I recently read Starling House, a novel by Alix E. Harrow.

Starling House tells the story of Opal, a twenty-something woman who seems to be forever down on her luck. Her small Kentucky town doesn’t give her many options to provide for her younger brother, so she accepts a job cleaning a historic house that most everyone believes is haunted.

If you want more details, you can read my full review HERE. (Please note that Starling House is best suited for an adult audience and deals with heavy content and mature topics. The majority of that content will not appear in this post, but you can view my full list of content warnings in the review above.)

(Please also note: this article will contain spoilers for Starling House. So if you’re thinking of reading it, give it a go, and then come back here. This article will be waiting for you.)

Starling House released in 2023, and was met with starred reviews, award nominations, and book club recommendations. It’s a modern classic, a book that will long outlive the decade that published it. The thing that makes this story stick is how it peers into ugly topics—ugly things that we’ve caught lurking around our own spaces, too.

But today, I want to talk about the ugly thing that stuck with me the most.

Let’s talk about the religious aspect of the many abuses that Starling House—both the place and the story—suffered.

This story happens in a small town called Eden. And Eden, like Opal herself, has the worst luck. If a freak accident happens, you can bet it happened in Eden. The townspeople shift the blame onto Starling House and its inhabitants.

Spoiler alert: Starling House and its very first occupant are at the heart of it. But they are not to blame.

Long ago, Eden turned a blind eye as three wealthy brothers abused their niece, Eleanor, in order to keep her fortune. Whether from her imagination or from somewhere else, Eleanor drew up dark creatures that rampaged the town, bringing bad luck and unfortunate accidents everywhere they went. Seeking revenge for how Eden ignored Eleanor.

The people that looked away during the worst of Eleanor’s abuse are the ones the book also describes over and over again as “good God-fearing folk.”

Religious trauma and religious abuse come up more and more prevalently. We can’t go a month without another victim coming forward, or another prominent Christian being exposed. For the first time, these victims can come forward and tell the truth of what has been done to them.

I’m one of them. I grew up with an abuser who adopted cult-like beliefs that at one point originated from Christianity. This person used God and the Bible and those beliefs to hurt me and people I care about.

And yes, other Christians did look the other way. I doubt any of them did it on purpose. Do any of us do it on purpose? We just don’t know what to do, so we figure we’re better off not doing anything at all. It’s more comfortable anyway. Or we fear making things worse for the victims, so we don’t stop long enough to consider the possibility that we could make things better for them.

None of us ever set out to be the villain in the story, do we?

When I closed the digital cover of Starling House, all I came away with was rage. And at first, that felt good. I’d walked with Opal through all Eden’s ugliness, and I desperately wanted her to have her revenge.

After the years of abuse I experienced, other Christians encouraged me to forgive my abuser, as if I could just sweep it all under a rug. I could write essays upon essays on how what many churches have embraced as “forgiveness” and what is actually healthy are two vastly different things.

But this encouragement to forgive and move on and be done with it as quickly as possible tried to short cut an important part of the journey. We have to let ourselves and let others be angry. To feel all those emotions and walk through them at our own pace.

I was angry. I still am. I think I will carry a piece of that anger with me forever. Someone did things to me and to people I care about that should not be done to anyone for any reason, and much of it was done in God’s name. It was wrong, it is wrong, and it will always be wrong. And it’s normal to be angry about things that are wrong.

The anger that I wasn’t allowed to express found comfort in Opal and Eleanor. And while we need to rage over the things we’ve lost, especially when those losses come from people who say they love God, when I thought Starling House had left it there, it only felt hollow.

But as I prepared this post, which was originally going to look quite different, I came across R. L. Nguyen’s review of the book. (If you don’t follow R.L. Nguyen, I would highly, highly recommend you do. She’s quickly become one of my favorite creators.) She also processes a lot of these big topics on her various platforms.

She noted in her review, “. . . it was really thoughtful and healing. I haven’t seen a ton of books that validated victims’ cries and rage, but also said ‘there’s something better in store for you than revenge.’ There was poetic justice and there was hope (even if the progress was small).” (Read her full review HERE.)

It took her words for me to see it, too, but hope was in this story all along. Opal finds the people who love her, even if they are imperfect. Opal holds onto broken things, whether imperfect people or rundown houses or shady little towns, always hoping they can be repaired. Opal builds a life for herself, a life that she loves, a life that the hypocrites of the world around her can’t touch.

She still carries that anger with her. But she also acknowledges that the anger is not a place she has to stay in.
There’s room for both anger and hope in this story. There’s room for both anger and hope in you, too. And those places where anger and hope meet can be some of the most beautiful places.

I write stories for the weird girls and the women they’re becoming. A lot of the weird girls that I’ve met have been deeply hurt by Christians. It’s almost a hallmark of the weird girl experience.

My stories will likely be lighter than Starling House. But they will at times dwell on the grief and the rage of what we’ve lost. My stories at times may seek to get the revenge that so many girls never got. They will cry and scream and break things.

But they will also support someone else who is angry and hurting. They will pick up and dust off the broken things, and they will hold them close because they still hope they can be repaired.

I want to do that as a person, too.

Whether or not you ever read Starling House, whether or not you ever read anything else I’ve written besides this article, I hope maybe you can do that as a person, too, whatever that may look like. To let the rage move through you as needed. And to also hold on to hope in the same spaces. 

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write fantasy for upper young adults and new adults. But more importantly, I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! ​

So, do you want to hear about another woman that I didn’t know was in the Bible? Of course you do, sit down.

Let’s talk about Achsah. If you don’t know who the heck that is, never fear, I didn’t either. I mean, when has a women’s Bible study ever announced “we’re studying Achsah!”

