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93
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| 1627555811
| 9781627555814
| 1627555811
| 3.99
| 10,335
| Mar 1924
| Jan 15, 2014
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None
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Notes are private!
|
1
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not set
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not set
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May 13, 2024
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Paperback
| ||||||||||||||
92
| 
| 0593546903
| 9780593546901
| B0CC1D7GM2
| 3.65
| 1,688
| Apr 16, 2024
| Apr 16, 2024
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really liked it
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on substance abuse, violent crime, the death of a loved one, alcoholism, the death of a child, parental negligence, self-harm, cannibalism, the death of an animal, suicide, mental health, & others. Great Spirit sees all, observing as the wind ruffles the newborn skin of life, day in & day out. To explain our origin in the windy world, humanity has cast spells of lore; riddles that mask our sorrow at the dark cavern from whence we came & to which we will return, giving nutrients when once we had received them. The weaver is the key element in breaching the dark; the voice whose ease at transporting the listener revives still sounds, casting them like Northern Lights to the silent sky. Without storytellers where would we be? The obsidian nature of our travels leads us back to ourselves; the storyteller lights our way. The tapestry of creation has offered the wandering soul ample room for whispers from the Great Spirit, Creator, the Lord Himself, His Son, the Archangels, Muhammad ibn Abdullāh, Siddhartha Gautama; the list raves onward, tirelessly presenting the species with individuals who carry word from the unseen. This statement is perhaps, as you may note, not altogether true. For many cultures, proof of holiness, or the existence of a larger entity than the self, is in the world around us. Who could think of something as beautiful as the sun whose warmth shines for all on earth? Who could have conjured a more perfect globe where land & water exist in tandem for all of existence? The small & large shapes, sounds, visuals, & tangible experiences that exist alongside humanity breathe air into the mythology that colours systems of belief. Though, if you have made your way through my previous writing you will note a strong stance on the subject of religion, this review does not exist as a critique of schools of belief. Rather, while reading this book, I found myself earnestly, curious about the creatures who suffered the wrath of humankind. Where was Creator when the rock was cast that killed the woodpecker? Where was Great Spirit when Johnny burned alive in the fire pit? In such a beautiful landscape how can such horror thrive? Where is the kindness riddled in stories that are meant to guide us? Perhaps this story sets in place the doubt that has long seeped into the mind of the burdened; it is not enough to believe in goodness, one must be good to see it live in the world alongside them. In essence, this is a story about intergenerational trauma. Medina has woven two tricks into his story allowing the reader to remain nearly disengaged when torturous emotions drown children & zombie forces lure them out to pasture where their neglectful parents bury them alive. If readers feel this reality too obstructive to the view they hold of their kin, they are welcome to watch the alligator slither across the page, swallowing unsuspecting victims like stones to the riverbed. Nestled in between the detrimental, blood-soaked narrative is the truth; intergenerational wounds seldom heal. This story is formatted in a dual narrative. In the present, Noemi experiences the sudden death of her fiancé, Roddy, & the return of her uncle Louie, whom she hasn’t seen in over a decade. Louie’s narrative explores the past, namely the year 1986 when the events that tormented him came to a head. Readers who develop an appreciation for both Noemi & Louie will revel in this approach. Both characters are adults, aged over forty, & have lived long & obscenely complex lives. Presenting readers will characters who are well-established individuals, in the sense of the years they have spent on earth, allows readers the opportunity to delve further into the material that is being presented. Unfortunately, this is my first qualm with this book. In the introduction, Roddy is described as having committed suicide by jumping in front of a Jeep. His body is then ravaged by a coyote when the driver of the vehicle runs to get help. This approach to introducing the dual perspectives of mythology & trauma was delightful to read. To be clear, this choice of scene—the road, the wild animal, the woman, the man, their home, the land—allows readers to immediately immerse themselves in the story. The borders of the page disappeared as I wondered where the narrative would bring me; Who would I meet along the way? What insights would they give me? When would I be met with the horror I was promised by the genre? Certainly, one may read about the terrible fate that befalls each of the characters in this story as horrible enough, that there was no need to further the torment of humanity by inducing ghastly soul-eating alligators. This would not be an incorrect decision to conclude. Indeed, this story did not need two perspectives, two narratives, & two timelines. In reality, Louie carried the entire story & this left me grating my teeth every time Noemi was brought back to the page. I am still conflicted as to what made her so annoying. In an attempt to decode my feelings, I pondered the nature of her character & the benefit of including a forty-year-old woman who was so deeply ignorant, to a story that was emboldened by the Goliath that was her uncle. Perhaps, I should consider myself lucky that I have such an intimate understanding of Depression, suicidal ideation, self-harm, & suicide. Perhaps, I should learn to be more patient with the world as there are certainly more people like Noemi than there are who are like me. For this reason, call it a lack of patience or desire to sit in the company of someone who was troubled by their own volition, I felt frustrated every time Noemi narrated her sections. This is primarily due to her lack of knowledge. In her forty years of life, not once has Noemi ever sought to understand the complexities of mental illness, not once has she stepped outside of herself. The death of her long-term partner, Roddy, comes to her as a shock only because it means she now has to find someone else to support her dreams. For chapters on end, Noemi speaks about how impossible it would be for Roddy to have committed suicide because they were happy & they had plans, & his bad days weren’t that bad. This was insulting to read. It is insulting because Noemi has no clue what she’s talking about yet, she’s a grown woman, she’s an adult, in a world where children rely on adults to guide the way down the road of life, & where other adults inadvertently lean on each other to safeguard the road when it becomes too hard to walk alone. All the while, Noemi fails at her role, in her community & life. You may deem my criticism harsh but, ignorance is violence & what Noemi states as impossible is in fact what leads so many people who are experiencing mental distress, suicidal ideation, & depression, to be burdened in silence & misunderstanding. Why is Noemi so ignorant of the parameters of mental illness? People who commit suicide could have sat & had the most delicious meal with the most loving people & this would not be indicative of a change; this is simply one moment in time. The burden of weight carried in the spine, dousing the brain, is not swayed by one lovely meal. This is not difficult to comprehend. In the middle of her rambling ignorance, Noemi corners Roddy’s sister telling her she’s wrong & wishing to one-up her in the pursuit of answers. Why does she do this? Are readers to believe that not once in forty years of life did Noemi ever encounter another person who was experiencing mental illness? Did Noemi never venture outside the confines of her own bedroom? Certainly, in life, as I have said earlier, many people lack understanding of what leads a person to commit suicide. I am disheartened to know that this is the case because the solution is simple. Whereas readers are enveloped in a story that deals with the ill-structured home life of a family on the brink of collapse, the world at writ large is littered with situations exactly like the fictionalized one in the reader’s hands. Can I fault Noemi for being a product of her existence? Will readers be more ready to forgive Noemi for her cruel self-centered ignorance regarding Roddy’s suicide? What I have come to understand in my many years of life is that some people never learn because they are not seeking the knowledge that will set them free of their ignorance. Noemi was raised in a house with a grandmother who suffered from alcoholism—an illness that ultimately led to her death—with a mother who was crass & rarely present. Noemi also had the opportunity to grow past the ignorance of her parent, a woman who raves love for men who are ghosts, men who are the opposite of the protagonist, Louie. Again, perhaps it is too demanding of me to assume that Noemi has the willpower or the strength to become more than what she is; few people do so, why am I so caught up in her issues? The troubles that plague Louie left me empathetic to him. He was sixteen when the events in 1986 took place & readers will note the matured tone of a person who struggles to grow like a rose hidden under a log. Louie is written with gusto, & gumption, with faults in his naive logic but, who can blame him, he lives in a world where his neighbour committed serial murders & blamed a malevolent spirit for his psychological issues. In that same breath, you may wonder why I struggle with approaching Noemi with such patience. Perhaps it is because I have been sixteen, & similarly to Louie, I took the reins for a situation I was in no way grown enough to heal. Whereas I have not reached the age of forty & what Noemi lacks, I have in spades. What is the role of a reader? Am I supposed to compare myself to Noemi & Louie? Am I supposed to pick a side & stick to the path I have chosen? Halfway through this book, I abandoned hope that Noemi would change, I did not believe her to be capable of it but, Louie had such a long life yet to lead, & I did not want to read about his youth becoming entrapped with the slithering gizzard that crouches on my bedpost. Philosophical masticating in the background, I maneuvered my way through lore & mythology that was not my own. The stories of critters & crawling friends were familiar to me & I was glad to see the comfort of tales that would not give me the answer I needed, neither did they present the characters with the road they should take. The community of people who vanished, were murdered, & died as a consequence of their addictions or their mental illnesses, clobbered the silly tale of ghosts & screaming corpses. I read most of this book at night, lying in bed listening to the wind whisper to me; each of these situations was more than the life they consumed. Certain characters presented readers with good reason to pause & take inventory. Why did Jean-Luc eat the bones of the deceased? In some systems of belief, eating the flesh, bones, & meat of people whom one respects allows this person to consume their essence. When Jean-Luc explains that he dug up the graves of respected members of the community & people who were loving & kind, readers may reflect on the person that he is rather than the one he thinks he wants to be. In wishing to be like the Tamahka (Tunica-Biloxi word for alligator) Jean-Luc emptied himself of his essence, becoming a shadowed sac some may refer to as a Wendigo. Therefore one may be left asking; Do the dreams we have require us to scalp divinity from top to bottom? I appreciated the morose, gruellingly devastating approach that Medina took to introduce the deadly sin of desire, specifically, the longing to escape the body we are sewn to. Ernest murdered his mother because he could, because he was bored, & because inside he was probably a person who was clinically psychotic. The flashbacks that the reader is given to remember Horace added a layer of sadness to this story that I did not expect to find. Odd, perhaps, for me to admit that I was not ready for sorrow when I read Horror as though I have never experienced fear in my life but, true it is, nonetheless. Indeed, reading about the potential that was striped from Horace by being a person who had a stutter, to being the child of a family that was on the receiving end of violence from another feuding family, sunk the stone deeper in my soles. Readers will surely wander through the chapters of this book swiftly, & wonder at the ease they feel while reading such a story. In truth, the experiences of the characters are terrifying because they are not dedicated fabrications, intended for a freaky night of reading. Indigenous Peoples experience the highest rate of suicide worldwide. Indigenous Peoples experience starkly high rates of addiction worldwide. It is no mystery why this is yet, in Noemi, readers may find comfort in their ignorance. It is unacceptable to remain in the dark when people, who do not deserve to suffer Charon’s cold finger directing them to their seats on the splintered boat, continue to drown. Why then, do people revel in the shocked