Book Review: Lupa

Lupa by Marie Marshall

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Jelena is a displaced soul wandering the streets of Rome. While her memory clings to the horrors of the Bosnian War, she tries to find her way to a new a life. Likewise, a woman called Lupa, tries to escape her past by surrendering herself to the fighting ranks of the gladiator class in Ancient Rome. Both stories play out simultaneously as each woman struggles to find her strength and defeat her demons.

When Jelena meets the charismatic Vittorio, she finds herself trusting him despite her usual standoffish approach to strangers. He eventually takes her to an archeological site that he oversees and the dig yields artifacts that possibly belong to a female gladiator. Jelena is instantly intrigued by the idea of a woman strong enough to hold her own in a fight.

Meanwhile, Lupa signs her life over to the Lanista who trains her in the art of hand-to-hand combat. Her journey to fit in as the lone female and to prove herself among the others is the stuff of legend. She goes on to fight numerous battles where one by one, her opponents fall. However, the past is never far away, no matter how many enemies she defeats.

Jelena spends an inordinate amount of time helping Vittorio dig deeper into Rome’s past, but it’s not enough to distract her from the memories of torture, loss of family and friends, and the corruption of her innocence. Her despair is sometimes debilitating, but the spirit of Lupa encourages her to keep fighting for survival.

Marie Marshall captures two historical periods with realistic detail. The Bosnian War is one that is often forgotten, but Jelena’s story ensures the raw emotion of war wounds goes down as something real and heartbreaking. In addition, Marshall’s portrayal of Ancient Rome is vivid with the sheer violence of the gladiator games. Both time periods display the darker side of humanity, while Jelena and Lupa exist to defy the odds. Lupa means “she-wolf,” which is a distinctive characteristic for both women. They share a connection that cannot be broken, for each lives within the other.

View all my reviews on Goodreads

- – -

c.b.w. 2013

The War Within

The joust begins
spirits beware
Cracked pavement
eroding shores
The light cowers
where dark prevails
Crumbling towers
broken stones
Sorrow clings
where joy flees

The remains of St. Dunstan-in-the-East, London, c.b.w.

- – -

c.b.w. 2012

The Resolute Path

Stones of ire
knick the spirit
Chasing faith
baiting fear
Lies abound
posing doubt

Stone pillars
fight the tide
Iron arches
hold the load
Steel rivets
bind my fate

Tower Bridge, London, June 2011, c.b.w.

- – -

c.b.w. 2012

Gather Resilience

Break the hush
hear my cry
Cut the chains
sing me free
Fight the fear
call me bold
Take the past
give me now

Hyde Park, London, June 2011, c.b.w.

- – -

c.b. 2012

The Story Behind “A Bridge Crossed”

Every Sunday for the last few months, I’ve posted a photograph and lines of poetry (or musings) inspired by my  journey to London.  Sundays in London has been a cathartic experience as it has slowly lead me to a deeper understanding of why I was so driven to spend an extended period of time in a place so far from home.  My journal is filled with meandering thoughts fraught with both epiphanies and questions, while my pictures captured every nook and cranny of my surroundings, but nothing fit together for a definitive answer.  The experience as a whole was life-altering, though I could not decipher how and why.  All I knew was something deep inside of me had indelibly changed, (See Finding True North).

The lines I wrote for A Bridge Crossed began in London, but only in small fragments.  At the time, I didn’t have enough understanding to give my disjointed words a voice.  The finished poem is representative of the answer I’ve been seeking for the better part of a year.  After much contemplation and creative wandering, I know why I went to London.

Almost immediately after my return, I kept thinking, “I learned I was a lot stronger than I thought.” The only thing I couldn’t figure out what was why this mattered so much.  I already knew I was a strong person, so I let the idea sit and expand until it chose to tell me more.

Ultimately, the answer hit me in one big swoop, damn near knocking me out of my seat.  I still don’t know what triggered the thought, but I’m not one to question inspiration.  What matters is that I have my answer.  London showed me how strong I have to be to reach my dreams.  Despite being in a place  I loved, I was alone, overwhelmed, disoriented, and completely out of my element.  And there was no one to run to except myself.  I eventually found my groove and embraced every sensation, but this was a hard path to find.

Writing feels much the same way as isolating yourself in a foreign place.  Along with all of the above, there is rejection (and a lot of it), frustration, fear, and doubt.  A list like this puts a serious dent in strength and determination, sometimes to the point of giving up.  Courage doesn’t come free and strength comes at a price.  I have to be willing to endure everything that tries to knock me down.  I must remain standing no matter how difficult or demoralizing it gets.  As London showed me, being stronger than the impediment has an immense payoff for through the heavy fog there is the realization of a dream.

There is a difference between understanding what it means to be strong and knowing from experience what it is to be strong.  I can do anything and I can take a few punches, too.  Some may call me crazy for learning this lesson halfway around the world, but I honestly can think of no better place.  London got under skin from the very first moment I saw it and has never let go.  I hope it never does.

Houses of Parliament, London, June 2011, c.b.w.

- – -

c.b. 2012