Unlike Dinah (our forgotten girl of Genesis), who at least got a chapter, Achsah gets four verses. But she does a lot in those four verses. If you want to read the passage for yourself, check out Joshua 15:16-19. But I’ll sum it up here.

We actually start with Achsah’s dad, Caleb. Caleb, unlike Achsah, does get talked about in Bible studies. You might remember him from “two faithful spies” fame. Moses sent out twelve people to spy out the land God promised them. Ten said there was no way they could ever conquer it, forgetting, evidently, about God. Two said the land was good and that God would help them conquer it. Caleb was one of those two.

A quick note here: the concept of Israel entering these lands and eradicating whole people groups, even if they were following God's commands, is a tricky one, and one that I’m still wrestling with myself. Since this topic will appear a few times in this article, I would encourage you to seek out other scholars and what they say about it. I’m sure my own understanding will grow and change from what I know right now. So all that to say, if this topic makes you uncomfortable, it probably should. And I wanted to acknowledge that I do not yet have the knowledge or understanding to tackle it fully here and now.

As a reward, Caleb was one of the only people from the generation that left Egypt who also got to enter the land God promised them. God also promised Caleb a special portion of the land because he believed God would help them.

Which brings us to Joshua 15. Caleb, now an old man, gets his long-awaited inheritance. Caleb didn’t even request nice cities—he requested cities that he could clear and rebuild. He marches against the inhabitants of one of his cities, but he can’t do it alone.

So he promises that whoever attacks and captures the city can have his daughter Achsah as a wife.

Which . . . doesn’t sound great, honestly.

Caleb probably thought he did good. In fact, he probably did more for Achsah than other men of the time period would have done for their daughters. He at least got her a man who would go to war for her, literally. One who would take initiative for her.

But the fact also remains that she was objectified, used as a prize.

It gets worse, because Othniel, Caleb’s nephew, captures the city, and so, as promised, he gets Achsah. Which, yeah, that means she married her cousin. Which is also more than I have the understanding to unpack here.

Let’s get into the good stuff about Achsah instead.

Achsah arrives on the scene and immediately persuades Othniel to ask Caleb for a field.

Othniel didn’t tell her “hey, go ask Caleb for a field because he probably likes you more.” Achsah took the initiative and leadership not only to ask this of Othniel, but to convince him that it’s good.

Othniel agrees, and more than that, he lets Achsah herself speak to her father. When Caleb asks what he can do for her, Achsah requests a blessing. Her exact words? “Since you have given me land in the Negev, give me the springs also.”

I’ll admit, I’m not sure if the “land in the Negev” is the city Othniel won or some other land entirely. If it is the city that Othniel won, Achsah—and presumably others around her based on how they react—see that city as hers. And if it’s not the city that Othniel won, then somewhere else in the promised land, there is land that belongs to Achsah. There is only one other instance in these first six Old Testament books where women held an inheritance like this.

Not only did Achsah receive her inheritance, but she was brave enough to request more. And Caleb fulfills her wish, giving her the upper and lower springs.

The Old Testament is a hard read. God gave a law that seemed designed to protect women, and yet we watch certain men twist it (and continue to twist it) to protect themselves and abuse women.

And yet in this very harsh landscape, a woman was not only recognized as a landowner, but also asked for more and was not denied. Furthermore, no one condemned her for it.

When I said I didn’t know about Achsah, it wasn’t completely true. I didn’t know her name or the true details of her story, but I did hear this story taught once. Those teachers seemed a bit afraid of the story. They claimed that she received this ownership because she submitted. After all, she went to her husband and father first.

But that’s not what happened here. Achsah brought up the idea and convinced Othniel. Achsah went to Caleb and presented her request. She took charge. She asked for more. She knew her worth.

And she is not rebuked for it.

God included everything in Scripture for a reason. Which means God handpicked this brief story about Achsah for His book. He chose a story about a girl leader. And He did not rebuke her. In fact, He left it for us to interpret.

I realize this is an Old Testament story. Jesus made a new covenant since then, fulfilling and deepening the Old Testament principles beyond a list of rules. Becoming what God always meant the Law to be. But that doesn’t mean that the Old Testament is worthless or that we can no longer learn from the examples.

And what I learn in this story is that Christian women can lead. They can take charge and hold influence. I see that we are allowed to want more, that we are allowed to speak up, to call out injustice, to say “actually, that belongs to me.”

And I see the men who from all accounts treated her well. I see Othniel who fought knowing she would be his reward and wanting her. But beyond that, he listened to her, and accepted the point she made. He let her take ownership and negotiate for herself. I see Caleb who listened to her request, recognized her point, and gave her what she deserved.

And I see Achsah, who had the wisdom to consider her arguments and the courage to speak up. To ask for more.

She didn’t ask for whatever she wanted. She asked for something that was good and right. Which tells me that she paid attention to God and what He called her to do.

Are there places where we need to ask for more?

Maybe it’s for ourselves. Maybe it’s for others.

We might stand up for women who cannot fight for themselves. We might call out injustices and the people who perpetrate them. We might undo our own harmful beliefs, or make the choices we need to live in joy.

Whatever it looks like, the most important thing we can do is to learn to lean on God for wisdom. That’s how we know what to ask for and when to ask for it, just like Achsah did. That’s how we ask for things that are good and right.

I hope Achsah lived a good life on the land she earned. And whatever heaven and the afterlife may look like, I hope she and I get to chat sometime.

And so ends today’s episode of forgotten girls in the Bible. If you want to read about another girl who often gets overlooked and ignored, you can check out my recent article on Dinah here. 

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write fantasy for upper young adults and new adults. But more importantly, I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there!