Unraveling and Rebuilding: The Quiet Power of ‘Lion’ by Sonya Walger
“I do not want to share him with her. I do not want to share, like the only child I am. He fathered four only children. I am the eldest of those four. We each live in the shadow of our mothers, sheltered by them, jealously guarded by them, each with a story of our own neglect and love. My story is all I have.”
An e-arc has been provided by the publisher, Penguin Random House International, in exchange for an honest review.
Many books manage to be both poetic and accessible. Lion by Sonya Walger is one of them. From the very first pages, I knew this was a book I would connect with. The literary fiction feel, the poetic yet melancholic prose, and the utter simplicity and directness of the language made for an experience that was strangely soothing, despite the weight of the subject matter.
There are moments when a book reminds you that poetic writing can be accessible. From the first page, I knew this would be one of those. This is literary fiction stripped to its core—poetic, raw, melancholic yet soothing. It is rare to find a book that confronts you with directness yet comforts you with its delivery. The weight of its reality is handled with care.
The fractured family in Lion is a reflection of a universal truth. A mother who chooses herself. A father who leaves marks on spaces he does not stay in. A daughter unraveling in the midst of it all. This book was a challenge for me. I come from a broken family myself. I did not just feel Sonya’s disillusionment—I lived it. Her pain, her longing to be accepted, felt like a quiet scream, a desperate attempt to piece together something resembling wholeness. More than a carnival ride of emotions, this book gave voice to thoughts she was never given. It felt like a voice I needed to hear.
If circumstances were different, I would have put this book down. I would have stopped myself from reading it. But it was an itch. There is something to be said about wanting to know people who do not participate in you, and this book captured that. I got tired, as we do, and yet I kept reading. Somewhere in these pages, I hoped for redemption. For whom, I did not know.
I wanted to believe her family would find its way back to itself. If not, I hoped—prayed—that something good would happen to the little girl caught in the center of this mess of love, loss, and disillusionment.
This was my first experience reading Sonya Walger. I left feeling confused. The narrative shifts happened fast, but not so fast that I could not keep up. I put the book down often, but I never felt like I put it down forever. It caught me by surprise, and it carried me to a conclusion I know will take time to reckon with.