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If We Were Villains: A Novel Kindle Edition
“Much like Donna Tartt’s The Secret History, M. L. Rio’s sparkling debut is a richly layered story of love, friendship, and obsession...will keep you riveted through its final, electrifying moments.”
—Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney, New York Times bestselling author of The Nest
"Nerdily (and winningly) in love with Shakespeare…Readable, smart.”
—New York Times Book Review
On the day Oliver Marks is released from jail, the man who put him there is waiting at the door. Detective Colborne wants to know the truth, and after ten years, Oliver is finally ready to tell it.
A decade ago: Oliver is one of seven young Shakespearean actors at Dellecher Classical Conservatory, a place of keen ambition and fierce competition. In this secluded world of firelight and leather-bound books, Oliver and his friends play the same roles onstage and off: hero, villain, tyrant, temptress, ingénue, extras.
But in their fourth and final year, good-natured rivalries turn ugly, and on opening night real violence invades the students’ world of make-believe. In the morning, the fourth-years find themselves facing their very own tragedy, and their greatest acting challenge yet: convincing the police, each other, and themselves that they are innocent.
If We Were Villains was named one of Bustle's Best Thriller Novels of the Year, and Mystery Scene says, "A well-written and gripping ode to the stage...A fascinating, unorthodox take on rivalry, friendship, and truth."
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherFlatiron Books
- Publication dateApril 11, 2017
- File size1837 KB
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Editorial Reviews
Review
"Nerdily (and winningly) in love with Shakespeare...Readable, smart.”
―New York Times Book Review
"Pulls the reader in from the first page...A well-written and gripping ode to the stage...A fascinating, unorthodox take on rivalry, friendship, and truth, IF WE WERE VILLAINS will draw readers in and leave them pondering the weight of our biggest actions and their consequences."
―Mystery Scene
"Echoing such college-set novels as Donna Tartt’s The Secret History and mixing in enough Shakespearean theater to qualify readers for the stage, Rio’s debut mystery is an engrossing ride…Rio crafts an intricate story about friendship, love, and betrayal. Recommended for readers who enjoy literary fiction by authors such as Tartt or Emily St. John Mandel.”
―Library Journal, starred review
“Bloody, melodramatic, suspenseful debut… This novel about obsession at the conservatory will thoroughly obsess you.”
―Kirkus, starred review
"This is a rare and extraordinary novel: a vivid rendering of the closed world of a conservatory education, a tender and harrowing exploration of friendship, and a genuinely breathtaking literary thriller. I can’t recommend this book highly enough, and can’t wait to read what M. L. Rio writes next."
―Emily St. John Mandel, New York Times bestselling author of Station Eleven
“Much like Donna Tartt’s The Secret History, M. L. Rio’s sparkling debut is a richly layered story of love, friendship, and obsession. Both comic and tragic, this novel asks what people are willing to sacrifice in the name of ambition. Expertly plotted, beautifully written, If We Were Villains will keep you riveted through its final, electrifying moments.”
―Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney, New York Times bestselling author of The Nest
“If We Were Villains is a whip-smart, chilling tale of a group of Shakespeare students who are, as the Bard put it, "a little more than kin, and less than kind" ― especially after one of their own meets a horrific fate. Full of friendship, betrayal, and passionate devotion, this is a page-turning literary thriller whose final, shocking twist you won't soon forget.”
―Miranda Beverly-Whittemore, New York Times bestselling author of Bittersweet and June
“A tale worthy of the Bard himself…ending in one final, astonishing twist. Recommended for readers with refined literary tastes, and those looking for ‘something like’ Donna Tartt.”
―Booklist
“Intriguing…a solid mystery that keeps the pages turning.”
―Publishers Weekly
About the Author
M. L. Rio has worked in bookstores and theatres for years, and is currently pursuing her MA in Shakespeare Studies at King’s College London. If We Were Villains is her debut novel.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
If We Were Villains
By M. L. RioFlatiron Books
Copyright © 2017 M. L. RioAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-09528-2
CHAPTER 1
SCENE 1
The time: September 1997, my fourth and final year at Dellecher Classical Conservatory. The place: Broadwater, Illinois, a small town of almost no consequence. It had been a warm autumn so far.
