Two women, separated by decades, research plants at the Coliseum. Structure is interesting but takes a bit to get used to. Definitely pays off at the end, but getting there is not that fun.

Deliciously written and slow, it took me ages to get through this because I had to relish every word. I did think that the beauty of this story surpassed my interest in any sort of plot, which is good, because there really wasn't much of one.

The message and the historical plot are interesting, but this book was a major slog to get through and the modern academia plot was kind of bleak but in a hopeless way? I didn't feel like the blurbed idea of survival got across all that clearly.

This book was beautiful and captivating. Not my normal genre but I enjoyed my time with it very much and look forward to reading more from Katy Simpson Smith.

A peaceful, thoughtful read. I enjoyed the commonalities between storylines, and the nuances of the characters.

Two women, connected across time by the Roman Coliseum and botany, navigate the complexities of power, science, and oppression. In 1850s Rome, a woman is forced to categorize flora as punishment for her lesbian relationship. In the present day, a graduate student from Mississippi is re-categorizing the flora for her infuriating graduate advisor.

The writing is lyrical and intelligent, but it often felt so abstract that it was impossible for me to differentiate the women’s voices from one another. (I didn’t even grasp that there were two different women until embarrassingly late in the story.) It was a challenge to read, and the ending didn’t leave me feeling gratified for having finished it.

I appreciate the experimental style and the premise of the novel, and the language is beautiful. Though I found it impressive, it just wasn’t the book for me. I’d recommend this to those passionate about experimental fiction, botany, and prose-poetry.

Thank you to Farrar, Straus, and Giroux and NetGalley for the advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.

3.5, rounded down. This is a much more subversive and experimental novel than the alternating historical and contemporary narratives that the staid jacket copy would suggest. Simpson Smith combines two first-person narrators, both of whom are nameless and distinguishable only through internal clues (no obvious flagging of PoVs as in, say, Lincoln in the Bardo).

In 1850s Rome, a young Italian woman (a thief whose father is punishing her for having a lesbian relationship) is assisting the patronizing English naturalist Richard Deakin in cataloguing the flora growing in the Colosseum. In our own time, a young graduate student from Mississippi (still processing the long-ago death of her mother) is doing the hard work of re-cataloguing them (and the effects of climate change) for her lazy and mansplaining graduate advisor. Both of them are subject to, rebel against, and reluctantly consent to, patriarchal domination in dramatic and subtle ways. Simpson Smith weaves these stories in counterpoint, so that they illuminate each other: weeds as metaphors for feminist survival.

What made this novel overwrought and over-engineered is its central narrative conceit: The Weeds is comprised of botanical journal entries written by one or the other of these unnamed narrators, and follows the Linnean taxonomy of Deakin's entries for 420 different species. Each short entry, only about a page long sometimes riffs lyrically or metaphorically on the name or function or appearance of a specific bush or tree or grass. And sometimes slow-walks the narrative along with minimal haste, as diaries of their interactions with hideous men: a father, a hookup/boyfriend, a fiancé, Deakin, the advisor. Rather than forging an emotive or empathetic connection between reader and character, this extravagant cleverness created a vast ironic distance, and an unnecessarily choppy narrative that was too easy to put down.

Thanks to Netgalley and FSG for giving me an ARC of this in return for an honest, unbiased review.

Searching for plant life in the Roman Forum, two women in two different timelines explore the plants they find and their uses in their lives. Beautifully written, plant descriptions and drawings are a bonus, thoroughly enjoyed reading! Recommended.

I liked that the book owned the scientific aspect of nature and how that contributed and interacted with the narrative and characters

I love studying the flora of my native desert, and I’ve been known to get more than a little geeked out talking science – biology, anthropology … well, basically most any ‘ology’ of the science fields (the quintessential ‘wannabe biologist’). This book was destined to be a hit for me, when I read the jacket description: “A Mississippi woman pushes through the ruin of the Roman Colosseum, searching for plants. She has escaped her life, apprenticed herself to catalog all the species growing in this place.” And another woman in 1855 who “pushes through the jungle of the Roman Colosseum, searching for plants.” As punishment for her misbehavior.

I have read all but one of Katy Simpson Smith’s novels (but it’s on my shelf, The Everlasting). And while she proves as brilliant as always – more so in this book – this one left me a bit unmoored … perhaps by design, given the novel’s weighty topics of misogyny, abuse, and sexual overtures in academia.