face of ghastly surprise meant only for birthday cakes & Christmas morning? This is a story about the intergenerational burden of a community of people who have struggled to stay-face in a world that has repeatedly told them their demise would be a pleasure to witness. I return to what I said earlier, my frustrated notions of annoyance against Noemi & her structured ignorance. Perhaps you will think me a product of a life that has left little room for patience, forgiveness, or tenderness; you would be wrong, but only partly. In fact, I work tirelessly to ensure that the spaces in which I go reflect the song the crows have sung as we greet each other, & that I spill only soft wind into the rooms where doors have been previously closed. I am troubled by a reality I know well & I remain frustrated that humanity does not advocate for a space where what has been need not be any longer. Whether an alligator swallowed Mrs. Shelby or whether her son murdered her in her home; whether Horace was mutilated by a Vampire or whether his friend carved out his heart so that he may never rest; whether Mae was consumed by a demon or whether she chocked on her own vomit; victims of crime, victims of exhaustion from fighting against a beast greater than the Meli Omahka or any of its other names; people suffer the fate that befalls them as they dangle on the edge of a cliff where, rather than sacred & safe, the rocks have been moulded into the dead-eyed faces of the perilous Nazgûl. Ultimately, the beating that reverberates the ribs, pumping willpower to the brain, & steadying the river watcher, riddles a tale as old as time; Who can escape the self? Readers will be met with causes worthy of their care with optimism that the alligator, the woodpecker, the armadillo, & the coyote will act as guides to them whereas in life they persist in ignoring the very people for whom these animals are kin. Troubling as the ghost may appear, his reflection is often more coyly our own than we care to admit. For readers who have wandered the land in tune with the formidable looming cloud, this story will wriggle into the tendinous ring, like the fantom of despair made into the giggling forest’s safe-heaven for the Alligatoridae who seek to return to the underworld where their smooth underbelly guard the stones of souls long since laid to rest. Thank you to NetGalley, Berkley Publishing Group, & Nick Medina for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Apr 21, 2024
|
Apr 21, 2024
|
Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||
74
| 
| 1910312649
| 9781910312643
| 1910312649
| 3.77
| 53,642
| Jul 23, 2020
| Jul 23, 2020
|
did not like it
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, theref
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book as well as those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on the death of a minor, sexual violence, rape, substance abuse, disordered eating, distorted body image, bigotry, transphobia, psychological distress, & others. Irina is about the same age as I am while writing this review. Every aspect of her person reads like the residue of saliva caught in the corners of a speaker’s mouth. What this story offers the reader is an unbearable drone of dullness. Nothing happens that does not circle in on itself a couple of pages later. Readers might ask themselves what the purpose of such a book is. Why is Irina such a shadow of a person? What part of this narrative is meant to induce cerebral elation; fear; tremors in the soul? What is the point of this story? My conclusion is that there is no purpose to this narrative. There is no point in writing this story because there is no story to be told. When the reader meets Irina it is abundantly clear that we will be faced with a person who has the lung capacity to sing their own praises but remains debilitated by the smoothness of her grey matter. It wouldn’t be accurate to call Irina an egotistical maniac, though, this is certainly what she is. It wouldn’t be right to deem her narcissistic or pessimistic, existential, nihilistic, or dissociated. Irina is insufficient. The main character of a book does not need to be a dandelion in a field of green to be appreciated. The main character of a book needs to be tangible; they need to be sleek like wet paint, stimulating like oral consumption, & evocative like our own reflection in a mirror. Irina is simply a caricature; the result of a disjointed group effort to combine repulsive human tendencies into a single person. The result is that none of her traits or characteristics read as being more than a weak-willed attempt at extremism. There are communities of people who live their lives in ways that differ significantly from what the collective has deemed as being normal. Whether this is a reflection of a person’s sexual desires, their eating habits, their inner monologue, or the ways in which they style their hair—these aspects remain avant-garde insofar as the person actioning them has the gumption to carry them forward with courage. This story significantly lacks a character with such poise & dedication to themselves that they are able to present their person in life as anything worth paying attention to. Within this story, we read about Irina’s perception of self rather too often. In a time where our personal image & desired characteristics are showcased cyclically, there is no room for people like Irina. There is no space left in the brain of the reader to imagine someone with an inflated sense of self with none of the gumption to back their claims. Irina watches tentacle porn. How ground-breaking. Irina photographs men in the nude or in sexually explicit positions. How different than all the other photographers who have already been doing that. Irina exhibits disordered eating because thinness is the ultimate beauty. What a shockingly original take. /s What part of the world in which she lives is out of Irina’s grasp? Reading about such things—as I listed above & many others—reads as very sheltered. I feel confused as to what position the author felt they were taking when compounding so many random aspects of lore into a single character. The year in which this story takes place does not allow for any of these aspects to come across as interesting. Rather, every time Irina spoke about only eating salads, I felt immeasurably bored. Irina felt perpetually stuck in the past of her own accord. Because the main character has no girth to their person & because every trait of her person is willed into her bones by sheer determination to exude the otherness that people experience when vulnerable; Irina becomes a non-entity within a story that is meant to focus solely on her. Why should we care about the films she watches? Those films exist because people made them. This means that someone other than Irina desired to have this art form made into a reality. Ergo, she is not unique. This is perhaps a harsh take. After all, human beings are a reflection of their environments. Irina is not the first person to exhibit tendencies toward self-harm. She is not the only person to have dyed her hair or to have had a negative relationship with her parent. Rather than see any of these aspects explored with depth, we read about Irina in her name alone. Irina is the title of a spreadsheet where numerous people invested three minutes of their time adding bullet points to a document that would be scrapped anyways. Certainly, people who believe that no part of life has any meaning might view this story as an interesting take on listicles. However, as this story progresses towards more debilitating violence I wonder why no one thought that it might be a good idea to link the personality they desired to craft to the shell of a person wandering the pages. Our actions do not necessarily seamlessly lead to one another. Sometimes a person simply wanted to eat an orange; they didn’t need a commercial to influence that desire. Yet through our actions we reveal ourselves. We sneak glimpses of Irina’s desire to do that—perhaps the author felt that there was something innately missing from her character to make her a real living being. However, this lasts one single scene. Leaving me to believe that it was not the well-crafted writing of the author that flaunted the inner desires of her otherwise destitute character but rather the fluke chance that her humanity carried over into her storytelling. What does this all mean? When I saw the cover art for this book I was eager to explore a story that dealt with gender roles, imposed torment regarding sexuality, & the judgments of the all-seeing-eyes towards our very sense of self. Within the pages of this book, we find the poverty of any of these explorations. How does Irina’s claim that all East Asian women are the same essence anything other than the narrative pushed by geriatric Western racism? How is Irina’s derogatory behaviour towards a Trans character anything other than the maniacal social delay perpetrated by bigotry? How is Irina anything other than what is? There is no exploration of paranormal beings; nothing veers left to divert starkly from the world that exists all around the readers. No part of this story alleviates itself from its own strain. What does it bring to the story to have Irina rape & torture men? What does it bring to the story to reveal that Irina is a murderer? It brings nothing. It is entirely disappointing to read about a character so outside of herself that she fails to realize that all of these secrets she believes she keeps are well-documented & studied subject matters. Why, then, is Irina unable to ground herself in the world? Why does she refute bisexuality in a story meant to engage with this very same subject? What part of assigned gender roles is explored when Irina degrades a person because they are not tall in stature but have put forth their entire will & effort into presenting as the person they feel they are inside? What I take from this is no nouveau riche perspective on gender or sexuality. Rather, this entire book is demonically idiotic. Where was the essence of reality? One thought to another thought to another thought, without any semblance of string tying any of it to Irina does not a person make. This story exhibits a drowned potential that the town stood around to watch take place. Within this very narrative there existed the potential for Irina to be sociopathic while still having the depth of her person to exist in the real world. It is exuberantly obvious when a person who is gorging on themselves walks around in society. There exist too many studies on the deficiencies of human beings. People who are ravenous for harming the bodies of children & animals; people who leave others at the side of the roads; people who view ethnicity as a race against each other. There is no shortage of literature that will expose the demise of our kin. What part of this is explored in this story? At what point does Irina’s raving lunacies about how sexually desirable she is, develop into the reflective piece this story boasts itself to be? It is not enough to claim that presenting Irina as a girl different from all other girls, will reveal the nucleus of this tale. Irina is in fact nothing more than a shadow; a skinwalker, if you will. She raves about how explicit she can be. She pushes back on her experiences by recycling what has been done. Again, this is not new. Abuse presents itself in the cloistered limbs of the victim. Regardless of this fact, Irina is not that person. Because there is no depth to her & because the author does not deliberately state things, we are left in a Ferris wheel facing a decaying concrete wall. Putting things into clear language leaves the reader with no room to escape. The villain lives in our world. With extra care taken to create the shell on which Irina leans to entice men to come into her garage, we could have been met with terror. Irina could have been the monster who actually presented how ludicrous it is for people to believe the terrible things that they do. Irina could have been a siren perusing the streets with shiny new legs set on her body specifically to reveal the treachery of sexual exploitation. Irina’s photography could have revealed the pornographic cesspool of bigotry & the craze of monetization that exists towards the female form. Instead of that, we are faced with a white-eyed creature unable to form coherent sentences; left to loom in the corner of a mouse pen in the hopes that another rodent will claw her a path to freedom. Merged review: It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book as well as those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on the death of a minor, sexual violence, rape, substance abuse, disordered eating, distorted body image, bigotry, transphobia, psychological distress, & others. Irina is about the same age as I am while writing this review. Every aspect of her person reads like the residue of saliva caught in the corners of a speaker’s mouth. What this story offers the reader is an unbearable drone of dullness. Nothing happens that does not circle in on itself a couple of pages later. Readers might ask themselves what the purpose of such a book is. Why is Irina such a shadow of a person? What part of this narrative is meant to induce cerebral elation; fear; tremors in the soul? What is the point of this story? My conclusion is that there is no purpose to this narrative. There is no point in writing this story because there is no story to be told. When the reader meets Irina it is abundantly clear that we will be faced with a person who has the lung capacity to sing their own praises but remains debilitated by the smoothness of her grey matter. It wouldn’t