Jessica Hallowell

Pages: 541

Published: 2020

Rating: 6/10

For me, this is one of those books that had so many interesting ideas that had so much potential, that somehow never fully realizes it. Before I get ahead of myself, here’s the blurb from the back of the book:

“France, 1714. A desperate woman makes a desperate deal in the dark—a bargain to live forever but be remembered by none.

So begins the invisible life of Addie LaRue, shadow muse to artists throughout history, forgotten friend, confidante and lover, slipping away with the morning light. Addie passes through lives, desperate only to leave a trace of herself. Until the day she walks back into a small bookshop in Manhattan and meets Henry, who remembers her.

After 300 yars Addie’s life is restarting, but the devil never plays fair. As Henry and Addie’s lives start to intertwine, they must face the consequences of the decisions they’ve made and the prices to be paid.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue is a dazzling adventure across centuries and continents, across history and art, about a young woman learning how far she will go to leave her mark on the world.”

As harsh as this is about to sound, I desperately wish the book was the “dazzling adventure” promised on the back. For one, the structure of the book only allows ‘snippets’ of the main character’s story to ever be seen at one time, almost as if Schwab wasn’t sure how to write long scenes (or longer chapters) with a character that would be instantly forgotten the moment someone left a room—which is how she designed Addie’s curse. Some chapters are only two pages, three pages—scenes are never given time to breathe, things are never delved into. It’s almost like watching television shows, the sort that have multiple character conflicts happening at once and the episode needs to keep updating the viewer on all said conflicts, so every 5-10 minutes the camera cuts to another conflict, then another, then another. Does that make sense? I wanted to savor some of these moments, like Addie luxuriating in a noblewoman’s room in 1700s Paris, eating her dark chocolate, lounging on her bed. But as all the past scenes relate to July 29th—the day she made her deal with the darkness—these scenes always inevitably end up about him/the darkness: either he comes and they have the same played out conversation, over and over, or he doesn’t come and Addie spends the night lamenting that he didn’t come. In the case of the scene mentioned, the darkness comes, puppets some servants, they eat dinner, and it ends. Somehow something that should be so interesting, mysterious, and otherworldly ends up being so bland.

My copy of the book is 541 pages, about 112,000-120,000 words according to a Google search, and yet it didn’t spend enough time exploring the main ideas of the work, such as how we, as people, can end up leaving unique impressions upon others, ultimately becoming part of their lives—either through their art, their personal growth, their experiences, etc.—well past the point we’re gone. Addie becomes a muse, seen throughout time in various mediums—what an idea! What a fun thing to explore. But the story never goes beyond the surface; surface emotions, surface moments, surface exploration. Don’t just give me a scene of Addie waking up in bed with her Italian lover from the night before sketching her (even though he doesn’t remember her); give me their time together! How did they meet? How did he charm Addie—or how was he charmed? Did they dine, did they wine, did they run through the piazza at night, under the glow of the moon, caught up in passion and youth as music spilled out from the open doors of a villa balcony? Come on! I want the magic, I want the set-up, I want these moments so I can see how inspiration blooms in the artist, how Addie’s personality, her wit, her beauty, her vivaciousness, her tenacity—whatever!—are so unique or interesting that people are being inspired by her, and what she represents, even when they can’t remember her. I mean the story has “the darkness” in it, a primeval deity, yet lacks magic in almost every other sense and that, I admit, bugs me.

The majority of the book takes place in two locations: New York City (present day) and France (between Villon-Sur-Sarthe, where Addie was born and from whence she fled for freedom, and Paris, across various years), so not exactly an adventure. Addie makes references to her time in other places—Italy, Austria, London—but it takes nearly 400 pages for one of these locations (Venice) to pop up. (The brief chapter with London doesn’t count because we don’t get any descriptions of it, any real indication she’s there save the snippet under the chapter number.) This repetition of location compounds upon the repetition of dialogue—between Addie and Luc/the darkness, between Addie and Henry, between Henry and his family—which, for me, was bland. Scenes have repetitive writing, too, things like “And then… And then… And then…” which can be found on page 229 of my copy, and “It’d be [insert number of years] before she realized…/before she knew…”, and there was also an interesting stretch of some 30 pages in which ‘palimpsest’ was used again and again and again. For me, it just didn’t make for an engaging, whimsical, artistic, creative read, which is what I expected after reading the back of the book and being initially drawn in by the deal Addie makes with the darkness. 