Enter the players. There were seven of us then, seven bright young things with wide precious futures ahead of us, though we saw no farther than the books in front of our faces. We were always surrounded by books and words and poetry, all the fierce passions of the world bound in leather and vellum. (I blame this in part for what happened.) The Castle library was an airy octagonal room, walled with bookshelves, crowded with sumptuous old furniture, and kept drowsily warm by a monumental fireplace that burned almost constantly, regardless of the temperature outside. The clock on the mantel struck twelve, and we stirred, one by one, like seven statues coming to life.
"'Tis now dead midnight," Richard said. He sat in the largest armchair like it was a throne, long legs outstretched, feet propped up on the grate. Three years of playing kings and conquerors had taught him to sit that way in every chair, onstage or off-. "And by eight o'clock tomorrow we must be made immortal." He closed his book with a snap.
Meredith, curled like a cat on one end of the sofa (while I sprawled like a dog on the other), toyed with one strand of her long auburn hair as she asked, "Where are you going?"
Richard: "Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed —"
Filippa: "Spare us."
Richard: "Early morning and all that."
Alexander: "He says, as if he's concerned."
Wren, sitting cross-legged on a cushion by the hearth and oblivious to the others' bickering, said, "Have you all picked your pieces? I can't decide."
Me: "What about Isabella? Your Isabella's excellent."
Meredith: "Measure's a comedy, you fool. We're auditioning for Caesar."
"I don't know why we bother auditioning at all." Alexander — slumped over the table, wallowing in the darkness at the back of the room — reached for the bottle of Scotch at his elbow. He refilled his glass, took one huge gulp, and grimaced at the rest of us. "I could cast the whole bastarding thing right now."
"How?" I asked. "I never know where I'll end up."
"That's because they always cast you last," Richard said, "as whatever happens to be left over."
"Tsk-tsk," Meredith said. "Are we Richard tonight or are we Dick?"
"Ignore him, Oliver," James said. He sat by himself in the farthest corner, loath to look up from his notebook. He had always been the most serious student in our year, which (probably) explained why he was also the best actor and (certainly) why no one resented him for it.
"There." Alexander had unfolded a wad of ten-dollar bills from his pocket and was counting them out on the table. "That's fifty dollars."
"For what?" Meredith said. "You want a lap dance?"
"Why, are you practicing for after graduation?"
"Bite me."
"Ask nicely."
"Fifty dollars for what?" I said, keen to interrupt. Meredith and Alexander had by far the foulest mouths among the seven of us, and took a perverse kind of pride in out-cussing each other. If we let them, they'd go at it all night.
Alexander tapped the stack of tens with one long finger. "I bet fifty dollars I can call the cast list right now and not be wrong."
Five of us exchanged curious glances; Wren was still frowning into the fireplace.
"All right, let's hear it," Filippa said, with a wan little sigh, as though her curiosity had gotten the better of her.
Alexander pushed his unruly black curls back from his face and said, "Well, obviously Richard will be Caesar."
"Because we all secretly want to kill him?" James asked.
Richard arched one dark eyebrow. "Et tu, Bruté?"
"Sic semper tyrannis," James said, and drew the tip of his pen across his throat like a dagger. Thus always to tyrants.
Alexander gestured from one of them to the other. "Exactly," he said. "James will be Brutus because he's always the good guy, and I'll be Cassius because I'm always the bad guy. Richard and Wren can't be married because that would be gross, so she'll be Portia, Meredith will be Calpurnia, and Pip, you'll end up in drag again."
Filippa, more difficult to cast than Meredith (the femme fatale) or Wren (the ingénue), was obliged to cross-dress whenever we ran out of good female parts — a common occurrence in the Shakespearean theatre. "Kill me," she said.
"Wait," I said, effectively proving Richard's hypothesis that I was a permanent leftover in the casting process, "where does that leave me?"
Alexander studied me with narrowed eyes, running his tongue across his teeth. "Probably as Octavius," he decided. "They won't make you Antony — no offense, but you're just not conspicuous enough. It'll be that insufferable third-year, what's his name?"
Filippa: "Richard the Second?"
Richard: "Hilarious. No, Colin Hyland."
