(Daughters of La Lune #1)
by M.J. Rose
Gothic Historical Fantasy
Published by Atria Books on March 17th, 2015
by M.J. Rose
Gothic Historical Fantasy
Published by Atria Books on March 17th, 2015
Possession. Power. Passion. New York Times bestselling novelist M. J. Rose creates her most provocative and
magical spellbinder yet in this gothic novel set against the lavish spectacle
of 1890s Belle Époque Paris.
Sandrine Salome flees New York for her grandmother’s Paris mansion to
escape her dangerous husband, but what she finds there is even more menacing.
The house, famous for its lavish art collection and elegant salons, is
mysteriously closed up. Although her grandmother insists it’s dangerous for
Sandrine to visit, she defies her and meets Julien Duplessi, a mesmerizing
young architect. Together they explore the hidden night world of Paris, the
forbidden occult underground and Sandrine’s deepest desires.
Among the bohemians and the demi-monde, Sandrine discovers her erotic
nature as a lover and painter. Then darker influences threaten—her cold and
cruel husband is tracking her down and something sinister is taking hold,
changing Sandrine, altering her. She’s become possessed by La Lune: A witch, a
legend, and a sixteenth-century courtesan, who opens up her life to a darkness
that may become a gift or a curse.
This is Sandrine’s “wild night of the soul”, her odyssey in the
magnificent city of Paris, of art, love, and witchery.
Praise for The Witch of Painted Sorrows
“This
bell époque thriller is a haunting tale of obsessive passions.” —People Magazine
“Provocative,
erotic, and spellbindingly haunting…will have the reader totally mesmerized
cover-to-cover….a ‘must-have’ novel.” —Suspense Magazine
“A
haunting tale of erotic love…. M.J. Rose seamlessly weaves historical events
throughout this story filled with distinctive characters that will keep the
reader captivated to the end.” —Examiner.com
“Rose
has a talent for compelling writing, and this time she has outdone herself.
Fear, desire, lust and raw emotion ooze off the page.” —Associated Press
“Haunting
tale of possession.” —Publishers Weekly
“Rose’s
new series offers her specialty, a unique and captivating supernatural angle,
set in an intriguing belle epoque Paris — lush descriptions, intricate plot and
mesmerizing storytelling. Sensual, evocative, mysterious and haunting.” —Kirkus
“Mixes
reality and illusion, darkness and light, mystery and romance into an adult
fairy tale. [Rose] stirs her readers curiosities and imaginations, opening
their eyes to the cultural, intellectual and artistic excitement that marked
the Belle Epoque period. Unforgettable, full-bodied characters and richly
detailed narrative result in an entrancing read that will be long savored.” —Library Journal (Starred Review)
“An
elegant tale of rare depth and beauty, as brilliantly crafted as it is
wondrously told….melds the normal and paranormal in the kind of seamless
fashion reserved for such classic ghost stories as Henry James’ The Turn of the
Screw.” —Providence Journal
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EXCERPT:
Paris, France April 1894
I did not cause the madness, the deaths, or the
rest of the tragedies any more than I painted the paintings. I had help, her
help. Or perhaps I should say she forced her help on me. And so this
story—which began with me fleeing my home in order to escape my husband and
might very well end tomorrow, in a duel, in the Bois de Boulogne at dawn—is as
much hers as mine. Or in fact more hers than mine. For she is the fountainhead.
The fascination. She is La Lune. Woman of moon dreams, of legends and of
nightmares. Who took me from the light and into the darkness. Who imprisoned me
and set me free.
Or is it the other way around?
"Your questions," my father always said
to me, "will be your saving grace. A curious mind is the most important
attribute any man or woman can possess. Now if you can just temper your
impulsiveness..."
If I had a curious mind, I'd inherited it from
him. And he'd nurtured it. Philippe Salome was on the board of New York City's
Metropolitan Museum of Art and helped found the American Museum of Natural
History, whose cornerstone was laid on my fifth birthday.
I remember sitting atop my father's shoulders
that day, watching the groundbreaking ceremony and thinking the whole
celebration was for me. He called it "our museum," didn't he? And for
much of my life I thought it actually did belong to us, along with our mansion
on Fifth Avenue and our summerhouse in Newport. Until it was gone, I understood
so little about wealth and the price you pay for it. But isn't that always the
way?
Our museum's vast halls and endless exhibit rooms
fascinated me as much as they did my father—which pleased him, I could tell.
We'd meander through exhibits, my small hand in his large one, and he'd keep me
spellbound with stories about items on display. I'd ask for more, always just
one more, and he'd laugh and tease: "My Sandrine, does your capacity
for stories know no bounds?"
But it pleased him, and he'd always tell me
another.
I especially loved the stories he told me about
the gems and fate and destiny always ending them by saying: "You will make
your own fate, Sandrine, I'm sure of it."
Was my father right? Do we make our own destiny?
I think back now to the stepping-stones that I've walked to reach this moment
in time.
Were the incidents of my making? Or were they my
fate?
The most difficult steps I took were after
certain people died. No deaths were caused by me, but at the same time, none
would have occurred were it not for me.
So many deaths. The first was on the morning of
my fifteenth birthday, when I saw a boy beaten and tragically die because of
our harmless kisses. The next was the night almost ten years later, when I
heard the prelude to my father's death and learned the truth about Benjamin, my
husband. And then there were more. Each was an end-ing that, ironically, became
a new beginning for me.
