This Poison Heart

“People said [Mo and I] favored each other, and it was nice to have someone that kind of looked like me. Me and Mom didn’t have any similar features, but we had the same sense of humor and the same laugh.”

This excerpt explores the social complications that may arise for adoptees given that people often expect parents and children to share similar physical attributes. The quote also celebrates the spiritual inheritance that adoptees receive from their parents, as while Briseis enjoys her physical resemblance to one of her moms, she recognizes that she has also “inherited” certain attributes from Thandie, as well, albeit not in the traditional sense of a heritable trait. This reinforces the novel’s consistently positive characterizations of adoptive families.

“There’s nothing here that I don’t mind leaving behind for a while. As long as I got you two, I’m good.”

Briseis’s closeness with her moms, who are positioned as the central figures in her life, subverts a YA trope wherein friends are the most important relationships. Briseis’s closeness with her parents is emphasized by the honesty that characterizes their interactions. This dynamic is likewise unusual for fantasy novels in which teens struggle to assimilate powers that their parents do not share.

“There was something in her eyes that scared me. It was uncertainty, fear. Of what? It could have been fifty different things, but I was afraid in that moment it might be me.”

When Briseis begins to worry that Angie might be afraid of her instead of afraid for her, the scene demonstrates the ways in which Briseis often projects her own concerns about her powers onto her mothers. Angie and Thandie never suggest that they fear Briseis, and they never wish that she were different, yet this abiding fear that they will reject her indicates Briseis’s discomfort with being so different from her parents.

“But as we drove through the shop-lined streets of a literal village, I realized that their seven thousand, compared to our over two million in Brooklyn, was like moving to the moon.”

Rhinebeck symbolizes the “small town” setting that dominates This Poison Heart. The town is characterized as a community where everyone is likely to know everyone else, and this tight-knit dynamic contrasts sharply with the anonymity of the city, rendering it somewhat foreign to Briseis. Though she initially fears that this closeness risks her secrets, the local community ultimately serves a vital purpose in her ongoing search for answers about her abilities.

“‘I haven’t read a map since I was in school,’ Mo said. ‘And after that we had MapQuest so—’

‘What’s MapQuest?’ I asked.”

Bayron here modernizes an older YA trope in which parents are often less familiar with the latest technology than their children are. Though Angie references MapQuest, something that Briseis does not recognize, she doesn’t scorn Briseis’s lack of map-reading skills, and her comment reflects the tumultuous changes that technological advances have wrought upon society as a whole. While Angie’s knowledge is of now-obsolete technology that has been superseded by better versions such as Google Maps, Angie herself has also experienced the effects of these large-scale shifts, as she hasn’t read a map herself in some time.

“Mom came up in a family, headed up by my grandma, whose folk magic practices stretched back generations. She wasn’t as into it as my Auntie Leti or Granny, but she respected it. Fully. She didn’t mess with ghosts, spirits, haints, none of that, and not because she thought it was silly, but because she knew there was probably something to it.”

Though Briseis will learn that her birth family is embroiled in a generations-long magical plot, her reference to Thandie’s magical ancestry reminds readers that the Colchises are not alone in their magical abilities. Instead, Bayron uses this passage to present the idea of multiple families (often matriarchal ones) who practice magic. Thus, the awareness of magic is firmly established as a dominant element of the Greene family in addition to the Colchis family.

“The house was going to help my family, but these letters, whatever they were, felt like a burden I didn’t want.”

That the mysterious letters feel like a burden compared to the rest of the artifacts in the house—the garden, the keys—foreshadows the revelation in the novel’s climax that the letters were forged by Mrs. Redmond. This intuition, which Briseis sometimes connects to a feeling of “rightness,” shows that she is, in some way, fundamentally linked to the house and her past, even if she does not yet understand how.

“Investigating weird people in the driveway will get your ass sliced up, Angie. You’ve seen Us. Come on now.”

Thandie here references Jordan Peele’s 2019 psychological horror Us. Peele is known for addressing the issue of institutional racism through his horror films. In this scene, Thandie’s invocation of Peele’s oeuvre represents an orientation of culture in the novel that is centered on Black experiences, artists, and life.

“‘We’ve recently begun defunding the local police department. Several officers have proven themselves to be more of a problem than an asset to the residents here. As such, we’ve cut back the number of officers on the force and diverted funding to programs that better serve the community. My department acts as a buffer between what’s left of the police and the community to ensure everyone’s safety.’

‘Well, damn,’ Mom said. ‘Sounds like y’all are ahead of the game out here in the sticks.’”

Dr. Grant’s explanation of what it means to “defund” a police department (a term that is often misunderstood in polemical debates) emphasizes the benefits of the reallocation of funds from the point of view of characters who support such an act. Thandie’s comment that Rhinebeck is “ahead of the game” despite being in “the sticks” offers an ironic reversal to the assumption that cities are inherently more liberal than small towns.

“‘So you inherited this place from your mother?’

‘Selene was my birth mother. They’re my moms,’ I said, gesturing toward Mom and Mo.”

The acceptance of adoption is shown, in the novel, as being generational. While Briseis doesn’t have to explain the fundamental differences between her mothers, Angie and Thandie, and her biological mother, Selene, to any of her contemporaries, she finds herself repeatedly making such clarifications for the benefit of the adults she encounters in Rhinebeck.

“As I put [the key] in the lock, the bougainvillea curled down and encircled my wrist, twisting around it gently before snapping itself off, leaving me with a beautiful bracelet of purple blooms. Few things shocked me when it came to what foliage might do around me, but this left me in awe.”

The spontaneous formation of flower jewelry that the garden plants create for Briseis offers her a different vision of her power, one that suggests that it could be a form of beauty and happiness instead of a curse that leads to fear and suffering. This inner shift in the protagonist’s approach to her power coincides with her acceptance of her new role in the magical community of Rhinebeck.