"I mark down what grows, making notes so a man in a waistcoat can make a green and ordered story.

…the plant that’s no longer Alsine tenuifolia but Minuartia hybrida because too many eighteenth-century men tried naming plants at the same time, and someone had to consolidate their egos…

“It’s just strange to me you don’t have feelings about the broader ecology.”

“Feelings,” he says, smug. “This is the problem with my female assistants – excuse the phrase.”"

Many have noted this book as clever. And it is that, and more; it is intellectual bordering on scholarly. I learned so very much about plants (much of it amazing ... do you know how many plants have spring-loaded seeds, or hooks that bury them in place beneath the soil, or shapes that allow them to be carried on animals’ hooves, or even seeds that lie in wait 50 years for rains?). The cultivation and reproduction methods are astounding – and apropos as metaphors for women.

For all of that, this book deserves an astounding 5-star review. It is whip-smart, showcasing Simpson Smith’s incredible mind and academic pedigree. Yet, for me, the characters were just too far out of reach for emotional connection – perhaps due to the first-person narration for both? The physical structure of the book, also, with descriptions of plants/weeds starting out nearly every chapter, may be difficult for some readers – repetitive, very academic and research-oriented (though cleverly touching on parallels between women and weeds. Weeds are unruly and treated as useless, are they not? They are in abundance, mowed down, ignored).

"Picture a plant so sensitive, so f’ing heart-on-its-sleeve, that it built its seeds to explode in a shower of fireworks every time so much as the gentlest thrush wing brushes by.

… I am, we are, flowers to be alighted from.

Surely that’s how evolution works: a plant picks itself up and crawls to a more hospitable patch of dirt. But that’s not how women work, I can hear my advisor say.

Who can look at weeds and not see women? Is it his fault the world made no allowances for them?"

Despite all the adroit parallels and metaphors, the rest of the book would be a 3-star review for me due to the lack of emotional connection and the lack of distinction between characters (this is a deliberate literary technique, I believe, that pulls a lot weight in portraying the theme of women as less than. By making the unnamed female characters so similar, the author illustrates that women aren’t distinct; they’re dispensable and interchangeable … in the 1850s and even today … begging the question: how much has changed?)

There is a sarcastic humor in the book – by both women, but even more in the present-day character. And there are ways, the book proves, that the most cunning of women can regain their voices, even though their worlds represent a fight to be seen as more than sexual instruments. "Weeds that bend live forever."

This is, indeed, a book that made me think – and left me with many unanswered questions – all good things in the world of reading. I appreciated this novel and its huge ambitions and think scholarly readers will eat this up.

Katy Simpson Smith’s "The Weeds" is a headful of a book. It challenged me, confused me, frustrated me, and, in many ways, inspired me. And it worked my brain – HARD.

We have two unnamed women, one in 1855 and one in the present, searching for plants at the Roman Colosseum. One is there as a punishment for past crimes, and the other is unsure of how she even landed there. Through their voices, not only do we learn of a multitude of flora, but we confront a number of relevant topics – the historical and modern-day oppression of women, science vs. emotion, and climate change.

"The Weeds" is as literary as literary fiction can be. Smith’s writing is both beautiful and intellectual, clear in places and abstract in others. The two narrators' perspectives are often indistinct, albeit intentionally so, and it’s difficult to know whose head you’re immersed in. Plus, each chapter and each section break begins with a brief but scientific description of a plant, which, after 300 pages of it, is tedious to read.

And Smith loves her metaphors. Some are subtle, some are over my head, and some are glaring – yet all (of the ones I understand) are spot on. The most obvious being that women, even in this day and age, are seen by some men as nothing more than weeds: annoying, worthless, and always in the way.

Though I enjoyed it, I’m uncertain as to whether "The Weeds" is a read for the masses. It’s a lot to consume and process. But those who do pick it up will find it rewarding if they embrace the challenge.

I, for one, am so glad I read it. And it wouldn’t surprise me if I later discover it’s one of my favorite books of 2023.


My sincerest appreciation to Katy Simpson Smith, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, and NetGalley for the digital review copy. All opinions included herein are my own.

