Interesting - book swings back and forth between modern day AIDS patients and colonial period 'Swan Princes'

This book has been on my TBR since I joined goodreads, about 5 years ago. I wasn't sure if I would like it, if it would be too melodramatic or too overdone, but it was wonderful. Elias' and Eliza's stories overlap and are used well to make points about silence and fear. About finding families where you least expect them. Even about loving the people who are eventually going to kill you. I don't really remember the HCA fairy tale of The Wild Swans, but I like the Puritan witchcraft angle of this version. However, sadly, Elias' curse of AIDS is still all too familiar and real. I think the saddest line in the whole book is at the beginning of Chapter 18 "Surely, he thought hopefully, in a country with the best medical system in the world, the cure for AIDS would be found soon." I think that was the point I was most deeply lost in the book, because I found myself shaking my head and saying, you poor fool, 30 years after you were thinking this, they still haven't found a cure. Of course, the author (writing this 15 years ago) knew it was a hopeless thought, too, but to me, it was Elias making that statement.

I think what made this an enjoyable summer read was that it was part fairy tale. Even when I knew the characters were doomed, even when I could barely keep reading because I didn't want to experience the pain and loss that I knew was coming, I kept at it because in fairy tales, there is always hope.

Disturbing and compelling story, but the two parts didn't mesh as well as I'd have liked.

I floundered a little with the two storyline-structure at the beginning, but by the second half of the book the parallels became clearer and I found the transitions less jarring. I definitely found it an improvement over Kerr's debut; I'll keep an eye out for her next book, in hopes of that trend continuing.

Silence = Death

At first, I experienced a bit of disconnection in these two parallel stories: one, a re-telling of Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Wild Swans,” in which a devoted sister undergoes a terrible ordeal – about which she must remain silent – to free her brothers from an enchantment that turns them into swans by day, men by night; and a heart-wrenching coming-of-age story about a gay teen at the beginning of the AIDS epidemic. I found myself engrossed in Elias’s tale, which brought up memories of gay friends during that fearful time. The difference in my reading experience was partly due to my experience as a friend and ally, watching one after another of my friends become sick and die, remembering the atmosphere of fear and homophobia, the all-too-often rejection by families, and partly because in the Andersen tale, I knew what was going to happen. Since I was familiar with the story, I had no worries that Eliza, the sister, would prevail and that her brothers, once more restored to themselves, would rescue her from being executed as a witch. I didn’t know that not only would Elias’s lover, Sean, contract AIDS (and die), but that Elias himself would fall victim to the HIV virus. This journey, from Elias initially finding himself homeless after his family kicks him out for being gay, to meeting Sean and being welcomed into the gay and gay-friendly art and music community, to the evolving love story, engrossed me attention as it engaged my emotions.

For much of the book, I was puzzled as to the relationship between the two stories. There were a few obvious intersections, homophobia or rather hatred of homosexuality being one of them. It wasn’t until I closed the last chapter and mulled over the experience that I understood the deeper connection: Silence = Death. In order to break the spell, Eliza must cut, thresh, and weave nettles into shirts for her brothers, a long an excruciating process. I’ve brushed up against nettles, and the stinging is no joke (although to be fair, poison oak is worse). During that time, if she utters a single word, her brothers will remain swans forever. She cannot explain or defend herself, not even to save her own life.

HIV didn’t evolve because gay people hid who they were and whom they loved (for very good reason), but it flourished in an atmosphere of silence born out of fear. Eliza’s faithfulness arose out of love for her brothers, and the loyalty and solidarity of the LGBT+ community gave rise to movements like ACT UP that demanded action, and respect.

Part of the power of this story lies in the subtle resonances between fairy tale and contemporary tragedy. I say, “part,” because Elias speaks for himself. His story alone would have been an engrossing, heart-rending read. The juxtaposition of the Andersen story created a thoughtful, beautifully written pas de deux.

The usual disclaimer: I received a review copy of this book, but no one bribed me to say anything one way or the other about it.

This is one of those books that could only have emerged out of the 90s as it ran a re-telling of a fairy tale parallel with an exploration of homosexual identity and love during the advent of the AIDS epidemic. Such a strange juxtaposition and yet the interstices it creates are far greater than a fairy tale or a simple chronicle of how gay men moved as the AIDS epidemic bloomed.

