I’m the daughter of murdered parents.
I’m the friend of a dead girl.
I’m the lover of my enemy.
And I will have my revenge.
In the wake of the devastating destruction of the luxury yacht Persephone, just three souls remain to tell its story—and two of them are lying. Only Frances Mace knows the terrifying truth, and she’ll stop at nothing to avenge the murders of everyone she held dear. Even if it means taking down the boy she loves and possibly losing herself in the process.
Sharp and incisive, Daughter of Deep Silence by bestselling author Carrie Ryan is a deliciously smart revenge thriller that examines perceptions of identity, love, and the lengths to which one girl is willing to go when she thinks she has nothing to lose.
|Publisher:||Penguin Young Readers Group|
|Product dimensions:||5.90(w) x 8.40(h) x 1.40(d)|
|Age Range:||14 - 17 Years|
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***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***
When they pull me onto the yacht, I can’t even stand I’ve been adrift in the ocean so long. A young crewman sits me on a teak bench while he calls out for someone to bring him blankets and water. He asks me my name but my tongue is too thick and my throat too raw from screaming and salt water to answer.
I’m alive, I think to myself. The words run on an endless loop through my head as if with repetition I’ll somehow believe it. I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive.
And Libby isn’t.
I should be feeling something more. But it’s all too much too fast. Inside I’m awash with numbness that cocoons a brightly burning knot of rage and despair. Protecting me. For now.
A pair of crewmen pull Libby’s body from the life raft, rolling her onto her back on the yacht’s gleaming deck. I think about how birds have hollow bones and how easy it must be to break them.
That’s how she looks right now: hollow. Her cheeks sunken, her wrists twigs wrapped in tight skin that’s turned to leather from relentless heat and exposure.
A crewman presses his fingers against her neck, a palm in the center of her chest. His expression slides from desperate hope into a mask of efficient resignation. He looks up to where an older man with a ring of white hair around his otherwise bald head hovers, waiting. The crewman shakes his head.
The older man lets out a cry, his face crumpling as he falls to his knees by Libby’s side. He only says one word over and over again as he pushes a tangle of wet hair out of her face: no. His voice cracks and his shoulders slump, shaking, as he sobs.
If I had any tears left in me I’d be crying too, but I’m so dehydrated that all I can do is shake, my lungs spasming with hiccups. I try to talk, my mouth forming a wh– sound over and over again.
“Shh.” The crewman who rescued me drapes a blanket around my shoulders. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”
I want to believe him. But all I can do is stare at Libby’s body. An hour earlier, and they’d have found her alive. She might have survived. Seven days adrift in the middle of the ocean, and she’d lost it in the last hour.
It doesn’t seem fair. We were supposed to make it together. We’d promised.
Her body is so light and brittle it takes only one person to carry her inside the ship. The older man does it, clutching her against his chest, his eyes red and lips pressed tight together.
“My baby,” he whispers against her temple. Understanding hits with a physical force: This is Libby’s father. He glances at me as he passes, his expression bewildered, and I know he’s wondering the same thing I’ve already been thinking: Why am I the one who survived? Why couldn’t it have been her pulled alive from the raft?
I want to apologize, but seeing him with Libby—a father cradling his broken daughter—I can’t. The unfairness of it is monstrous. I would give anything to have my father here now, to feel him holding me and protecting me the way Libby’s father does.
And he would give anything for his daughter to still be alive.
I close my eyes, unable to stand it. Because in this moment I truly understand just how alone I am. How no one will ever again hold me and care about me the way Libby’s father does her. My parents are dead. Libby is dead. I have no relatives— no other family waiting for me.
I am alone. Utterly and irrevocably alone.
Memories storm through me, fast and sharp, in an unrelenting strobe of sensations—sounds, smells, fragments of sentences. I feel my mother’s hand against my forehead checking for a fever some night, years ago. I hear the way she sneezes, big and loud, and my father laughing in response the way he always, always does.
There’s the smell of the car on the winter morning we go to pick out a Christmas tree, my father singing along to the carols on the radio with his voice always just slightly out of tune. I taste french fries—my fingers slick with fast-food grease—my mom’s treat to me as she drives me home from summer camp.
I lick my lips and gag at the taste of salt. The memories come faster, running over one another, drowning me. Panic claws its way up my throat. My nails are soft and cracked from so long in the water and they split past the quick as I try to dig them into the skin along my thighs, wishing I could gouge it all out of me. The memories. The loss. The pain. The refrain that’s been unspooling in my head for days: gone, gone, they’re all gone, your life is gone.
And inevitably, images from the attack come next: the gun pressed to my father’s head. The blood drenching my mother’s shirt. She’d begged, but it hadn’t mattered. It didn’t matter for anyone on that cruise ship. They’d all been massacred.
