Normally, I’m not in the habit of wasting my time and energy disparaging
things I could easily ignore. But sometimes, it’s not that simple. And when
attention gives way to detached (unbiased) observation, criticism may prove
constructive — or even highly instructive.
Appearances can be deceiving. And sometimes they are deadly.
Intrigued by the phenomenon surrounding Freida McFadden, who, in just a few
years, has become the world’s best-selling thriller author, I took a closer
look at the works of the “Taylor Swift of the literary world”, as some like to
call her, “where extreme mediocrity is rewarded time and time again”
(sic). However, despite her phenomenal commercial success and devoted fanbase
(the ‘McFans’ of the TikTok generation), Freida McFadden is far from winning
universal approval, and her meteoric rise has been marked by controversy.
So what is she criticised for? On the one hand, she's been accused of
plagiarism on multiple occasions, although no formal evidence has ever been
produced. On the other hand, her overly impersonal and simplistic style, and
her hastily written, poorly edited books, are a source of irritation. Her
fast-paced publishing schedule, combined with her medical career (as a brain
injury specialist) and her avoidance of the media, has even fuelled rumours
that she may be using artificial intelligence in her writing process.
According to her detractors, Freida McFadden is the queen of fast reads, i.e.
“literary snacks to consume like fast food, literally and figuratively”. It
turns out that this criticism is far from unfounded. Given that unlike many
who form opinions based on hearsay I only rely on direct experience, I must
confess that I literally wolfed down several of her novels in a matter of
days.
Actually, I didn’t read them: I listened to them. Over breakfast. And
late into the night. A wise decision. For good voice actors can always make it
sound better. But that’s not really what literature is meant for in the first
place. Also, just listening tends to bypass critical analysis. Our minds don’t
filter information in the same way as they do when we’re reading. It’s
uploaded directly into our subconscious. While this can be helpful if we’re
actively processing the information, it’s dangerous when we’re in a passive
mode. Fortunately, I’m in constant vigilance mode now.
How to Make Literary Big Macs
So what makes these thrillers so addictive? The thing is, Freida McFadden
doesn’t tell stories. She sets up emotional loops. And if we’re hooked, it’s
not because they’re good. It’s because they’re astral.
It is a formulaic, industrialised template with the same pace and structure
from one book to the next, using a database of interchangeable characters,
situations and tropes. And as systematic as this formula may be, it does
work.
Multi-perspective novels using two (or sometimes three) points of view,
structured around a three-act narrative arc, with very short chapters that
always end on (often clickbait-style) cliffhangers designed to recapture the
reader’s attention and keep them on their toes — a narrative dopamine rush
that the astral is particularly fond of.
A triangle of vacuous, ultra-stereotypical generic characters, all within a
precisely targeted age group; impossibly handsome, flawless men, always paired
with women who are in a league of their own (sic); a first-person narrative in
the present tense, allowing for immediate and effortless identification.
Mystery Man is hot, to say the least. He has thick black hair and coal-black
eyes, with a level of intensity that sends yet another lightning bolt
through me. His strong jaw makes him seem utterly in control and confident.
His face has that pleasing textbook symmetry. He’s wearing a black T-shirt
that shows off his lean build and makes his dark hair and eyes seem even
more intense.
The grotesque naivety of the protagonists (often women, but not always), which
makes them completely oblivious to the massive red flags, is on a par with the
worst B-movie plots. It’s a gross misdirection ploy designed to justify the
far-fetched final twists that you never see coming.
At least, as long as you haven't read more than one novel. And also provided
you don't pay too much attention to the blatantly misleading clues, which are
often gratuitous and never explained. The author is banking on the reader's
short attention span, assuming they just want to go with the flow without
thinking too hard. To hell with the inconsistencies, as long as the
adrenaline's pumping!
There is never any catharsis. Nothing gets morally resolved. And that opens up
a frequency hole in the psychic field. The reader is left in a state of
emotional limbo. Hence the addictiveness. And most people won't even realise
it.
All of Them Psychos
Identity theft and parenticide are recurring themes in Freida McFadden’s
books. But the most disturbing aspect is undoubtedly the moral ambiguity of
all her characters, which tends to normalise borderline personality disorder
and manipulation as the standard way of relating to others.
