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This was an enjoyable read. The writing is unadorned but cinematic, often reminding me of the kind of directions a screenwriter, film director, or DP would give. Many scenes felt like planned shots meant to evoke a specific mood or emotional beat. As an actor, that was a lovely treat — I could see the framing as clearly as if it were on a screen.
Clytemnestra herself is the heart of the novel, and she is rendered with a care and complexity that makes her arc deeply satisfying to follow as the years go by. The brutality she endures is never sensationalized. Some books make me feel like I’m experiencing events alongside the character in real time; others make me feel like a witness to a secret as it unfolds. Clytemnestra was the latter for me — and given how heavy and horrible some of the events are, I’m grateful for that distance. I don’t think I could have read through it otherwise unless I was mentally prepared.
Where the book fell short for me was in the development of the supporting characters. The emotional groundwork for Electra’s future actions didn’t land as strongly as I hoped. Her devotion to Agamemnon and resentment toward Clytemnestra felt underdeveloped, so I struggled to fully buy into the heartbreak that fuels her later choices, especially knowing where the original mythology leads.
Still, the novel’s strengths outweigh my quibbles. The story builds well, and the atmosphere is fierce, moody, and intriguing. It’s a compelling retelling with a vivid sense of place and a protagonist often portrayed as nothing more than cruel, yet rendered here with a complexity that made her impossible not to root for.
4.25 ⭐
