There exists a particular brand of loneliness that does not diminish with time but compounds across centuries, calcifying into something both armor and wound. Natasha Siegel understands this intimately, and in As Many Souls as Stars, she has crafted a gothic romance that stretches across five hundred years yet never loses sight of the tender, terrible ache at its heart. This is not merely a story about a witch and a demon locked in a Faustian bargain; it is an examination of what remains when everything else falls away—whether that something is love, hatred, or simply the desperate need to be known.
The narrative begins in 1592, where Cybil Harding exists as a First Daughter, cursed by her bloodline to bring ruin upon those she loves. Her father, Christopher Harding, is a man so consumed by his conviction in the family’s divine calling that he refuses to acknowledge the darkness pooling at his daughter’s feet. When Miriam Richter arrives—a creature forged from shadows who has consumed souls for centuries—she offers Cybil something that feels impossibly like hope: reincarnation, in exchange for her soul.
What follows is a chase across lifetimes. Cybil becomes Esther, then Rosamund, each incarnation carrying the accumulated weight of her predecessors. Miriam follows, patient as the dark, waiting for the terms of their bargain to conclude. Yet the longer they circle each other, the more the lines blur between predator and prey, between hatred and the love that sometimes wears hatred’s face.
The Architecture of Eternity
Siegel demonstrates remarkable ambition in her structural choices. Each of the three timelines possesses its own distinct atmosphere and voice. The Elizabethan sections drip with the paranoia of witchfinders and the cold stone of ancestral halls. The Regency era brings gaslit London and the suffocating expectations placed upon women of means. The 1930s sequences aboard a transatlantic ocean liner crackle with jazz-age glamour and art deco opulence, even as storms gather on the horizon.
This temporal breadth allows Siegel to explore how identity persists and transforms across rebirths. Cybil, Esther, and Rosamund are the same soul, yet they are not the same person. Each carries the memories of her past selves—sometimes vividly, sometimes as half-remembered dreams—and must negotiate between who she was and who she has become. The result is a protagonist who feels genuinely multifaceted, her character development occurring not linearly but in spirals, each turn revealing new facets of the same fundamental nature.
The magic system, rooted in the exchange of light for shadow, provides elegant metaphorical underpinning. All magic is transaction; all power costs something. This principle governs not only the supernatural elements but the emotional architecture of the entire novel. What are we willing to sacrifice for connection? For freedom? For the mere possibility of being understood?
Miriam Richter: Monster as Mirror
Where Siegel truly excels is in her characterization of Miriam. Too often, immortal love interests in romantic fiction become static figures—beautiful, dangerous, and ultimately shallow. Miriam begins as something genuinely monstrous, a being who views humans primarily as sustenance and entertainment. Her interest in Cybil initially stems from hunger rather than affection; that soul burns so bright it would make a magnificent meal.
Yet across centuries of proximity, something shifts. Miriam discovers emotions she had believed herself incapable of feeling. The novel poses a fascinating question: does a creature without a soul lack the capacity for love, or merely the awareness that love is what she experiences? Siegel handles this transformation with care, never allowing Miriam’s evolution to feel unearned or sentimentalized. She remains capable of cruelty, of jealousy, of petty vengeance. Her love does not make her safe; it makes her unpredictable.
The dynamic between Miriam and her quarry resists easy categorization. There are moments of genuine tenderness interspersed with betrayals both petty and catastrophic. The novel asks readers to hold contradictions simultaneously—to accept that two people might genuinely love each other while also being the worst things that ever happened to one another. This complexity elevates the romance beyond standard enemies-to-lovers fare.
What Burns Beneath the Surface
The thematic preoccupations here will resonate with readers who appreciate speculative fiction as a vehicle for examining real-world concerns. The curse of the First Daughter functions as meditation on how patriarchal systems create self-fulfilling prophecies. The Harding men believe their daughters dangerous and treat them accordingly; isolated and feared, these women become what they were always told they would be. Siegel handles this with nuance, acknowledging that belief itself is a form of magic—that sometimes the curse is simply the conviction that one exists.
