The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab

I saw this book everywhere for years. There were multiple times I was waiting for Tindol in Target and I’d pick it up just to read the first few pages and see how it started (I swear, the only good book they ever had). I’m usually wary of books with a massive marketing machine behind them, especially expensive hardbacks, but I eventually got around to reading The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, and it didn’t disappoint.

The story opens in 1714 in rural France, where Addie is a free-spirited young girl who loves tagging along with her father to the market. As social expectations close in and her independence narrows, she’s pushed toward an arranged marriage she doesn’t want. Around this time, the village widow Estelle introduces her to the “old gods,” warning her never to pray to the ones who answer after dark.

On her wedding day, Addie runs. Desperate for more time and a life that belongs only to herself, she finally calls out — and someone answers. Knowing she’s breaking Estelle’s warning, Addie makes a fateful deal to escape, waking up immortal but cursed: no one she meets will ever remember her.

The novel moves between present-day New York City and flashbacks across centuries, following Addie as she navigates loneliness, survival, and identity — until one day, someone recognizes her, and everything changes.

Throughout history, humans have been obsessed with immortality. Ancient civilizations like the Egyptians chased it through burial rituals and body preservation, believing the soul would continue on in the afterlife, while myths like the Fountain of Youth or Elixir of Life captured the hope of escaping death altogether. At the same time, people have pursued a more metaphorical immortality through their legacy, leaving something behind that long outlives them. Artists, writers, and thinkers have shaped generations long after they’re gone, and figures like Martin Luther King Jr. continue to inspire movements decades later.

Addie’s curse raises a question: if someone can’t leave a mark on the world, if no one remembers them and their work erases itself, do they even exist? Sometimes the book suggests no, other times yes. More than anything, you think about how much of being human is tied to being remembered, and how fragile that really is.

A secondary theme I really enjoyed is the question of identity. Addie’s curse strips away any sense of self that others can affirm — no one knows her! — forcing her to look inside to define who she is.

The antagonist (you’ll know who when you read) adds another layer of complexity. He represents a typical Faustian bargain: the temptation of getting everything you want, but at a steep, often unseen cost.

It’s been a while since I read this, so I don’t remember the writing style in exact detail, but even at around 450 pages, I never felt like it dragged or became too dense. That said, it’s not a plot-heavy book, and I can see how some people might DNF it if they’re looking for constant momentum.

It feels very modern and easy to read, but it’s slow, introspective, and character-driven. The payoff is more emotional — the loneliness Addie feels seeps into the reader. I’ve seen comparisons to The Night Circus and The Midnight Library, and while the tone is similar, Addie LaRue’s longer length gives it room to develop and feel a bit more impactful.

The setting blends historical fiction with subtle, “soft” fantasy. The magical elements are understated, keeping the focus on Addie and the philosophical questions at the heart of the story. She travels from 18th-century France to 19th-century Italy to modern-day New York City, and each setting complements the story rather than steals the spotlight.

In the end, Addie LaRue suggests that immortality isn’t about living forever, but about how deeply we touch other lives. That idea, and the emotions it leaves you with, is what makes the book memorable more than any single plot point.