be accurate to call Irina an egotistical maniac, though, this is certainly what she is. It wouldn’t be right to deem her narcissistic or pessimistic, existential, nihilistic, or dissociated. Irina is insufficient. The main character of a book does not need to be a dandelion in a field of green to be appreciated. The main character of a book needs to be tangible; they need to be sleek like wet paint, stimulating like oral consumption, & evocative like our own reflection in a mirror. Irina is simply a caricature; the result of a disjointed group effort to combine repulsive human tendencies into a single person. The result is that none of her traits or characteristics read as being more than a weak-willed attempt at extremism. There are communities of people who live their lives in ways that differ significantly from what the collective has deemed as being normal. Whether this is a reflection of a person’s sexual desires, their eating habits, their inner monologue, or the ways in which they style their hair—these aspects remain avant-garde insofar as the person actioning them has the gumption to carry them forward with courage. This story significantly lacks a character with such poise & dedication to themselves that they are able to present their person in life as anything worth paying attention to. Within this story, we read about Irina’s perception of self rather too often. In a time where our personal image & desired characteristics are showcased cyclically, there is no room for people like Irina. There is no space left in the brain of the reader to imagine someone with an inflated sense of self with none of the gumption to back their claims. Irina watches tentacle porn. How ground-breaking. Irina photographs men in the nude or in sexually explicit positions. How different than all the other photographers who have already been doing that. Irina exhibits disordered eating because thinness is the ultimate beauty. What a shockingly original take. /s What part of the world in which she lives is out of Irina’s grasp? Reading about such things—as I listed above & many others—reads as very sheltered. I feel confused as to what position the author felt they were taking when compounding so many random aspects of lore into a single character. The year in which this story takes place does not allow for any of these aspects to come across as interesting. Rather, every time Irina spoke about only eating salads, I felt immeasurably bored. Irina felt perpetually stuck in the past of her own accord. Because the main character has no girth to their person & because every trait of her person is willed into her bones by sheer determination to exude the otherness that people experience when vulnerable; Irina becomes a non-entity within a story that is meant to focus solely on her. Why should we care about the films she watches? Those films exist because people made them. This means that someone other than Irina desired to have this art form made into a reality. Ergo, she is not unique. This is perhaps a harsh take. After all, human beings are a reflection of their environments. Irina is not the first person to exhibit tendencies toward self-harm. She is not the only person to have dyed her hair or to have had a negative relationship with her parent. Rather than see any of these aspects explored with depth, we read about Irina in her name alone. Irina is the title of a spreadsheet where numerous people invested three minutes of their time adding bullet points to a document that would be scrapped anyways. Certainly, people who believe that no part of life has any meaning might view this story as an interesting take on listicles. However, as this story progresses towards more debilitating violence I wonder why no one thought that it might be a good idea to link the personality they desired to craft to the shell of a person wandering the pages. Our actions do not necessarily seamlessly lead to one another. Sometimes a person simply wanted to eat an orange; they didn’t need a commercial to influence that desire. Yet through our actions we reveal ourselves. We sneak glimpses of Irina’s desire to do that—perhaps the author felt that there was something innately missing from her character to make her a real living being. However, this lasts one single scene. Leaving me to believe that it was not the well-crafted writing of the author that flaunted the inner desires of her otherwise destitute character but rather the fluke chance that her humanity carried over into her storytelling. What does this all mean? When I saw the cover art for this book I was eager to explore a story that dealt with gender roles, imposed torment regarding sexuality, & the judgments of the all-seeing-eyes towards our very sense of self. Within the pages of this book, we find the poverty of any of these explorations. How does Irina’s claim that all East Asian women are the same essence anything other than the narrative pushed by geriatric Western racism? How is Irina’s derogatory behaviour towards a Trans character anything other than the maniacal social delay perpetrated by bigotry? How is Irina anything other than what is? There is no exploration of paranormal beings; nothing veers left to divert starkly from the world that exists all around the readers. No part of this story alleviates itself from its own strain. What does it bring to the story to have Irina rape & torture men? What does it bring to the story to reveal that Irina is a murderer? It brings nothing. It is entirely disappointing to read about a character so outside of herself that she fails to realize that all of these secrets she believes she keeps are well-documented & studied subject matters. Why, then, is Irina unable to ground herself in the world? Why does she refute bisexuality in a story meant to engage with this very same subject? What part of assigned gender roles is explored when Irina degrades a person because they are not tall in stature but have put forth their entire will & effort into presenting as the person they feel they are inside? What I take from this is no nouveau riche perspective on gender or sexuality. Rather, this entire book is demonically idiotic. Where was the essence of reality? One thought to another thought to another thought, without any semblance of string tying any of it to Irina does not a person make. This story exhibits a drowned potential that the town stood around to watch take place. Within this very narrative there existed the potential for Irina to be sociopathic while still having the depth of her person to exist in the real world. It is exuberantly obvious when a person who is gorging on themselves walks around in society. There exist too many studies on the deficiencies of human beings. People who are ravenous for harming the bodies of children & animals; people who leave others at the side of the roads; people who view ethnicity as a race against each other. There is no shortage of literature that will expose the demise of our kin. What part of this is explored in this story? At what point does Irina’s raving lunacies about how sexually desirable she is, develop into the reflective piece this story boasts itself to be? It is not enough to claim that presenting Irina as a girl different from all other girls, will reveal the nucleus of this tale. Irina is in fact nothing more than a shadow; a skinwalker, if you will. She raves about how explicit she can be. She pushes back on her experiences by recycling what has been done. Again, this is not new. Abuse presents itself in the cloistered limbs of the victim. Regardless of this fact, Irina is not that person. Because there is no depth to her & because the author does not deliberately state things, we are left in a Ferris wheel facing a decaying concrete wall. Putting things into clear language leaves the reader with no room to escape. The villain lives in our world. With extra care taken to create the shell on which Irina leans to entice men to come into her garage, we could have been met with terror. Irina could have been the monster who actually presented how ludicrous it is for people to believe the terri ...more |
Notes are private!
|
2
|
not set
not set
|
Mar 2023
not set
|
Apr 10, 2024
|
ebook
| |||||||||||||
81
| 
| B0BTZW48Q6
| 3.57
| 25,519
| Sep 12, 2023
| Sep 12, 2023
|
it was ok
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on cults, mental illness, physical violence, physical abuse, psychological abuse, the loss of a loved one, grief, promiscuity & others. The mysterious allure of the morbid drew me once again to a book that was not written for me. This statement is not to be interpreted as a petty nuisance or as a bourgeois stance on the department of stories. Rather, the seasoned reader; the reader whose mind longs for the ghouls to show their malicious tendons in the night; the reader who wishes the grotesques spoke riddles & mumbled turmoil into the wind, will find themselves stunned into stone by the catatonically monotonous premise & plot of this book. It would be an understatement to say that I am disappointed. As a lover of Horror in all its many ludicrous forms, I cannot help but develop sentiments of eagerness when faced with the opportunity to add a new author to the inventory. Awad’s name is everywhere; readers boast about her writing skills as though no book had ever been so well written in the history of stories before she picked her pen & drenched the page in ink. I will not shy away from saying that I have very little faith in the collective when it comes to social media’s darling authors. Certainly, it would be ignorant to say that authors whose work has become popular are not worth your time in retired Canadian pennies. There are thousands of writers around the world, it just so happens that a collective group of people feel the need to share their enthusiasm & there is nothing wrong with that. However, here I sit, conflicted & not a little bit confused about the plot I just read. I have seen no criticism of Awad’s work that veered from praise; no single word shadowing a disappointment or lack of thrill. Once again, it would be untruthful of me to say that this did not leave me intrigued. It is human nature to feel the pull of the wave of joy that surfs the social medias in which we visit. The main character in this book, Mirabelle, is a victim of this feeling as well. Yet, so rarely does the dive pay off. I became quickly aware that I had been duped, led astray & left to rot with a story that made no sense & not because it was illogical but because it had been done before, with depth & talent; to find myself reading a semi-sewn attempt at derivative work from the fables & fairytales well-known, was tedious at best. To begin at the start, this book is about Mirabelle who travels to the California coast from Montréal, Québec, following the sudden death of her mother, Noelle. Mirabelle is an awkward person. Her personality veers on reflective, never actually adopting any depth or sense of self. Though readers might be inclined to state that this is intentional, there is a fine line between vapid & struggling. Never once throughout the entire novel does the main character experience any level of growth or revitalization from her self-loathing. This can be read as a consequence of a poorly built character, one who has so few things going for her that there is little desire to add dimension. This very same fault befalls all the characters in this book. Not one in the array of casual tertiary characters develops an identity all their own; there is the shop attended, the shirtless window cleaner, the fake-beard-wearing man, the lady in red, the twins, the manager, the male companions, & the mother. Certainly, somewhere among this crew, someone deserved to be written with dimension; someone merited to have a personality all their own & not be stuck in a loop of redundant dialogue & action. Hope as one might that a Horror may be written with the delicate syrup of a tremor in mind, this book fails at hitting the mark. Mirabelle’s arrival in California allows the story to adopt a dual narrative. At once, the reader follows her experiences in real time as she attends her mother’s wake, speaks to her mother’s friends, & walks the halls of her mother’s condo. In between these events, Mirabelle recalls the childhood that shaped her; her time seated watching her mother prepare for a date with another man who promised her movie stardom, another day complaining about working at The Hudson’s Bay Company (The Bay), another moment wherein her grand-maman, spoke to her of the end of the world. I appreciated the flashbacks to a youth, which was evidently deranged by the shadow of the ghost of Tom Cruise. That is not to say that I think the inclusion of Tom Cruise was a good idea. On the contrary, I think this aspect added a facet of lunacy that was both hilarious & succumbed the story to a Drama rather than the Horror it was purporting to be. The inclusion of the past proved to be far more interesting than any of the actual alleged drama of the present. I cannot necessarily fault the author for including a more intriguing aspect of a dual narrative. This is often the way of these things, one tends to prefer one timeline to another & the book hardly reaches favouritism amongst readers given none can agree on the superiority of the whole. Back & forth the narrative flows until the reader has grown tired within the first five percent of the mundane redundancy of the story. Throughout my reading experience, I questioned whether or not the author’s previous work followed a similar suit. How can so many people love a writing style that is so trite, corny, & bland? Cruel it is, perhaps, to say such a thing