Kelli: Happy New Year! I’m allowed to say that, right?
Emily: I say ‘til the end of February. Let people ease into 2023. Haven’t we earned that?
Kelli: We may be a little late, but better late than never, and we are finally ready to discuss Briefly, A Delicious Life by Nell Stevens. I picked this book because we love queer ghost stories here, and I’m also a fan of queer historical fiction (girls kissing but it’s not ALLOWED? Sign me up). This one also sparked my interest in that it’s actually from the perspective of the ghost, which is something we don’t get all that often. Ghost stories are scary because ghosts are unknown, and with that element removed, a ghost story turns into something melancholic rather than horrifying.
How did you feel about the way this book approached ghosts?
Emily: While a story told from a ghost’s perspective is unique, this isn’t the first time we’ve ever seen this in the history of stories. A ghost’s perspective usually means the story is going to focus on memory, of the passing of time, of regret, and this book is dealing with all of those subjects. One thing this story did that I feel like I haven’t seen/read before is the way the ghost narrator is able to enter other people’s minds and feel what they’re feeling. I found that interesting.
For the record, I kind of feel weird calling the ghost “Blanca.” Through flashbacks, we learn that this is the ghost’s name but it sort of feels like this was her name while she was alive and that that name doesn’t really describe her anymore? Blanca is the 14 year-old girl who died in a Carthusian monastery on the island of Mallorca in 1473. The ghost has experienced and seen so many things since then.
What did you think about the ghost?
Kelli: I agree that the most interesting thing going on with this ghost was her ability to enter the minds and bodies of other people. It was a convenient narrative device, as she was able to tell us about the characters and their pasts (and futures) without having been present for them herself, but it also makes sense when you consider what we know about ghosts. Possession as a concept exists, and if you can enter someone’s body, why not their memories and their feelings?
You make an interesting point about whether or not we can really consider the ghost “Blanca.” It’s true that the ghost has seen a lot of things, especially since she can experience things through possession and memory. But she also still thinks of herself as Blanca, of the last living woman in her bloodline as her family, and it seems like part of the reason she’s still here—if it’s true that ghosts have unfinished business—is because of the way she died.
We get flashbacks to that story throughout the novel, a chronological retelling of the events that led to her death (she died in childbirth). I know you are not a fan of childbirth stories so I can assume you didn’t love that detail, but did you enjoy this part of the novel in general? I was initially expecting it to go to a more sinister place, but it was more sad than anything.
Emily: Honestly, it was the part of the story I connected with the most. Plot-wise, this is the part of the story that moved the most. A lot of the rest of the story was a bit too contemplative for me. Even though we knew how this part of the story would end, the journey there had a lot of emotional drive and I found myself looking forward to these sections. Maybe it’s because as a ghost, Blanca exists out of time, but this part has a more linear timeline? I really don’t know. Because you’re right. I hate birth, but you know, at least it was depicted as the horror it is and not as something beautiful. The description at the end where Blanca essentially deflates after giving birth to her baby? Scarring.
Okay that was a long ramble. But yes, it was sad. Also, men are the worst.
Kelli: Another fun thing about this novel is that it’s focused on actual historical figures—in particular, the author George Sand. Were you familiar with George Sand or her work? I have to admit that I’d heard her name before and knew she was an author, but had fully assumed she was a man.
Emily: Yeah, I knew George Sand was a woman, but I have to say I’m not extremely familiar with her work. I know that sounds blasphemous considering I have a PhD in English, but here’s something y’all should know. We don’t focus a lot on world literature in the PhD program. If it wasn’t American or British, we didn’t get to read much about it unless we took a specialty class. And yeah, I just never went down the French literature rabbit hole. Honestly, I’m probably more familiar with Frédéric Chopin.
Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin de Francueil, AKA George Sand, historic gay
Kelli: Yeah, same. I mean, not about the PhD, I definitely don’t have that. But I have heard some Chopin in my time. I was pretty unfamiliar with the details of his life, though, so this book gave me more context for both George and Frédéric.
George is queer, and so is the ghost, which is pretty much the reason I picked this book, so let’s talk about that. Through the ghost’s ability to enter George’s mind, we learn that George had an affair with actress Marie Dorval. I’m not going to lie: I was hoping for a bit more detail on that. As for our ghost, she admits that she never had feelings for women while she was alive and that her fascination with them developed over time after her death. This detail felt really on point to me, as a person who did not really realize I was queer until later in my life. I was boy-crazy enough at 14 that I figured I was definitely straight, and it took years of introspection for me to really acknowledge and begin to explore my bisexuality. I love the idea that even ghosts get to have queer awakenings. I’ve talked to so many people who feel like they have to qualify their feelings with the fact that they haven’t had the physical experiences to validate them, but like, take it from the ghost of a 14-year-old girl… feelings are proof enough.
