House of Salt and Sorrows

“Once there were twelve of us: the Thaumas Dozen. Now we stood in a small line, my seven sisters and I, and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a ring of truth to the grim speculations. Had we somehow angered the gods? Had a darkness branded itself on our family, taking us out one by one? Or was it simply a series of terrible and unlucky coincidences?”

The novel’s exploration of grief and curses starts with the Thaumas family. This quote establishes the family’s history of tragedies, introducing the question of why they have been so unfortunate.

“The High Mariner says Pontus created our islands and the people on them. He scooped salt from the ocean tides for strength. Into that was mixed the cunning of a bull shark and the beauty of the moon jellyfish. He added the seahorse’s fidelity and the curiosity of a porpoise. When his creation was molded just so—two arms, two legs, a head, and a heart—Pontus breathed some of his own life into it, making the first People of the Salt. So when we die, we can’t be buried in the ground. We slip back into the water and are home.”

The novel uses the Thaumas sisters’ stepmother, Morella, to provide exposition, as she is a mainlander, an outsider to islander culture. Annaleigh’s description of her people’s culture furthers worldbuilding, framing the people themselves as creations of a supernatural being.

“But why would she meet someone there? She didn’t even like going to the cliffs in broad daylight. The heights scared her. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

While her family is fixated on other matters, Annaleigh exhibits logic by questioning her sister Eulalie’s death. This mystery will continue to showcase her intelligence and desire to honor her sister’s memory—traits that will prove useful in her final showdown with Morella.

“‘Cecilia always loved you in green,’ [Ortun] confided, bumping his arm into mine. ‘That’s why she made up your room in all that jade. She said your eyes reminded her of the sea right before a big storm.’”

Having lost his wife Cecilia and several daughters, Duke Ortun tries to focus on happiness. He convinces Annaleigh to honor Cecilia’s wishes and wear green, as the family is looking to stop mourning and enter a new phase of their lives. The color seafoam green becomes Annaleigh’s signature.

“I dwelt alone / In a world of moan, / And my soul was a stagnant tide, / Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride.”

This poem offers a lyrical, romantic clue to Eulalie’s suspicious death. It resonates with love, as Eulalie planned to elope with someone—her lover, Edgar.

“‘Annaleigh,’ [Cassius] repeated, and on his tongue my name sounded full and lush, like a line of poetry or a hymn.”

The use of this sensual simile illustrates Annaleigh and Cassius’s growing attraction. Words like “full,” “lush,” and “poetry” emote their easy chemistry.

“I jumped, dropping the handkerchief. It fluttered to the floor like a butterfly at first frost.”

Annaleigh’s fright is shown in the simple act of her dropping Eulalie’s handkerchief. The handkerchief’s movement anticipates winter, as well as the horrors to come; soon, Annaleigh will converse with Verity about their deceased sisters’ ghosts.

“There was no quicker way to spot a mainlander than to bring up religion. Other parts of Arcannia worshipped various combinations of gods: Vaipany, lord of sky and sun; Seland, ruler of earth; Versia, queen of the night; and Arina, goddess of love. There were dozens of other deities—Harbingers and Tricksters—who ruled over other aspects of life, but for the People of the Salt, Pontus, king of the sea, was the only god we needed.”

In the kingdom of Arcannia, various gods and goddesses are worshipped, reflecting their respective territories’ cultures. Annaleigh’s people only worship Pontus, establishing their faithfulness. This quote also introduces Versia and the concept of Trickster gods, both of whom prove important later in the novel; Cassius is the demigod son of Versia, and the Tricksters Viscardi and Kosmaras are the ones tormenting Annaleigh’s family.

“Using the double reflection now, I lowered the back of my robe. Camille was wrong. The red marks weren’t a set of lines. They were bruises, perfectly round. As if someone had pressed their fingertips in, tapping for attention.”

Using a mirror, Annaleigh realizes Elizabeth’s ghost bruised her and that Verity is not the only sister seeing ghosts. The spots on her back scare her and increase the novel’s tension.

“‘Just don’t bring it up again. Not around [Morella], not among yourselves.

