*I received this book from the publisher Little, Brown and Company in exchange for an honest review.
Two sisters sit, side by side, in the backseat of an old car. Amity and Sorrow.
Their hands are hot and close together. A strip of white fabric loops between them, tying them together, wrist to wrist.
…in the car, there was only driving and darkness, the watching of their mother, the roads behind them and the sound of her sister, sobbing, as home stretched away from them, mile after mile.
Amaranth leaves home in desperation, driving without ceasing to leave behind the polygamous cult in which she has conceived and raised her daughters. Neither Amity nor Sorrow has ever known the world outside the compound, but Amaranth has torn the girls from their home after reaching devastating clarity about its ills. A car crash ends their flight, and Bradley, a struggling farmer, comes to their aid.
Amity is, much as her name implies, open to meeting new people, excited about this adventure and only intermittently worried about breaking the rules of her father and spiritual leader. Sorrow, on the other hand, is bereft. Her fierce love of her father and her place within the cult as the Oracle has been ripped from her by a mother who seems not to understand her grief. Amaranth, though, isn’t neglectful of her daughters but simply guilt ridden and horrified by the life she led within the compound.
One of 50 wives, Amaranth looks back on her life before Zachariah, the group’s leader. She recalls the moment she realizes that one, two, three wives will not be enough for him. But she also remembers the love she felt for her sister wives, women who became her strength and her solace. Wrapped up in her own thoughts and her own desire for safety – which she suspects she may be able to find in Bradley – she isn’t cognizant of the girls’ confusion.
Told from both Amaranth and Amity’s perspective, Amity & Sorrow is a strange book. The time period is even difficult to pin down because of the rural locale and the ignorance of the girls. Sorrow is by far the least sympathetic character, but that’s partially because her story is never explored. While that narrative choice makes sense in terms of her zeal for the compound (perhaps making her narrative a bit off kilter), it also restricted her characterization, so that she appeared insane, less a character than a symbol or victim. She becomes, instead, the sacrificial lamb, the deluded child-woman unable to make her own decisions or see beyond the cult.
The book is disturbing in its implications; however, the distance created by the isolation of the characters and their disconnectedness from one another made for odd but enthralling reading.
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