"Spectacular." I looked down at the text of Pericles I was scanning, for what felt like the hundredth time. Only half as talented as any of the rest of them, I seemed doomed to always play supporting roles in someone else's story. Far too many times I had asked myself whether art was imitating life or if it was the other way around.
Alexander: "Fifty bucks, on that exact casting. Any takers?"
Meredith: "No."
Alexander: "Why not?"
Filippa: "Because that's precisely what'll happen."
Richard chuckled and climbed out of his chair. "One can only hope." He started toward the door and leaned over to pinch James's cheek on his way out. "Goodnight, sweet prince —"
James smacked Richard's hand away with his notebook, then made a show of disappearing behind it again. Meredith echoed Richard's laugh and said, "Thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy!"
"A plague o' both your houses," James muttered.
Meredith stretched — with a small, suggestive groan — and pushed herself off the couch.
"Coming to bed?" Richard asked.
"Yes. Alexander's made all this work seem rather pointless." She left her books scattered on the low table in front of the fire, her empty wineglass with them, a crescent of lipstick clinging to the rim. "Goodnight," she said, to the room at large. "Godspeed." They disappeared down the hall together.
I rubbed my eyes, which were beginning to burn from the effort of reading for hours on end. Wren tossed her book backward over her head, and I started as it landed beside me on the couch.
Wren: "To hell with it."
Alexander: "That's the spirit."
Wren: "I'll just do Isabella."
Filippa: "Just go to bed."
Wren stood slowly, blinking the vestigial light of the fire out of her eyes. "I'll probably lie awake all night reciting lines," she said.
"Want to come out for a smoke?" Alexander had finished his whiskey (again) and was rolling a spliff on the table. "Might help you relax."
"No, thank you," she said, drifting out into the hall. "Goodnight."
"Suit yourself." Alexander pushed his chair back, spliff poking out of one corner of his mouth. "Oliver?"
"If I help you smoke that I'll wake up with no voice tomorrow."
"Pip?"
She nudged her glasses up into her hair and coughed softly, testing her throat. "God, you're a terrible influence," she said. "Fine."
He nodded, already halfway out of the room, hands buried deep in his pockets. I watched them go, a little jealously, then slumped down against the arm of the couch. I struggled to focus on my text, which was so aggressively annotated that it was barely legible anymore.
PERICLES: Antioch, farewell! for wisdom sees those men Blush not in actions blacker than the night Will 'schew no course to keep them from the light. One sin, I know, another doth provoke; Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke.
I murmured the last two lines under my breath. I knew them by heart, had known them for months, but the fear that I would forget a word or phrase halfway through my audition gnawed at me anyway. I glanced across the room at James and said, "Do you ever wonder if Shakespeare knew these speeches half as well as we do?" He withdrew from whatever verse he was reading, looked up, and said, "Constantly."
I cracked a smile, vindicated just enough. "Well, I give up. I'm not actually getting anything done."
He checked his watch. "No, I don't think I am either."
I heaved myself off the sofa and followed James up the spiral stairs to the bedroom we shared — which was directly over the library, the highest of three rooms in a little stone column commonly referred to as the Tower. It had once been used only as an attic, but the cobwebs and clutter had been cleared away to make room for more students in the late seventies. Twenty years later it housed James and me, two beds with blue Dellecher bedspreads, two monstrous old wardrobes, and a pair of mismatched bookshelves too ugly for the library.
"Do you think it'll fall out how Alexander says?" I asked.
James pulled his shirt off, mussing his hair in the process. "If you ask me, it's too predictable."
"When have they ever surprised us?"
"Frederick surprises me all the time," he said. "But Gwendolyn will have the final say, she always does."
"If it were up to her, Richard would play all of the men and half the women."
"Which would leave Meredith playing the other half." He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. "When do you read tomorrow?"
"Right after Richard. Filippa's after me."
"And I'm after her. God, I feel bad for her."
"Yeah," I said. "It's a wonder she hasn't dropped out."
James frowned thoughtfully as he wriggled out of his jeans. "Well, she's a bit more resilient than the rest of us. Maybe that's why Gwendolyn torments her."
"Just because she can take it?" I said, discarding my own clothes in a pile on the floor. "That's cruel."