Three hundred twenty-seven. That was the total number of passengers and crew on the Persephone. It was one of the things we’d learned during the safety drill before leaving port. In the end, it never mattered how many people a life raft could hold. It never mattered where each cabin’s muster station was.
Nothing we learned during the safety drill mattered.
The attack had come swift and hard in the middle of the night. One minute life on the Persephone was normal, the next the ship was rocked with explosions. They blocked the exits while armed men went room to room, systematic in their assault. Faces passive, expressions detached from their actions, they’d pulled triggers and reloaded magazines with sickening efficiency.
Killing them all.
The bodies. Oh God, the bodies. And the blood and the screams and the smell of it all, like overripe peaches stuffed with pennies.
I gasp and shudder. It was only luck that allowed Libby and me to escape. We talked about it relentlessly during those next seven days adrift, the impossibility that we’d somehow survived.
All of that and she’d ended up dead anyway. It’s so brutally unfair.
The young crewman pushes a plastic bottle of water into my hand, forcing me back into the present. My throat clenches. The bottle’s cold—freezing against my palm—and there’s condensation dripping along the outside. I fumble to open it, my fingers useless, my muscles too weak to even lift it. Finally he takes mercy and twists the cap free.
“Drink slow,” he says, but in my world there’s no such thing and I press that bottle hard to my lips. If I’d died the instant that water rushed across my tongue I wouldn’t have cared. I’m sharply aware of each drop as it cascades down my throat and into my hollow belly. Nothing exists then but that taste—that sensation.
“Easy now,” the man says, gently prying the bottle from my lips. “You don’t want to make yourself sick.” He’s too late; already my stomach revolts in painful cramps. I turn and vomit.
The man rubs my back as I heave, telling me again that I’ll be okay. That I’m safe. “What’s your name?” he asks when I’ve recovered enough to sit up again.
I press the back of my hand to my mouth. My skin tastes like salt, making me retch. “Frances,” I try to tell him, the sound nothing more than a tattered thread.
The storm that had been threatening at the edge of the sky all day finally breaks, sending fat drops of water crashing to the deck. “Let’s get you inside,” the crewman says as he slides his arms gently around my shoulders, lifting me as easily as Libby’s father lifted her. As he carries me, I tilt my head back, letting the rain wash across my sun-cured skin.
If it had come a few hours sooner, this rain would have saved her.
I barely pay attention as the man maneuvers me through a large salon, down a flight of stairs, and along a hallway to a stateroom. He sets me carefully on the bed.
“I’m a medic,” he explains. He pulls over a large red bag emblazoned with a white cross and slides on gloves. “Is it okay if I examine you?”
I nod and he’s ginger as he probes at the sores covering my legs and back, unable to hide his horror at what’s become of my body. “You’ll be okay,” he tells me again, but I get the impression it’s more to convince himself than me. He unzips his bag and begins pulling out various medical supplies.
“You’re severely dehydrated,” he explains as he runs an alcohol-soaked swab across my inner arm and presses a needle against the flesh. “So the first priority is to start getting fluids in you.” It takes him several tries, his forehead creased in frustrated concentration as he searches for a vein. I feel none of it.
Eventually he’s satisfied and drapes an IV bag from a hook on the wall. “For now, just rest.” He starts for the door but I force the sound up my throat.
“How many survived the attack?”
He looks at me, not understanding the question. “Attack?”
“The attack on the Persephone,” I croak in a salt-crusted voice. “How many others survived?”
Frowning, he opens his mouth, reconsiders, and closes it. Finally he says, “Two others: Senator Wells and his son.”
I don’t even dare to breathe. “Grey? ” I whisper.
He nods and I slump back into the nest of pillows, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. Grey’s alive. Grey’s alive! It seems so impossible, that after losing everything else, this one small part survived. Like suddenly there’s a bright spark of hope in the cavernous blackness my life has become.
“Hey, I’m Grey,” he says, standing next to my deck chair, casting me in shadow. I have to squint when I look up at him and though I’ve been ogling him all afternoon I still can’t stop my eyes from dropping to his chest, skimming down to the strip of bare skin just above the waistband of his swim trunks.
They skim low on his hips, almost like a promise.
I’m fairly certain he notices and my cheeks heat. But I know the reason he’s here—what he’s really after. He’s made that abundantly clear.
“Her name’s Libby,” I tell him, gesturing to where Libby’s hanging out over by the towel stand. She has her elbows propped on the counter and is leaning forward slightly, hoping to catch the hot attendant’s attention. “I’d move quick if I were you,” I add.
