjoy it on a deep emotional level, on a primal one of need.
You are a cruel mistress, Nicola Griffith. I can’t sleep after that. I stayed up for love in the land of fjords, and now I’m staying awake for a slow, graceless, jaundiced death. And in the wake of it all, there isn’t even retribution. Necks are snapped, faces punched inside out, fires started. But it’s all so terse, colorless. Twigs atop a fire that could melt stone.
You are a masterful writer, someone who really understands life, love, and the way minds work. (Also wood. As a carpenter, that was pretty awesome). There’s never a moment where I stop, and can’t look, because I see the trainwreck coming. Never a time when I want to just drop the book and say “What gives? Why don’t you just make a logical choice instead of being such an asshole?” It all grows so slowly, in real time, with all the little seemingly pointless details that grow and blossom and thrive, both in intrigue and romance. No tropes, no shortcuts, no convenient details. It’s beautiful. And I love you for it. But right now I kind of hate you too. I have to drive for three straight hours today and I have an exam somewhere in there, maybe even a date. And all through it, there’s going to be this awful pit.
I hope you’re happy.
Ah. Sorry. But perhaps it will be some consolation to hear that there are two more Aud novels, in which her life improves. Gradually, it’s true (detail by detail), but still…
So now I warn readers: do not finish The Blue Place in a public place. Read it privately. And know that Aud’s story isn’t over (there’s Stay and Always). She does find the possibility of happiness. And of course she has those blazing moments of joy along the way.
And, actually, yes, I am happy. Not that you feel so gutted (again: sorry), but that I could take you on that rollercoaster ride, give you a taste of someone else’s life. I think that’s what fiction is for; for me, that’s the point. I’m glad to be able to do it.