This might sound like I’m exaggerating, but seriously, I haven’t read anything as refreshing and profound as Mercy in a long time.
There is a continuity that is usually difficult to achieve in sequels. You can pick up the story from anywhere, but you really are still missing a lot of action. Go read book one. It’s free. The story is fully formed and it gathers momentum at the perfect pace, twisting and turning with colossal “oh no” moments. Eniola Prentice is indeed a talented writer.
Mercy generously explores the travails of medical school. We see and feel the hopes and dreams of medical students as they envision a future as saviors. We physically experience the fragility of these dreams as they shatter irreparably under the pressure of studying and failing in spite of themselves.
We learn that love is not perfection, and neither is it not wanting others to be perfect so we can feed on their insecurities. It is selfless and holds no accounts of evil or good, always insisting on optimism.
Amidst the pain and the anger that seethes and smolders, there is faith. This is the type of faith that pierces through even the darkest moments like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Even when it is refused and denied, it stays true and strong.
We go on a journey of self-exploration with the main characters, and we even get a glimpse into the lives of those who stay on the fringes of the spotlight.
To each his own is a very apt statement, but it is incomplete. The threads of life always find a way to intertwine. Deep lives come with even deeper pain and lies, each individual embroiled in his own turmoil. Everybody has secrets, a secret pain that shatters the public perception of perfection. However, the thing about secrets is “you give them more strength when you hide them.”
Mercy is a book that mirrors life, love, pain, forgiveness and unconditional acceptance. There are few books that so profoundly capture and alter perceptions of life and living as humans.