“Oh, um.” He shifts from one foot to the other, and I assume he’s nervous because he can’t figure out how to politely ditch me to go after my friend. But I’m already expecting it—I’ve noticed him looking our way for a while now.
“Do you mind if I join you?” He points at Libby’s empty chaise next to mine. It’s so unexpected, I stare at him perhaps a beat too long. Finally I realize he’s waiting for my response and I shrug.
He’s barely settled before I ask, “So, what do you want to know about her?”
He smiles and ducks his head. “Actually,” he says, “I was hoping to learn more about you.”
While on the raft, I’d daydreamed of Grey rescuing me, even though I knew it was impossible—that he must have been killed with everyone else on board. Over and over as we drifted toward death on the empty ocean, I’d imagined him coming for me.
It didn’t matter than I’d known him barely a week, it had been long enough to fall for him with an intensity I’d never experienced before.
He was my first love. And he’d told me I was his.
In the black horror of what my life has become, that single point of light now shines. I’ve lost my parents. I’ve lost Libby. Nothing will ever be the same again. I have no other family, no long-lost relatives to take me in. There is nothing left.
But Grey. I still have Grey.
I cling to the thought as though it is a life raft, knowing that if I hold on tight enough and don’t give up, I’ll somehow be able to survive.
I drift asleep imagining our reunion. Already feeling his arms around my shoulders, his hands pressing against my back, holding me tight against him. He’ll brush his lips against my temple and whisper over and over that it’s okay, he’ll keep me safe, and I’ll believe him.
Because he also saw the horror. He also survived it. He also understands. In the protection of his arms finally, finally, my tears will come again.
The same four words cycle endlessly through me, giving me comfort for the first time since that opening shot was fired on the Persephone: I am not alone. I am not alone. I am not alone.
And then I remember. It comes as a physical sensation first, a crushing on my chest as my mind struggles to bend and stretch to take it all in.
Gasping, I bolt upright, pressing my palms over my ears as though that could somehow stop me from hearing. But of course it doesn’t.
The gunshot, shattering bone.
It never will.
Beneath me, the yacht rocks softly, the thrum of its engine a low vibration through my bones. The stateroom is empty, the windows dark. It’s too quiet. I’m too alone. Memories of the attack circle around like hungry sharks and I reach for the television remote, hoping that sound and distraction will keep them at bay.
When it flickers on, the TV hanging on the far wall is glaringly bright and colorful, stinging my eyes. But it’s something other than silence and that’s what I crave. I flip through channels absently until a familiar name stops me. Persephone.
My hand falls limp to the bed. Heart pounding, I watch as a news anchor shuffles papers while an image of the cruise ship floats behind her. “Breaking news on last week’s Persephone disaster,” she announces. “Sources are confirming that another survivor from the ship may have been located. As of now, authorities haven’t released any information about the potential survivor or survivors. While we wait for more information to trickle in, let’s take a look at the dramatic footage of Senator Wells and his son taken shortly after their own rescue.”
The scene on the TV shifts to a sprawling marina bustling with activity. The camera zooms in on the gangplank of a large US Coast Guard ship, focusing on a small group making its way toward the pier.
Senator Wells leads the pack. Even with a sunburned face he manages to appear debonair in an almost-dangerous way, the salt-and-pepper scruff of his unshaven face emphasizing the sharpness of his cheekbones. The camera pans past him and my breath catches.
It’s Grey. Alive.
It’s one thing to be told he survived, yet another to see it as truth. That same surge of relief washes through me, the sudden realization that I’m not alone. Someone else out there understands.
I devour his appearance. Grey looks much worse than his father. He clutches a thick blanket around his shoulders, his steps slow as he trails after the group. His hair sticks up from his head at odd angles and his eyes look bruised above the shadowy scraps of stubble strewn across his cheeks and chin.
Reporters rush the two en masse, shouting questions and Grey rears back, alarmed by the sudden onslaught. I press my fingers against my lips, feel them trembling. One of the coast guard men tries to push the camera away, but the Senator stops him. “We’ll answer,” he says. Grey winces and his eyes squeeze shut.
“The world deserves to know the truth of what happened to the Persephone,” the Senator explains, pulling Grey toward the reporter’s microphone. “It happened fast,” the Senator begins. I find myself nodding even though at the time it had seemed like hours. Days of gunfire. Years of blood.
“It was late and I was out on deck with my son, helping him look for his phone he’d forgotten by the pool that afternoon. There was a terrible storm and we were just about to give up and go inside.” He pauses, shakes his head. “The wave came out of nowhere. I’ve never seen anything like it. It just . . . took the whole ship out.”
Wave? I find that I can’t breathe, his words grinding my thoughts to a halt. That’s not what happened. There was no wave.