I admit that I struggled to connect with this dual time line multiple POV novel that tells much of the story through notes about plants, I admire what Smith has done- and I learned a great deal about the plants- but it wasn't an easy read for me. Thanks to Netgalley for the ARC. For fans of literary fiction.

THE WEEDS is a lovely and poetic narrative perfect for fans of literary fiction. As always, Katy Simpson Smith's writing is assured and elegant. As the novel progresses, the dual narratives begin to intertwine in a satisfying way. I especially admired how the two women's stories are told across time, and readers should enjoy the references to the natural world.

Absolutely loved this. So beautifully written and the last 50 pages were gripping! I haven’t read anything quite like this… for fans of Jenny Offill maybe?

The cover of The Weeds is a beautiful one and it definitely drew me to read it, unfortunately I only made it a third of the way through.
The books is very poetically written and I was constantly looking up the plants (which I didn’t mind, it was very interesting) but I couldn’t get into it enough to finish.
The voices of the women were clear but not enough for me to read to the end.

I enjoyed the writing here and the premise sucked me in (had some Cloud Atlas vibes). But, ultimately, this one was a little slow with not enough payoff in the end.

“the weeds” is the story of two women 150 years apart studying the flora of the roman colosseum. beautifully written in prose that borders on poetry, it is masterful. we learn about many forms of plant life as well as their uses and how they relate to these women’s lives and experiences.

the fact that there are two points of view is very hard to wrap your head around. it wasn’t always clear who we were following or what exactly was happening. it’s a bit too abstract, but very beautiful. the illustrations of plant life were wonderful and added to the experience. however, it was a bit difficult to follow.

thank you to netgalley and the publisher for an arc in exchange for an honest review!

At first, this book threw me for a little bit of a loop. I wasn’t expecting the format to be so complex and interesting—but I’m so happy with the pay off. The book follows two women who are living their lives over a hundred years apart. Both are so connected and interested in the plant life in the Colosseum. The beginning was a little hard to get into, but only because of my own preferences: Duo POV narratives are not necessarily my favorite; I end up almost always favoring one narrator/storyline over the other. But in this case, with the use of the scientific classifications that started each chapter, it made sense. The two stories began to intertwine together like the roots of a plant: Overlapping and sometimes becoming harder to distinguish between each other in a dizzying and beautiful way. I was sucked into the story quickly.
This is my first read by this author, but I’m so eager to read more by her. Her writing is sparse and yet so expansive at the same time. Sentences in a row would cut me like a thorn.
I’m excited to pick up the physical copy of this book and see the illustrations not including with the eBook from NetGalley! I think seeing the book as a whole together will make the re-read (and I will be re-reading) even more worthwhile.

"The Weeds" by Katy Simpson Smith is a hard novel to describe. With a unique structure (two different stories set more than a century apart) told through letters (and journals) this is a book likely to polarize. It’s not a beach read but if you stick it through there is more than enough to reward you.

I liked this, because it’s the kind of thing I like — weird, nerdy, poetic, queer — but I wanted something more from it. It felt like a concept album, more premise than plot. For most of the book, not much happens — and I’m not a very plot-driven reader, but I wanted more plot from this. I can imagine really liking a different version of this book, some future iteration of it after some rewrites, where it’s moved a bit away from the concept (“what if Flora of the Colosseum of Rome, or Illustrations and Descriptions of Four Hundred and Twenty Plants Growing Spontaneously Upon the Ruins of the Colosseum of Rome but a novel?”) and toward more of a plot. It does come together nicely at the end, though! It feels like it’s not going anywhere, but it does end up somewhere good.

I was often confused by which POV we were in at any given moment, which I assume must have been intentional, since there were no section headings indicating the year or the character. But I don’t know what purpose the ambiguity serves; I can’t say that I noticed any benefits to it. This complaint will probably come up in a lot of reviews, and the author will probably sigh and think about how we just don’t understand the clever literary thing this confusion accomplished. And maybe she’s right, maybe I’m just not an intelligent enough reader to appreciate whatever it was she was doing here. In any case, I don’t understand this choice, and I don’t see the value in it.

The book that this most reminds me of is Hex by Rebecca Dinerstein Knight. Although this book, unlike Hex, is very much *not* about being in love with your advisor, both books are kind of like a long prose poem about plants (though they're better than that description makes them sound!).

Overall, even though I didn't find this book entirely satisfying, I'm intrigued, and I would try out the author's future novels.