I am so lucky. I have a beautiful house, a fulfilling career, and a husband
who is kind and mild-mannered and incredibly handsome. And as Nate pulls the
car onto the road and starts driving in the direction of the school, all I
can think to myself is that I hope a truck blows through a stop sign, plows
into the Honda, and kills us both instantly.
Her role reversals blur the clear distinction between predator and prey. Since
everyone is ‘a bit twisted’, no one really is. Ultimately, this dilutes the
concept of predation. And trivialises psychopathy.
“In 1833, Dr. James Prichard formulated an early version of what we now call
psychopathy. He called it ‘moral insanity’. People diagnosed with moral
insanity were thought to make bad moral judgments but had no defects in
their intelligence or mental health. Psychopaths, too, are often clever and
sane and are more likely to do things that are widely considered to be
immoral.” (Source)
And contrary to popular belief, psychopaths are actually the ones who
experience the strongest emotions (and are therefore a major source of fuel
for the matrix).
“These people generally have very high levels of frustration, internal anger
and intense disgust, which drive them to behave in an aberrant manner,” explains Iso V. Sinclair. “They get a certain thrill from tormenting others. A psychopath becomes one
as a result of multiple traumas, and their emotions are so intense that they
dissociate and seek revenge. This reaction can be scientifically explained
by a lack of mirror neurons, which, due to repressed emotions (often dating
back to childhood), leads to a total lack of empathy.” (Source)
Let’s take off our rose-coloured glasses: this simulation is a world of
psychopaths and predators. Freida McFadden is simply pointing this out to us.
And paradoxically, people keep coming back for more because they’re unaware of
the source of their needs and desires, which, like their thoughts, come from
outside themselves.
I believe that any human being is capable of terrible things if you push
them hard enough.
Fiction, then, is not the problem. The problem is passive consumption.
Consumed on autopilot, it becomes a form of mind-altering substance. Consumed
with clear-eyed awareness, it becomes a mirror of astral mechanisms.
Conflict is never an accident in communication. It's an energy command.
Within the matrix, every tension, every raised voice, and every grudge is a
frequency programmed to fuel the invisible planes.
Nothing is left to chance: everything is planned, executed and digested
according to an agenda that you don't grasp.
The astral creates nothing; it exploits your vulnerabilities. It scans your
traumatic memories to plant a trigger thought:
“He doesn’t respect me.” “She’s provoking me.”
It’s not your own thought; it’s bait. The Architects of Sleep often lay the
groundwork days in advance, letting small, invisible frustrations build up to
overwhelm your nervous system. The final conflict is nothing more than the
ignition of a fuse that’s already long.
As soon as you take the bait, the script kicks in. The aim is to polarise.
Whether you are right or wrong is of no consequence to the matrix; all that
matters is the friction.
The massive electrical discharge that courses through your carbon-based body
during an argument is ‘loosh’: an energetic nectar that astral predators feed
on.
A family meal that ends in raised voices is, on a vibrational level, a feast
for the invisible realm.
The conflict does not end when the voices fall silent. This is where the
algorithmic rumination begins. Your mind replays the scene on a loop,
inventing responses, analysing faults. This ‘replay’ keeps the wound open so
that the energy continues to flow, drop by drop, for hours on end.
The emotion is encoded in your cells. It becomes a flag. The astral plane
programmes it so that, the next time a conflict arises, you don’t just react
in the moment, but with the accumulated emotional charge of all your
unresolved past experiences.
The Architect’s Strategy: Hacking the Script
The astral plans your emotional breakdowns just as an engineer anticipates
stress points on a car. To break the cycle, you must go cold.
When tension rises, realise that you're being ‘plugged in’. Observe the
emotional surge as if it were simply an electrical signal, without validating
it.
Refuse the digestion: as soon as the scene starts replaying on a loop in your
head, cut off the signal. Don’t give the astral a single second of ‘available
brain time’ to can it.
Maintain sovereign neutrality: peace is not a moral emotion. It is a technical
decision to protect your energy. Conflict is a harvest. The aftermath of
conflict is a form of canning. Be neither one nor the other. Become the
sovereign observer of your neural network.
