Our Wives Under the Sea

Left too much work for the reader. Sometimes I feel mystery is relied on to seem clever when sometimes it works in lieu of actually being bold enough to commit to stand for something. Kind of felt like the first of the new Dune films where it's setting up the story and the protein - except this doesn't have any follow up. There's so much possibility in ocean sci fi. Reading In Ascension by Martin Macinnes, which covers similar ground but gives so much imaginative yet believable detail.

This novel made me feel so much and yet I can't really say what emotions. It was beautifully written and not in such a confusing way as many short novels always seem to start. I was very invested in the story and the characters were all very interesting.  It was as much about grief and loss as it was about love. 

I honestly don't know how to feel, perhaps because I can't easily fit a theme or a point to the story as I usually would. It's as if the point was just to make me feel. 

First of all, yes, this is a singularly strange book: Miri's beloved wife Leah has finally returned from a deep-sea exploration gone wrong, and she seems to slowly but surely be turning into some kind of ocean creature. The story alternates between Miri's and Leah's perspectives, but we never hear from Leah once she surfaces - we only learn, in bits and pieces that jigsaw-puzzle together around holes never quite filled in, what might have happened in that dark and crushing pressure at the bottom of the sea.

If pushed to describe it, I'd say imagine vestiges of the plot from Dr. Franklin's Island (Ann Halam), with the stunned disbelief - articulated in the most hauntingly beautiful ways - of finding oneself in a completely new reality from Station Eleven (Emily St. John Mandel), with amassing undertones of the amorphous dread so compellingly conveyed in Leave the World Behind (Rumaan Alam).

While the plot is extraordinary in every sense of the word, the story manages to be deeply, heartbreakingly relatable. Ambiguous loss - the specific type of grief you feel when the person you love still exists, in a sense, but isn't the same - is universal, and this eerie and beautiful book is fundamentally about it.

I loved this book and believe it will be one of the most-discussed, most-acclaimed of 2022.

I think this book is beautifully written. The pace is good, and I'm glad we got both the main characters point of views. However, I do wish that we learn more about the center. The ending felt abrupt and we never find out who was calling, which seemed like it was becoming a bigger thread towards the end only to stop.

3,5 ☆
I was briefly thinking about giving this four stars because the last few pages genuinely brought tears to my eyes with their sadness and beauty.
This whole book is beautiful, really. The way it is written, it feels almost like a 230-page poem.
Though I have to say, this book isn't what I expected. It is very ambiguous in its plot, in what is going on, in what happened to Leah both at the bottom of the sea and once she resurfaced.
By the end you have even more questions than at the beginning.
And at first I wasn't sure if I liked that, but the more it's sitting with me, the more I appreciate this story for what it is.
It is, at the same time, horror and a queer love story.
I got insanely invested in Miri and Leah together, from Miri's reminiscing on their first dates, the early stages of their relationship, how she managed to find joy in intimacy through a patient, loving partner (honestly, felt). I wanted nothing more than for them to be happy. Which made the horror of this book all the more heartbreaking.
There's body horror of course, but the main focus I think is on the horror of the Unknown, on the things the mind cannot or refuses to comprehend, and even more so the horror of loss and grief. Not only originating from someone's death, but also from losing someone in a different way. The horror of someone you love irreparably changing, being different from what they used to be, not just physically but as a person, yearning for the old them because now you don't recognize them anymore, and the incredible loneliness that derives from that. The horror of having to work through all that to finally find peace and let them go, to be able to continue on with your life.
I feel like this book is going to stay with me for a while, that I will keep thinking back to it and the things it's trying to say.

Profoundly weird and quietly engaging. Elements strongly reminded me of Annihilation but mixed with much more humanity, love, and care as we hear Miri reflect on her love for Leah, chronicling their relationship throughout her chapters. Armfield’s story wormed its way through my imagination as she explores love, grief, and horror.

If I wasn't reading it for the r/fantasy bingo I would have DNFed this book halfway through. I just wanted more from it. This book is solely focused on a theme of grief and I personally struggle if there isn't at least one of the plot or character as a main focus. 
If that is something you are into, check it out.

I was quite dull and didn't realize Leah was turning into a Hadal creature until the Hadal Zone ;v; The imagery was quite nerve-wracking as Leah's body was adapting to the Hadal zone underwater. I for sure what not expecting such adaptation to the human body in such way when going into this book.

I thought the writing was beautiful, the idea of change, death, and having to ultimately let go of something/someone was prominent.

Now I'll be dreaming about big eyeballs and scary Hadal/transparent sea creatures with those big sharp white teeth, good bye