In the Garden of Dreams

There's a line where Armand Ko rubs salt between thumb and forefinger so it won't clump on the page, and somehow that single gesture holds the whole book's tenderness. The Carter estate, the blue pencil map, the offerings tied to the gate—every object hums with earned meaning.

As someone who has grieved alongside a sibling, I felt seen by Lila and Evan's uneasy orbit. The garden doesn't fix them; it listens until they can hear themselves. I closed the book and sat quietly, like you do after a long, honest conversation.

Gorgeous sentences doing a lot of heavy lifting for a story that never fully wakes up. The ledger inked with sea salt and the key-shaped vine are neat details, but the town gossip subplot fizzles and the stakes feel low. It's all vibe, no voltage.

Un retrato delicado del duelo con toques de realismo mágico. Verity Cove se siente vivo, desde el invernadero de la familia Carter hasta las ofrendas en la reja de Auburn Street. Me encantó cómo la cinta de casete y el mapa de Evan conectan los recuerdos.

Un poco pausado en algunos capítulos, pero al final conmueve.

Pretty writing, slow middle. The garden itself is a great conceit and the key-shaped vine imagery stuck with me, but the family drama with Evan didn't land until late. Worth reading if you like quiet magical realism and coastal-town vibes.

I wanted to press my face against the glass of that greenhouse and breathe in moonglass poppies. Lila and Armand Ko feel like neighbors you're rooting for, showing up with coffee at the gate on Auburn Street and pretending you're not crying over a cobalt teacup. The cassette sealed in sap? Devastating and perfect.

Lush, tender, and a little wild. I'm still finding dream pollen in my head.