He shrugged. "That's Gwendolyn."
"If I had my way, I'd turn it all upside down," I said. "Make Alexander Caesar and have Richard play Cassius instead."
He folded his comforter back and asked, "Am I still Brutus?"
"No." I tossed a sock at him. "You're Antony. For once I get to be the lead."
"Your time will come to be the tragic hero. Just wait for spring."
I glanced up from the drawer I was pawing through. "Has Frederick been telling you secrets again?"
He lay down and folded his hands behind his head. "He may have mentioned Troilus and Cressida. He has this fantastic idea to do it as a battle of the sexes. All the Trojans men, all the Greeks women."
"That's insane."
"Why? That play is as much about sex as it is about war," he said. "Gwendolyn will want Richard to be Hector, of course, but that makes you Troilus."
"Why on earth wouldn't you be Troilus?" He shifted, arched his back. "I may have mentioned that I'd like to have a little more variety on my résumé."
I stared at him, unsure if I should be insulted.
"Don't look at me like that," he said, a low note of reproach in his voice. "He agreed we all need to break out of our boxes. I'm tired of playing fools in love like Troilus, and I'm sure you're tired of always playing the sidekick."
I flopped on my bed on my back. "Yeah, you're probably right." For a moment I let my thoughts wander, and then I breathed out a laugh.
"Something funny?" James asked, as he reached over to turn out the light.
"You'll have to be Cressida," I told him. "You're the only one of us pretty enough."
We lay there laughing in the dark until we dropped off to sleep, and slept deeply, with no way of knowing that the curtain was about to rise on a drama of our own invention.
CHAPTER 2SCENE 2
Dellecher Classical Conservatory occupied twenty or so acres of land on the eastern edge of Broadwater, and the borders of the two so often overlapped that it was difficult to tell where campus ended and town began. The first-years were housed in a cluster of brick buildings in town, while the second- and third-years were crowded together at the Hall, and the handful of fourth-years were tucked away in odd isolated corners of campus or left to fend for themselves. We, the fourth-year theatre students, lived on the far side of the lake in what was whimsically called the Castle (not really a castle, but a small stone building that happened to have one turret, originally the groundskeepers' quarters).
Dellecher Hall, a sprawling red brick mansion, looked down a steep hill to the dark flat water of the lake. Dormitories and the ballroom were on the fourth and fifth floors, classrooms and offices on the second and third, while the ground floor was divided into refectory, music hall, library, and conservatory. A chapel jutted off the west end of the building, and sometime in the 1960s, the Archibald Dellecher Fine Arts Building (generally referred to as the FAB, for more than one reason) was erected on the east side of the Hall, a small courtyard and honeycomb of corbeled walkways wedged between them. The FAB was home to the Archibald Dellecher Theatre and the rehearsal hall and, ergo, was where we spent most of our time. At eight in the morning on the first day of classes, it was exceptionally quiet.
Richard and I walked from the Castle together, though I wasn't due to audition for another half hour.
"How do you feel?" he asked, as we climbed the steep hill to the lawn.
"Nervous, like I always am." The number of auditions under my belt didn't matter; the anxiety never really left me.
"No need to be," he said. "You're never as dreadful as you think you are. Just don't shift your weight too much. You're most interesting when you stand still."
I frowned at him. "How do you mean?"
"I mean when you forget you're onstage and forget to be nervous. You really listen to other actors, really hear the words like it's the first time you've heard them. It's wonderful to work with and marvelous to watch." He shook his head at the look of consternation on my face. "I shouldn't have told you. Don't get self-conscious." He clapped one huge hand on my shoulder, and I was so distracted I pitched forward, my fingertips brushing the dewy grass. Richard's booming laugh echoed in the morning air, and he grabbed my arm to help me find my balance. "See?" he said. "Keep your feet planted and you'll be fine."
"You suck," I said, but with a grudging smirk. (Richard had that effect on people.)
As soon as we reached the FAB, he gave me another cheery smack on the back and disappeared into the rehearsal hall. I paced back and forth along the crossover, puzzling over what he had said and repeating Pericles to myself like I was saying a string of Hail Marys.
