Stoneheart Review by Rachel Atterholt

"Psyche's job, everyone's job, was to do the hard things that needed doing, trusting that somehow it would be well. It would not be, the Song reminded her, an easy hope. It was not a lazy summer morning hope. It was the sharp cut of ice, the depths of snow, the frozen night sky. It did not mean - it had never meant - that anyone escaped suffering. It had never meant that Psyche could not lose everything she cherished. But it was hope nonetheless. A hope that promised all evil, no matter how twisted, could and would be straightened back to good."

Stoneheart is a deeply personal book. I’ve read other books that have felt personal, like they were written specifically for me. The Hobbit, A Man Called Ove, and The Magicians. Stories have a way of connecting us, of bringing ideas to fruition, of giving us hope or shining a light on parts of the soul we either don’t see or don’t want to.

Stoneheart is one of those books.

Sul, a man without a heart embodies how I don’t feel emotions the same as most people, how I don’t connect well, or understand the world. The way his heart still breaks, and how he learns to love despite it is something I connect with deeply.

Psyche, a woman with trauma, embodies a lesson of not holding on to the trauma, of letting yourself heal, letting yourself be your TrueSelf. Of not hiding away from the world, but letting others in.

The character Volo is a symbol of laziness, of caring too much what people think, of beauty, of chronic pain but of what exaggerating that can be. And Zehra is a model of true chronic health issue who chooses to stand in her last moments.

All of these people are aspects of me, lights shining on my TrueSelf.

Being a single homemaker is a challenge I didn’t expect to have when I was growing up. I expected a family life earlier on or living on my own without caring about the Hearthkeeper side of things. There are many days where I think I’m too heartless for the task, too traumatized, or too sick. Some days I think it impossible. I’ve dealt with more than enough chronic health challenges, and some personal ones too. Ones that sometimes make me feel separated from others or want to be.

But I stay the course.

And I read this book and wow. It was like this book was written for me, to help me endure, to help me persevere.

“I’m not sure I want to hide my scars,” Psyche said slowly. “I know they’re ugly, but I earned them. They remind me I’ve survived.” She hesitated, dropping her voice, “They remind me I’ve already been given both salvation and vengeance.” She touched the stoneheart in her pocket.

This line made me sob. The beauty in the brokenness, the message that scars can be beautiful and a sign of a life well-earned, that your trauma isn’t just trauma, it can be used for good. That we don’t have to hide away from the world because of our perceived ugliness or scars, but can be a light to others despite, or perhaps because of the scars. We have been saved by an ultimate King, by a vengeful warrior. We do not need to fight our own battles. They are already won for us. We are saved through blood and forgiven through love. We do not need to let our scars become us, but they can remind us of what we’ve come through. The darkness we’ve journeyed to reach the light.

There’s also a part of me that, gone unchecked, could turn to Volo. I could let laziness take over or take advantage of people. I can also mourn my age. I’m 28, and I feel myself getting older. The older I get the more the way I wanted my life to go fades into something else. I could let it turn to bitterness. I could find any way to stay young and beautiful instead of celebrating where I am now and how far I’ve come. It’d be far too easy to let that happen. There’s a line in a song by Taylor Swift that I think really sums up Volo: “Beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours, demanding more.”

Volo is the worst in me, the bitterness, the unchecked rage. The demand to be beautiful. Beauty is often found in the ordinary, in the quiet mornings, in the baking of bread or the warmth of a fire. Beauty is also spiritual things, forgiveness, redemption, sacrifice. It’s not the Hollywood version, the outward kind. It’s ordinarily extraordinary. And it’s easy to become Volo and forget all that.

Life, even ordinary life, is often a battlefield.

This was a line from the afterword of Abby. It made me sob. It’s a summary of the whole book. Life is a war, it can be traumatic, tough, hard, and full of scars.

I am not a typical woman. I am born with less feeling, more stoneheartedness, I’ve dealt with trauma and both psychological and physical health issues, fraught with guilt and anger. It’d be all too easy to turn Volo, to act weak, to let the world take care of me, to use people the way I’ve been used. It would be all too easy to say I have no heart, so I don’t need to care. It would be easy to say I have so much trauma and fear I will stay inside and deal with no one. It’s hard to reach out to others, to keep trying, to keep hoping.

Recently my heart has dealt with some of the hardest blows that I’ve experienced in a while. I think it’d be easy to hide away and ignore the rest of the world. Instead, I gird up my loins and go to church, go to help others, reach out with kindness to friends. This isn’t a brag; this is years of striving to do better. This is seeing my sin of anger and resentment and letting it go. This is trying to be the Hearthkeeper I was born to be.

It’s been a long road to reach here, and I have much farther to go, but when I read stories like this, I find that I am not alone, that I will be okay and that I can endure and keep going. That if I put my heart and soul to the task, I will accomplish it.

It would not be, the Song reminded her, an easy hope. It was not a lazy summer morning hope. It was the sharp cut of ice, the depths of snow, the frozen night sky. It did not mean – it had never meant – that anyone escaped suffering. It had never meant that Psyche could not lose everything she cherished. But it was hope nonetheless. A hope that promised all evil, no matter how twisted, could and would be straightened back into good.

Hope isn’t easy. Life isn’t easy. It can be hard, but it can be beautiful. Hope is tough with bloody knuckles and bruised smiles. It keeps going despite the hardships. It’s not an easy hope but a well-earned one. I’ve not had it easy, not had easy hope come on silver wings. Hope has had to pull me kicking and screaming through some of the worst of life. And here I am. Hearthkeeping is hard too, tending the fires of your church, your home, your family.

It is easy to let go and hide away from the world, but it is beautiful when you do not. There is a part in the book where Psyche plans a barn social, trying to bring people together. It’s a small part of the book but it hit me hard.

I am planning a Christmas party and a book club meeting. These aren’t great big life-changing things, but they are things I could not do six months ago and would not do a year ago. The desire to bring people together, to connect more, to see the beauty of the world through people, is wonderfully persevering. It’s another way to keep hoping.

So, I’m choosing to hold onto hope. To not hold onto my scars, but the redemption they have given me, to hold onto the inner beauty of myself and others. To open up and connect even though it is harder to understand. It’s not easy but neither is anything that Psyche or Sul endured. And just as they came through the dark tunnels into the light with the sacrifice of the White Stag and the forgiveness of the King, so too can I.  

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Rachel Atterholt wrote this personal and touching review of my book. She grasped so much of what I wanted to communicate through this book. I wanted to honor her words by sharing them on my blog because she has such a heart for the home. I hope it is an encouragement to many of you!