A Poet Haunted by Grief and a Lover Marked by Blood - an Editorial Review of "A Harmony of Hells"

Book Blurb:

A poet haunted by grief. A lover marked by blood. A sister silenced behind asylum walls.

In the decadent heart of fin de siècle Paris, Averill Charron makes a devil's bargain. To rescue his sister—locked away by their father—hejoins forces with the last man he should trust, Blaise Dancier, the crime lord who once ordered his death.

No longer enemies. Now they are lovers. Together they descend into the underworld, searching cabarets and crypts, brothels and back alleys, chasing whispers that lead to deception and death.

Even as they hunt for her, Jeanette fights for her freedom. But escape only leads to recapture. Once again, she’s trapped in a world where only dreams of forbidden love and the promise of revenge keep her sane.

Their paths converge in the drowning beauty of Venice at Carnevale, where every mask conceals a threat. In a world ruled by power, madness, and betrayal, love may be the final sacrifice.

A HARMONY OF HELLS…a love story with murders.

Book Buy Link: https://geni.us/0eVAhYY

Author Bio:

Yves Fey's Floats the Dark Shadow is the first book of The Paris Trilogy, set in the dynamic and decadent world of Belle Époque Paris. Her debut mystery won the Silver Medal "IPPY" Independent Publishers Award in mystery, and both the Mystery and Historical Finalist Awards from the Next Generation Indie Book Awards. It's also nominated for ForeWord's Independent Publishers Book of the Year Award in the Mystery Category.

Yves has an MFA in Creative Writing from Eugene Oregon, and a BA in Pictorial Arts from UCLA. She has read, written, and created art from childhood, and is an ardent movie buff. In her varied career, she has been a tie dye artist, go-go dancer, baker, creator of ceramic beasties, illustrator, fiction teacher - and novelist. A chocolate connoisseur, she's won prizes for her desserts. Her current fascination is creating perfumes inspired by her new novels.

Yves has traveled to many countries in Europe and lived for two years in Indonesia. Currently, she resides in the San Francisco Bay area with her husband and two beloved cats, Charlotte and Emily, the Flying Brontë Sisters.

Writing as Gayle Feyrer and Taylor Chase, she previously published four unusually dark and mysterious historical romances, The Prince of Cups, The Thief's Mistress, Heart of Deception and Heart of Night. She plans to rerelease these with her own cover designs in the coming year. Her fantasy, House of the Twin Jewels, appears in Erotic Interludes.

Editorial Review:

Title: A Harmony of Hells

Author: Yves Fey

Rating: 4.5

Yves Fey’s “A Harmony of Hells,” the last book in her “Paris Trilogy” dives back into the messed up lives of a bunch of people in Belle Époque Paris including poet and medical student Averill Charron, and his sister Jeanette who’s locked away in an asylum by their terrible father. The book is drenched in this dark, sensual atmosphere- you can practically smell the absinthe and feel the grime of the cobblestones. The story follows Averill’s desperate and increasingly dangerous search for Jeanette, a quest that pulls him deeper into the city’s criminal underworld and right into the path of Blaise Dancier, this crime lord who is both alluring and who had tried to have Averill killed once. Meanwhile, Jeanette is trapped in this nightmare of asylums, trying to survive and plot her own escape. She experiences the world through this synesthesia where emotions and sensations have colors and smells, elements that make her suffering more intense. And then there’s this whole complicated web with their family, their messed up father, their mother trying to recover from addiction, and Averill’s own tangled love life and his struggles with his poetry and his dark past. It’s a lot to handle but it pulls you right in.

“Averill smiled ironically. “If only it were that easy.”

Leaving behind the deepening blue of the Paris dusk, Averill walked into the cavernous darkness of L’Enfer. Smoldering fires lit

The Montmartre cabaret, emitting occasional hellish flashes of flame and belches of smoke. An array of plaster souls and demons

Twisted on the ceiling and crawled down the walls, close enough for him to stroke in passing. Deep crevices glittered with streaks of

Molten gold and silver.”

