But we can’t forget what’s come before and Day lets it hang over the novel’s final moments like a creeping shadow. At first, it feels like a deflation: a grand opera culminating in a needle scratch. Loose ends are tied and problematic characters exiled. Day opts for a third act that is more grounded, even conciliatory. The dilemma with such novels, however, is that once you’ve raised the pitch that high, once all bets are off and narrators have shown their inevitable unreliability, how do you bring it home in a satisfying way?. And the spiraling energy at the center of the novel captures the way fertility struggles can serve as a tripwire, upturning everything else in one’s life. The near-constant fever pitch of the narrative matches how it feels to be suffering through pregnancy anxiety, fears of romantic betrayal, in-law strife, body horror. It’s not about how things are but how they feel - and the deeper truths that can be mined within that feeling. We watch Marisa, Jake and Kate make choices that strain credibility or at least consistency of character. And it’s the kind of twist that makes you re-evaluate everything you’ve read before. Early in Magpie, a twist comes that made me gasp out loud.
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