Senator Wells steps aside, leaving his son facing the microphone. Every heartbeat echoes through my water-slogged veins, causing my entire body to throb and rock as I wait to hear what he has to say. Grey blanches, but doesn’t retreat. The familiarity of his gestures is jarring. The way he holds himself with his weight slightly on his right leg, the furrow between his eyebrows as he sorts through his thoughts before speaking.
The way he unconsciously rubs his skull, just behind his ear, whenever he’s about to lie.
It’s amazing the little things you can pick up about someone in such a short amount of time when you’re falling in love. Every nuance, every sound and movement a code to understanding them.
“Like Dad said, it happened fast,” he starts, and then he clears his throat, choked up. In my head I see it all. I hear it all and taste it all. Again.
Grey pulls me against him and threads a strand of hair behind my ear. When he brings his mouth closer, I stop caring about the rain. All I care about is devouring this moment as though to imprint it into my memory forever.
Rivulets of water wash down his face, dripping from his chin and coursing along his neck. The way his shirt plasters to his chest allows me to see the outline of every muscle. I press my fingers against them, tracing the edges.
I laugh, a bubble of euphoria too large to keep contained. He kisses me right then, like he could take my laughter into himself and make it a part of him. And still, all around us the rain crashes but we don’t care.
The reporters huddling around Grey barely breathe as they wait for him to continue. “The rain was awful, and as Dad mentioned, we were . . . uh . . . out on deck by the pool.” He glances toward his father before continuing. “It was unlike . . . anything. It came out of nowhere—this massive wave. And it just was there—a wall of water. It rose higher than even the top of the ship—much higher.” He pauses as if reliving the moment, eyes haunted.
I’m trembling now. I don’t understand. Why isn’t he talking about the attack? Why isn’t he mentioning the guns?
Grey inhales slowly, his shirt lifting just enough to lay bare the strip of pale skin along the edge of his shorts. He begins to rub that spot behind his ear again.
“And then . . .” His voice breaks.
And then the guns. Men slamming through the corridors, cutting off the emergency exits, and locking the ship down. Panicked passengers in robes and nightgowns run, screaming. Making it no more than a few steps before bullets tear them apart.
Water drips down my back, my hair still wet from kissing Grey in the rain. I press myself against the cold metal wall of the dumbwaiter, watching through the mirrored window as a tall, narrow man makes his way efficiently down the hallway. He kicks a broken body aside. Forces his way into a room. It takes seconds—a loud spattering of gunfire—and then he’s in the hallway again, moving on to the next.
Moving on to my family’s room directly across from where I’m hiding.
A high-pitched whine climbs its way up the back of my throat, coated in acid. I clamp my hands over my mouth, knowing without question that if they hear me, I am dead.
I’m dead either way.
As Grey speaks, the reporters hang on his every nuance and gesture. They’re enraptured by him. I wait for him to mention the armed men. The gunshots. The murder.
But he never does. “It’s like what Dad said. The wave just swallowed her whole. Like a toy in a tub. And then . . . the Persephone was gone.” He shakes his head, as though he himself couldn’t believe it. “Just gone.”
In the silence that follows, the Senator squeezes his son’s shoulder. One of the reporters shouts, “How were you able to survive?”
Grey’s eyes widen, his expression one of bewilderment. The Senator steps in. “Had to be luck, plain and simple. It was late and because of the rain everyone else was inside, probably asleep in their cabins. I was so angry at Grey for losing his phone, but if he hadn’t . . .” He inhales sharply. Grey stares at his feet. “We wouldn’t have been up on deck and thrown free when the wave hit.”
“No!” I shout, the sound raw in my throat. “That’s not how it happened!”
“Once we got to the surface and saw the wreckage . . .” Here the Senator pauses and takes a water bottle one of the rescuers holds out to him. “We tried to find other survivors, but . . .” He shakes his head and a shudder passes through Grey. “The only choice we had was to try to stay alive. We found a life raft that must have broken free and just prayed that someone would find us.”
I’m gasping for air. “But . . .” I close my eyes remembering. Libby and I dragging our arms through the water, trying to put distance between us and the burning Persephone. Flames choking out her windows, undaunted by the rain. It wasn’t until dawn that we saw the extent of it: nothing.
Not a scrap of the ship remained. No hint of other survivors. No other life rafts anywhere in sight. How had Grey and his father survived without either of us seeing them?
On TV the tenor of the reporters changes as the camera pans and zooms in on a middle-aged woman running down the pier, her perfectly coiffed blond hair loosening in the breeze. She’s wearing a skirt that hits just above her knees and she pauses briefly to kick off her heels so that she can run faster. “Alastair! Grey!” she cries, the sound primal.
