Cleopatra and Frankenstein – Coco Mellors
(5/5)
Unapologetically written and terribly investing, the storyline follows different perspectives of the people whose lives have changed after the whirlwind marriage of Cleo and Frank. Somehow both a heartbreaking and fulfilling novel of highs and lows with raw honesty, with deeply well-written characters, is done so realistically. It’s just a blunt, vulnerable life piece with two broken people finding one another, undoubtedly affecting everyone around them. The title alone makes it seem like a kiddish story, but I was completely wrong! It’s written incredibly truthfully and sincerely without being kitsch, because it addresses real-world problems reflected by the characters in the story.
The book follows Cleo, a 24-year-old British painter trying to carve out a place for herself in New York City. Just as her student visa is about to expire, she meets Frank, a self-made success 20 years older, who offers her the stability she’s been craving – along with a green card marriage to keep her in the country. So what begins as a spur-of-the-moment decision to get some security spirals into something much messier than either of them would have anticipated.
Cleo is the kind of character you’ll both root for and despise. She’s an artist, outspoken, and charismatic, yet beneath the surface, she’s deeply insecure and emotionally raw. She feels everything intensely, and this desperation to be loved drives many of her questionable choices. She’s messy and morally grey – but that’s what makes her feel so real.
Frank is just as messy but in a different way. He’s successful, but he’s also battling addiction, emotional isolation, and a deep fear of change. I liked him and hated him in equal measure: Frank makes himself look strong and controlled, but as the book unfolds, you realise he’s unraveling just as much as Cleo. His inability to admit he needs to change makes him frustrating, but also, oddly, understandable.
The reason I loved this book so much is that it doesn’t follow a traditional plot arc. The novel’s all about the mess of people’s lives, their relationships, their growth (or lack thereof), and the ways they try to figure things out – which is why I loved it so much. You see the characters’ flaws, but you’re drawn to them anyway. And whilst they’re not perfect, they’re real. It’s a hard balance to strike, as I often find myself wanting stories to have clear resolutions, but this book is a lot about navigating the uncertainty of life. Cleo and Frank both come with a lot of baggage – they make mistakes, they hurt each other, but they’re searching for something. I empathised with them even if I didn’t agree with their choices. Also, the way the book switches between different characters is done well without becoming cluttered or confusing. Humor and vulnerability are balanced perfectly as the characters struggle and thrive in their relationships in a way that hits me in the gut. Coco Mellors really gives voice to the complexities of relationships, especially once the initial excitement of meeting a person fades and you’re left with the gritty reality of who people are – and then struggle to find what makes us truly happy. Cleopatra and Frankenstein is undoubtedly one of my favorite books of all time – quick-witted, tragically funny, and inhalable.
Blue sisters – Coco Mellors (again)
(4.5/5)
Coco Mellor’s second book is a very close runner-up to her debut above, and is an incredibly honest and raw novel with believable characters with an even more believable storyline about four sisters, all completely different and continuously at each other’s throats. They’re affected by the death of the youngest sister and their struggle to come to terms with this sets the tone of the whole book. We meet the characters one year after Nicky’s death and it feels frustrating to watch them make mistakes, push each other away, then become close again and struggle with their addictions. But because of the way Mellor crafts the storyline, we get a closer look at people and how they treat their grief, despite it not being linear as that’s not how remorse feels like in reality.
I love this book considering how it portrays the ups and downs of family dynamics, as each chapter shows their multiple points of view and we get something that’s often overlooked in many novels but incredibly important; the element of perspective. This style is easier said than done, but every single character is so well written; from eldest daughter Avery, who’s a straightened-out lawyer in London battling with sobriety every day, to second to oldest Bonnie whose life revolves around boxing and the craving of pain that comes with it, to the youngest, Lucky, who said the words I need a drink one hundred and thirty two times so far this year, and lastly, Nicky, our beloved fourth sister, who had nothing in her life portending her death, except the fact that she was in pain. All remaining sisters are marked morally grey and lost, as they are forced to reconcile sooner than each wants to – setting the tone for the story.
In a twisted sort of way, it’s like the novel Little Women, but more realistic and gut-wrenching. Coco Mellors uses their grief as the plot line, and all of the complex topics in the book are handled with incredible grace and deliberately. Despite never having a sister, family dynamics, in this book, picked up so many of my feelings and subconscious family dynamics on paper. I love how well the book expresses the impact of heartbreak and the struggles women face in the 21st century. I love how the characters highlighted the ways people manipulate the ones they love most and the irony of self-sabotage and the simple push of having someone believe in you. And I love how Coco wrote the end the way she did.
It’s just the sort of story worth reading when being human feels like the loneliest thing in the world. It’s the kind of thing that reminds us life is complex, and people are multitudes. This book isn’t for everyone – there’s a lot of brutal human emotion, anguish, and frankness. But that’s what the whole damn book is about: the savage relentlessness of grief and loss and the inexplicable ferocity by which we can self-destruct. Myself, people I know, people I’m close to – they’re all reflected in each character. You can’t put this book down. Savor it.