The shame of 11 men whose bodies are taken captive by an evil spell each day at sunrise runs alongside the shame of a gay boy whose parents refuse to accept his sexual preferences. The speechless misunderstood sister is persecuted and condemned even as she works self-sacrificially to save her brothers. And those who help their dying friends are ostracized, they lose their jobs and they are condemned.

This was technically a reread, but given that it's been most of two decades since I actually read this, it was close enough to a new book to merit a review.

I love the prose, and the blending of fantasy and reality - it's not quite magical realism, as the stories stay separate, but the author manages to tie the two together beautifully. The portrayal of the gay community is a bit unsubtle and oversimplified, but I can forgive that given the storytelling and the allegories.

All in all, a favorite book that holds up over time.

One of those books its hard to say if I like or hate.

It was a good take on the fairytale, interspersing two separate timelines and storylines. I read and finished this book as part of a postal book club, and I never would have chosen it for myself.
This book is heavy on the Christian God. I am not a religious person. This did cause some tedious moments for me while reading, because while I can appreciate spirituality and a divine purpose, having one person life rest solely in the hands of a God was difficult for me to read through. I appreciate it as it is, though; in the seventeenth century, this was the most important way of life, and so I can forgive the constant reference.
All in all, the two stories were full of anguish and despair, but also showed how someone will willingly give up their own lives for those they love.

https://wordnerdy.blogspot.com/2023/0...

I really liked Emerald House Rising, so wanted to try this other book by Kerr, and I might have liked it even more? It’s a retelling of the fairy tale about the girl with the eleven cursed swan brothers, set in 1600s England, but it’s interwoven with the story of an eighteen year-old boy who's been kicked out of home for being gay, and eventually he finds a community and love. But…. it's New York in the early 80s and the AIDS crisis is looming. I was SOBBING BUCKETS. The modern storyline is a little more compelling, but I enjoyed the whole (my only complaint is also one I have with Shakespeare [lol]—why is it a happy ending for a woman to get back with a man who accused her of a horrible crime? But that’s how fairy talked and Shakespeare stories go, I guess). But anyway, subbing buckets. It does seem like Kerr only published these two novels and I think that’s a shame, they were both so good. A.

I much preferred the modern story of Elias to that of puritan New England Eliza.

Eliza's half of the story just fell a bit flat for me. I just didn't feel I knew her and the people around her as well as I should. The typical fairy tale ending at the end of her part feels forced because of it. I know I certainly wouldn't immediately forgive someone who came minutes from hanging me!

However, what Eliza's story was good at was drawing attention to the bits of Elias's story that were thematically important. While the stories were completely independent in plot (other than a few hints of reincarnation),the shared threads did link them together sufficiently.

Linking the stories reinforced the idea of hiding -living radically different and completely separate lives by night as you do by day, the idea of persecution by people not quite the same as you, and that of silence - a lack of talking that makes situations worse.

While it's not the best written book by any means, it brings up some thought provoking topics, and I found the modern half of the story very touching.

Overall, this book in its entirety didn't touch me.

However, the two stories, told in alternating chapters, did. I enjoyed reading both Eliza's story (based on Hans Christian Andersen's "The wild swans") from the 1600s and Elias' story from the 1980s. The story of the early days of the AIDS epidemic were particularly moving; I am of the age that I was in my 20s-30s during that decade and remember what a death sentence AIDS was to so many of our generation. I remember the fear many heterosexuals had of catching this disease, too. I also remember that families were being torn apart over not only the disease, but the fact that loved ones were coming out.

Thank goodness, I haven't had to face losing any friends or family to AIDS. I do know what it's like to have friends and family "come out" and I'm still amazed how some families can turn their backs on the very people they've loved for years. This book reminds us how hurtful that can be.

The ending of the book, however, doesn't feel right. Although the author attempts to pull the two stories together, there's too little explanation. Well, no explanation, actually. How can the people involved in both stories co-exist finally?

Ah, well, it may be I'm too dense. But I do think the book has something to offer; just don't expect a nice little wrap-up. The two individual stories ended well-enough; I just didn't like the combined ending.