Review of Tenderly, I Am Devoured by Anwen Clipstone
From the moment I first saw Anwen Clipstone’s Tenderly, I Am Devoured, I knew I had to dive in. A lush, monstrous romantasy set in a misty coastal village? Count me in! I have a soft spot for gothic tales that transport me into otherworldly realms, and this book promised to be just that. Spoiler alert: it mostly delivered, but not without some bumps along the way. Grab your blankets, dear readers, and let’s wade into this salt-soaked, flower-threaded horror show together!
At its heart, this book is a haunting swirl of beauty and yearning that left me blinking at reality like I had just emerged from a gothic painting. Clipstone’s world-building is vivid and intoxicating; I could almost taste the sea spray as I meandered through the coastal village. The atmospheric writing had me rooting for this cursed place filled with chthonic gods and all sorts of ritualistic oddities. Crumbling manors, mist-draped shores, and an enigmatic swan god? Yes, please!
Lacrimosa (or Lark, as I affectionately call her) is a leading lady with a tender soul, much more inclined towards introspection than impulsive heroics. She grapples with betrayal and family loyalty, her journey from broken to brave felt relatable and stirring. Her interconnected relationships with the brooding Alastair and the nurturing Camille Felimath brought another layer of depth to the narrative. Alastair, our tortured romantic hero, is swoon-worthy with his edgy demeanor and relentless devotion. And then there’s Camille, who felt like the warm hug we all need in life; I could almost envision curling up with a steaming cup of tea by her side. The polyamorous dynamic, refreshing in its authenticity, was something to cheer for. I found myself wishing I could join their lovely trio—who wouldn’t want to be part of such an enchanting connection?
However, it wasn’t all mist and swans. The pacing felt sluggish in the beginning—like waiting for molasses to pour out of the jar. The first 60% tested my patience; I found myself checking my phone more than I’d like to admit. When the action finally picked up, I was hooked, yet that slow start loomed over my enjoyment like a storm cloud. Also, while the prose had a dreamy quality, I felt that Clipstone’s tendency to use floral metaphors became somewhat repetitive. By the third “petal-strewn” description, I was half-wondering if I should start a tally. The lore surrounding our chthonic gods, while fascinating, felt a bit skimpy, leaving me yearning for deeper explorations. Therion, the swan god, is undeniably cool, but I wanted to dive into why he held such significance, not just for the dramatic flair of it all.
In the end, Tenderly, I Am Devoured is a dark, dreamy treat for fans of gothic romance laced with folk horror. While it grapples with pacing issues and a few overused phrases, it has heart, soul, and enough yearning to make you clutch your chest. I’ll undoubtedly be swooning over Lark, Alastair, and Camille for a while longer, and if you’re a lover of complex relationships and atmospheric storytelling, this one is definitely worth your time.
So, who should read this? If you’re enchanted by gothic tales that delve into love’s complexities, Tenderly, I Am Devoured may just steal your heart. This tale swept me away into a captivating world—and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the ride, despite its occasional halts. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to process my feelings about this book. Until next time, my fellow readers!