This was my Aardvark pick for February, and I almost wish I’d ended Black History Month with this book. It’ll be hard to top because it left me feeling a mix of emotions in a way I’m not sure I’ve experienced before. Clay Cane has a gift for writing that makes me want to seek out his other works. This is not a book about slavery, it’s about reclamation, vengeance, and what an enslaved person would do for freedom, to keep it once they have it. Cane put his family and other real people into this, and he wove three separate stories with multiple characters together in a way that kept a thread of hope alive amongst the pain.

We meet Luke and Henri, opening the book with a topic that I’ve rarely been able to find in books set in this time period. A love story between two men in chains was unexpected, but 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 love came in all forms then, just as it does now. Then there’s Josephine, a witness to reclamation which makes her brave enough to start her own quest for freedom, and that later leads to Larkin and Charity’s story of fighting to hold onto a free life. Ultimately we end with Nathanial who is the worst of the slave owners: a black man who owns, captures, and resells escaped slaves.

I like that when we’re with the ‘main’ character, the slaves are called souls. It makes each sentence feel like it holds more weight, somehow. When I first saw the book and its description, it reminded me of 𝐷𝑗𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑜 𝑈𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑, and the comparison is still there, but this book is so much more than the film could ever be. There is something deeper about Cane’s work, a humanity and desperation that felt like it was seeping into my bones.

There were large stretches of this book that made me uncomfortable to my core, and I have to admit there were parts I couldn’t read in full because they made me physically nauseous, the descriptions of violence were extremely difficult to stomach (which is a personal problem, everyone’s tolerance varies). Cane has multiple sources of documented slave rebellions which I appreciate, because as he notes, there’s a large attempt to erase this history, to soften slavery as ‘not that bad.’

The narrative switched pretty free and loose with no real distinction from person to person at times, and that sometimes broke up the flow of the story, because I had to go back and remind myself who was speaking/thinking. I didn’t love learning about the fate of one particular female character via someone else. We only get a few sentences for someone I connected with, and it felt disappointing. I didn’t get enough time with a person I really wanted to stick with.

Overall, I’m glad I own this, that it has a place on my bookshelf. It was so hard to read, but it was a necessary reminder of what some would rather we all forget.

“𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟: 𝐼𝑓 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑑, ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒?”

I picked up Letters to a Young Poet not really knowing what I needed, just knowing I was having a hard day. Who isn't in 2026, right?

And somehow it was exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. It didn’t feel like "reading" so much as getting a calm, stern little pep talk from someone who refuses to let you spiral in peace.

Rilke isn’t motivational in a cheesy way. He's not trying to fix you or hand you a five-step plan to become your best self. He's basically like: go inward, protect your solitude, stop demanding instant clarity, and live the questions like they're allowed to exist. Which sounds simple until you realize how aggressively modern life trains you to do the opposite. At least I know mine does.

It honestly felt like quiet magic. Not sparkles. More like... I dunno. someone widening the frame when you've been stuck with your face pressed up against the glass. A reminder that uncertainty isn’t a personal failure, its just… being alive.

I don't think this is a book you "finish." It's a book you keep within reach for the days when everything feels loud and you feel small. Tonight it was exactly what I needed.