Book Review: The Story I Told Myself

Reviewed by Toni Woodruff | Content warnings: slavery, death of a child

Heart-wrenching historical fiction with some incredible leading characters

Shivali is married to a monster: a man with iron fists, an impenetrably cruel heart. But we don’t start with him. We start with her, the real hero of this story, Shivali, who has already killed him. 

She’s washing him away, releasing all traces of her marriage to him—from the sindoor in her hair to the bangles on her wrist and heart. Outside of the temple, waiting for her to finish, are the two children who are glad she killed him.

Soon after, the temple priest finds them there along with the traces of the truth. Despite being caught, this isn’t the end of their story. The priest tells them of a place in South Africa that offers an indentureship: food, clothing, and shelter in exchange for hard work in sugarcane fields. A chance to start over, to be with her children, to let go of what she’s done.

But this, it turns out, isn’t the perfect chance to get out. Indentured in a form of near slavery, Shivali is worked to the brink; the people around her are being destroyed emotionally, physically, and sometimes killed. Is this really better than what she left behind?

Shivali’s two children—Uma, 6 at the start of the story, and Harry, 4—also play pivotal roles in the telling of this story. Among the three points-of-view, there’s no drop-off in engagement. Shivali is the strongest shadow you’ll ever meet; Uma is responsible, courageous, and loving; and Hari is the heart and soul of the novel’s redemption. These characters are written with such care. They are strong and brave shells on the outside with soft, caring hearts on the inside. I couldn’t be happier with the characterization of these three protagonists.

It’s weird to say this: But I sure am glad Shivali killed that man. Having been a shadow for too long—and having borne the brunt of so many bruises—she deserves a life free from his wrath. Enjoying this aspect of the book also comes from the story angle. For the rest of the book, Shivali is a ghostly character—one that works tirelessly and would do anything she could to make a better life for her little people. She’s an amazing mom and a murderer at the same time. The moment in the temple is handled with grace and strewn with hair—a great way to start.

It’s clear early on that Uma has grown up too fast. She’s a loving mom to Hari too, always holding his hand, fussing, but making him feel safe and cared for in whichever setting they occupy. You’re going to love Uma. Also, there are a few moments of a forbidden, touching romance in her story that lovers of love will be glad to have read. 

This is a heavy, sad, important book. In relaying parts of the true story of many people in the Indian diaspora during the 1800s and early 1900s, it’s bound to include some heartbreak. But do expect heartbreak, reader. This is one that puts priority on truth—and the truth is painful. 

The Story I Told Myself is a powerful account that you’re not going to forget.

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