It is not a matter of being a ‘passive victim’ or submitting. It's about
changing the nature of your energy.
1. Emotional Anger (The Trap)
If you react from your ‘identity’ (your ego), you’re playing the astral game.
Your anger then becomes a chaotic, heated and reactive frequency.
Even if you are ‘right’ on a human level, you're releasing loosh from every
pore. Are you showing them how ‘unshakeable’ you are by shouting? To them,
it’s like an orchestra playing louder: it’s simply more music to feed on.
2. Vibrational Anger (Mastery)
True identity does not need to ‘stand its ground’: it simply IS. The
difference lies in the temperature of the energy.
Reaction is hot: it burns your own system. Assertion is cold: it is
laser-like power.
Expressing yourself does not mean losing your temper. You can say ‘Stop’ or
‘That’s it’ with such authority that the other person (and the entity behind
them) will feel a concrete wall. This is not anger; it is pure willpower. In
that moment, you are unshakeable.
3. The Identity Test
The opportunity to show that you are sovereign lies not in the loudness of
your voice, but in your ability to remain unprovoked. If the astral realm
still manages to make you ‘fly off the handle’, it is because it still holds
the remote control to your neural network.
True identity is when you decide the timing, form and intensity of your
response, without your ‘memories’ or ‘wounds’ dictating your behaviour.
Standing up to the astral means refusing to give it the show.
Don't speak negatively about yourself, even as a joke. Your body doesn't know the difference. Words are energy and they cast spells, that's why it's called spelling.
Bruce Lee.
“I’m such an idiot!” “I’m such a screw-up!” “Just my usual bad luck!”
We laugh, thinking we’re easing the atmosphere, that we're being humble. The Operator is aware that this is a major security flaw. It is, on a frequency level, a common act of self-sabotage.
Your basic operating system processes input literally. It doesn't have a ‘humour’ module installed. When you say “I’m an idiot” to make people laugh, your system records it as a degradation command.
You’ve just typed the following line of code:
SET_USER_STATUS = IDIOT
The system carries out the command. The simulation adjusts accordingly.
Speaking ill of oneself, even as a joke, is validating the matrix script. If you laugh at your ‘bad luck’, you’re confirming that you accept this role. You’re allowing the simulation to keep sending you shitty events because, technically, you’ve just declared that this is who you are.
Self-mockery is a stance of astral submission. The Operator, on the other hand, practises Vibrational Authority. Instead of belittling yourself in order to be ‘loved’ or ‘accepted’ by the group, you ought to maintain your voltage.
Vibrational Authority is not arrogance (which is an ego-driven emotion); it is the clear recognition of your technical worth.
Arrogance says: "I am the best." (need for comparison).
Vibrational Authority says: "My terminal is fully functional. I am in control of my space." (statement of fact)
The Operator's Protocol: Verbal Discipline
Your words are your control interface. You don’t mess around with the controls of a nuclear reactor; likewise, you don’t mess around with the words that define you.
If you don’t want this to become your physical reality, don’t let it come out of your mouth, even with a smile. If a demeaning “joke” slips out, rectify it immediately with a command of sovereignty:
“I cancel this instruction. I strip these words of any reality. I hereby restore my vibrational authority here and now.”
The Operator’s humour focuses on the absurdity of the setting, never on the quality of their own system.
Bad guy on the run, Dancing with the enemy, But it doesn't really make a difference Cause there's nowhere to run, Yeah, there's nowhere to hide. This is destiny calling. You shine like a star, it's a guarantee, I would run for the hills if you run with me.
Read the room... Read the room... Read the room...
They say that life is full of choices For those who make all the noises, But it doesn't really make a difference Cause when you take to the street, As they turn up the heat, You know the plan is working. We're only one step away from catastrophe. I would run for the hills if you run with me.
Read the room... Read the room... Read the room...
Cause there's nowhere to run And there's nowhere to hide. This is destiny calling. You shine like a star, it's a guarantee, I will run for the hills if you run with me.
The world it is weeping, Complying will cost me.
Read the room... Read the room... Read the room... Read the room... Read the room... Read the room... Read the room...
