The Cost of Immortality:

A book review by Evelyn Huang

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab follows Adeline LaRue after she makes a deal with the darkness to escape her current life. However, by doing so, she accidentally gains immortality at the cost of being forgotten. For three hundred years, the only being that can remember her is Luc, the darkness, who visits her annually to ask for her soul. Then, her frozen life begins to flow again once she meets Henry, a bookseller who somehow remembers her. Important note: this review will include spoilers! I tried my best to keep them to a minimum.

Before reading, I had never heard of this book, but once I began to carry it around, many people recognized it and told me it was on their reading list. This, of course, set my expectations high, but I was unfortunately disappointed. The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue was beautifully written and deeply personal, but it wasn’t the book I wanted it to be. Schwab’s writing style is brilliant, with descriptions and imagery that allow the setting to come to life. At the same time, it felt like there was too much said about too little. The concept and main conflict in this book are intriguing and unique, but the execution made the story feel drawn out. Even though it wasn’t perfect, I still enjoyed certain pieces of the novel. One of my favorite aspects was the casual inclusion of LGBTQIA+ characters and elements. Schwab normalizes this theme by making it very present in her novel but still recognizes their struggles. While representation for this group is incredibly important, it would have been nice to see more diversity outside of sexuality. Despite living three hundred years, Addie only explores places in Europe and the United States, and all of the languages that she can speak are European. Additionally, one of the recurring themes was that “ideas are wilder than memories” (210). Addie constantly appears as a muse in art throughout history, which is her only way of being not quite forgotten yet still not truly remembered. This concept was unique and interesting yet quite bittersweet because “it is sad, of course, to forget. But it is a lonely thing, to be forgotten” (77). Even though she isn’t truly forgotten, she can never build connections with people who can’t remember her. 

Despite being nearly four hundred and fifty pages, there was very little plot and character development in this novel. Schwab writes many instances of foreshadowing, but the story was so drawn out that by the time the foreshadowing became relevant, I had already forgotten it happened at all. Furthermore, I desperately wanted a Luc-centric chapter in this novel or, at the very least, more on the relationship between Addie and Luc. Over half of the book was building up and alluding to the idea that Addie and Luc shared a romantic relationship, yet when it was finally discussed, it was simplified to a mere page and a half (and an extra chapter to describe their break up). I was so curious about this topic, and the lack of information on it left me uninterested in the main plot as I was too preoccupied with questions about them. 

As the story progressed, I found myself growing more fond of Luc. Addie constantly accuses Luc of being unable to love, but how are we, as the readers, expected to simply believe this? The lack of a Luc-centric chapter leaves much of his personality up for interpretation. Just as Addie says that he cannot love, Luc just as adamantly states that he can, that he does love Addie. Because I do like Luc better than Addie, I want to believe he can love. Henry, too, is a character that could have been explored more. He did have a good number of chapters dedicated to his backstory, but I wanted to know more about the current Henry, the one who struggles with his mental health but still tries to love his friends who have no choice but to love him back. His character development was so surface level that it often felt like his only character traits were being able to remember Addie and having an unstable mental state. There is definitely more to him, but it’s what we’re told by Schwab rather than shown with Henry’s actions. 

Furthermore, I just didn’t really love Addie as a character in general. She’s selfish, stubborn, and hypocritical. She criticizes Luc for being unable to love, yet it appears that she cannot either. Certainly, she did live a hard life, but that doesn’t invalidate the experiences of the other characters. Despite living for three hundred years, Addie feels like she has little to no character development at all. Luc says that she “has changed more than [she] thinks,” but it didn’t really feel that way (409). Just like her physical appearance, it seems that most of her mindset and personality remained the same as well. Addie has always been willing to hurt others or potentially put others in a difficult position if it meant the betterment of her own. Additionally, she just barely matured for the amount of time she lived. For someone who has lived 300 years, why is she unable to tell if she loves Henry? Even if she could tell, did she truly love Henry for himself or simply because he was the only one who could remember her? She wasn’t entirely static the entire story, but it didn’t feel as though she was centuries old. 

The beginning of the story was interesting, but the more I kept reading, the less I wanted to continue. Each chapter was short, but because there were constant switches between the time periods, it was hard to grasp what little plot there was. The book would have been more enjoyable if it were condensed to about half its size. There were many ideas that were repeated, almost pointlessly so. I understand that Addie lived for three centuries; I didn’t need to be reminded of it every chapter. It was also frustrating to see that the middle was unbearably drawn out, yet the end was incredibly rushed. Perhaps this was done purposefully to show that life can move slowly when you wish for it to be quick but speed up in the moments that you want to freeze. However, I despised the way this book ended. It was likely the most logical ending with what we know about the characters’ personalities, but that made it fairly predictable and, thus, less impactful. Furthermore, I personally have an extreme dislike for ambiguous, open endings.

Despite my harsh criticisms, I would say this book was a decent read. I would not actively recommend it to anyone, but if I knew someone who prefers novels with slow burn, purple prose, and open endings, I would definitely suggest this title. Again, it was beautifully written and contained important themes and messages, such as the addition of LGBTQIA+ characters and recovering from drug abuse. It also emphasized the importance of living in the moment rather than drowning in the past, like Addie, or dreading the future, like Henry. I can see why some people would love this novel with their entire hearts, but I just wasn’t one of them.