Loneliness emerges as the novel’s central wound. Both protagonist and antagonist suffer from it, though in different ways. Miriam’s isolation stems from her nature; she is fundamentally other, unable to connect with the mortals she consumes. The First Daughters’ loneliness is imposed from without, a cage built from fear and superstition. That these two lonely creatures should find each other makes a certain terrible sense, even as their relationship damages them both.
Where Shadows Grow Long
For all its strengths, As Many Souls as Stars is not without flaws that merit consideration. The middle section, particularly the Regency timeline, occasionally loses momentum. Where the Elizabethan chapters benefit from their atmospheric tension and the 1930s sequences propel toward climax, the Esther sections sometimes feel like connective tissue rather than fully realized story. Certain secondary characters in this era remain underdeveloped, serving more as obstacles or catalysts than as people in their own right.
Additionally, Siegel’s prose, while beautifully atmospheric, can tip into excess. There are passages where the language becomes so dense with sensory detail that the narrative pace suffers. Readers who prefer cleaner, more direct prose may find themselves occasionally frustrated by the lushness of the description. However, for those who savor gothic atmosphere, this abundance will read as a feature rather than a bug.
The novel’s ambitious scope also means that certain elements receive less attention than they deserve. The mechanics of the curse, the history of the Harding family, and the origins of Miriam herself are sketched rather than fully painted. Some readers will appreciate this restraint, finding mystery preferable to explanation; others may wish for deeper worldbuilding.
The Legacy of Devotion
Natasha Siegel has previously demonstrated her facility with historical settings in works like Solomon’s Crown and The Phoenix Bride, both of which showcased her talent for rendering period detail with authenticity and flair. As Many Souls as Stars represents an expansion of her range, incorporating fantasy elements while maintaining the emotional intelligence that characterizes her earlier novels. The result is her most ambitious work to date, imperfect but genuinely distinctive.
Readers who will treasure this book include those who appreciate:
Gothic atmosphere that prioritizes mood over action
Complex queer romance with morally gray protagonists
Multi-timeline narratives that reward patient reading
Philosophical undertones woven through fantastic premises
Prose that prioritizes beauty and sensation
This may not suit readers who prefer:
Fast-paced plotting with clear forward momentum
Straightforward romance without antagonistic elements
Detailed magic systems with explicit rules
Lighter tonal approaches to romantic fantasy
Similar Journeys Worth Taking
Those captivated by this novel’s themes and approach would do well to explore The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab, which shares the premise of immortality as both blessing and curse. Alix E. Harrow’s The Once and Future Witches offers similarly atmospheric historical fantasy with feminist undertones. For readers drawn to the complexity of Miriam and Cybil’s dynamic, Samantha Shannon’s Priory of the Orange Tree provides another epic sapphic fantasy with intricate relationships. Finally, those who appreciate Siegel’s historical sensibility might enjoy Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell for its immersive period detail and leisurely pacing.
Final Reflection
As Many Souls as Stars succeeds most powerfully as an exploration of what endures. Not love, exactly, or hatred—but something that contains both, that transmutes across centuries like base metal into gold. Siegel has crafted a romance that refuses to be comfortable, a gothic that earns its darkness, and a fantasy that asks genuine questions about the nature of identity and connection.
As Many Souls as Stars suggests that perhaps the curse was never real—that it was only ever belief, calcified into tradition. But it also suggests that belief is the most powerful magic of all, that we become what we are told we are, and that breaking free requires not just strength but imagination.
For readers willing to surrender to its particular rhythms, to accept its contradictions and inhabit its atmosphere, As Many Souls as Stars offers something increasingly rare: a love story that challenges as much as it satisfies, that refuses easy answers, and that lingers long after the final page has turned.