Cause there's nowhere to run, There's nowhere to hide. This is destiny calling. You shine like a star, it's a guarantee, I will run for the hills if you run with me.
In 2025, a Page Odyssey, I introduced you to the Caraval three-book series released in 2017 by American author Stephanie Garber. Now I'd like to review a follow-up trilogy by the same author, which I found equally enjoyable. Published in 2021, Once Upon a Broken Heart is set in the same fantasy world but focuses on the fate of a new protagonist, a hopeless romantic whose discernment is inversely proportional to her exaggerated saviour complex — something that smacks more of compulsive recklessness than conscious heroism, and seems to make her a magnet for every psychopath on earth. Among them is the very ‘borderline’ Jacks, also known as the Prince of Hearts, previously featured in the last two volumes of Caraval, who becomes the captivating central figure of the series.
When Fairy Tales Go Sour
While the previous story ended on a note of triumph and resolution, this one begins on a decidedly darker, more ambiguous note. Stephanie Garber explains that she actually wanted to tell a fairy tale with murder added to it: “I thought it would be fun to have a girl solve a murder while falling for someone she suspected might actually be responsible for the murder,” she says
Evangeline Fox is a bit like Cinderella: an orphan, bullied by a greedy stepmother, and secretly envied by her stepsister. Almost caricaturally naive, she maintains an unquestioning belief in the existence of soulmates, twin flames, and other persistent, deceptive myths such as Everlasting Love. Hence her devastation when, overnight, she finds out that despite being deeply in love with her, her sweetheart is about to marry her stepsister.
Evangeline had a gift when it came to believing in things that others considered myths—like the immortal Fates. She opened the metal grate. The door itself didn’t have a handle, forcing her to wedge her fingers into the tiny space between its jagged edge and the dirty stone wall. The door pinched her fingers, drawing a drop of blood, and she swore she heard its splintered voice say, Do you know what you’re about to step into? Nothing but heartbreak will come from this. But Evangeline’s heart was already broken. And she understood the risks she was taking. She knew the rules for visiting Fated churches.
In desperation, she bargains with the charismatic Prince of Hearts to stop the wedding. But as the saying goes, “Be careful what you wish for”. As soon as her wish is granted, she immediately regrets it. Fortunately, nothing is ever set in stone forever — not even her. Except that nothing ever comes for free either, and her second chance granted for a fresh start quickly turns out to be a bittersweet, poisoned gift.
Just like the deadly kiss of Jacks the Cursed, whose heart has stopped beating, as revealed in Caraval. Even though the broken heart in the title officially refers to Evangeline's, it seems that Jacks' has suffered even greater damage — enough to turn him into a Fate — although the author remains unclear about the circumstances.
This opening question alone on the back cover captures the main theme of the series and brings up several others: What is happiness? What is eternity? And most importantly, why would anyone want to confine the very essence of life — which is supposed to be an ever-changing flow — to a fixed, permanent state?
Jacks became immortal, though it is unclear how, in the wake of a romantic tragedy caused by a curse cast upon him. His heart has stopped beating, but he still has the power to affect the hearts of mortals. The curse that turned him into a Fate is not only emotional, it is ontological. It is worth noting that, from an occult perspective, the heart is the symbol of the inner core of the soul.
It is a frequently recurring symbol in fairy tales. One example is Snow White, whose heart the hunter, sent by the Evil Queen, is tasked with retrieving. The heart is part of the mechanism of entrapment. It is a vessel for memories and vital energy.
In this series, immortality is vampiric. It requires blood. There's even a blood-sucking tree: “Anyone clever enough to find the tree and brave enough to drink its blood will be human no more, but immortal”. This comes at the cost of sacrificing the person you love most. However, the end appears to justify the means. Even in fairy tales.
And given all the backstabbing, curses and other failed (or successful) murder attempts, the quest for immortality is anything but glorious and actually drives people mad. It entraps them in never-ending cycles and patterns in which the original wound is replayed over and over again. Even when memory is altered or fragmented, something always remains. Lifelines seem to keep repeating. Forgetting does not eliminate the wound: it simply obscures it.