I’m placing a moratorium on the curse. Which doesn’t exist,’ [Ortun] added.”

Ortun is sensitive toward Morella, forbidding his daughters from speaking of their rumored curse around her. In his opinion, the curse doesn’t exist, but other characters disagree; despite being skeptical herself, Annaleigh is starting to notice and question the supernatural happenings around her. In reality, Morella was the one who brought a “curse” upon the family by making a deal with Viscardi.

“I think you get to a certain point in life when ghosts are no longer fun. When the people you love die…like my father, your mother and sisters…the thought that they could be trapped here…it’s unbearable, isn’t it? I can’t imagine a worse fate. Unseen, unheard. Surrounded by people who remember you a little less each day. I would go out of my mind, wouldn’t you?”

Fisher’s quote about ghosts strikes an emotional chord with Annaleigh, who worries her deceased sisters may be trapped in Highmoor Manor. This talk of anguish and “madness” hints at Fisher not being himself, but rather a vessel used by Kosamaras, Harbinger of Madness and Nightmares—making the quote ironic. However, the exact point of the switch is never specified.

“My eyes fell on a slab of rocks rising out of the sea like an angry fist. That’s where Eulalie’s body had been found.”

This simile captures the dangers of the Salt. Despite finding comfort in the sea, Annaleigh also associates it with anger and grief—pushing her to continue investigating Eulalie’s murder.

“The moon was a giant blue crescent, lighting our way across the lawn and down the cliff. It hung so low in the sky, I could feel its persistent tug pulling at the water, the waves, even us. A hundred thousand stars sparkled above us, as if vibrating with excitement for the party to come.”

This description uses sensory imagery for immersion, honoring both the sea and sky. This balance of sea and sky also acts as a metaphor for Annaleigh and Cassius’s love, as these parts of nature represent their respective cultures.

“My fingers slid into his outstretched hand like water over rocks.”

This simile reinforces the building romance between Annaleigh and Cassius, despite the balls and this Cassius being illusions; interestingly enough, the illusionary Cassius never harms Annaleigh. Because they are both connected to the sea (with Cassius having grown up in a castle in the Brine, the open sea), the pair come together naturally.

“They sized each other up, their glances heated and decidedly masculine. It was a strange sensation, being caught between the two of them. Though it was flattering, I couldn’t help but feel like a swimmer circled by two sharks, wondering which would strike first.”

Jealousy is rife in Fisher and Cassius’s interaction, as if they were two sharks circling prey—Annaleigh. They both want to dance with her, which puts her in a bind, as Fisher is her childhood friend (and former crush) and Cassius is her friend (and current crush).

“I wanted to leave the dance floor now—right now—and that’s when she’d grab me. Her skin was pale and mottled, like a mushroom grown too large and soft. Black hair swirled about her, tangling in her layers of gray chiffon, weightless and writhing. Worst of all were her eyes, dark as night, hostile, and shedding pitch-black tears. They ran down her face, leaving behind oily tracks that dripped to her bare gray feet. Sharp, pointed teeth winked from a sly grin as she pulled me closer. ‘Dance with me,’ the Weeping Woman would whisper, and I’d wake up, gasping for air.”

Annaleigh’s nightmares signal the truth: The Weeping Woman (Kosamaras) is behind the illusionary ghosts and balls. The god is inside Annaleigh and her sisters’ minds, distracting and pitting them against each other.

“I took out a handful of hairpins and combed through my twisted locks. Mama said brushing your hair before bed not only left it radiant but also helped untangle pent-up thoughts from the day, ensuring relaxed and peaceful slumber. I wasn’t sure how many strokes it would take to unravel this particular tangle. I feared I’d never get the image of Edgar’s broken spectacles from my mind.”

Annaleigh’s childhood memory of her mother makes her a relatable character. She misses her mother, keeping her alive through teachings like brushing her hair; she will continue to turn to family to maintain her sanity.

“I’d never been prone to sleepwalking before, but perhaps I’d dreamt the nightmare up. But it had felt so real.