Our first semester auditions determined which parts we would play in our fall production. That year, Julius Caesar. Tragedies and histories were reserved for the fourth-years, while the third-years were relegated to romance and comedy and all the bit parts were played by the second-years. First-years were left to work backstage, slog through general education, and wonder what the hell they'd gotten themselves into. (Each year, students whose performance was deemed unsatisfactory were cut from the program — often as many as half. To survive until fourth year was proof of either talent or dumb luck. In my case, the latter.) Class photos from the past fifty years hung in two neat rows along the wall in the crossover. Ours was the last and certainly the sexiest, a publicity photo from the previous year's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. We looked younger.
It was Frederick's idea to do Midsummer as a pajama party. James and I (Lysander and Demetrius, respectively) wore striped boxers and white undershirts and stood glaring at each other, with Wren (Hermia, in a short pink nightgown) trapped between us. Filippa stood on my left in Helena's longer blue nightdress, clutching the pillow she and Wren had walloped each other with in Act III. In the middle of the photo, Alexander and Meredith were wrapped around each other like a pair of snakes — he a sinister and seductive Oberon in slinky silk bathrobe, she a voluptuous Titania in revealing black lace. But Richard was the most arresting, standing among the other rude mechanicals in clownish flannel pajamas, enormous donkey ears protruding from his thick black hair. His Nick Bottom was aggressive, unpredictable, and totally deranged. He terrorized the fairies, tormented the other players, scared the hell out of the audience, and — as always — stole the show.
(Continues...)Excerpted from If We Were Villains by M. L. Rio. Copyright © 2017 M. L. Rio. Excerpted by permission of Flatiron Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Product details
- ASIN : B01LX8L8SH
- Publisher : Flatiron Books (April 11, 2017)
- Publication date : April 11, 2017
- Language : English
- File size : 1837 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 370 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #7,478 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- Customer Reviews:
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About the author
M. L. Rio is an author, but before she was an author she was an actor, and before she was an actor she was just a word nerd whose best friends were books. She holds an MA in Shakespeare Studies from King's College London and Shakespeare's Globe and a PhD in early modern English literature from the University of Maryland, College Park. Her first novel, IF WE WERE VILLAINS, was published in April 2017 by Flatiron Books and has since become an international bestseller.
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I will say that at first glance this book probably only appeals to a particular type of person. Seven students immersed in a performing art college, they live and breathe the plays of Shakespeare in hopes of surviving til graduation and truly making it as thespians. Having attended a performing arts school myself (although not for acting), I was initially drawn to this concept which to me is like a trip down memory lane, but I can say that, like many I'm sure, I initially hesitated at the idea that I would have to again try my hand at comprehending Shakespeare. And truthfully by the end of the story, while I can't say that I understand Shakespeare better, I can say that Rio breathed new life into the centuries old plays, and that the addition of the Shakespearian quotes throughout the novel (at least those that I understood), added greatly to the expression of the characters feelings. It was through these quotes that I could truly feel that the heartache and passions of all seven students.
I was also nervous about Rio's decision to follow the lives of seven characters. That is a lot of main characters to follow and I find that a lot of times when authors decide to split the book amongst so many people, characters are either half developed or some are pushed to the side in an effort to develop a few. Somehow Rio manages to succeed in her first novel where others have failed. Richard, Meredith, Alexander, Oliver, James, Filippa, and Wren are all unique in both personalities and personas. At first I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep them apart, but shortly into the book I could clearly delineate them from one another.
Impressive as it is that Rio manages to give us seven uniquely complete characters, the true feat is in their interactions with each other. As much as one is reading to figure out the who's and what's of the murder, I was even more interested in learning how the interactions between the seven lead to the deadly consequences. How their ever changing relationships slowly crumbled and who was left to pick up the resulting pieces. Each character was so intimately bound to the others, Richard to Meredith, James to Oliver, and it dissolves from there. Their relationships were fascinating and nerve wracking. I felt intimately acquainted with every struggle and feeling, with the building and fracturing of their lives and livelihood. I wanted to yell out at Oliver to stop, I wanted to give James a hug. I wanted someone to help Alexander. I wanted Meredith to be understood and Filippa to be acknowledged. I wanted so much for everyone and then I wanted even more.