but, regardless, it is true. This story would have benefited from being half the length. The joys to be found when reading a novella are in the knowledge & first-hand experience noting that the author has kept the fruit itself succulent & juicy for consumption. Having this story play out within a novel format dragged it down. There was no suspense, no tension or worry, there was repetition & redundancy galore & nothing else. The sheer number of times the reader explores the very same passages leaves them with no other option than to call to mind the original works that the author has used to line her book. The red glass slippers ring true to “The Wizard of Oz” (1939). The path through the cliffs & the wood to a woman who houses sweetness, a callous representation of the Brothers Grimm’s “Hansel and Gretel” (1812). The shiny twin bodies of the slimy red queen, shadowy forms the likes of which can be found in “Alice in Wonderland” (1951). The wishful desires of the mirror are nostalgic reminders of the story of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” (1937). The castrated reflection aiming for independence is just such a one as is found in “Peter Pan” (1953), which was originally a play written by J.M. Barrie in 1904. The list goes on & perhaps the point of this book was to case the small plot in a magical world of familiar faces & actions so that the reader might find themselves eased through the story. I cannot say for certain, I am not the author. What I can say with certainty is that though these markers of nostalgia & similarity might ring a quaint tune, the story should not lie wholly on the backs of works that have already been done by champions of storytelling. Fables & fairytales can be adopted to find the modern consumer without necessarily regurgitating platitudes. I found the nomenclature of the Woman in Red to fit ideally with the lore associated throughout many cultures & centuries, with the Woman in White. Awad had ample opportunity to craft a tale dark & mysterious as the ghoulish masked face in the mirror for which she drew a pound of flesh. Yet, in lieu of malevolence turned beast & instigator, the reader is met with Tom Cruise. I repeat this fact twice because there were many more important things to explore than the movie roster of the actor. Mirabelle deals with low self-esteem as a consequence of her skin pigmentation. The child of mixed parents, her encounter with the world shines light on her mother & leaves her darker skin to callous, unloved. This should have been presented with the gumption that is deserved. Instead, here we come through another long-sequenced dialogue from the paranormal spirit in the mirror whose actual name was….Seth. What was the purpose of this? Surely, readers note the abundantly corny writing that nose dives into rocky gardens as an attempt to bring cultural awareness & link the reader’s own past childhood crushes to Mirabelle’s. Yet, this is supposed to be a Horror. This story is supposed to incite feelings of dread & malaise; one is not supposed to be wriggling with discomfort at a ghost named Seth who seems to speak kindness to Mirabelle who is experiencing colourism. Where is the fright? Where are the screams & moans of torment? Seth (a.k.a Tom Cruise) is a worm of a character who does nothing but bring down the quality of this book. Ultimately, I am aghast, not because of the cult of skin-care-loving abusers who slurp the soul like a Windigo; escape the legal system’s clutches like a Changeling; roam the countryside like maggots the likes of which feature in any number of episodes of “The X-Files” (1993); I am aghast because this was a story about listening to skin-care regiments & reading about the main character’s walk down the same pathways every single chapter. This book is quirky in the worst way. It’s shallow & tedious & truly a lost potential. Therefore, for any readers who consume literature as I do, you may take this voluntarism of my time as freedom in yours to save yourself the burden. With that being said, I know this book will be beloved. The readers who have found themselves eagerly knocking at Rouge’s cult door will nibble the crumbs of a treatment meant specifically for them; the sly grimy minds of the fandom of easy reading. As always, this is not said with malicious intent. The world needs all kinds of people—readers included. Though none of this story was of particular joy to me; joy in the sense of finding a story brooding & gothic like the haunting pain experienced in Mirabelle’s neglected & abandoned childhood; I am confident in my assessment that the plot is a gem the likes of which many readers will seek to possess & admire. As for those who, like myself, need something altogether different. The darkened rocky pathway leading to the house of the banal cult will veer into the ocean wherein the detritus of the Leviathan’s passage will ask us to be brave & dive headfirst into the original & familiar encasing of the deep. Thank you to NetGalley, Penguin Random House Canada, & Mona Awad for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! Merged review: It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on cults, mental illness, physical violence, physical abuse, psychological abuse, the loss of a loved one, grief, promiscuity & others. The mysterious allure of the morbid drew me once again to a book that was not written for me. This statement is not to be interpreted as a petty nuisance or as a bourgeois stance on the department of stories. Rather, the seasoned reader; the reader whose mind longs for the ghouls to show their malicious tendons in the night; the reader who wishes the grotesques spoke riddles & mumbled turmoil into the wind, will find themselves stunned into stone by the catatonically monotonous premise & plot of this book. It would be an understatement to say that I am disappointed. As a lover of Horror in all its many ludicrous forms, I cannot help but develop sentiments of eagerness when faced with the opportunity to add a new author to the inventory. Awad’s name is everywhere; readers boast about her writing skills as though no book had ever been so well written in the history of stories before she picked her pen & drenched the page in ink. I will not shy away from saying that I have very little faith in the collective when it comes to social media’s darling authors. Certainly, it would be ignorant to say that authors whose work has become popular are not worth your time in retired Canadian pennies. There are thousands of writers around the world, it just so happens that a collective group of people feel the need to share their enthusiasm & there is nothing wrong with that. However, here I sit, conflicted & not a little bit confused about the plot I just read. I have seen no criticism of Awad’s work that veered from praise; no single word shadowing a disappointment or lack of thrill. Once again, it would be untruthful of me to say that this did not leave me intrigued. It is human nature to feel the pull of the wave of joy that surfs the social medias in which we visit. The main character in this book, Mirabelle, is a victim of this feeling as well. Yet, so rarely does the dive pay off. I became quickly aware that I had been duped, led astray & left to rot with a story that made no sense & not because it was illogical but because it had been done before, with depth & talent; to find myself reading a semi-sewn attempt at derivative work from the fables & fairytales well-known, was tedious at best. To begin at the start, this book is about Mirabelle who travels to the California coast from Montréal, Québec, following the sudden death of her mother, Noelle. Mirabelle is an awkward person. Her personality veers on reflective, never actually adopting any depth or sense of self. Though readers might be inclined to state that this is intentional, there is a fine line between vapid & struggling. Never once throughout the entire novel does the main character experience any level of growth or revitalization from her self-loathing. This can be read as a consequence of a poorly built character, one who has so few things going for her that there is little desire to add dimension. This very same fault befalls all the characters in this book. Not one in the array of casual tertiary characters develops an identity all their own; there is the shop attended, the shirtless window cleaner, the fake-beard-wearing man, the lady in red, the twins, the manager, the male companions, & the mother. Certainly, somewhere among this crew, someone deserved to be written with dimension; someone merited to have a personality all their own & not be stuck in a loop of redundant dialogue & action. Hope as one might that a Horror may be written with the delicate syrup of a tremor in mind, this book fails at hitting the mark. Mirabelle’s arrival in California allows the story to adopt a dual narrative. At once, the reader follows her experiences in real time as she attends her mother’s wake, speaks to her mother’s friends, & walks the halls of her mother’s condo. In between these events, Mirabelle recalls the childhood that shaped her; her time seated watching her mother prepare for a date with another man who promised her movie stardom, another day complaining about working at The Hudson’s Bay Company (The Bay), another moment wherein her grand-maman, spoke to her of the end of the world. I appreciated the flashbacks to a youth, which was evidently deranged by the shadow of the ghost of Tom Cruise. That is not to say that I think the inclusion of Tom Cruise was a good idea. On the contrary, I think this aspect added a facet of lunacy that was both hilarious & succumbed the story to a Drama rather than the Horror it was purporting to be. The inclusion of the past proved to be far more interesting than any of the actual alleged drama of the present. I cannot necessarily fault the author for including a more intriguing aspect of a dual narrative. This is often the way of these things, one tends to prefer one timeline to another & the book hardly reaches favouritism amongst readers given none can agree on the superiority of the whole. Back & forth the narrative flows until the reader has grown tired within the first five percent of the mundane redundancy of the story. Throughout my reading experience, I questioned whether or not the author’s previous work followed a similar suit. How can so many people love a writing style that is so trite, corny, & bland? Cruel it is, perhaps, to say such a thing but, regardless, it is true. This story would have benefited from being half the length. The joys to be found when reading a novella are in the knowledge & first-hand experience noting that the author has kept the fruit itself succulent & juicy for consumption. Having this story play out within a novel format dragged it down. There was no suspense, no tension or worry, there was repetition & redundancy galore & nothing else. The sheer number of times the reader explores the very same passages leaves them with no other option than to call to mind the original works that the author has used to line her book. The red glass slippers ring true to “The Wizard of Oz” (1939). The path through the cliffs & the wood to a woman who houses sweetness, a callous representation of the Brothers Grimm’s “Hansel and Gretel” (1812). The shiny twin bodies of the slimy red queen, shadowy forms the likes of which can be found in “Alice in Wonderland” (1951). The wishful desires of the mirror are nostalgic reminders of the story of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” (1937). The castrated reflection aiming for independence is just such a one as is found in “Peter Pan” (1953), which was originally a play written by J.M. Barrie in 1904. The list goes on & perhaps the point of this book was to case the small plot in a magical world of familiar faces & actions so that the reader might find themselves eased through the story. I cannot say for certain, I am not the author. What I can say with certainty is that though these markers of nostalgia & similarity might ring a quaint tune, the story should not lie wholly on the backs of works that have already been done by champions of storytelling. Fables & fairytales can be adopted to find the modern consumer without necessarily regurgitating platitudes. I found the nomenclature of the Woman in Red to fit ideally with the lore associated throughout many cultures & centuries, with the Woman in White. Awad had ample opportunity to craft a tale dark & mysterious as the ghoulish masked face in the mirror for which she drew a pound of flesh. Yet, in lieu of malevolence turned beast & instigator, the reader is met with Tom Cruise. I repeat this fact twice because there were many more important things to explore than the movie roster of the actor. Mirabelle deals with low self-esteem as a consequence of her skin pigmentation. The child of mixed parents, her encounter with the world shines light on her mother & leaves her darker skin to callous, unloved. This should have been presented with the gumption that is deserved. Instead, here we come through another long-sequenced dialogue from the paranormal spirit in the mirror whose actual name was….Seth. What was the purpose of this? Surely, readers note the abundantly corny writing that nose dives into rocky gardens as an attempt to bring cultural awareness & link the reader’s own past childhood crushes to Mirabelle’s. Yet, this is supposed to be a Horror. This story is supposed to incite feelings of dread & malaise; one is not supposed to be wriggling with discomfort at a ghost named Seth who seems to speak kindness to Mirabelle who is experiencing colourism. Where is ...more |
Notes are private!
