The feeling had already taken root, silent and complete, somewhere he could not reach to tear out. And already, deep in the grammar of a lifetime, he could feel the old instinct stirring: The wall beginning, stone by patient stone, to rebuild itself.
The irony is brutal. The same patriarchal system that renders her life intolerable also provides the only sanctioned route out of it.
The novel ends with a revolution. It ends with violence, bloodshed, and irreparable loss. But in that loss, lies a freedom, a sense of ownership of one’s identity, of standing with what one believes in.
