We Were Liars: An Enchanting Dive into Privilege and Trauma
I stumbled upon We Were Liars by E. Lockhart almost by accident, expecting another summer read that would fade from my memory by autumn. Little did I know that this book would weave its way into my heart, igniting an obsession that I can’t shake off. The first whisper of its magic came when I heard the hauntingly beautiful song “Glory and Gore” by Lorde—it felt like the perfect soundtrack for Cadence Sinclair Eastman’s tumultuous journey through love, loss, and privilege.
At its core, We Were Liars is a story about family, trauma, and the intoxicating thrill of youth. Cadence, the protagonist, hails from the Sinclair family—a perfectly sculpted facade of wealth and privilege, spending their summers on Beechwood Island. However, beneath the flawless exterior lies a tangled web of internal strife. I was captivated by Lockhart’s exploration of this glamorous life, presenting it not as a fairytale, but as a stage for deeper, intricate drama—almost akin to the court intrigues you’d find in fantasy novels but grounded in real emotional stakes.
Now, let’s talk about the writing. E. Lockhart’s style is divisive—it’s that flowery, metaphorical prose peppered with paragraph breaks that seem to float on dreams. I can understand why some readers may find it daunting, but for me, the ethereal quality of the language felt like being wrapped in a warm, chaotic hug. Lockhart notes that she wrote this book through the eyes of a trauma survivor, and it shows. The trippy, layered writing evokes confusion and brilliance, much like how trauma layers our own perceptions of reality.
One particularly resonant quote, “Tragedy is ugly and tangled, stupid and confusing,” crystallizes the essence of the novel. Cadence’s journey is anything but glamorous; instead, it’s a raw dissection of how tragedy shapes us, illuminated through a lens that is both sublime and chaotic.
The familial relationships that play out bored deep into my heart. Each character—whether it’s Cadence’s cousins, Johnny and Mirren, or her love interest, Gat—brings a distinct voice to the narrative. Cadence’s first-person perspective is maddeningly captivating; I often found myself pondering how different the story would be if another character narrated it. Would we glimpse the same unreal beauty infused with confusion and clarity?
Lockhart brilliantly captures the paradox of the Sinclair family: they are beautiful, privileged, yet profoundly damaged. "We are Sinclairs. Beautiful. Privileged. Damaged. Liars,” sets the stage, and honestly, I loved the allure of their glamorous lifestyle, even as it unraveled. There’s a magnetic pull in the juxtaposition of their perfection and their cracks, creating an enchanting experience that lingered well beyond the final page.
As I closed the book, I realized it was not merely a novel but an immersive experience—enchanting, emotional, and exquisite. If you relish stories that dig into themes of privilege intertwined with trauma, and if you appreciate poetic prose that sweeps you off your feet rather than goes straight for the gut, this book is for you.
In the end, We Were Liars stole my heart and left it in pieces, a reminder of the complexities of growing up in a world cloaked in beauty and heartbreak. If you’re in search of something that feels both luxuriously captivating and hauntingly thought-provoking, give this one a read. You may just find yourself on Beechwood Island—dreaming and questioning your own truths.