|
2
|
not set
not set
|
Aug 27, 2023
not set
|
Apr 09, 2024
|
Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||||
91
| 
| 180336758X
| 9781803367583
| B0CJTPY8FQ
| 4.04
| 1,201
| Jun 04, 2024
| Jun 04, 2024
|
liked it
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on violent crime, the death of an animal, grief, the death of a loved one, body mutilation, substance abuse, & others. Oh, the rumble of the familiar road. Some form of resemblance to the life once known, a twinge of the dimple engraved in the hollowed false smile, lies the dawn of reparation; the final layer of the beast that is regret. Who is to judge that which causes harm to the wishing & washing of casual daydreams? Sometimes, the ghoul itself will raise its head in a pulsating threat, staring down the reflection it finds in the mirror. Seldom is more terrifying than that which is comprehensible, attainable, & proximate to the reader. I have stated before that the scariest story is one that reminds the reader of themselves & I remain convinced of this fact after finishing Malfi’s most recent novel. It is certainly the fangs of reality, those able to pierce the security one pretends to have in this life, that creep & crawl through the mind long after the immortal bat has taken flight. You will find that I repeat myself & that is only to reinforce my point. Readers familiar with my reviews will have heard me praise Malfi before. What you shall read in this review will be nothing new though, my experience with this story adopted new edges & saw me invested without shedding my annoyance, only to leave me surprised that I had come to the conclusion I accepted at the start. In essence, this is a story about regret. Andrew, the main character, is thirty-five & is living a life he is proud to have achieved. The borderline trite nature of his experiences in Manhattan is cooling to the touch; the lawyer, his wife—the editor, their soon-to-be-born first child, the life of luxury all stemming from the humble beginnings in a town whose name no one knows but which is familiar to readers like a collector’s coin they’ve hidden in the attic. Andrew returns to his hometown to meet his four friends. Though they have not kept in contact & though it has been, cumulatively twenty years since they engaged in any friendly activity, Andrew returns to engage in his trade in keeping one of his friends out of jail. The rest, as they say, is history. When I was young, I was quite certain that Horror was not the genre for me, therefore, I distanced myself from the garish covers & tomes lining the shelves of the libraries I frequented. I had enough to deal with, I did not need a reminder of the threat I knew by name. As the years passed, something like comfort grew in me as I poured over books that spoke to me through the pages; the experiences I sheltered, secretly pleading to disappear, transcribed gently via the time-stamped ink of a total stranger, allowed me reprieve. The transition between these two realities was rather more seamless than I am detailing. It never ceases to astound me that the wide world with all its rivers, oceans, mountains, molehills, & prairies, can be so very small as to fit compactly within the binds of a book. I highlight this personal experience because this story brought me back to the feelings I had towards those early novels. I often wondered why the truth was never spoken or why a character’s guilt allowed them to evade the claws of self-decomposing despair. The convenient ending felt too quaint & I pondered the nature of concluding a story that covets reality with the magical dreamland bonbons of forgiveness & tender healing. You may think me a pessimist & you may not be entirely wrong. However, this question persisted. It was through many years of life & a gargantuan pile of books that I concluded that the age-old adage was indeed accurate; the sun does, in fact, shine bright & clearest on the unperturbed landscape. Where does that leave the veteran reader? When coming upon this book, my immediate sentiment was, thrill. After reading “Black Mouth” (2022) by Malfi, I was a fan for life, regardless of whether his books ever impacted me so deeply, ever again. Readers will find in the repertoire of stories that the author crafts the ease of a storyteller’s gift. Certainly, there are plots that pivot the gaze of marvel & in some others, the Leviathan itself seethes through the veins of a foul tale. It is a gift to tell a story; it is a delicate talent to transmit it to others. I would not say that the main character of this story had such talent though, he had little choice but to share or hold his peace, forever. This is an interesting story & one that devoted readers will clock as the ode to the Titan’s great work, “Ghost Story” (1979) by Peter Straub. Should a reader not have had the opportunity to read about the jaundiced demons intent on revenge, this story will still offer them a sliver of flavour to masticate on, unique in its succulence. The witching aspect of this story gave me pause. Following everything I’ve said, one would be right to assume that I had a complicated relationship with this story. The opening chapters reminded me so deeply of Straub’s work that I forgave them for the meandering dialogue. I wasn’t necessarily reading because I was invested in Andrew’s personal life or because he may prove to be insightful. Rather, I read this book because I love the sentiment of fear—the most intimate of emotions. The weaving nature of the terror that loomed behind the everyday grief—consequences of a series of horrible decisions—was not something I welcomed. The Graves family & their history was interesting. I was not seeking a story that would include earnest witchcraft, spells, or ghoulish old women on a murder rampage but, that is what the author has written. My insecurity towards my feelings began to develop early in my reading. At times, I grew hopeful that the plot would be the double-entendre; the morbid nature of a mind that does not rest & the fabulously mystical Grimm Brother’s antagonist in her cottage. Certainly, readers who do not mind one or the other, or even both, will delight. I, on the other hand, found myself conflicted. Though I appreciated the nature of a real-life villain, one that was always around & one that felt rather quaintly placed in reality, one asks oneself in actually, who it is that is rioting against the cause for colonialism & gentrification? Who can be rooted for? My personal sentiments about the mystique of the old Graves woman did not leave me with unease but, a sulking frown. Do not mistake me, Malfi paced his story well & the villain was ripe with reason, she was a vigilante whose goal was to murder those who violently killed her child twenty years ago. I understand her plight. While reading about their torment of Robert Graves I too found my sympathy waning. The group of friends vandalized the Graves house, nearly setting it on fire, then shot a firework through Robert Graves' eye socket, leaving him to drown after shooting off the side of a cliff. Is a reader meant to root for these characters? In some sense, I believe that Malfi played on my secret desire to read a story that did not offer a calming ending. The characters did not experience reprieve & rather, their tar tore each other apart, leaving one after the other for the vultures to devour. Will readers believe that each character was treated with the consequence, torment, guilt, & terror that they deserved? I cannot say that I feel that each member of the group received what they merited. In the original situation, wherein Robert Graves was murdered by negligence, assault & battery, not every member of the group acted in an equal fashion. Here the reader may need to call upon their mature experiences to deconstruct the setting. An innocent life was taken because a group of teenagers were spoilt, deeply ignorant of how closely death walks in step with each of us, & they held a deep inability to gauge the legal consequences of manslaughter. Tig did not pay for the death of Robert Graves. She grovelled for forgiveness & was set free whereas Andrew was left in a coma following a car crash. Meach was murdered by Eric, & Dale was murdered by Eric; can these be considered as penance paid or, the easy way out? What was it that the Graves Witch wished to inflict? If one is pondering her motive to act twenty years after Robert’s death it may be as simple as her knowing that her time is nearing a close or, perhaps she has seen how well the lives of those responsible have become & felt it her calling to act now, though, this is not altogether true since Tig is experiencing very serious financial insecurity & Meach is suffering from physical illness & addiction. Neither of these characters acted as violently as Eric & Dale—who, in my opinion, are the true antagonists. Though I would not state that Andrew is innocent, I am not sure whether he deserved to be in the cellar of his mind’s horror for the rest of time. The cowardice that took place across the pages, as was exhibited by each character left me to wonder how this same situation may play out for anyone in real life. The answers one looks for, those that may set us free from the guilt we hold for our actions, are rarely found in this lifetime. Andrew became a shadow of his potential because the people he was close with were responsible for the death of another teenager. Does this make him the evil mastermind? Should he have told Rebecca that he knew what happened to her brother? What is altered by telling the truth? I found Andrew to be a compelling narrator only because he was so simple. His goal was to escape, no matter the consequences or the toll it took, yet at every turn he made the most ignorantly banal decisions. I found myself curious only because he was so silly. Readers observe Andrew deciding to live in a house that is infested with flies; a house that has a possible sewer leak; a house that is without basic amenities for reasons he never makes clear. What would have led him to be comfortable with living with all of these things, let alone one? It would not have been unusual for him to choose to sleep in his car rather than lay in a bed that was swarming with flies. Andrew’s senseless behaviour persisted throughout the story. He engaged with Eric who was surely culpable of the First Degree; he sat with Dale as he lied straight to his face; he went back to his hometown knowing how little gumption he held in his person. Why did he do this? When analyzing the behaviour exhibited by Andrew one may wonder at his reasoning. I suppose it might be as straightforward as to state that he is not a complex person, nor he is very smart, or well-rounded; he’s a man who went to law school & married the sister of a boy he left for dead. The rest is background noise. Reading about the absurd decisions that Andrew was intent on making left me frustrated. I kept hoping that something more would happen that would leave him shocked & electrocuted to the world around him like a strike from the sky. In some ways, I felt that there was something he was not communicating to the reader, something that left this story wanting altogether. What was the point in all of this? Why did Tig murder Cynthia? Why did she attack her with an ashtray? Tig has worked in a bar her whole life, she would have known, or even seen, the repercussions of an ashtray thrown in anger. Why did Tig lean on Dale & his unspoken love of her to get her off Scott-free while Dale died? In an ideal world, readers may consume this story & judge the characters for their actions. Readers may wonder why none of the characters made different choices Why did none of the characters go to the police & why did they not tell the truth? Based solely on the cold written word of the law, Dale is to blame for Robert’s death & the others may be tried as accessories to the fact. Had they called for help immediately Robert may have been blind, but it is not a certainty that he would have died due to his injury caused by the firework. Leaving him for dead secured their fate, each character is responsible for his death. Would calling a first responder have prevented any of the events that took place? Had Eric’s father not been a police officer or the sheriff, I may be inclined to believe that real life would swoop into the story & the group of friends be made to suffer the consequences of a wishy-washy justice system. One could ponder the probabilities all day, my point is that no consideration was given & in their adulthood the characters believed it their right to take justice into their own hands, leaving each other for dead. My favourite part of this book was the scene in the Motel. By this point in the book, I knew who the cold-blooded killer was & I knew who relied on their self-secured ignorance to wade the tides of criminal activity. I was sure that Rebecca was Robert’s sister & I was sure that the parents of the group, had done what was in their abilities to safeguard their children from the law. What I wanted from this story was for it to spell out how morbid the lives of these characters were. I wanted the narrator to make clear to the reader all of the terrible things that happened leading up to the horror the reader encountered but, it did not offer any of this. Instead, the Motel allowed readers to ponder the nature of the story they were reading. Is time linear or, did Andrew act as a voice to young Meach? Was Meach’s psychosis as entrenched as his friends believed or was, he suffering the repercussions of untreated addiction? Why was Bonnie sleepwalking? Why did the Graves Witch include Bonnie as a vessel for the torment? How were Bonnie & Cynthia beckoned in sleep to wander the town? Did Eric’s father remain physically abusive or did his behaviour extend into other forms? Why did Eric’s father commit suicide? Ultimately, I think what made this story enjoyable was the ending. There was no resolution, no happiness, no final hurrah to forgive & live a life worthy of existence. The characters, each in their own way, suffered a fate that they created for themselves. It is unkind to say that Meach deserved his addiction & it is cruel to say that the innocent life of Robert Graves merited a torturous end. Neither of these individuals were granted freedom for what befell them. I will not sit & write out how much better Meach is now that he is free because I do not know that his soul could rest, floating around a room carved out of the flesh of lies, terror, & sorrow. The familiarity of this plot spoke softly to the reader, the shadowed carcass of the deceased, the vultures, the shadow man, & burning figure of desecration in the drywall; the paralysis, the nightmares, the loved ones lost, the group's secret, the small town, the stories, the lies. It is up to the reader, depending on the day & the hour, whether they feel that these glimmering notes of an ode sung to the departed whisper a tune worthy of the Serpent himself. In dreams, the nightmare fuel of walking through rays of sunlight is made clear, cruel, & staunchly vivid, to the suffering soul who has thrown away the key to their salvation. Meriting a second’s glance is the accessory; the sorcerer whose spell is in the living creatures who suffer the magic cast with intent to harm. May the souls of the birds whose necks were snapped & whose bellies sliced open, be free in skies unincumbered by torrential rain & human horror. Thank you to NetGalley, Titan Books, & Ronald Malfi for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Apr 11, 2024