I never thought it would be possible to write action into a passive story. Rio's performances are written as strong and intense as some of the grittiest fight scenes. She builds tension like the best of them. I've never been so nervous as to the ending of a play in my entire life. And each one had me sitting on the edge of my seat for more than one reason. I think it's a testament to her writing ability that scenes, which can be stripped down to their bare bones as recitations of Shakespearean prose, can be so exciting.
I am so happy that I decided to give this book a go. I hope that anyone who is looking to try out something different will give it a try. I'll definitely be keeping my eye on Rio for any future novels.
As a Girard fan, I couldn’t believe someone wrote something so clearly exemplary of mimetic desire in such a twisted way. So gorgeous.
Favorite book I have ever read.
As a Girard fan, I couldn’t believe someone wrote something so clearly exemplary of mimetic desire in such a twisted way. So gorgeous.
Favorite book I have ever read.
This debut novel by M.L. Rio is not bad overall, but it isn't what I would consider great or compelling. By now it has been compared to that stunning novel "The Secret History" by Donna Tartt too many times, and while the comparison is fair on the points of pretentious students dedicated to a literary subject to the point of obsession who also commit murderous crimes, this book falls flat in many ways where "The Secret History" shines.
"If We Were Villains" often felt murky at times. The murder still seems a bit excessive, and that plot point was not well developed. I understand that the person murdered became a violent hassle to deal with, but the reasoning behind why he became a violent hassle did not seem believable, making the whole novel feel lacking of a significant motive. Nor did it seem like the group was ever one "big family" with him included. It was a lot more telling than showing when it came to the characters' involvement with each other. This, to me, is where I simply could not get into the grove of the book. It is readable, for the most part (I will get to my love and contentions with the use of Shakespeare later), but even with its readability, the feelings of annoyance would settle in, and I began reading just to finish it. As someone who believes the best part of of any literary work is the journey, not the end, I was not happy that this book started to feel like a chore. The chore aspect of the novel was not that it is a challenging read, because I wouldn't classify it as such, but that the characters and the story began to be a bore given that the end is a bit predictable and the characters are extremely unlikable.
The use of Shakespeare, that began to feel dominating, throughout the book could be exhausting for some. I actually enjoyed it, mostly, seeing that Shakespeare wrote about seemingly every aspect of humanity and his words are always poignant. The quotes were always fitting, but my enjoyment was more admiration for The Bard than the actual plot device. I must say that Rio is clearly versed in Shakespeare, and that is an exceptional thing in and of itself, but the constant use of Shakespeare did begin to feel gimmicky after a while. It is a very esoteric group of literati who go around quoting Shakespeare in everyday conversation, and while the idea of humans that pretentious does delight me, having to read interjections of Shakespeare in what felt like every other paragraph got to be a little grating. "Brevity is the soul of wit."
Overall, the book does a fine job of story-telling, though it is not always enjoyable or interesting. I give it three stars because it isn't so awful that I have to throw it across the room, and Rio can write (much better than this reviewer), and I give a point for it being Shakespearean. I would recommend it to people who just have to read something similar to "The Secret History", but I do think there will be a level of disappointment with the recommendation. Naturally, I am going to suggest just picking up "The Secret History" over "If We Were Villains" if someone is looking for an academic mystery (rather mystery set in an academic setting) filled with pretentious but erudite students. I think all of us who have read both books can, without any hesitancy, say that Tartt does a much better job of developing the characters, plot, and atmosphere. But I honestly don't think it is far to compare Rio's writing with Tartt's, even if the basis of both debut novels are similar.
"If We Were Villains" is a book that had enough hype surrounding it to read it, but it is not worth a re-read.
Top reviews from other countries
Uma coisa que notei foi que veio com uma capa de papel mesmo, bem fácil de rasgar e estragar. Pelo valor imaginei que viria uma capa com uma qualidade melhor...
Mas no geral veio certinho, bem embalado e rápido!
the writing? exceptional. the plot? phenomenal. tears shed? most definitely. i recommend reading this book even if your knowledge of shakespeare is limited. it’s the type of book that leaves you staring at the wall for hours.
“do you blame shakespeare for any of it?”
“i blame him for all of it”
Reviewed in Spain on November 19, 2022