To four girls who have nothing, their friendship is everything: they are each other’s confidants, teachers, and family. The girls are all named “Guinevere”―Vere, Gwen, Ginny, and Win―and it is the surprise of finding another Guinevere in their midst that first brings them together. They come to The Sisters of the Supreme Adoration convent by different paths, delivered by their families, each with her own complicated, heartbreaking story that she safeguards; however, the girls are more than the sum of their parts and together they form the all powerful and confident “The Guineveres,” bound by the extraordinary coincidence of their names and girded against the indignities of their plain, sequestered lives. Author Sarah Domet explores their almighty friendship as the desperate teens concoct a plan to escape from the isolated abbey (From Goodreads)
I rate this book a 3 out of 5 stars.
This review is tough one to write. I thought the book was good. However, I did not enjoy the book as a whole. I enjoyed the Guinevere’s revival stories, I enjoyed the stories of the Saints, and I enjoyed the few and far between glimpses into the girls futures. The pages in between, (See what I did there?) I was not a fan of. I found myself skimming them, just so I could get to the next chapter, with something more substantial to hold my interest.
The bones were there, the writing is good and I enjoyed reading about the Catholic religion, and their beliefs. But it just was missing something. The ending fell flat for me. In my opinion, the author seemed to have been going for a plot twist, what happened was an awkward, very unrealistic ending. That for me, took away from the whole book. I want to emphasize what I mean, but I cannot think of a way to discuss it, without ruining it for potential readers.
I buddy read this with a new friend, Readvoraciously nothing like a book to help build a friendship right?
Thank you to Booksparks for sending me this book to read and review, and give my honest opinion of! #popupblogtour
The heart is funny that way: When it keeps on loving, and loving, and loving what isn’t there, it becomes attached to the notion that love is the wait itself, the emptiness of it. By Sarah Domet