Trigger warning: domestic abuse and violence
I read half of Once There Were Wolves over a weekend. Then something happened in the story and I set it down for a few days. It’s a story that I would have preferred to read in one sitting instead of needing to jump from the world of the story to the story of my world. Sometimes I get deep enough into a story that I feel disoriented when I have to step away. This was one of those reads. It’s a cozy under a blanket with some tea and read until it’s finished sort of story. Inti Flynn is leading a project to introduce wolves to the Scottish Highlands but she has also gone there to hide.
There’s an element of mystery to the story, though I wouldn’t classify it a mystery. I have stopped trying to figure out mysteries because then they feel like assignments I can fail. Instead I let the story unfold, let the questions linger. I wait for the author. The story didn’t end up as I thought or as I hoped. The ending was the true mixture of joy and grief that actual life always is. The author used flashbacks to explain the story and expertly weaved just enough into each one to move the story a bit further, to allow the reader to understand why Inti was acting as she did, what had happened to bring her to this place.
Inti felt a real affinity to the wolves; there was a wildness to her, a restlessness that didn’t settle in to doing what is expected. I think those stories are my favorite because there’s a restlessness that lives in me. I don’t want to show up and do what I’m told and stories like that remind me why.
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