Through Mary’s fight for acclaim and acceptance in the scientific world, McGill does an excellent job of showing the trials of women in the 19th century, particularly for women as intelligent and outspoken as Mary. The men sure do try to keep her down. The tide begins to change, however, when Mary finds old documents belonging to her Uncle Victor. After reading them, she decides to follow in his footsteps, thereby devising a plan to create life. She and Henry, in time, construct a patchwork creature, made from pieces and parts of deceased animals; a creature that will ultimately drive the couple apart due to Mary’s love for it and Henry’s desire to exploit it. Who suddenly has an epiphany one day. Who decides to look into Victor Frankenstein's work and research and when she discovers... I was less enamoured of her husband (or any of the male characters aside from Mr. Jamsetjee who was such a sweetheart) though the realism and accuracy to the contemporary attitudes of the day were spot on and really highlighted how remarkably strong Mary (and others like her) had to be to persevere in such a harsh, discriminatory environment.

Besides previous scientific discoveries and paradigms, the story was also centred around the position of women in science, featuring Mary in an almost activist-y role. It was aggravating to see how her knowledge and intelligence was constantly undermined, ridiculed and shoved aside, and how her position became more and more vulnerable each day. It was maddening to see how men were favoured in high societies, just for gender reasons, and although I myself have not experienced this first-hand, I felt the rage in Mary’s narration, and it has been long since I lived through a fictional character so vicariously.Somehow, this book takes an enormous amount of elements (and three genres! This is a gothic victorian sci-fi!) and balances them perfectly. It's slow-moving, but deliciously so. Mary is a fabulously nuanced protagonist on a journey of grief, reflection, ambition and awakening, and the way McGill wrote her inner world had me scrambling for a highlighter. Maisie, Mary's sister-in-law and love interest is a really delightful character and, from my limited perspective, a refreshingly honest and sympathetic portrayal of someone who lives with chronic illness. Henry, Mary's husband, is one of the most frustrating characters I've come across in a while... but realistically so. I've met many a Henry and at no point did I question why Mary had been drawn to him in the first place, or why she's pulling away from him now. The pacing of this novel did the story a huge disservice. While I enjoy a well done atmospheric ‘vibes over plot’ storyline, I still require thematic contemplation to occupy my mind. Almost 60% of this book was dedicated to simple day-to-day recounting. Various scientific presentations, diner parties, conversations occur to hound in the fact that the 19th century was deeply misogynistic and racist. I did not need that many chapters to explain to me why exactly Mary was so angry. Nevertheless, the book is a superb debut. McGill sure has a sunny career ahead of them. I’m jealous of their talent. This is an eARC that I was able to read in exchange for my honest thoughts and review, with thanks to Random House Transworld Publishing and NetGalley.

A wonderfully rich, emotionally engaging tale with the flavour and appeal of a great 19th-century novel. Guardian With what we see of Mary’s childhood and isolated upbringing with her grandmother (a woman who seemed to despise Mary simply for existing) I couldn’t help but be endeared to her (and root for her to succeed.) But on the precipice of success, Mary begins to question the ethics and morality surrounding their creation and the love that she has developed for the creature. Compelling and utterly absorbing... an artfully crafted debut' SUSAN STOKES-CHAPMAN, author of PANDORAThe ending itself was fitting, although bitter-sweet. The tale concluded with a sour taste in my mouth, but I realized it couldn’t have ended any other way. Mary’s new friendship gave me hope, and especially since she had to fight so hard over it (not just the outside world, but also her inner insecurities after a past so traumatic and saddening) there was nobody more deserving of that friendship than Mary herself. I call this “friendship”, but who has read the book, knows there is much more than that; and I salute McGill for narrating this so delicately and beautifully. The only thing that Mary knows about her great uncle, Victor Frankenstein, is that he went missing in mysterious circumstances in the Arctic, other than that she knows nothing - well not yet anyway! The writing is lush and beautifully atmospheric, as intricately woven as the stitches that adorn the eponymous ‘creature’, which I felt definitely showcases the gothic/horror genre to perfection!

The novel's central character, Mary, is an aspiring scientist in the 1850s, a time of scientific breakthroughs, including the beginnings of the science of paleontology. She attends meetings of the Royal Society, but the male members (and only men can be members) treat her as an anomaly, an amusement, and an aggravation. To modify a line from Samuel Johnson, they find her scientific aspirations like a dog's walking on its hind legs: they are surprised to see Mary attempting it at all, and are incapable of seeing that she actually does it quite well. Mary is the great-niece of Victor Frankenstein. She knows her great uncle disappeared in mysterious circumstances in the Arctic but she doesn't know why or how... But the TLDR of this review is that I loved this book. I can already tell it's going to be one of my favourites for the year, and if this is what their debut novel looks like, then I cannot wait to see what C.E. McGill turns their mind to next. There are villains in this story, but no heroes; heroines instead take their place, in the form of Mary, and her poorly, gentle sister-in-law Maisie. This book takes a look at the society and politics of the time; of the disparities between class, gender and race, and refuses to make apologies for the way things once were; instead giving us characters who question and rebel at the time, though who understand the limits of such action.Then there is the question of a sapphic romance. To that, I say: where? If I were looking for it with a magnifying glass, I'd still miss it. I mean, sure, the two women (trying not to spoil things) got their happily ever after, but to call those few sentences spent on establishing their relationship a romance? No. Simply no.