Reviewed by Lily Andrews
There are some lies that enter a relationship so quietly you do not notice them at first, and by the time you do, they have burrowed too deep to be removed without pulling your heart and emotions apart. In Sierra Ernesto Xavier’s novel, “The Malady of Love,” a single deception does exactly that. It worms its way into the space between two people who believe they have found in each other a refuge from their deepest wounds and psychological traumas. This all unfolds through dialogue, where both their voices weave in and out of each other’s sentences. Purchase Here.
The first character, a man, carries a wound he cannot name. It is something that has lived inside of him since childhood, something that has made him afraid of his own voice. When he was young, he learned that speaking could be dangerous, in that it could make some people laugh at him or simply disappear from his life altogether. Therefore, he grew up believing that silence was safer and that keeping his thoughts locked away would protect him from further hurt. The woman he meets understands this fear. We learn that she carries her own wound in the form of a memory of her twin sister, who died inside their mother’s womb. This was a tragedy she has been unable to shake, and one she has always believed was her fault.
When the two meet and begin to talk, something shifts in both of them. The man finds himself eager to speak, and the woman finds herself eager to listen. You can sense that she wants to hold his fears as gently as she would have held her sister if only she had been given the chance. For a while, it seems like their love might actually heal their old wounds, which undoubtedly have kept them lonely for so long, but unbeknownst to them, the foundation they have built that love on might not be as solid as they think. Beneath their happiness lies a secret, a deception tied to loss and motherhood, one that feels like something that might rise up when they least expect it and test everything they think they know about each other.
What I believe makes this book powerful is how deeply it makes you care for these two characters. It doesn’t make external descriptions of how they look or what their names are, which I believe is deliberate in order to force the reader to focus entirely on what matters- their inner lives. I also believe that by employing this approach, the author trusts the reader to fill the blanks and bring their own imagination to the story. Their dialogue feels raw and honest, primal in its need to be heard, and the gentle pacing pulls you right into their struggles. The chapters unfold with what feels like a quiet precision, tender and hopeful at first, then tighter and more urgent, before arriving at moments so sad and painful, they might leave you breathless for a while. I believe this structure deepens the reader’s emotional investment, so that by the end of the story, they feel they have lived it, and the final revelation lands not as a magical twist but as an expected outcome.
This story implores us to recognize the lies we sometimes convince ourselves are necessary and how they often become the very things that destroy us. It does not offer a happy ending, only hard truths about grief that has not been allowed to fully heal, about childhood wounds that shape everything we become as adults, and the devastating weight of betrayal that leaves you wondering whether you can personally forgive when the damage runs this deep. “The Malady of Love” is a book I believe will stay with the reader long after they finish it, not because it is easy or comforting, but because it is real and true. They should, however, be aware that it explores sensitive topics which may be distressing to some audiences.