Reading this passage is like stepping into a fever dream. Fey doesn’t just describe a cabaret; she administers it directly into your veins. The ‘cavernous darkness’ of L'Enfer isn't a setting but a character, and it greets Averill like an old friend. This passage is a masterclass in atmosphere and setting. You’re immediately plunged into the sensory, decadent, and slightly sinister world of Belle Époque Paris. The contrast between the “deepening blue of the Paris dusk” and the “cavernous darkness of L’Enfer” (The Hell) isn’t just a change of location; it’s a descent. The cabaret isn’t just a bar, it’s a theatrical, immersive underworld with its “smoldering fires,” “hellish flashes,” and plaster demons. This establishes the book’s central aesthetic: a beautiful, artistic hell. The grammar here is solid and sets the scene really well with that contrast, between the outside dusk and the inner darkness. The structure is simple but effective, helping the reader get Averill’s character immediately. He’s walking into a fake, theatrical hell to escape the real, psychological one he inhabits. He is comfortable enough in this environment to casually consider stroking the demons on the walls, which gives the impression that he isn’t just visiting hell, he’s on familiar terms with the décor.

“Iron doors screech open then clang shut as Father drags me down one corridor after another. With every step, emotions batter me— Hot red stink of anger. Bruising grey of depression. Vomit yellow of fear. The odors grow stronger as we twist deeper into the maze. Beneath my clothes, my skin crawls as if millions of fleas race over my body. The burlap shrouds all but a pale flicker of a gas lamp as we pause. Keys jangle. A door creaks open, the sound a cold steel

Knife skittering along my spine.”

Fey doesn’t just describe Jeanette’s synesthesia; she weaponized it. This isn’t a quirky trait but a brutal, unrelenting assault on her senses. The 'hot red stink of anger’ and ‘vomit yellow of fear’ don’t just describe emotions rather, they are the emotions, physically violating her. It’s one of the most effective and harrowing portrayals of a unique psyche one can ever read about. The reader is immediately thrust into her psychological hell, making her imprisonment far more terrifying than a simple description of a cell could ever be. The grammar here is fragmented mirroring her shattering mind. The structure is this rushed, panicked list of sensations. It feels like you are there in her head feeling claustrophobic and terrified with her. Fey forces you to experience the asylum not as an observer, but as a prisoner, and it’s utterly brilliant and deeply unsettling. The impression is overwhelmingly powerful, it’s probably the best way the book gets across how she experiences the world, as this violent flood of input.

“Giddy with excitement, Averill quelled the impulse to laugh. He didn’t know if all eyes were still on the grisette. He didn’t care.

The shadowed corner would have to do. He leaned across the table, cupped the back of Dancier’s head and pulled him into a

Kiss. At the touch of their lips, the delicate frisson exploded. Jagged heat slashed through Averill, bright as lightning. Without thought, he jerked away just as Dancier did, as if the kiss repelled them both. But Dancier did not strike him. Did not storm out.”

This passage is a total gut-punch of a moment where Averill seizes control in the most dangerous way possible. He’s “giddy with excitement,” not scared and initiates a kiss with a criminal who tried to have him murdered. It’s the kind of scene that makes you put the book down just to whisper ‘what are you doing?’ to a fictional character. This is him choosing chaos, choosing danger, choosing to walk directly into the fire just to feel something other than despair. It shows a reckless, self-destructive streak that is core to his character. The grammar is fine, the sentence structure mixes short punches with a longer running sentence, giving it this sudden, impulsive feel and then a burst of sensation. The impression is pure danger and attraction, you can feel the shock of it, the recklessness, and you know nothing is going to be simple after this. It’s a great character moment for Averill, who often finds himself trapped.

Yves Fey’s “A Harmony of Hells” is a glorious, grimy, and unapologetically messy masterpiece. The prose has this raw, live-wire energy that perfectly matches its world of poets, criminals, and lost souls. It’s a book that doesn’t just ask you to visit its darkness, but to roll up your sleeves and wade right in. And trust me, the muck is magnificent. Definitely worth wading through the darkness for.

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