Part IV of this book, titled “The Man Who Stayed Dry in the Rain” (pages 277-360) takes place from Henry’s POV. On principle, I’m not against different POVs in books/stories, but it does seem to be a trend to insert at least one other POV into a book that often makes me think: Is this truly necessary? I’m not sure it is in this case as Henry’s POV didn’t add anything to the story (for me). What we get in this section is his story about making a deal with the darkness (truncated because it’s wedged into the middle of Addie’s story) and the relationship he has with his family. The problem is we get chapters of Henry’s POV before this and what we get in those chapters compared to what we get in this section are roughly the same; how he feels like a disappointment to his family, the poor connection between him and his siblings, how making the deal has turned him into a ‘golden boy’ in their eyes and everything is disingenuous. The only new bit in this section is his deal making, but as we already saw Addie making a deal some 200 pages earlier, we know how Luc/the darkness works, we know how he makes deals, and so this isn’t particularly different, either. I hate to say it, but so much of this book feels the same.

Unfortunately, I think there’s a big issue with the plot: Luc/the darkness makes deals for souls. Therefore, things work best for him when the person who has made the deal gives up or completes their deal, as he then acquires their soul. Unwisely (perhaps), he gives Addie immortality, and so he has to wait for her to basically say she’s done with living in order for him to get her soul. This becomes a common thing between them when they meet on the anniversary of the deal. Luc asks if she’s had enough, she stubbornly says no, and we repeat the cycle of this dialogue over and over. Come page 373, Luc’s temper flares in a big way; he makes Addie old, decrepit, unable to really move without aches and pains, essentially making life miserable. Makes sense—he wants her to throw in the towel, after all. Except by the end of this chapter/scene, he reverses this aged condition. The problem, of course, is why? If he wants Addie to give up, why did it take him so long to do this and why does he not let her suffer? Surely someone with immortality as an aged, pained version of themselves would give up long before the fresh-faced, 23 year-old version of Addie who made the deal. So why let her be young again? If the point is her surrender (which it is, because he asks every time they’ve met before this if she is ready to concede), what is stopping him from being cruel to get what he wants? If this scene didn’t exist, one could easily argue that making Addie old/older wasn’t within the realm of his control, but this shows us it is, so. It creates a problem. Also, notably, Luc comes to her rescue when she finds herself in bad situations, such as happens on page 389; she’s in prison, and he sets her free. Again—why? If the point is for Addie to give up, why save her from these dangerous moments that could result in her death, thus giving him exactly what he wants? 

Speaking of Luc, we often get moments where something happens with him—the scene where he hurts her/makes her old, the scene in which he reaps Beethoven’s soul (I’ll come back to this on a different point later), etc. —and we get a line like this: “It’s not the first time she’s seen him since the night he reaped Beethoven’s soul. But she still hasn’t forgotten what she saw. Nor has she forgotten that he wanted her to see it, to look at him, and know the truth of his power.” Here are my issues with these moments: 1) these lines always come directly after we get the scene, so even though Addie has “seen him since” such and such, we, the readers, have just seen that scene, so we have no indication how they interacted between then and the moment we’re in; how they reconcile, if they stay hostile, etc. And 2) these moments are meant to show Luc’s frightful powers and his cruelty except, as mentioned in the previous paragraph, he doesn’t actually go through with using his power on Addie like he should, considering his aims. Addie has these inner thoughts along the lines of “I’ve seen your real self and power now, you can’t scare me”, but this isn’t why Luc isn’t scary; he isn’t scary because he refuses to be cruel to her and follow through on anything. Schwab wants us to know Luc is powerful and mean, but… he really isn’t as mean as he could be when it comes to Addie. Is this meant to convince us of his love for her? I don’t know. Addie is 100% convinced it’s impossible for him to love, so who knows.

(I fear some of this Luc as the “big bad” villain that’s ultimately lackluster stems from the recent trope of morally grey hot male love interests. Meaning, Luc is a meanie-head, but not to Addie because she’s the female protag and we, the readers, are supposed to drool over his sexy appearance and sexy deity-like being, and his sexy powers, and the way he is mean to others but obviously not to Addie because he loves her uuuu-wuuuuu. X3 I definitely think he is meant to be one of those “shadow daddies” that gets circulated on social media with blush emojis and hormonal gushing, and for me that’s a disappointment. If the character’s motivations and personality contradict themselves and smudge the plot, then it doesn’t matter how sexy they are—in my opinion.)

(This review sounds harsh and I’m sorry for that, but I can’t mince words. Here’s a mean little moment I had: a line from page 415 reads: “Everything changes, foolish girl.” And my nasty little thought at that moment, as recorded in my notes, was: “Except the scenes in this story.” Oof. I am fun at parties, I promise.)