The cameraman knows how to do his job and he instantly focuses in on Grey’s face, capturing the moment it crumples and he mouths the word, Mom? And then they’re hugging, sobbing, reunited. His father’s arm around them both.
The video pauses on this perfect image. The intimate snapshot of an all-American family newly reunited, their heavy grief finally lifted. A miracle. The Senator with his sunburned face and lightly tousled hair. His wife barefoot, tendrils of hair pulled loose around her tear-stained face. And their beloved only son between them.
My chest tightens as though it were collapsing in on itself. Father. Mother. Child. All together. All safe.
It becomes impossible to breathe.
I’ll never hug my parents again. My mother will never come running toward me. My father will never place his hand on my head and tell me he loves me. I’ll never feel safe ever again.
I’ve lost everything. And somehow, Grey hasn’t.
The anchorwoman’s voice cuts into my thoughts, and I listen with a mounting sense of incredulity as she continues. “News of another survivor certainly comes as a surprise. As you may recall, the coast guard called off the search for survivors last week after interviewing Senator Wells and his son and concluding that a rogue wave capsized the Persephone, sinking it before those belowdecks could escape.”
The camera switches angles and the anchor swivels, continuing. “Though they’re considered a rare occurrence, this isn’t the first time a rogue wave has been suspected in the disappearance of a ship. In fact, it’s widely believed that it was a rogue wave that took the SS Edmund Fitzgerald in 1975, and just as with the Persephone, there was no wreckage found in that case either.”
It takes a moment for this information to take shape in my mind. For the implications of it to settle in. The coast guard called off the search days ago. When Libby and I were still out there. When we both still had a chance to be rescued alive.
All because of Senator Wells and Grey. Because they lied.
I don’t even realize that I’m screaming until firm hands pull me from the TV. My fists flail at it and smears of red mar the screen, blood from where I’d ripped out my IV in my scramble from the bed.
“They’re lying,” I shout, still flailing. “The ship was attacked. There was no wave. It was men with guns—they killed everyone!”
A crewman holds me steady as the medic slips a needle into my arm. “Shh,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”
“No,” I whimper, shaking my head. But everything feels so much heavier now. My protests, fuzzy and indistinct. “You don’t understand.” He carries me to the bed, and when he tries to leave, I fumble for his wrist, holding him. “You have to believe me. They’re lying. Please.” A tear leaks from my eye, the first since I’ve been rescued.
He gently frees himself. “It’s okay,” he says softly, pulling another blanket over me. “You’re safe now.”
But I know that’s not true. May never be true again. “They killed them all and sank the ship,” I whisper, my voice weakening. “They killed my parents.” It comes out slurred. “Please believe me.”
Excerpted from "Daughter of Deep Silence"
Copyright © 2016 Carrie Ryan.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Young Readers Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Love Carrie Ryan
I loved Carrie Ryan’s The Forest of Hands and Teeth and its sequels and couldn’t wait to get reading Daughter of Deep Silence. While I knew it wasn’t going to be a dystopian read with cute boys and zombies straight out of a nightmare crossed with an episode of the Walking Dead, I was still excited to find out what Daughter of Deep Silence was all about. It definitely didn’t disappoint and left me constantly wondering what would become of our protagonist next. Daughter of Deep Silence is unlike anything that I have ever read before and was a total treat to read. After an attack is made on the yacht Persephone, Frances Mace is left out at sea in a lifeboat alongside her best friend where surely they will meet their demise. It’s a miracle that they are found after drifting out at sea. With her best friend Libby dead, Frances and the Senator and his son are the sole survivors of the attack. But when the Senator claims that the attack on Persephone never even occurred, Frances is forced to take on her best friend Libby’s identity in order to one day get revenge. As the years pass, she prepares herself for the eventful day where she might finally face the Senator and his son and get her retribution. When Frances—now Libby—finally begins to put her plan into action, she finds herself facing pieces of both hers and Libby’s past. Suddenly she isn’t too sure what’s moral and immoral and there are matters of the heart that are afflicting her. They have her questioning her intentions and everything she knows. Is this what her parents who were killed on Persephone would want? Is the person who she has become the kind of person she truly wants to be? Frances doesn’t know the answer. What I loved most about Daughter of Deep Silence was what had me falling in love with The Forest of Hands and Teeth: Carrie Ryan’s writing. It is absolutely breathtaking. There isn’t a moment while reading where your attention could ever get lost. Every sentence drags you deeper into the story and there are so many instances while reading where you can feel a connection to what Ryan has been trying to say. Daughter of Deep Silence is a beautifully written read that keeps you hooked from start to finish. Daughter of Deep Silence did give off a total Revenge feel (and Revenge like the show, not the totally obvious emotion). A beautiful, badass female character who is deceiving everyone around her so that she can