Jacks Out of the Box
If the heart is regarded as a carrier of memories and vital energy, Jacks stands as a quintessential anomaly. He no longer possesses his own — at least not in the same way as everyone — and yet he exerts influence over other people's hearts. He does not merely convey a desire or an illusion: he reactivates wounds, expectations, and hidden legacies.
Jacks is undoubtedly one of Stephanie Garber's most compelling characters. He is somewhat akin, albeit darker and more complex, to Archibald in Christelle Dabos' The Mirror Visitor series.
What makes him so intriguing is that his apparent cruelty is not gratuitous, unlike what his behaviour in Caraval seemed to suggest. It stems from a more ancient mechanism. He is not only ambiguous, he is the product of a system that transforms wounds into functions. The archetype of the tempter linked to the forbidden fruit — the iconic red-juiced white apples, which he eats in all circumstances.
He is not just a tragic seducer. He is the fulcrum of a memory that transcends individuals. His apparent nonchalance is more of an armour than a sign of indifference. When you are doomed to outlive those you love, attachment becomes a liability. For an immortal, to love a mortal is to accept that you will lose every time.
Jacks does not play with hearts out of cruelty. He shields himself from a world where every promise has an expiry date. While trying to avoid getting hurt, he ends up hurting others. And that is undoubtedly the real curse: the one that dooms him to kill any woman he kisses if she is not his true love.
“Every Story Has the Potential for Infinite Endings”
This raises an important question: do the characters in this series really choose their actions, or are they simply replaying predetermined storylines?
Amidst curses, prophecies and spells of secrecy – which prevent them from telling the truth – speech itself seems to be under control.
The Valors, the first royal family of the Magnificent North, had constructed the arch as a passageway to a place called the Valory. No one knew what the Valory contained, since the stories of the North couldn’t be fully trusted, thanks to the story curse that had been placed on them. Some tales couldn’t be written down without bursting into flames, others couldn’t leave the North, and many changed every time they were told, becoming less reliable with every retelling. In the case of the Valory, there were two conflicting accounts.
The tales of the North catch fire, become distorted and inconsistent, and ultimately shape reality. History is no longer a reliable reference point: it is instrumentalised.
Whereas Caraval celebrated the illusion as spectacle, Once Upon a Broken Heart offers a glimpse into what goes on behind the scenes.
The warm, theatrical atmosphere of Valora in the South gives way to the colder and harsher setting of the Far North. The arches hold more than just wonder: they open the way to power struggles, coveted magical artefacts, negotiated alliances, and rumours spreading faster than the actual truth.
The media shape reputations, fabricate scapegoats, and pass judgment based on hearsay. Magic turns to strategy.
In this deceptively enchanting world, full of contradictory tales, alternate timelines, amnesia, artefacts, and mythical creatures, where certain truths cannot be spoken, Evangeline finally stops blindly believing the stories she is told. She learns to discern, to observe, to connect the dots rather than surrender to them.
Following on from Caraval, which presented illusion as entertainment, this series explores the reverse side of storytelling: its capacity to manipulate as well as expose. Stories may deceive, conceal, and influence perceptions — but they may also be a source of empowerment. It all depends on who is telling them, and who chooses to believe them.
Beyond the balls, curses and oaths of eternal love, the series questions the power of the narratives that shape our perceptions. Admittedly, it remains a romantasy aimed at a young adult audience, where gloom is tempered by enchantment. But beneath the glittering veneer lies a more troubling question: do the stories we tell ourselves construct our reality, or do they merely distort it?
⚡⚡⚡
The concepts presented in this video are used with the express permission of Iso V. Sinclair.
Easter is a celebration tied to paedophilia, where we do not consume the body
of ‘Christ’, but rather that of a vampiric entity that penetrates the
individual.
Jesus represents each individual’s planetary memory.
At Christmas, this memory takes the form of a child, embodying the Soul’s
innocence and naivety.
It is then sacrificed at Easter, symbolically marking its death (return to the
astral plane), before re-entering the cycle of reincarnation to continue
energy exploitation.
This is a condensed version of a fact well known among higher occult lodges.
The Call of the Real The Real is not reached by adding meaning, but by letting the dream die.
If you've been following my work, you might have noticed a gradual decrease ...
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