Review: Mad Sisters of Esi
Mad Sisters of Esi by Tashan Mehta
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
I picked up this book at first because of its cover, which seemed to promise something I couldn’t quite name. And, in truth, it gave me far more than I expected, in ways I never would have guessed. Mad Sisters of Esi carries us alongside Myung as she steps away from the only place she’s ever called home: a whale called babel, alive and immense, shared with her sister Laleh. What follows is a journey that slips between dreams, myths, and memories, weaving them into something long and shining. At its heart lies the riddle of the mad sisters of Esi, a tale everyone claims to know, though no one truly does.
Reading it felt like drifting in warm, scented water, with someone humming a lullaby I’d nearly forgotten. There’s a gentle haze over the whole book, careful and soft, but never too sweet. It always holds a trace of heartbreak and that sharp, bright edge of discovery. The writing is rich, but never for its own sake; every image is chosen, each word measured. There’s a rhythm here, slow and deep, that pulled me along until I realised it was far past midnight and I was still reading.
Tashan Mehta has managed something rare; she turns the act of telling a story into a kind of magic. Here, madness isn’t only chaos, but creation itself. It’s the force that shapes worlds, the stubbornness to believe in something until it becomes real. The festival of madness on Esi, the museum of shared memories, doors that slip from view, all of it comes together so well that I found myself longing for places I’d only just come to know. The way the story is built – with diaries, maps, scraps of half-told tales – could have felt like a trick in another writer’s hands. Here, though, everything fits, each piece finding its place and lending the whole book its wings. When the story finally curled back to where it began, I found myself in tears. Not because it was sad, but because it felt so honest, as if the book had seen me.
What struck me most was how the story handles the bond between sisters, their love stretching across years and silences. It’s fierce, jealous, patient, frightened, proud – all the things love is, truly. When I closed the last page, I felt as though I’d been let in on something private, something precious. It’s the kind of connection that doesn’t fade, even with distance or silence, because it was never about being in the same place to begin with.
There were moments, especially in the middle, when the dream-logic almost slipped into confusion, but that felt right too. Some truths aren’t meant to be told straight out; they’re better approached sideways, through story, rather than spoken plainly. And when at last everything settled into place, I found myself quietly saying “of course”, as if I’d been waiting for the answer all along.
This book has changed the way I think. I find myself dwelling on belief – how it’s invisible, but holds people together, as strong as cartilage. I’ve already pressed it into the hands of three friends, and I know I’ll keep doing so. If you’ve ever loved the playful layering of Jenn Lyons or the quiet wonder of Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi, this is a story you need. You won’t leave it unchanged; you’ll carry new stars with you, quietly glowing.