apologies to the author because i started speed-reading after two-thirds of this book. the urgency was far too palpable that it always felt as if i cannot read fast enough. i just needed to know what happened.

the beginning of THE MERCIES was a bit of a slow start, but that's a personal issue rather than a stylistic one. i'm not too keen on the nomenclature since i don't read a lot of nordic literature so it took a bit of slow-reading for my brain to get accustomed to it. but once i did, it was easy cruising.

for the most part, what kept me reading was the love story within it, between Maren and Ursa. i love how understated the love and the longing was. the prose of this book took advantage of my hyper-active imagination. but what clung to me is the futility of my rage over the witch trials (if one can even call them that, when the implication of a trial is that it's fair, and we all know how witch trials are). anything that comes close to religious mania and persecution of the unknown by the aforementioned cowards never fails to rile me up. godly? what's so godly about forced confessions and fear of the unknown? morons, all of them.

and really, i don't care that i'm being "unfair" for judging how stupid these witch hunters are. how cowardly. how weak. how i look at them from my modern lens. why should i care, when they never would have allowed a measure of empathy to the witches they burned?

my favourite part of this book has to be the sheer drop of that ending. i don't like long denouements, as everyone at this point knows. it was such a succinct and clear ending that i don't even begrudge the sorrow it left me with. which is okay. let me have my rage, my fury, and my sadness over this book. it's infinitely better than being emotionally-complacent even for those who are long gone.