“‘Not tryna be rude, but death is pretty permanent,’ I said.

‘If you say so.’”

Alec’s offhanded comment about the supposed impermanence of death foreshadows multiple events in the novel. Marie will later reveal herself to have been saved from death by the Living Elixir, and even Thandie’s death may not be permanent, as Hecate implies that she can be resurrected. Even Circe, as is revealed in the novel’s last pages, turns up alive despite the universal assumption that she has been dead for months.

“‘You’re new to this place, but it isn’t new to you,’ Marie said. ‘It’s in your bones. It’s part of who you are.’”

With this statement, Marie asserts that despite Briseis’s long separation from the Colchis family’s legacy, the history of the area is a part of the teen’s identity. Ultimately, she also implies that the connection between Rhinebeck and Briseis’s destiny correlates to her own compulsion to return to Rhinebeck over the many long years of her immortal life. The importance of place thus emerges as a central factor in the sense of community that pervades the novel, as the community of Rhinebeck reflects the important role that a tight-knit social network can play in an individual’s sense of self and family, particularly in Black communities.

“The only thing I’d ever been really good at in my life was the one thing these random people needed me to do. It wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t have been.”

In this statement, Briseis asserts that Rhinebeck’s need for the “one thing” she is talented at signifies a manifestation of destiny, but this assertion is more self-defeating than it is accurate. Although the teen’s plant-related powers are unusual, she also has many other talents and good qualities, including a taste for research and the ability to build strong familial relationships. By insisting that running the apothecary is somehow fated, Briseis recognizes the limits of her logic and is working to convince herself of its validity.

“‘I was adopted. I’ve always known that. But Mom and Mo are the best.’

‘Not the best at waffle-making, but whatever.’”

Karter’s joke about Angie’s inability to cook breakfast foods suggests that he accepts the Greene women’s relationship more easily than the adults in Rhinebeck, who constantly need to be reminded that Selene is her biological mother, not her mom. While Karter’s comment indicates that he may be a good friend for Briseis, this friendly characterization is eventually revealed to be a red herring, as Karter, at the behest of his mother, Mrs. Redmond, is working against the Greenes from the very beginning.

“Whenever you hear a story about villainous women, you should ask who’s telling the story.”

Dr. Kent’s comment about the insidiousness of misogyny in stories offers readers a viable approach to critical analysis and proves to be a relevant point for Briseis herself, whose talent with plants might be likened to one of witchcraft. While the term “witch” has historically been used to denigrate and disempower women, Bayron’s novel does no such thing. Instead, the author reverses the sexist portrayal of a magical woman as a villainous one, thereby suggesting that an ethical witch may in fact be a feminist figure.

“You’re an expert on this. What’s your consulting fee? Your time is valuable and I’m not asking you to do this for free.”

Briseis’s question to Professor Kent hints at the well-documented tendency of women (and especially Black women and women of color) to be asked to do unremunerated labor, particularly in jobs that, like teaching, have historically been feminized. Though Professor Kent ultimately rejects the offer of payment, Briseis’s gesture signifies her respect for the older woman’s work.

“He’s been studying alchemy since before I was born. It was the same way with my grandfather, and his grandfather’s mother before him. Generations of practice.”

Dr. Grant’s description of her family as long-term magic practitioners connects her to a large group of Black families in the novel who have magical ancestries. Notably, however, the Grant family’s magic craft contains male practitioners. Given that the only other explicit male practitioner of magic is one of the villains who attacks Briseis, this indicates that magic is not meant to be a female-only sphere.

“In case you couldn’t tell, I don’t have a lot of friends. I didn’t think it was a big deal till I met you and realized how much I needed one.”

Given the eventual revelation of Karter’s status as an antagonist at the end of the novel, his declaration about his need for friendship can be read in several ways. It may be viewed as a trick that is designed to get Briseis to lower her defenses. However, given that Karter shows moments of doubt in his loyalty to his mother, it may also foreshadow a redemption for him in the next novel in the series.

“Part of me understood that she knew about me. But hearing her say that and moving on like it was no big deal made me feel like I’d put down a heavy burden.”

Briseis’s relief at being seen and accepted by Marie in such a straightforward manner indicates the importance of being known for one’s true self and feeling peace in relationships. Though this passage specifically refers to Briseis’s magic, it can be extrapolated to other parts of her identity as well, including her Black heritage and her LGTBQ+ family.

“My grandpa Errol was the best man I’d ever known, and when he died, Mo didn’t get out of bed for a week. For a long time, it was like she was going through the motions. She would get up, shower, eat, and go to work, but it was like a shadow was constantly hanging over her—over us, because we mourned with her.”

In this passage, Briseis frames grief as a shared experience, especially when it is being experienced by a loved one. This dynamic foreshadows the effect that Thandie’s death will have on her family, even if it does indeed prove to be a temporary situation.

“Mythology is a murky world. It’s much like unraveling a centuries-long game of telephone. The messages we see and hear today may be nothing like what was actually intended.”

Professor Kent uses a whimsical metaphor to illustrate the ways in which messages and stories can become garbled and distorted over time. While no ancient person could have imagined a literal game of “telephone,” Professor Kent uses this analogy to create a vision of how modern readers struggle to interpret ancient messages, as an entire worldview of difference stands between speaker and the audience.

“‘Thanks, Alec. You can go back to illegally accessing the MoMA’s encrypted files.’

‘History belongs to all of us,’ he said as we closed the doors behind us.”

Alec’s comment about the democratization of knowledge as he hacks into a museum’s files suggests that he differentiates between what is “illegal” and what is “unjust.” The notion that knowledge should be shared aligns with the novel’s insistence that secrets are unhelpful and damaging.