ruin the lives of her targets and expose them—basically the premise for both the show and this novel. If you’re a fan of that show, you’ll become a huge fan of Frances and cheer her on consistently throughout the plot. There are romance elements woven into Daughter of Deep Silence and I felt that they weren’t misplaced or distracting from the main storyline. They helped give a deeper understanding of Frances’s character. It helped me as a reader, come to empathize with Frances and feel sorry for her considering some of the merciless things she’s done in order to try and achieve her vengeance. Daughter of Deep Silence is the kind of story that forces you into the shoes of the main character and leaves you questioning your own morals and values. I would recommend Daughter of Deep Silence to readers who are looking for a thriller that is well-paced and unique in its story. Readers who are looking for a novel that has bits of romance, action, and mystery will also love this read. And anyone who has read Ryan’s works in the past and is eager to see m
Original Review Link: http://asdreamsaremade.com/2015/06/book-tuesday-daughter-of-deep-silence/#more-2264 Sigh. Frances Mace takes on the identity of Libby after the disaster of the ship Persephone with one thought in mind–revenge. Only two other people survived the attack, Senator Wells and his son Grey. They lied about what really happened and Frances is determined to find out the truth even though she might lose herself in the process. I think the biggest problem I had with this book was the actual premise. I mean in four years you’re telling me that nobody realized Frances was Libby?? Ryan does give some explanations throughout the story as to how she got away with it, but they seem a bit far-fetched and feeble. Frances was an interesting MC. Very calculating and determined. She struggled with trying to find her identity and who she’s become–Frances, Libby, or someone else entirely. It was hard to relate to her at times though because she was so cold. She wasn’t very relatable and her lack of humanity at times could get a bit grating. Grey as her love interest was….eh. I get what he was going through, but at the same time he just seemed wishy-washy and a bit of a push-over. Shepherd was one of my favorite characters because he was the most human. You really felt what he was going through–the loss, the confusion, the need to reach out to Frances. The plot moved and often felt like an action movie, especially toward the end; however, when we find out the reason behind everything it seemed a bit anti-climactic. I see what Ryan tried to do with the ending, but I would have liked it if it was a bit more wrapped up. Especially since the whole novel is about Frances struggling with her identity and who she decides to be. This wasn’t made very clear by the end. The unrealistic aspects of the story ruined it for me. I wish I could have believed that Frances could really have passed for Libby instead of constantly questioning it.
I really enjoyed this book. Would definitely recommend to any fans of ABC's Revenge. Girls parents are murdered. Girl pretends to be someone else. Girl seeks revenge. There is suspense, there is action, there is romance. The ending left you hanging a little bit but was very well written in my opinion and was good for the story. I have not read anything else of this author's but will definitely now be checking them out.
Reading the summary of this book, it sounds like an absolute dream to me. I love books about revenge, and I’ve always been intrigued by plots that involve a false identity. I’m fascinated by manipulation, deception, lying, conning, etc. I have no honest explanation for why. It’s just a lifelong fact about me. Unfortunately, another lifelong fact about me is that I’m good at solving mysteries with little to no clues. Movies, books, TV shows, board games, video games, whatever you want to throw at me. If it’s a mystery, I’ll solve it. This book was no exception to that. Around 5%, I knew exactly how this book was going to end. But I kept reading anyway, because I’ve read plenty of things by Carrie Ryan and they’ve all been wonderful, and I expected this to be the same way. Her writing is beautiful, poetic and gripping, and her fixation on the ocean makes it hard to understand why we aren’t all constantly mystified by it. The thing is, though, that for all of its beauty and initial intrigue, Daughter of Deep Silence was boring. There’s no more eloquent way to say it. To be honest, I’ve noticed a trend of books being marketed as “thrillers” but actually turning out to be contemporary, fairly normal albeit vaguely disturbing books with some thrilling bits and pieces strewn throughout. This was one of those books. The first few chapters were dedicated to illustrating the summary, which I appreciated, except how it was basically the same information chopped up and reworded over and over again until we finally got to a time skip. After the time skip, it was very much the same. No matter how beautifully haunting Ryan’s writing is, eventually I get sick of hearing the exact same thing for three chapters with something worth noting only happening every now and then. This book is very much driven by its characters. The main character is Frances, or maybe she’s Libby. Who really knows who she is. The thing that Ryan managed to flawlessly execute is that I read this entire novel and left with a very deep sensation of not knowing anything about the narrator. She’s not Frances, and she’s not Libby, and she’s not anyone. She’s vengeance in skin, cold and calculative and brutal, and that’s essentially all that you know about her until it isn’t anymore. She’s a mystery, our