The one thing I am now sure of is that if there
is such a thing as destiny, it is a result of our passion, be that for money,
power, or love. Passion, for better or worse. It can keep a soul alive even if
all that survives is a shimmering. I've even seen it. I've been bathed in it.
I've been changed by it.
*********
Four months ago I snuck into Paris on a wet,
chilly January night like a criminal, hiding my face in my shawl, taking extra
care to be sure I wasn't followed.
I stood on the stoop of my grandmother's house
and lifted the hand-shaped bronze door knocker and let it drop. The sound of
the metal echoed inside. Her home was on a lane blocked off from rue des
Saints-Pères by wide wooden double doors. Maison de la Lune, as it was called,
was one of a half dozen four-story mid-eighteenthcentury stone houses that shared
a courtyard that backed up onto rue du Dragon. Hidden clusters like this were a
common configuration in Paris.These small enclaves offered privacy and quiet
from the busy city. Usually the porte cochère was locked and one had to ring
for the concierge, but I'd found the heavy doors ajar and hadn't had to wait
for service.
I let the door knocker fall again. Light from a
street lamp glinted off the golden metal. It was a strange object. Usually on
these things the bronze hand's palm faced the door. But this one was palm out,
almost warning the visitor to reconsider requesting entrance.
I was anxious and impatient. I'd been cautious on
my journey from New York to Southampton and kept to my cabin. I'd left a letter
telling Benjamin I'd gone to visit friends in Virginia and assumed that once he
returned and read it, it would be at least a week before he'd realize all was
not what it seemed. One thing I had known for certain—he would never look for
me in France. It would be inconceivable to Benjamin that any wife of his could
cross the ocean alone.
Or so I assured myself until my husband's banking
associate, William Lenox, spotted me on board. When he expressed surprise I was
traveling by myself, I concocted a story but was worried he didn't believe me.
My only consolation was that we had docked in England and I had since crossed
the channel into France. So even if Benjamin did come looking, he wouldn't know
where I'd gone.
That very first night in Paris, as I waited for
my grandmother's maid to open the door, I knew I had to stop thinking of what I
had run away from. So I refocused on the house I stood before and as I did,
felt an overwhelming sense of belonging, of being welcome. Here I would be
safe.
MY REVIEW:
I received a free copy of the book from the author for my honest opinion.
Sandrine Salome is having a rough time of it at the moment.
She has just lost her father whom she loved very much and who loved her more
than anything. All he ever wanted for her was for her to be happy and have a
good life. He worked hard trying to make sure that she was safe and never
lacked for anything. He even made sure she had a great husband or so he
thought. But after losing her father Sandrine decides that it would probably be
good time to leave town. Her husband has always been mean to her but she never
told her father. She was too afraid and embarrassed to let him know what was
going on in her life. So after Sandrine buried her father she takes off. She
has nowhere to go but to her grandmother’s in France.
Sandrine never told her husband or anyone else about her
grandmother so she knows that she will be safe in France with her. He can’t
find her there if he doesn’t know about her. When she arrives in France she
finds out that her grandmother is no longer living in her home that is a mansion.
Her grandmother tells her that the house is dangerous and needs some repairs.
But Sandrine doesn’t believe her and goes to the mansion to see for herself.
Sandrine is drawn there by a witch that lived there a very long time ago. This
witch just wants to be loved but she needs a human body to be able to find that
love that is why she calls to Sandrine.
Sandrine loves her new life in France she has learned that
she can paint and she loves it. She has also found herself a very nice man Julien
Duplessi who loves her so, so very much that he would give his own life for
hers if it was ever required of him. But he has a hard time of convincing her
of this because of the person her husband is and the things that he is capable
of doing.
Sandrine starts to change since leaving her husband in
America and coming to Paris. Her whole demeanor has almost done a 260 degree turn.
It is like she is becoming another person. Or that is what most folks are
saying but Sandrine thinks they are nuts. Yes she knows that she has changed
but she lost her father and left her husband so now she can be happy and feel
safe as long as he doesn’t find out where she is. He probably doesn’t even care
if she ever returns or not. Well unless he is one of those control freaks and
then he will never stop looking for her no matter how long it takes to find
her.
The Witch of Painted Sorrows was not quite like I thought or
imagined it to be. At first I thought I wasn’t going to like it. But it didn’t
take me long to get into it was I made the connection between the title and the
story. Normally it doesn’t take me so long to put the two together. I guess I
was having one of those off days or something. But once I put it together I
didn’t want to put it down I wanted to keep reading. I didn’t want the story to
end. I can’t wait to read more of the La Lune series. This is the first book
that I have read by M.J. Rose but it won’t be the last or I hope not. I can’t
wait to read more of La Lune’s stories. I can’t wait to see what she has up her
sleeve in the next book. M.J. Rose has done an amazing job telling Sandrine and
La Lune’s stories. She made me feel as if I was right there with Sandrine and
La Lune. Like I was a spirit inside of Sandrine and La Lune myself watching
them both play out their own little roles. I felt as if I had a front row seat
watching everything that was going on in their world.
If you have not read The Witch of Painted Sorrow then I
highly suggest that you pick up your copy today! It is a wonderful story about
love with a little bit of magic thrown in. I know I loved it but I am sort of
partial to witches though.
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