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Mar 31, 2024
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Kindle Edition
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90
| 
| 3.33
| 18
| unknown
| Aug 21, 2018
|
really liked it
|
**spoiler alert** Imagine yourself as you had been; small, unsure, growing, & curious. Back in the time that was before, you had heard stories that po
**spoiler alert** Imagine yourself as you had been; small, unsure, growing, & curious. Back in the time that was before, you had heard stories that poisoned the simplicity of the life you thought you might have. Whether it be the tormented tale of a malevolent spirit under icy water or the marooning whistler in the woods; the devil at play was in all the stories that existed in your childhood. All the more frightening were these cautionary tales when they seeped into the colourful lair of your own imagination. Adan was like you once, an innocent child who was paralyzed by the creeping fear that accompanies the scrapping claws of the demon slithering behind bedroom walls. It was a stroke of luck that I fell into this story when I did. We near the month of spooky stories & whispering darkness, leaving me all the more eager to visit the parameters of intentionally crafted horror. I have not been shy to admit that there is a particular facet of Horror that I love above all others. Though I remain a supporter of the goblin king & the ancient vampire, I need something more patient; a story so foul & detrimental to inner peace, its rivulets masticate the easy grooves of the mind. During one such night—darkness looming over the city as I prepared myself for sleep—I realized the creaks & heaves in my ears were the introductions of fear. In many ways, the scariest story is the one that reminds the reader of themselves. The most vulnerable aspects of our person when displayed with shingles of overwhelm & suffocating despair leave a reader to tremble; these are things for night & solitude, not satires of stories & ancient phantasmic beings in the middle of the afternoon. If the reader in question has it in their heart to hold steady, to leave the intentional logic & analysis that follows them—keeps them on course—to the side of their mind, over the ear & near the temporal lobe; they will be met with the dead eyes of terror written in the most jejune way; easy on the eyes & quick to the heart. This story follows Adan, a man in his 30s, as he reconnects with a memory long since suppressed. He is a father now with children of his own but, once upon a time, he was a child too. During his youth, Adan heard stories of the Multo who haunted the grandmother of a friend. The children spoke freely of the Multo & claimed to see him everywhere & in everything. Readers will remember their own misgivings towards the paranormal. Whether or not readers believe in ghosts or the disembodied spirit that lurks alongside the traditional body of the living, this story will remind them what it felt like to know that they were unsafe. While I sat in the dark, like it was my first time hearing a ghost story, I wondered whether or not this particular narrative had the power to bring me back through the years to when, I too, had been sitting with my friends at sleepovers & standing around in school hallways sharing the tales of a haunted existence that differed from the one that I had been living in secret. Without exploring my person too profoundly I will express to you that my quest for a scary story does not originate from a place of apathy; I have known deep-rooted fear. Rather, I seek out the story that removes me from the chronic tremor of what I have known. Very rarely, if ever, has a story come to my door, wiggled itself into my mind, & spoken to me of a fear I can behold. Marzioli’s writing is not artistic in the same way as a garden of yearly sophistication. His writing is attainable & thick with ease; easy to understand & uncomplicated to grasp. Due to this fact, the reader is met with no struggle, their mind is welcomed into the story as it is told to them via a friend & friends do not need the flowery language of the river water to murky an already dreadful tale. I am inclined to believe that somewhere along the line, the reality of laying in bed wishing for slumber became all too vivid for me; I remember what it was like to be small. What is of particular intrigue in this plot is the dedication that accompanies the haunted being & his prey. Many people experience a despair that ripples their souls into fractions & tethers them to landmarks over the course of their lives. Adan’s life was mundane & normal, for all intents & purposes. He was happy & at peace with the person that he was & the loved ones around him. The reminder of the nights when he was stuck in a state whence no one could save him, opened the door to the disfiguring visage of disquiet. Simply put, the Multo that haunted the grandmother promised Adan that he would find him again. I will not lie, though I sat in the darkness listening to the quiet thuds that accompanied the Multo through the bedroom wall & into the room with the terrified Adan, I questioned the logistics of a ghost that would wait 20-plus years to haunt another person. This did not necessarily take me out of the worry that accompanied my own memories but, it reminded me that in all the most frightful things in the world, there is a murmur that stutters the sinus rhythm of the heart. Does something have to make logical sense to be scary? Does the villain's motive need to have analytic validity to be terrifying? For me, the answer has always been yes though, I have found my fascination to grow when faced with the horned beast that knows no reason. The Multo, real or not, represents the end of an era. Adan’s childhood is far behind him & he will never get it back. While doing his yard work, he feels the presence of a dark force around him, certain that he is being watched. For some readers, this scene might ring true to the alert of death; the passing of the grandmother. For other readers, this is simply the moment when our main character feels the most alone. There is no way to tell whether or not Adan’s fears are justified. If the Multo is real, his life is not hopeless. The grandmother figure in his youth lived an entire & long life filled with the echoing joys of laughter & love in her home & neighbourhood. I am left wondering if perhaps the demons that haunt us lie in the distant & unreachable sections of our minds for a reason. Ultimately, I find the story that scares me is the one that reminds me of myself. The experience of being caught off guard while listening to this in the night left me with a smile on my face & an eagerness to meet my match. Though there are questions that remain—as there always shall be—I am not disappointed by what I found alone in the dark with LeVar Burton’s melodious voice whirring a shushing performance of the story at hand. It might stand to reason that the uncontrollable familiar nature of the sibling who sleeps soundly, & the comfort of a known space, is the breeding ground for the most frightful & deranged terror of all. Adan, like many readers, will be asked to prepare himself, day in & day out, for the life in light & darkness that saunters the ageless Old Serpent to his feeding ground. If you would like to listen to this story, please visit this •LINK• ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Oct 31, 2023
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Jan 25, 2024
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Audible Audio
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86
| 
| B0CNM77W9J
| 3.79
| 132
| unknown
| Dec 15, 2023
|
liked it
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on religious extremism, sexism, bigotry, self-harm, mental illness, mania, & others. Religion is a lingering facet of human society. There has always been a need to believe in more than the self. Alongside this comes the desire for structure. It is certainly attractive for every hour of the day to have a purpose. However, humanity’s self-motivating ability is great; Why would we need someone else to tell us what to do? What is the purpose of a system of beliefs that alter our free will? There is hardly a straightforward answer to either of these questions. Suffice it for humanity to rest easy, contemplating the essence of a creature devout in celestial abilities whose features resemble the mirror’s reflection but whose consciousness is unbound by the valour of malice that pungently exhausts the land. This story follows a female religious devotee; she leads a church, she reads, & she is mistaken for a follower though she is the leader. She is a devotee of the philosophy of belief; the concept of something other than herself. Her character is nearly inconsequential to the story, so it matters little whether she is of flesh & bone or small choking hazards—plastic. Rather, what is most fascinating about Kaye is the fact that she does not matter at all. She has a husband & yet this man has an entire life, fulfilled by his independent enjoyments, one is left wondering where she factors in. Her church functions independently of her sermons & one is left wondering what part of the Lord’s whispers reaches her ears at all. While reading this book I found the time swiftly passed me by. I was not preoccupied with the length of the book, the ticking of the clock or the sun’s passage in the sky. What grabbed my attention was the premise; a woman whose faith seems utterly devoid of belief. That is not to say that Kaye has no system on which to rest but that her essence floats like moats in the summer’s sun. Readers will find in her a character that is shallow & grave like the hole whence the body lays in final tranquillity. This is not a bad thing. In certain cases, the main character of a book is the vessel by which the reader becomes immersed in the narrative. Kaye does not offer readers the opportunity to know her, she isn’t even the person translating the story into palatable chapters. This story is told by some omniscient being, rather unlike the God Kaye has grown to believe in, the narrator understands that Kaye is a woman without much gumption. I appreciated the tertiary narration. At times, I wanted to know who was telling me the story as I felt this might have engaged me further in the rather ridiculous series of events. However, the secrecy of the recounting—the disengaged words from no one in particular—felt intimate & led the story in the direction it needed to go. Readers who have a firm grasp of various systems of belief, of the houses that bind religions & their facets, will have a better time appreciating this story for what it is, a philosophical question on the foundation of ideology. Though an archive of religious knowledge will be of use to readers, it is not necessary. One may lean on the narrative to appreciate the depth; Kaye is a woman in a man’s field, she is a woman hearing the word of God, she is a woman speaking the word of God—always thought to be a male entity—to communities led by male figures. Certainly, this is a simplistic view because it is easily ascertained. One need not live in the city center to understand the vast nuance of gender freedoms. However, Kaye never really questions herself in this sense. She is aware that people do not regard her as an authority figure because priests are men & Kaye is a woman. The simplicity of this fact needs to be considered as it contributes to the downfall of the main character. Had she not met a man in the park maybe she would have been less sympathetic to his ramblings. Had she seen a homeless woman would she have bemoaned the society that led her there? If Kaye had not been in a heterosexual relationship would God have whispered pleasantries about faith & comfort into her ear to be shared with her community? If Kaye’s mother hadn’t foretold of her daughter’s failure, would Kaye have chosen a path to success? Kaye’s father is not mentioned. Her husband is mentioned only so far as to highlight that he rumbles through life like a tumbleweed; believing in this, incorporating that, & not paying close enough attention to anything in particular to be considered devout. What is the author trying to convey? Which of the characters is the antagonist? What I find to be a great drag is when turmoil & fear are built up to be a storm but are, instead, raindrops across a garden’s bed. That is to say; Kaye is a person who ponders the truth of her ideology. Her entire system of belief is based on the alternative—a woman priest rather than a male, a traditional church rather than the new-age bigoted