heroine, and I loved that. It added a streak of interest to an otherwise dull backdrop. Shepherd was my favorite character in this book. I wish I had seen more of him, and less of Grey. Grey was an okay guy, honestly, but he was a little more convenient than I would’ve liked him to be. Everything about him seemed to work out perfectly, and seeing him from the perspective of a girl who can’t tell infatuation from love made him appear to be quite boring. The romance in this book wasn’t very romantic to me, personally. The writing was charged and emotional, heady and engaging, but the actual relationship between the characters felt a little silly to me. I’m all for young love, and I know that first love is unarguably the most intense love there is, and it holds true that when you’ve lost everything, you’re much more likely to look back through rose-colored glasses at things from before. Plus I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic, and I believe in the notion of soulmates, and all of those cheesy, embarrassing things. What made the romance in this book silly was how quickly it came to be. Even the summary says that he’s her enemy, but truthfully, the second she sees him, she’s putty in his
I never really read what Daughter of Deep Silence was about, I just knew the author and loved her previous books then I bought this one. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea but I had high hopes since I loved her other books sooooooooo much. The Daughter of Deep Silence didn’t silence my want to by this beautiful book (it’s beautiful inside and out, in different ways). I read it, loved it, now I’m gonna review it! The Good: ¿ Every single thing. This was one of the best books I’ve read all year. I’m glad I read it and regret absolutely nothing. The writing adds to the whole aura of the story (if that makes sense) and is very beautiful. I enjoyed every moment of it. ¿ The planning that the main character put into her revenge was very impressive. She thought about almost every contingency. Did her plans all work out in the end? Well, my dear friend, you’ll have to read the book to find out! I promise, you won’t regret it (I hope you won’t because I’d love to talk to someone about this book, seriously!) ¿ I loved all the characters which hasn’t happened in a while. I felt bad for the main character and when someone brought up something about her (I can’t tell you) I agreed with them but still felt bad. Her situation was terrible but Carrie Ryan doesn’t give all the details of the event right away. She builds up tension in a wonderful way and makes it blend in with the story! I personally loved that! ¿ Have you ever heard of a book quite like this? Maybe you have, I dunno, but I haven’t! To me this a whole unique idea that excites me, I wish I could forget everything that happened so I can re-read it again and feel the same emotions. I mean, I still might re-read it one day, I dunno. The Bad: ¿ I read somewhere that there was some sort of twist, well I didn’t see any twists at all! I’m not really disappointed about that, I kind of just expected it. ¿ View Spoiler » Overall: Daughter of Deep Silence was one of the best books I’ve read all year. It’s the first book I’ve gave a full 5 stars actually, so I loved it xD! The characters were likable the story amazingly written! I highly recommend it and if you read it I hope you loved it as much as I did!
Actual Rating: 3.5 Stars Daughter of Deep Silence seemed like a promising mystery/revenge thriller, which in some ways it was, but it didn’t live up to it’s full potential for me. Frances was a really fascinating character to read about with no doubt, and despite her dark revenge plots, I still could easily sympathize with her most of the book. There were a lot of edge of your seat moments that kept me reading, but the romance and some less-than-practical decisions are what made this more of 3.5 star book instead of 4 or 5 stars. The story essentially revolves around the aftermath of a mass murder on a cruise ship named the Persephone, with the only survivors being Senator Wells, his son Grey, and Frances. Senator Wells and his son lie to tthe media about what happened, saying that the ship was taken down by a huge wave, while Frances, now orphaned, assumes the identity of her best friend who died just as they were both rescued to be able to seek revenge. Besides the first few chapters, most of the story takes place four years after the wreck, and Frances is now eighteen and ready to put her revenge plan in action. All of the characters in the story seemed really well developed despite the short time span, especially Frances, but there were moments that I almost wanted to roll my eyes at her actions, especially around Grey. She just seemed way too trusting with a guy who could potentially know or be involved with her parent’s murder. Both of them made it out to be that they had some epic romance, when in reality they were FOURTEEN when they fell in love, and if I’m correct most cruises don’t last long enough for you to have some earth-shattering romance (especially at fourteen !!!!!). I really liked Sheperd, especially later on in the book, and found him to be a really interesting addiction to the story. Plot-wise, I was really invested in the story, and I finished most of this book in one sitting, which rarely happens with me. There were a lot of plot twists and turns, and it was full of those thriller edge-of-your-seat moments. I found myself unable to put Daughter of Deep Silence down a lot of times. Even though I feel this could’ve been a lot more than it was, I still would recommend giving Daughter of Deep Silence a read, especially if you love a good revenge thriller.
