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A review by junibjones
The Mad Women's Ball by Victoria Mas
5.0
CW: depictions of sexual assault
Tragic yet beautifully written, Victoria Mas delivers us The Mad Women’s Ball, a novel depicting the horrors faced by female patients of an infamous asylum in 19th Century Paris. The patients are women tossed aside by their families as well as society, left to their hysterics away from the public sphere. The story follows a jaded, cynical head nurse and a new unwilling patient, a young woman who can see and hear spirits. The latter is determined to escape while the former struggles with her mounting doubt.
Within the Salpetriere Asylum hundreds of women reside as patients under the watchful eye of the head nurse, Genevieve—a woman who, at her core, is already different from her peers from the onset. Having spurned religion and the idea of God from an early age, she’s driven further away by the untimely death of her younger sister. How could her devout sister die when a godless wretch like herself was allowed to live? Instead, she puts her faith and trust in science and the outstanding men in the field. Genevieve keeps the patients at a distance and while she isn’t known for kind words, the patients look to her to keep them safe.
When Eugenie is unwillingly admitted it’s clear that she, too, is different from her peers. From a young age she’s been able to communicate with spirits, only for it to drain her so entirely she’s left exhausted. Small communities of spiritualists are cropping up all around Paris, though the upper class patently refuses to acknowledge its legitimacy. Institutionalized with little hope of help from her family, Eugenie makes it her mission to escape. She slowly gains Genevieve’s confidence, but it is a battle not easily won.
Madness is subjective. Eugenie was rebellious but altogether sane. Genevieve, too, was entirely sane until she was caught helping Eugenie escape. It took mere moments for their claim on sanity to be revoked by someone other than themselves. There’s a sense of claustrophobia one gets when reading The Mad Women’s Ball. While the grounds are vast and are often described as its own small village, the interior of the asylum feels too closed in. Women aren’t permitted to walk the halls without a chaperone or expressed permission. Eugenie is dragged back and forth between the dormitory—where there are 50someodd beds—and isolation in a room where the only light comes through pinpricks in worm eaten rotted wood. Lecture halls are filled with men hoping to witness one of Dr. Charcot’s sessions of hypnosis.
As someone who has spent my own time in mental wards, I was at once intrigued and apprehensive of the story. The level of public interest in the patients at the asylum didn’t shock me—the proclivity of rich people to gawk at anything not like them is pretty par for the course of history. The Lenten Ball as an event to showcase these madwomen didn’t sit right with me, nor did the behavior of any of the male characters. Very few of them were actively present within the plot and those who were had nothing to redeem them. Even Eugenie’s brother, torn asunder with guilt as he was, still allowed his cowardice to dictate his actions.
Tragic yet beautifully written, Victoria Mas delivers us The Mad Women’s Ball, a novel depicting the horrors faced by female patients of an infamous asylum in 19th Century Paris. The patients are women tossed aside by their families as well as society, left to their hysterics away from the public sphere. The story follows a jaded, cynical head nurse and a new unwilling patient, a young woman who can see and hear spirits. The latter is determined to escape while the former struggles with her mounting doubt.
Within the Salpetriere Asylum hundreds of women reside as patients under the watchful eye of the head nurse, Genevieve—a woman who, at her core, is already different from her peers from the onset. Having spurned religion and the idea of God from an early age, she’s driven further away by the untimely death of her younger sister. How could her devout sister die when a godless wretch like herself was allowed to live? Instead, she puts her faith and trust in science and the outstanding men in the field. Genevieve keeps the patients at a distance and while she isn’t known for kind words, the patients look to her to keep them safe.
When Eugenie is unwillingly admitted it’s clear that she, too, is different from her peers. From a young age she’s been able to communicate with spirits, only for it to drain her so entirely she’s left exhausted. Small communities of spiritualists are cropping up all around Paris, though the upper class patently refuses to acknowledge its legitimacy. Institutionalized with little hope of help from her family, Eugenie makes it her mission to escape. She slowly gains Genevieve’s confidence, but it is a battle not easily won.
Madness is subjective. Eugenie was rebellious but altogether sane. Genevieve, too, was entirely sane until she was caught helping Eugenie escape. It took mere moments for their claim on sanity to be revoked by someone other than themselves. There’s a sense of claustrophobia one gets when reading The Mad Women’s Ball. While the grounds are vast and are often described as its own small village, the interior of the asylum feels too closed in. Women aren’t permitted to walk the halls without a chaperone or expressed permission. Eugenie is dragged back and forth between the dormitory—where there are 50someodd beds—and isolation in a room where the only light comes through pinpricks in worm eaten rotted wood. Lecture halls are filled with men hoping to witness one of Dr. Charcot’s sessions of hypnosis.
As someone who has spent my own time in mental wards, I was at once intrigued and apprehensive of the story. The level of public interest in the patients at the asylum didn’t shock me—the proclivity of rich people to gawk at anything not like them is pretty par for the course of history. The Lenten Ball as an event to showcase these madwomen didn’t sit right with me, nor did the behavior of any of the male characters. Very few of them were actively present within the plot and those who were had nothing to redeem them. Even Eugenie’s brother, torn asunder with guilt as he was, still allowed his cowardice to dictate his actions.