I went into this not really knowing what to expect, but it surprised me in the best way. What stood out immediately was the writing style — it’s sharp but restrained, almost quiet in how much it lets sit between the lines. The kind of prose that makes you slow down, reread sentences, underline half a page and then stare at the ceiling for a second.
Medea herself is written in such a raw, human way. She’s angry, hurt, clever, exhausted, and constantly aware of how little space the world gives her. You really feel her isolation and the pressure building around her, and I loved that the story doesn’t try to soften or excuse her emotions. She’s allowed to be complicated, and that’s where the power of this retelling lies.
The feminist perspective is handled really well. It never feels like a lecture — it’s just embedded in every interaction, every choice, every consequence. You notice it in the silences, in what’s expected of her, and in what she’s punished for. That made the story feel heavy in a way that’s intentional and effective.
Atmosphere-wise, the book is tense and intimate, almost claustrophobic at times. There’s this constant sense of unease, like something is always about to tip over. I could really picture the spaces, the looks, the moments where everything feels loaded even when nothing is being said.
It’s not a full 5⭐️ for me — some parts felt a little slower, and I occasionally wanted just a bit more room to breathe — but overall this was a strong 4.5⭐️. The writing and Medea’s voice are what really stayed with me, and I know this is one of those books I’ll keep thinking about long after finishing it.
A really compelling feminist retelling that trusts its reader and isn’t afraid to sit in the uncomfortable parts.
Medea herself is written in such a raw, human way. She’s angry, hurt, clever, exhausted, and constantly aware of how little space the world gives her. You really feel her isolation and the pressure building around her, and I loved that the story doesn’t try to soften or excuse her emotions. She’s allowed to be complicated, and that’s where the power of this retelling lies.
The feminist perspective is handled really well. It never feels like a lecture — it’s just embedded in every interaction, every choice, every consequence. You notice it in the silences, in what’s expected of her, and in what she’s punished for. That made the story feel heavy in a way that’s intentional and effective.
Atmosphere-wise, the book is tense and intimate, almost claustrophobic at times. There’s this constant sense of unease, like something is always about to tip over. I could really picture the spaces, the looks, the moments where everything feels loaded even when nothing is being said.
It’s not a full 5⭐️ for me — some parts felt a little slower, and I occasionally wanted just a bit more room to breathe — but overall this was a strong 4.5⭐️. The writing and Medea’s voice are what really stayed with me, and I know this is one of those books I’ll keep thinking about long after finishing it.
A really compelling feminist retelling that trusts its reader and isn’t afraid to sit in the uncomfortable parts.