Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for this ARC!

I definitely admire this book for what it tries to do. It is incredibly ambitious, and it takes the myth of Apollo and turns it into a very different story (in a way- I suppose there’s a separate point here about all the Greek pantheon being irrevocably flawed), with a name and a voice given to a usually voiceless character.

I think my issue with the story is just that it felt a little too strung out for me. It’s lengthy, and we see the cycle of abuse pulled out across the novel, but it ends up getting a little repetitive. I think as well there’s another issue with how much we’ve been redoing Greek mythology lately, changing the character of it.

I did enjoy this book as a statement, and I thought that it was well written in terms of how it laid out the characters. Bonus points as well for the twist, which was definitely hefty and unexpected, although perhaps there’s a bit of discourse to be had about the different types of victimisation when it comes to abuse.

I am glad it didn’t veer into straight up romance territory- that left me more satisfied than the alternative would have, but I did hope for something a little less shoehorned than the mythology in this one.

Sometimes a book arrives that completely defies your expectations of what a mythology retelling can accomplish. The Composition of a Crow by Emma May grabbed me by the throat from the opening pages and refused to let go, transforming what I thought would be a straightforward Greek myth adaptation into something far more psychologically complex and emotionally devastating.

I picked this up expecting traditional mythological territory—gods, curses, perhaps some romantic tragedy played out in contemporary or historical setting. What I got instead was a story that uses the framework of Apollo and the crow myth to explore trauma, identity, and survival in ways that felt uncomfortably immediate and real.

Lora’s journey through this narrative operates on multiple levels simultaneously. On the surface, we’re following someone trying to piece together her own history and understand events that have shaped her in fundamental ways. Beneath that runs the mythological parallel, but May uses it as lens rather than blueprint, allowing the ancient story to illuminate modern psychological wounds without becoming heavy-handed allegory.

What impressed me most was how May refuses to romanticize or excuse Apollo’s actions within the mythological framework. So many retellings soften the gods, making them more palatable or sympathetic to contemporary audiences. May does the opposite—she looks directly at the power dynamics, the abuse, the way divine authority can become justification for terrible acts. It’s a bold interpretive choice that gives the book real teeth.

The connection between mythological narrative and personal trauma unfolds with such precision that I found myself constantly reevaluating what I thought I understood about both storylines. May structures revelations carefully, doling out information that forces you to reconsider everything that came before. It’s the kind of plotting that rewards attention and makes rereading almost mandatory to catch all the threads you missed first time through.

The psychological depth here elevates this far above typical mythology adaptation. Lora feels like an actual person grappling with actual trauma rather than a convenient vessel for retelling ancient stories. Her emotional landscape is rendered with specificity that suggests May understands both trauma response and the complicated work of healing from lived experience or extensive research.

The writing itself carries weight without becoming ponderous. May knows when to linger on emotional beats and when to let action speak for itself. The prose moves between lyrical and stark depending on what the moment requires, creating tonal variation that kept me engaged even during slower sections.

What makes this book particularly powerful is how it refuses easy resolution or simple catharsis. Lora’s journey isn’t about overcoming trauma through one dramatic confrontation, it’s about learning to exist alongside experiences that have fundamentally changed you. May doesn’t offer false hope or suggest that understanding your past magically heals your present. The emotional honesty here can be brutal.

The twists near the end—and I’m being deliberately vague to avoid spoilers—genuinely shocked me. I’m fairly good at predicting plot developments, but May laid groundwork so subtly that when certain revelations arrived, I had to pause and process what I’d just learned.

The way May handles the mythology itself demonstrates real sophistication. She trusts readers to understand references without over-explaining, integrating mythological elements so seamlessly that they feel organic rather than shoehorned in. The crow symbolism in particular operates on multiple levels throughout, gaining new meaning as the story progresses.

The Composition of a Crow succeeds as both mythology retelling and psychological thriller because May understands that the best retellings aren’t simply ancient stories in modern dress, they’re explorations of why these stories persist, what truths they contain about human experience, and how we can reclaim narratives that have been used to justify harm.

For readers who like:
Fans of Circe by Madeline Miller who want something darker, anyone who appreciated The Silent Patient for its psychological complexity, readers seeking mythology retellings that challenge rather than romanticize, and those interested in trauma narratives that don’t offer easy answers.

Final Verdict
Emma May has created something genuinely remarkable—a mythology retelling that’s as psychologically astute as it is narratively compelling. The Composition of a Crow will haunt you long after you’ve finished reading, making you reconsider both ancient myths and contemporary trauma narratives. This is exactly the kind of sophisticated, emotionally complex storytelling that demonstrates what the retelling genre can achieve when authors take real risks. Essential reading for anyone interested in how old stories can illuminate present pain and the difficult work of survival.

Grateful to NetGalley, The Book Guild, and Emma May for the opportunity to read an advance copy of this story in exchange for an honest review.

Unfortunately this book was a little too much for me, especially as it tries to paint a retelling with Apollo in a bad light, but I’m sure other readers will enjoy it!