(One last little aside: I can’t stand the use of famous figures, such as Shakespeare, Beethoven, and the like, when doing these kinds of stories. I hate that we see Beethoven’s soul getting reaped. Why? I don’t like the idea/suggestion that humans require a ‘deal-with-the-devil’ in order to do something extraordinary, that greatness requires this immense sacrifice, that people cannot achieve their dreams outside of some mystical, magical force making sure that they do.)

I think another large issue is the pacing of the story. Even though this is meant to be an exodus across centuries, I could not feel the history of it—I could not feel the passing of time. The story reflects on history a lot: Addie’s “threadbare” memory from her pre-deal days, how history “is a thing designed in retrospect” and so on. These ideas are wonderful to examine (I examine them, from a different angle, in the book I’m currently writing), but I never felt the passage of time. The scenes are too repetitive, the environments too bland or barely described, even as I’d see little titles saying 1714, 1716, 1724, 1764, 1827, 1914…. If this were made a show, these historical changes would be part of the scene—completely visible to the eye. The changes in fashion, in world events, in technology, etc., but they aren’t on the page. Schwab doesn’t make them visible, and I can’t tell if that’s meant to be or purpose or not. I’d say not, given this story seems to want to touch on the wonder of life, but making time pass in such a blurred way, an indistinct, unremarkable way, makes it mundane and uninteresting.

From here, I think I’ll just provide my notes for the end section of the book as I wrote them down in the moment:

• Page 485 “‘Even if everyone you met remembered,’ Luc says, ‘I would still know you best.’

She searches his face. ‘Do I know you?’

He bows his head over hers. ‘You are the only one who does.’”

Thoughts: These sentiments aren’t earned. Even though Addie and Luc are the two essential characters of this book, we don’t see them have enough interaction, enough meaningful dialogue, to drive this point home. To make it real and emotional. Maybe Addie knows Luc because she’s the only human he’s revealed some of himself to, so I’ll concede that a bit, but Luc knows Addie best? When? Where? Why didn’t we get to see it? Unless it’s implying he’s been stalking her her whole life, in which case, ugh. An Edward Cullen revival.

• Page 499 “Addie asks for the most expensive drink, and Renee grins at Luc. ‘You’ve found yourself a match.’

‘I have,’ he says, resting his hand on the small of Addie’s back as he guides her forward.”

Thoughts: Addie could’ve actually been hungry, could’ve desired the finer things, chase wealth, chase luxury—a poor girl from some obscure French town who goes from city to city only wanting the best, but she’s just flat and sad.

• Page 501 “You see only flaws and faults, weaknesses to be exploited. But humans are messy, Luc. That is the wonder of them. They live and love and make mistakes, and they feel so much. And maybe—maybe I am no longer one of them.”

Thoughts: While I agree with the sentiment on humans (we are messy) I don’t think the story did it any justice. The tone has been too maudlin, too subdued, too meanderingly philosophical, to mirror this idea of messiness, this idea of immense and limitless feeling.

• Page 506 “But to this day, Addie doesn’t know how the fire started. If it was the candles she swept from the table, or the lamp she tore from the wall, if it was the lights Luc shattered, or if it was simply a last act of spite.

She knows  she doesn’t have the strength to ruin anything, and yet she did. They

did. Perhaps he let her start the fire. Perhaps he simply let it burn.

It does not matter, in the end.

Addie stands on Bourbon Street and watches the house go up in flames, and by the time the firefighters come, there is nothing left to save. It is only ashes.”

Thoughts: This scene—or lackthereof—is one of Schwab’s most egregious offenses in this book. After hinting at the falling out Addie and Luc have for some 400 pages, their big blow-up, their big fight, is swept aside as easily as Addie apparently swept aside some candles. The scene is just casually breezed over; no fight between them, no argument, no action as they rage against each other and fling furniture and insults. No anger, no passion, no intense feelings that us messy humans are meant to experience, on display, in detail. No. This big fight Addie has alluded to for so long—that should be a climax of this story—is summed up in a handful of sentences and Schwab dusts off her hands. That’s that. I cannot express this enough: What a let down.

• Page 512 “And Addie cannot bear the thought of giving up, of giving in, of going down without a fight.”

Thoughts: Addie has not felt tenacious enough, bold enough, angry enough to stand behind this sentiment.