MY THOUGHTS I honestly had no idea what this book was about. I just really wanted to read another book by Carrie Ryan! I'm glad to say that this was a very interesting read and completely different from Carrie Ryan's other books! This book starts with Frances being rescued after being stranded at sea for a week. She was on the cruise ship Persephone when it was attacked, everyone on the ship was murdered. Frances escaped with her friend Libby, but Libby sadly didn't survive the days lost at sea. Turns out that The Senator and his son--Frances' first love--also survived, but tell the media that the ship was taken by a rogue wave. Frances ends up taking up Libby's identity , to help Libby's father and to also have a home. For four years she lives overseas to hide from the media and those who know Libby, the real Libby, until, at 18, she comes back with a plan. She wants to find out the truth of what happened, and unleash the truth. And she will do anything to make it happen. The entire idea behind this book is fascinating. First of all, the idea of taking someone else's identity was done so well here. Frances has been Libby for four years and has long since buried Frances. What's really interesting is that she is neither Frances or Libby. She has completely taken over Libby's identity, doing what she believe Libby would do, but she could never truly be Libby and all of her ideals have been morphed by revenge. The mystery aspect of this book, as well as the revenge, but I really think Frances/Libby as a character is also very important. This entire book focuses on her getting over her past and realizing who she really is. Still, I loved the mystery aspect. The book is slowly-paced, but there is so much suspense that I couldn't help turning the pages to find out what happened to the ship and what Frances would do to get her revenge. I was a bit disappointed when I found out what actually happened, it wasn't as big as I thought it would be (not big enough to have so many people killed) and it just felt odd, but I still loved how everything came together in the end. Lastly, there was romance, but there wasn't. The romance is a complete mess in this book because it starts out as revenge and then there's the whole Frances/Libby thing. Really, it's hard to explain. There are feelings in the romance, but there is more focus on Frances and the entire ship mystery. IN CONCLUSION Overall, I'm so glad that I picked up this new book by Carrie Ryan! It is completely different from her zombie horror, but this is not a big to be missed by fans of mystery and revenge! I hope to be able to read more from her in the future!
Three people survived when the luxury yacht Persephone sank. Two of them are lying. Frances Mace knows the truth but at just fourteen, with everyone who ever knew her gone, Frances has no way to contradict the lies being told by the other survivors. Four years after the disaster, everything about Frances is a lie. Everything about her is a tool meant to help her exact revenge. Frances will stop at nothing to get justice for the victims of the Persephone even if it means giving up the boy she loves and sacrificing her own identity in Daughter of Deep Silence (2015) by Carrie Ryan. Daughter of Deep Silence is a standalone contemporary thriller reminiscent of the TV show Revenge. Evocative language and vivid descriptions bring the novel's South Carolina settings and Frances' horror-stricken memories of the Persephone to life. Ryan pulls no punches in describing the hardships Frances faced when the Persephone sank nor does she shy away from exploring the post-traumatic stress that obviously plagues Frances four years later. With rich characters and lavish settings, this story is a classic revenge story with added depth for the main character. Frances' life is complicated and her sacrifices in pursuing revenge are almost too numerous to count. Although Frances is a vibrant and strong character, her singular focus and strong personality only serve to underscore the fact that the rest of the characters are thinly drawn. (Shepherd in particularly felt like a prop for most of the story meant to act as a placeholder for Frances' conscience.) While Frances' revenge plot is well-planned, the logic behind it (as well as the truth behind the sinking of the Persephone) both are largely anti-climactic after a book's worth of build up. Readers seeking a story with more substance and stronger characterization will be left wanting more from this novel. Daughter of Deep Silence will appeal to readers looking for an edgy, fast-paced revenge story that has its smart moments. Possible Pairings: All Fall Down by Ally Carter, The Devil You Know by Trish Doller, Charlie, Presumed Dead by Anne Heltzel, We Were Liars by E. Lockhart, Pretending to Be Erica by Michelle Painchaud, I am Princess X by Cherie Priest, Hold Me Like a Breath by Tiffany Schmidt, Revenge (TV series)
I thought this book was wonderful! The beginning started off crazy intense. What Francis went through was horrific and makes me terrified to go on a cruise now (...just kidding...well only a little). I really loved the plot, it kept me glued to the pages to see what happened next. I really liked Frances, I got a better understanding why she felt the need to do everything thanks to all the flash backs throughout the book. I had so much sympathy because of her past and rooting for her to get the truth. The only thing I wished more of was the ending. To me, I felt I was left hanging. I wanted to know the fate of a friend and what the other's answer would be (sorry to be vague but don't want to spoil anything). Other than that, the book had enough horror (of what happened), devious planning, cunningness, & a somewhat happy ending. Fantastic. *I received this through Penguin's first to read*