Emily: I agree! I loved that part at the beginning of the book where she talks about how she realized her feelings for women after her death. And she’s right. Women are fucking cool and fascinating. And if I were dead, I’d much prefer to watch women than men (who are boring). Have I mentioned men are the worst? That’s a theme in this novel.
Kelli: When we talked before, you mentioned that you felt like sometimes there was nothing happening in this book, and… you’re not wrong, lol. Elaborate?
Emily: Well, yeah, so… like I mentioned earlier, there was a lot of introspection and a lot of the ghost looking forward at what would happen and back at what had happened. So with all of that, not a whole lot was going on in the present timeline. I know you didn’t mind because of the writing, but I found myself kinda bored and tired of it about halfway through the book.
Kelli: Yeah, it’s interesting because while I was reading it I felt like it was moving and I wasn’t bored, but now that I’ve finished and it’s been a few weeks I’m sort of at a loss for what to talk about because, like you said, not much was happening on a plot level. We’re following the family as they live in this monastery and try/fail to assimilate into the town. George’s kids are figuring out who they are and what they care about, Chopin is battling tuberculosis, and George is trying to write, trying to ward off suicidal ideation, trying to carve out happiness and meaning for herself while also taking care of everyone and everything in the classic ‘I can do it all’ role that a woman often takes on in a family unit. And of course it falls apart because that’s too much for one person, but also because this town is not particularly hospitable to foreigners, especially not when they’re eccentric (see also: queer).
So much of this is internal to each character, though, and internal to our ghost, and there are only a couple of big ‘events’ that happen in the present (George and Maurice nearly drown in a carriage during a storm; Chopin’s piano arrives; George goes to the market and essentially steals a squid; etc). It’s not really easy to have a conversation about and it sort of works for you or it doesn’t, I think. So yeah, it worked for me, but I think that this book will stick with me in the way I felt reading it and less in its actual contents, if that makes sense.
Emily: It does. For me, it sort of only worked a little, which makes it even harder to talk about. The writing was nice, and if that’s enough for you, then this book will really work for you. But I also need a story. I know. Blasphemy. But I actually enjoy stories.
Kelli: One thing I do want to call out is how much I adore the way Stevens writes about music. I talk a lot about art within novels and how important it is, if we’re supposed to believe that something is brilliant, for the thing to actually seem brilliant. Granted, Chopin was a real person and his music has stood the test of time for a reason, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to write about the way something sounds and express how beautiful it is without simply saying “the music was beautiful.”
There are examples of Stevens’ mastery of this throughout the novel, but my favorite is a section from pages 200-201, which I’m going to type out here, because when I read it I could hear the music in my head without having heard it in real life and it kind of knocked the wind out of me. Not to be dramatic or anything.
“Chopin began to play. It was something he had begun working on in previous days: a dappled sunlit opening, a break in the clouds, a tentative ray touching the horizon. But the A-flat was running through it now, at first barely noticeable beneath the right hand’s melody, and then louder, increasingly insistent. It became the saddest sound I had ever heard: perhaps you are happy, the music said, and the A-flat said, but what about this—this—this—this—”
Stevens goes on to describe how this song, this sound, must have been Chopin’s way of expressing how it felt to be trapped in a body that would fail him, and the whole thing is great but I’m not going to put the whole thing here. Suffice to say, if you like to read about music, you might really like this book.
Emily: This is kind of how I feel about food writing, so I get it. I love when books describe food and make it sound delicious. Sue me, I also like food. But yes, I totally agree with you that it’s really difficult to write about things like art, music, and even food well. Like, sure you can describe these things. But can you describe it in a way that makes me feel what the people in the book are feeling? This book does a great job of that.
Kelli: I guess we should go ahead and rate this now! I gave this four stars. I’m glad I read it, and it’s definitely the sort of book that I enjoy because I don’t mind books where nothing happens as long as the inner life of the characters is rich enough. That said, it’s a hard one to discuss and one I definitely wouldn’t recommend to everyone—and the ending, while not bad, didn’t quite stick the landing for me.
Emily: I gave this a three, mostly because I was bored and I’m just not impressed by “good” writing that much. Insert Shania Twain gif here.
are you happy
But I did enjoy Blanca’s story and appreciated following her journey. If I was just reading this for myself and wasn’t reading this for a blog, I might have just skipped to the chapters about Blanca. I know. I’m a terrible person. I don’t care. It’s 2023, and I don’t have time to be bored.
Kelli: What’s next?
Emily: For something entirely different, for the next book we’ll be reading House of Hunger by Alexis Henderson. I enjoyed Year of the Witching, and I’ve heard House of Hunger is even better and that it’s sapphic AF. I really hope it is because we want more lesbians in this book club. Ok? Thanks. Anyway, see you soon for that book.