"She murmured, We could always blame the stars. I beg your pardon, Doctor? That's what influenza means, she said. Influenza delle stelle—the influence of the stars. Medieval Italians thought the illness proved that the heavens were governing their fates, that people were quite literally star-crossed. I pictured that, the celestial bodies trying to fly us like upsidedown kites. Or perhaps just yanking on us for their obscure amusement.”
I had no idea what this was about when I started reading it, which was incidentally in the middle of the pandemic lockdown. Set in an influenza maternity ward during the Spanish flu, this tale combines two of my least favourite topics: gory childbirth and hospitals. The last few months I've spent more time visiting hospitals of different varieties then I'd ever care to. So reading this was hard going. That being said, it is fantastically written - I mean does Emma Donoghue ever disappoint? In my opinion, never!
This is a love story, a story of hardship and unprecedented times, much like we're experiencing today. The highs are so acutely felt, precisely because the surrounding circumstances are so dire.
Perhaps not the upbeat solution to trying times, but a fabulous read nonetheless.
5 out of 5 glimmers of hope amid despair shine all the brighter.
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