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Élucia is bored. She’s bored of her confinement in her childhood home, of the same routine – day in, day out. She has only two friends, a porcelain doll named Auden and a giant, ancient oak tree that she has bestowed the name of Amani – meaning ‘peace’ in Swahili. Her father, though loves her dearly, is distant, caught up in his own grief for Élucia’s mother, Lumia, who passed away from a fever. She can never leave her home nor the perfectly manicured garden, which is perpetually sunny and is perpetually surrounded by an impenetrable mist.
As we follow Élucia’s strange, lonely existence, we begin to learn that all is not quite as it seems. While at first, she seems to be a precocious, slightly spoilt young girl, we quickly learn that she’s not. She’s battling her own grief and guilt over her mother’s death – believing that she is in part to blame for the tragedy. She’d fallen from one of Amani’s branches, causing Lumia to rush out to tend to her, despite the fever which was wreaking havoc on her body. Her father’s distance isn’t something he’s engendered; it is not because he blames his daughter for his wife’s passing. He adores Élucia, doting on her, loving her with his entire heart and soul.
There’s a mystery in this book, which is written beautifully and with a charming, slightly haunting air. It’s almost ethereal in it’s telling. You feel a shiver of something that’s not quite fear, yet is slightly spooky. The best way I can explain the feeling is that shiver you get when you hear a snippet of music from a choir; the chorus swelling and floating on the air. It’s from a long way-away, barely reaching your ears. It’s slightly eerie, but beautiful at the same time.
S. A.
This book was reviewed as part of the Reedsy Discovery program. Read the original review here,
You can buy Élucia’s Garden by clicking the name of the book. It is also available to read for free via Kindle Unlimited.
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