“My love for you is a prayer, she thought. Love is the only prayer I know. She thought she had never loved him so much at this moment, when she heard the convent door close, hard and final, and felt the walls shutting her in.” The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley
As a kid, if anyone told me that a book was too hard or too mature, it became my mission in life to get my hands on it. On a whim, I insisted on reading Sphere by Michael Crichton aloud to my mom when I was 10. Similarly, when the librarian told me that Puck of Pooks Hill would be too hard for me at an elementary school book sale, I had to buy it immediately. The Mists of Avalon was another one of those early forbidden books. Though I remembered almost nothing of the plot, I treasured the book for years as something mysterious and taboo. Now, reading it as an adult, I see why it was so incomprehensible to me as a child; it is all about the feminine: childbirth, sex, raising children, friendship, etc.
For all I admire what Bradley accomplished with this work – rewriting a male-dominated tale from the female perspective – I have to say that I wish it could have been done a little better, or at least with fewer words. Bradley writes this lengthy novel as if she thinks her readers won’t remember what was said a few hundred pages before, constantly reiterating details and thoughts until the careful reader is exhausted from the repetition. While I love few things better than a long piece of literature, Bradley allows her moral point to eclipse her characters so that she only ends up skimming the surface of motives and feelings, favoring long-winded speeches and arguments over true character development.