Elizabeth had spoken of seeing ghastly things before she took her fateful bath. Shadows that weren’t there. Omens in tea leaves. She once spent a whole afternoon trapped in her room, too frightened to leave because she’d seen an owl fly by in broad daylight and claimed it was a sign foreshadowing death. Servants whispered she’d gone mad.

When I reached the third floor, I immediately went to Verity’s room, convinced it would be empty. But I found her, just as Papa had predicted I would, in bed and fast asleep.”

Before this scene, Annaleigh sees Verity with Eulalie and Edgar’s ghosts—reinforcing the theme of Layered Mysteries: Reality and Perception. She is convinced her visions are real but struggles to make sense of them. The discrepancy between Annaleigh’s visions and what others see (and don’t see) pushes readers to question her sanity.

“Verity looked down into her lap, twisting her hands till her fingers turned red. ‘Maybe I should go away.’

I frowned. ‘Why would you say that?’ When she glanced up, tears shone in her eyes. ‘I’m the curse. Everything started with me. I killed Mama.’

The triplets rushed to her, kneeling at her feet.

‘You did no such thing.’

‘That wasn’t your fault, dear heart.’

‘There is no curse. Don’t think that way.’

She clasped her hands tighter, her tiny fingernails growing white with pressure. ‘But if it hadn’t been for me, she’d still be here.’”

Being six, Verity has been affected by death her whole life, for which she partially blames herself. She believes she started the family’s curse, but her sisters, despite their differences, come together to comfort her.

“We stuffed ourselves with treats from street vendors. Spun-sugar sea glass, glazed almond cookies shaped like sand dollars, roasted corn, and bowls of thick clam chowder were offered on every corner, along with more exotic fare: red frog crabs and whelks, jellyfish jerky and sea urchins. The children raced up and down the beach with silk kites painted like stingrays and seahorses. Glass orbs were strung across the town square like humpbacks’ bubble nets.”

This description of the Churning Festival, with its sea-related decorations and foods, crafts a captivating sight. The tone is joyful, with sensory imagery that celebrates the People of the Salt—a break in the novel’s ominous tone.

“‘Lenore, you need to calm down.’ I kept my voice firm but soft, pushing back a quiver of fear at the mention of the curse. I couldn’t bury any more sisters.

‘They’re dead. I know they are!’ [...]

She shook her head, miserable, and flung back the duvet I’d wrapped around her, eyes feverishly bright. ‘I’m them. They’re me. And they’re gone. I just feel it!’”

Lenore’s grief is particularly powerful, as she’s lost a part of herself with her fellow triplets Rosalie and Ligeia being missing. Her foreshadowing proves true, as the missing triplets were tricked by Kosamaras into freezing to death.

“Cassius was at my back, trying to pull me off the bodies. No. Not bodies. Rosalie. Ligeia. My beautiful, carefree sisters. They weren’t bodies. They couldn’t be dead. They couldn’t be…

I allowed his arms to enfold me as he tried to absorb my grief. Sobs ripped from my chest as if they would splinter my sternum in two, but he held me tight, pressing kisses in my hair, stroking my back, keeping me together and whole.”

Annaleigh’s grief over Eulalie is compounded by Rosalie’s and Ligeia’s mysterious deaths. Cassius continually proves protective of Annaleigh, always caring for her in her darkest moments.

“I sank down on the chair as a cry escaped me. The Weeping Woman had been at the ball. Not in my dreams, but actually there, beside me, her long fingers clasped over my wrists. I closed my eyes, struggling to remember what had happened after I saw her.

I’d fainted. But then what?

‘Did you help bring me back after I fainted—did you carry me back?’ Cassius’s blue eyes were dark with incomprehension. ‘Did you see me faint at the ball?’

He pressed his lips together, forming his words with care. ‘Annaleigh, there was no ball.’”

Cassius reveals to Annaleigh that the magical balls never existed. She saw sea-related horrors at these balls, including the Weeping Woman (Kosamaras) of her recurring nightmare, but didn’t realize they were illusions. From this point on, she will continue to question herself but is overall better equipped to stop Kosamaras and Viscardi, the god whom Morella bargained with.