lot; devotion on park benches rather than pews; prayer with hands held tight rather than palms facing the sky. Is Kaye different for the sake of being different or does she believe that this path is the right, bona fide & absolute road? The narrative lacks consistency. When I speak of torrential rain it is in line with what the novel attempts to promise. The scene in the park & the ultimate loss—homelessness—are represented as small dandelions in a field of green, nearly indistinguishable in the grand scheme. Kaye’s reliance on published works might lead readers to conclude that her beliefs are rather seeded in the English language; it does not matter what is written so long as she can read it, consume it, speak it, & live it to be true. When she meets the man who claims to be a planet, a star; a nucleus of the Gods; Kaye poses no objections. Who is Janus? Due to the nature of this story, one that poses itself as a rather sour satire, I found the answer to this question invisible to my eyes. What would have led Kaye to believe a man she met in the park? What was it about his speech that brought to light the providence of what he foresaw? In ancient Rome, Janus was the God of Doors; he saw what was coming down the line & how it tied into the current state of being. His ability to gauge time allowed him to act as a clairvoyant. His status in ancient Roman religions & mythology declared him as the God of gateways, change, transition; the beginnings, ends; & archways. Picture yourself standing in a public park in the middle of the rain. A stranger approaches you; a person with perfect teeth but no home. This person offers you a sermon, stating that you have made the wrong decision & you should change course immediately. What do you do? If you live in a boisterous city, this situation has probably happened to you before. I have stood in grocery stores & had similar experiences while contemplating the cracker selection. This makes Kaye’s mental turmoil difficult to understand. She loses her way after a rapid-fire conversation that offers little in terms of morsels of nourishment; Janus says little to Kaye & yet she is consumed by a mania that was triggered by the invisible. Can the reader conclude that this stranger—Janus—spoke worry into her broken mind? Was Kaye’s temperament likely to crack, regardless of the person who visited her in the park? What made Janus claim that Kaye’s future would need to be altered for her well-being? What part of her lax & rather unburdened existence posed cause for worry? As I am not the God of Doorways, I am perhaps poorly placed to ask such questions. Yet, the reality is that this story took place in our world, in our day & age with a person who was viscerally integrated into the casualty of modern-day society. Why did she believe a prophet in the park? One can understand reading books & believing the words they share; this happens all the time—this is part of the reason that drives book bans; people have very little critical thinking ability & so become immersed in whatever fiction or fancy is presented to them (think: the Bible). What I am saying is that the author was unintentional with their premise. It is fine & dandy to have a character fall head over heels for ludicrous stanzas, but this scene felt foggy in the worst way; it was incomplete. There is no motive behind anything that happens. The free will of each individual in the exchange reads as cloistered behind the mind of the author. This plays well into the premise, that God is playing dolls with humanity or that the Prophet—whichever one you believe existed—is a spoilt child longing to alter the narrative of their plastic toys. However, one still needs to ask why. When one is sitting in a religious institution one is not waiting for mystery. One listens to a speaker who has punctuation to add to folly. One is present & attentive waiting for the parable that will nestle their worries. For Janus to appear in the church after Kaye experiences fever-induced mania does not read as the miracle of prophecy. Rather, this scene feels like a manic episode. One is left feeling rather sad for Kaye as she sinks further into the mud of her mind. Perhaps this is the point. Is religion a muddy stream seeking to sink anyone who steps foot in its waters? Does it matter that Janus came to Kaye rather than her God manifesting himself in Gabriel or the burning bush? Is the essence of all-encompassing ideology that one loses oneself in their philosophy? What would have become of Aristotle if he had wandered the streets of another city? What if walking across the water was a metaphor for performing that which feels impossible? What if no one hears God because he does not have a voice? The eclipse of methodology encourages this story to nestle firmly in the absurd. Kaye becomes the familiar face of every person you might know which leaves her disappearance an impossible case to close. Was Kaye a real person to begin with or was she simply a metaphor for the cosmic domesticity of humanity’s insecurity? Is the story’s narrator the author or another omniscient being intent on grotesque exposition in an attempt to instil the bedtime story with a proverbial warning; hold steady to your beliefs or any droplet of rain is likely to turn your life into a monsoon; beware the aimless roamer; hasten your scripture or the pages of your life with slice you to pieces. Ultimately, the reader may select their interpretation. Religion is a personal philosophy. One may wish to believe that they are unique in their care for the land or their tenderness of a stranger’s well-being yet, cultivated in the woods & within the sewer ways are the gathering of these same drowning foes. Making their way into the cerebellum from the gentle nerves behind our skin; ideology is that which we are better off ignorant of understating least we opt for the drowning vessel carrying feet that can neither part the seas nor walk through waves to safety. Thank you to NetGalley, Cemetery Dance Publications, & Nicole Cushing for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! Merged review: It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on religious extremism, sexism, bigotry, self-harm, mental illness, mania, & others. Religion is a lingering facet of human society. There has always been a need to believe in more than the self. Alongside this comes the desire for structure. It is certainly attractive for every hour of the day to have a purpose. However, humanity’s self-motivating ability is great; Why would we need someone else to tell us what to do? What is the purpose of a system of beliefs that alter our free will? There is hardly a straightforward answer to either of these questions. Suffice it for humanity to rest easy, contemplating the essence of a creature devout in celestial abilities whose features resemble the mirror’s reflection but whose consciousness is unbound by the valour of malice that pungently exhausts the land. This story follows a female religious devotee; she leads a church, she reads, & she is mistaken for a follower though she is the leader. She is a devotee of the philosophy of belief; the concept of something other than herself. Her character is nearly inconsequential to the story, so it matters little whether she is of flesh & bone or small choking hazards—plastic. Rather, what is most fascinating about Kaye is the fact that she does not matter at all. She has a husband & yet this man has an entire life, fulfilled by his independent enjoyments, one is left wondering where she factors in. Her church functions independently of her sermons & one is left wondering what part of the Lord’s whispers reaches her ears at all. While reading this book I found the time swiftly passed me by. I was not preoccupied with the length of the book, the ticking of the clock or the sun’s passage in the sky. What grabbed my attention was the premise; a woman whose faith seems utterly devoid of belief. That is not to say that Kaye has no system on which to rest but that her essence floats like moats in the summer’s sun. Readers will find in her a character that is shallow & grave like the hole whence the body lays in final tranquillity. This is not a bad thing. In certain cases, the main character of a book is the vessel by which the reader becomes immersed in the narrative. Kaye does not offer readers the opportunity to know her, she isn’t even the person translating the story into palatable chapters. This story is told by some omniscient being, rather unlike the God Kaye has grown to believe in, the narrator understands that Kaye is a woman without much gumption. I appreciated the tertiary narration. At times, I wanted to know who was telling me the story as I felt this might have engaged me further in the rather ridiculous series of events. However, the secrecy of the recounting—the disengaged words from no one in particular—felt intimate & led the story in the direction it needed to go. Readers who have a firm grasp of various systems of belief, of the houses that bind religions & their facets, will have a better time appreciating this story for what it is, a philosophical question on the foundation of ideology. Though an archive of religious knowledge will be of use to readers, it is not necessary. One may lean on the narrative to appreciate the depth; Kaye is a woman in a man’s field, she is a woman hearing the word of God, she is a woman speaking the word of God—always thought to be a male entity—to communities led by male figures. Certainly, this is a simplistic view because it is easily ascertained. One need not live in the city center to understand the vast nuance of gender freedoms. However, Kaye never really questions herself in this sense. She is aware that people do not regard her as an authority figure because priests are men & Kaye is a woman. The simplicity of this fact needs to be considered as it contributes to the downfall of the main character. Had she not met a man in the park maybe she would have been less sympathetic to his ramblings. Had she seen a homeless woman would she have bemoaned the society that led her there? If Kaye had not been in a heterosexual relationship would God have whispered pleasantries about faith & comfort into her ear to be shared with her community? If Kaye’s mother hadn’t foretold of her daughter’s failure, would Kaye have chosen a path to success? Kaye’s father is not mentioned. Her husband is mentioned only so far as to highlight that he rumbles through life like a tumbleweed; believing in this, incorporating that, & not paying close enough attention to anything in particular to be considered devout. What is the author trying to convey? Which of the characters is the antagonist? What I find to be a great drag is when turmoil & fear are built up to be a storm but are, instead, raindrops across a garden’s bed. That is to say; Kaye is a person who ponders the truth of her ideology. Her entire system of belief is based on the alternative—a woman priest rather than a male, a traditional church rather than the new-age bigoted lot; devotion on park benches rather than pews; prayer with hands held tight rather than palms facing the sky. Is Kaye different for the sake of being different or does she believe that this path is the right, bona fide & absolute road? The narrative lacks consistency. When I speak of torrential rain it is in line with what the novel attempts to promise. The scene in the park & the ultimate loss—homelessness—are represented as small dandelions in a field of green, nearly indistinguishable in the grand scheme. Kaye’s reliance on published works might lead readers to conclude that her beliefs are rather seeded in the English language; it does not matter what is written so long as she can read it, consume it, speak it, & live it to be true. When she meets the man who claims to be a planet, a star; a nucleus of the Gods; Kaye poses no objections. Who is Janus? Due to the nature of this story, one that poses itself as a rather sour satire, I found the answer to this question invisible to my eyes. What would have led Kaye to believe a man she met in the park? What was it about his speech that brought to light the providence of what he foresaw? In ancient Rome, Janus was the God of Doors; he saw what was coming down the line & how it tied into the current state of being. His ability to gauge time allowed him to act as a clairvoyant. His status in ancient Roman religions & mythology declared him as the God of gateways, change, transition; the beginnings, ends; & archways. Picture yourself standing in a public park in the middle of the rain. A stranger approaches you; a person with perfect teeth but no home. This person offers you a sermon, stating that you have made the wrong decision & you should change course immediately. What do you do? If you live in a boisterous city, this situation has probably happened to you before. I have stood in grocery stores & had similar experiences while contemplating the cracker selection. This makes Kaye’s mental turmoil difficult to understand. She loses her way after a rapid-fire conversation that offers little in terms of morsels of nourishment; Janus says little to Kaye & yet she is consumed by a mania that was triggered by the invisible. Can the reader conclude that this stranger—Janus—spoke worry into her broken mind? Was Kaye’s temperament likely to crack, regardless of the person who visited her in the park? What made Janus claim that Kaye’s future would need to be altered for her well-being? What part of her lax & rather unburdened existence posed cause for worry? As I am not the God of Doorways, I am perhaps poorly placed to ask such questions. Yet, the reality is that this story took place in our world, in our day & age with a person who was viscerally integrated into the casualty of modern-day society. Why did she believe a prophet in the park? One can understand reading books & believing the words they share; this happens all the time—this is part of the reason that drives book bans; people have very little critical thinking ability & so become immersed in whatever fi ...more |
Notes are private!