• Page 513 “And then he is past the exit, then it is too late, and he can breathe again, and Addie is pointing to a sign for fresh fruit, and they pull off the freeway and buy peaches from the stand, and sandwiches from the market, and drive an hour north to a state park, where the sun is hot but the shade beneath the trees is cool, and they spend the day wandering the woodland paths, and when night falls they make a picnic on the roof of the rented car, and stretch out between the wild, weedy grass and the stars.

And he is still happy.

And he can still breathe.”

Thoughts: Rushing of scenes and time… Those were my thoughts in the moment, but let me expand. This paragraph sums up my issues with the story. Firstly, a lot of paragraphs repeat this structure, this long sentence “and then and then and then” type structure, which just rushes over everything with minimal detail. All those messy feelings Addie talks to Luc about? Yeah, we don’t get to see them often in this story, not even between Addie and Henry, the two lovebirds. This paragraph is describing one of their final days together because Henry’s deal with Luc is coming due and he is going to die. This is a moment to get some deep emotions—sorrow, regret, guilt, shame, anything—but once more it just looks and feels like an empty smile.

• Page 519 “The same roof he nearly stepped off a year before, the same one where he stood with the devil and made his deal.”

Thoughts: Um, no? I was pretty sure my recollection of the moment of Henry’s deal did not include a roof and a suicide attempt, so I went back to find it. And here’s what it says on page 285: “Henry reaches his building, but can’t bring himself to climb the six steps to the door, the twenty-four more to his apartment, that belongs to a past where he had a future, so he sinks onto the stoop….”

Then on page 286: “He is not sure when the man sits down beside him on the step.”

So look, I’m not saying I’m the brightest crayon in the box or whatever, but I don’t know how this is describing a man, at the end of his rope, climbing to the roof of his apartment building to kill himself. I’m afraid Schwab retroactively added in the suicide bit to somehow make Henry a bigger sad-boy than he already is, and to make things seem more tragic, but as the majority of the book feels rather flat, it doesn’t work. Also, it’s an inconsistency.

• Page 524 Luc is asking her if her “human love” was “everything you dreamed of?” Addie replies, “No.”

“It was messy. It was hard,” she reflects.

Thoughts: We never actually see this. Her past flings—sleeping with various people across the centuries like Toby and Sam—are never delved into, always portrayed as cloyingly sweet. Her relationship with Henry likewise never has turmoil except for one measly fight in which Henry admonishes her for stealing and Addie explains why stealing has become an essential part of her life. And then they move on.

• Page 526 Addie reveals to Henry that she’s managed to get him off the hook for his deal with Luc. He’s free. My thoughts on this moment are, Why the hell does Addie wait to tell him? Maybe because it’s this moment when her deal with Luc goes into affect? But why make Henry dread this moment, filled with anxiety, thinking he’s about to have his soul reaped, when that’s not true? Why didn’t she just tell him beforehand? Why make them both go up to the roof of his building? I guess so Schwab could sneak in a reveal with dramatic flair, but it didn’t work for me.

I want to note that Addie is selfish as all get out for asking Henry to remember her. How the hell is this guy meant to move on from his ‘deal with the devil’ and possibly losing the love of his life all in one go? This guy is not going to move on; he’s going to hold on to the idea of Addie—to the memories of her—‘til death. She’s selfish. And I appreciate that. I appreciate that Addie doesn’t finish the book as a Mary Sue, but as someone with everlasting selfish desires. I just wish more of her personality, flaws, strengths, were highlighted and explored.

That pretty much concludes the book. The little ‘gotcha’ moment’ Addie has over her newly revised deal with Luc did nothing for me, I was so bored of the book long before the final pages. So, here are some final thoughts: One of the main ideas of this book is “Ideas are wilder than memories” and by god, I wish that were true in this story. I wish the ideas Schwab formed were able to completely coalesce into existence and take shape—concrete form. As they are, they remain wisps of wonder, hints of potential, hints of whimsy, art, creativity, but never become fully realized. There isn’t enough emotion to live up to some of the book’s other sentiments, and there’s not enough richness, detail, change in environment, to deliver on the promised adventure. I want to feel the passing of time but cannot; I want to feel Addie grow and change as a person but don’t. This girl who is so desperate to leave her simple country life behind in 1714 in order to be free, in order to experience the world at large, in order to see all the wonder the world has to offer, fades away into the pages of time like most humans, though she is immortal and a living piece of recorded history herself. The art pieces featured for each part of the book are just contrivances; Addie never seems to be larger than life enough to inspire anyone and I couldn’t be sadder expressing that thought.