|
2
|
not set
not set
|
Oct 29, 2023
not set
|
Jan 21, 2024
|
Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||||
89
| 
| unknown
| 3.72
| 151
| unknown
| unknown
|
liked it
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**spoiler alert** In art, one finds the monstrous stroke of a pendulum oscillating feathers & gunk from the brush stroke of the unknown. There is scar
**spoiler alert** In art, one finds the monstrous stroke of a pendulum oscillating feathers & gunk from the brush stroke of the unknown. There is scarcely any logic behind the malevolence of a painting that sucks the soul from voyeuristic patrons; no moral to be gained from the tremendous overhaul that exists in the looping ledgers of old. When readers are met with the gore of a decimated figure, they may be inclined to pour colour into the darkened lines of the shapes that cloud their minds as they seek out a clue to the riddle of a story with no clean end. Within the old home of a friend, our narrator comes to stay while post-mortem proceedings take place. The house is something out of a dream, more closely resembling the flourishing wealth of extroversion & luxury; meant purely for entertainment & reputation. The main character is a lover of her friend who, herself, has lost someone dear. The two find themselves near the end of a transitional period of mourning that will lead them down a new road. I should not like to say that a pursued life after death, especially in the case of our two heroines, is an adventure. I am more of the belief that the end of the life of a loved one reveals the terrible portrait of the claustrophobic tomb that it is. To begin at the start, our narrator adopts the reflective tone of someone who has overcome the story at play. Readers soon lose their hold on logic as Jackson’s story delves further into the absurd. One will need to accept that the backward glance of the narrator is not as it seems; one will need to trust that the author has something in mind. Having been a fan of Jackson for many moons, I was pleased to discover that LeVar Burton had brought this story to life with the dull numbing ache of a broken heart & the sullen enthusiasm of a veteran reader. After her husband’s passing Y—the close friend of our narrator—is set to spend a final night in her marital home before moving forward in her life. She sleeps under a painting that is in disrepair; old & rather flimsy, she fears it will crush her in her sleep. The next morning, she is gone. Her vanishing leads others to the professional opinion that she committed suicide but, our narrator knows better. She waits for her in the room with the painting until she sees Y appear, exasperated & troubled, waving her down from the tiny laneway in the art. What ensues is a captivating exercise in longing. Both women are in the company of those who appear to be ghosts—Y’s grandfather & an aunt, both long since departed & deeply insane as a consequence of what might appear to be their captivity. I found the descriptions given to the house inside the painting to be deeply perturbing. It was not so much that the house might be haunted or that the painting is filled with ghosts that troubled me but, rather, the reality of having a consciousness intact while trapped eternally without hope of a saviour. Though this story has no clear ending, I am not of the belief that the purpose of telling stories is for them to be cleanly ended & ready for the consumption of all. Rather like the characters, many readers may be cloistered in various parts of the story without escape. The death of a loved one or the entrapment in a tomb of living nature; the disappearance of a friend; or the possible suicide of someone who was once cheerful; this story presents the total inability of humanity to be unscathed by its experiences. There is a key intimacy that is hidden within these passages, one needs only the patience to arrive at the destination meant special for them. I admit that I thought rather tirelessly about the bodies of the ghosts being tied to a tree in the forest of the painting for all eternity. Were these figures evil or were they simply a product of a magical moment that saw them burdened by their victimhood? Ultimately, the story that we tell ourselves, as the reader, may not align with the actual story we have read. Did the women escape? Did they sacrifice someone else in a bid to regain their freedom? Why was the painting left hanging alone on the wall? What made the painting magic? Just as we become nestled in the familiar spaces of words that speak seemingly, directly to us, so too does the story transform into a whispering tale of gore the likes of which another reader will interpret entirely differently. Overall, a story might only be as powerful as its reader. Granting words permission to enrapture the distinctive sense of self; making the listener a foolish grotesque whence fear pours out; this is a story about the reader & the women who encouraged trickery with simple letters & godly patience. If you would like to listen to this story, please visit this •LINK• ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Dec 04, 2023
|
Dec 24, 2023
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Audiobook
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88
| 
| 0525940456
| 9780525940456
| 0525940456
| 3.33
| 11,643
| 1995
| Oct 01, 1995
|
did not like it
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on sexual violence, assault, violent crime, & others. There are authors whose work carries the weight of their reputation with each of their stories—they can hardly help it. Whether or not their reputations are positive is entirely out of their control. Readers will possibly endeavour to read an older piece of work from a beloved author to gauge the trajectory of their efforts. Whereas, in other cases, the roster that composes their body of work acts as a reassurance that a reader’s dislike is valid & even, correct. I admit that, for myself, there are authors whose work I delve into in the hopes of finding what it is other readers love. I cannot say that I am inclined to read something with the demon of hate seething through my veins—I simply do not have the time. However, authors such as Oates are mysteries to me. I have heard their name whispered in between the shelves of books or via a stray news article yet, I have seldom found the spines of their efforts among all the others. At the time at which I am writing this review, I have read two (2) short stories by Oates, both of which I have found to be utterly disappointing. Coming into this story I was eager to find the reason for the author’s success. Do not mistake me in this statement, I am not a reader who feels a complex superiority or who believes themselves the keeper of all holy sacred goodness in literature. Rather, I am always eager to meet a good story wherever I might find it. The title of this tale made me uncertain about what I would find, as I am not a fan of the tormented existence of the undead. Unfortunately, what Oates has done, once again, is take a very real & horrific event & make it her own quaint story, sealed lovingly with her initials. This story is about Jeffrey Dahmer, or if you are so inclined Richard Ramirez, though Oates will never deliberately write that. The main character is first introduced in a very coy way, almost as though to encourage the reader to feel a pull towards his awkwardness. Rapidly, his character is divulged in rivulets; slowly the reader learns that he is a violent man, a man who has assaulted someone, a man who is a sexual predator, & a man whose intentions are horrific. Perhaps there are readers for whom this setting will be new. The essence of this story might seem rather quaint in its approach to violent crimes. However, readers who are aware of the case & the criminal may feel as I do, disgusted. I can appreciate that a story exists in every corner of the world & within every human experience & action. However, what I cannot support is the repetitive nature of Oates’ theft of the experiences of people for whom the crimes committed by violent individuals, ruined the lineage of their lives. What left her feeling inclined to write this story? What brought her to the precipice of copying the events of Dahmer’s life & crimes in a way that left them only slightly shadowed by fiction? I find her desire to write this story, & others, such as “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” (1966) uncouth, disrespectful, & uninspired. This story does nothing but plagiarize the criminal. The main character’s motives are never explored because Oates is not writing a unique perspective of a character whom she has agency over, she is writing about a man who was extremely & graphically abusive to numerous people. She is unable to quantify the mind of madness & she does not try, making her short story very boring. Her writing is not good enough to stand on its own, the story goes nowhere because readers already know this story—this is a story about real, life & yet the author has found it in themselves to cutely adopt the fictional perspective in a very minimal way. My perspective on this story is tinged with disgust, I am uneasy about this author’s repeated decision to capitalize on violent crimes to suit her desire to rhyme. Yet, for argument’s sake, I will reflect on the story neutrally as well; for the benefit of readers & myself. The first question I must ask is, for whom is this story? Writers might not always have a desire to publish a story in the traditional sense. Perhaps, Oates had a desire to work through her displeasure of the world around her & her choice of therapy was to fictionalize the serial crimes of a mentally deranged individual. Perhaps, the author felt safer removing the man’s name from his person & by so doing, stripping him of his agency & freedom to re-offend. Readers may wish to grant Oates some level of empathy; she was alive during the period when these crimes were taking place, this person is her countryman, & she might feel hurt that her home houses horror. However, even if a reader accounts for the personal ties that the author has towards these events, the story itself is poorly formatted. From a structural perspective, Oates has given the reader nothing but the alliteration of bad things. The main character is violent & mean; he is cruel & withheld; he is morose & misunderstood. Why is he this way? Why does the main character feel the need to create a dungeon in his basement? Why does the main character target men? What influence do his sexual inclinations have on his inability to live them earnestly? What influence does society have over this man & his sexual orientation? What brought the main character to the brink of physical conflict? What physical attributes render the main character a trustworthy individual? The author does not explore the depth of the character she brings to the page. Are readers meant to draw such stark parallels between her character & the real villain that they insert him onto the page? If so, this is lazy storytelling. Throughout the story, Oates simply recounts events without tying them to the main character. He lives in a boarding house & yet, no essence to this might be tied to his person; What reflections does he draw by being in constant proximity to people he wishes to physically overpower? What level of self-restraint is required for him to not harm everyone in the house? Ultimately, the story felt poorly developed & like a cheap attempt to garner attention for the horrors that other people were subjected to. Having read two (2) stories of a similar nature I cannot help but feel unfavourably about the author. No skill or dedication of time & effort went into drafting this jaunt. I cannot say for certain that any level of thought or self-awareness was included in the process of publication either. Unfortunately, as always, the victims of violent crimes are left to rot on the sidelines & under the earth. Their lives are as poorly cared for as the carcass that is the words on Oates’s fingertips; uninspired, trite, ramblings of a vapidness unmatched. If you would like to read this story, please visit this •LINK• ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Nov 30, 2023
|
Nov 30, 2023
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Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
87
| 
| 177041732X
| 9781770417328
| 177041732X
| 3.94
| 754
| Apr 09, 2024
| Apr 09, 2024
|
it was ok
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on the death of an animal, domestic abuse, the death of a loved one, death as a consequence of physical abuse, the abuse of a child, sexual assault, pregnancy, adultery, miscarriage, & others. The forlorn madness of the shadow of equity has long loomed over women. Societies have cultivated a sentiment of superiority for the vanquishers; the broad shoulders; the tenor; the dweller; the man made a King. Barbarism has seeped into our communal area, slithering like an eel over the bare toes of the river wanderer; Where is a woman’s place? Throughout the years, many pieces of literature have broken the planches that offer themselves as steady roads into endless bodies of water. From within yellow wallpaper; the moors; the attic; the underbelly of the serpent is cool to the touch; she is us. After so many centuries of stories highlighting the plight of the female experience, readers may grow weary of the story that presents a villain in the shape of the lamb; a victim in the wolf’s body. This particular story was familiar to me as I have read it before. Veteran readers will find much to remind them of tales long since read deep into the night. Lovers of dreadful stories, ones that bring forth the gothic dread of the otherworldly sorcerer’s secret will also be met with an old friend; or an acquaintance that reminds them of the dreary night whence the soundtrack to madness chimed. It is not a negative thing to write a story that has been told before. The benefit of the exploration of the familiar is that the core messages in these tales are formatted for a reader who will see them better in a new light or, perhaps, who will meet them for the first time via this story. In the case of Ada Byrd & her melodramatic ravings, I am hopeful of the latter. As a main character, Ada is nothing special there is rather little to her person. Ada’s main characteristics are that she is frumpy; dumpy; ugly; loves plants; is a teacher; & is a lover of women. Alongside this list, one notes that Ada is an abuser of women & children; she has a violent temper; she is cruel-spirited; & is overall rather stupid. Perhaps that last one was not inserted in good faith but, I have a rather difficult time forgiving a malicious individual for their self-proclaimed intellect when their actions accuse them of the opposite. A cruel person cannot be well-read, well-informed, or highly intelligent. Smart people do not go around setting fire to the world. Instead of encouraging trees to grow & animals to experience their cycle of life, Ada endeavours to be callous & unkind to the utmost innocent life forms on the planet; Why is that? It is the marker of a small, stupid, & egotistically inept individual to be malevolent to those for whom life is a petal to the rose. In my introduction, I presented the account of female representation in literature. In this book, the author similarly presents Ada, as though she would be able to stand toe-to-toe with the titans of her time. Perhaps, I am wrong. It is possible that the author sought to write about a morally corrupt person for the sake of having her live on the page & it is the reader’s fault for believing her to be an advocate of women at writ large. As with all my reviews, I remain an advocate for the truth, & the facts, & I highlight that which is my opinion. Though this story is presented to the reader as though it will follow the format one is familiar with, it is entirely its own. Readers will find themselves in Ada’s journal entries in something of a new play on “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall” (1848) by Anne Brontë, “Wuthering Heights” (1847) by Emily Brontë, & “Jane Eyre” (1847) by Charlotte Brontë. I am not a great fan of stories that present themselves to the reader via journal entries. For one, this requires the forgiveness of the reader. The entries include quotations & detailed retellings of events that took place off-page; the character would need an insane amount of time on their hands to essentially write an entire novel as well as formidable memory recall to quote those with whom they have had interactions. If one can forgive this approach, as it rings the tune of a story within a story; one will be able to appreciate the details as though they were taking place inside the mind of the character as they entered their explorations of the day to the page. Ada’s character is not written to be likeable. There are few cases in literature where an author presents a reader with a person they will surely despise. To read this story requires the apathetic reader or, perhaps, the reader who awaits vindication. Ada is introduced to the reader via her interpretation of events. At once a teacher who pursues the profession because there is nothing else available to her, Ada is entirely wrong for the job. At times, her behaviour might lead one to believe that the story at hand was taking place far further in the past than it was. The events of this tale are rooted in the years 1900, 1901, & 1902. One does not need to have a detailed understanding of the culture of the early years of the century. The author does not write her story as though Ada was a well-raised lady of class. The language is dry & simple, almost as though to reinforce the fact that Ada is dry & simple. I would have wanted more from this story in terms of the vocabulary the author chose to employ. Ada’s character did not need prose to accompany her but the flow of the story did nothing to draw readers to her person. She is never someone the reader can trust nor is she particularly good at telling a story. She withholds information & recounts events as though they were Shakespeare-inspired scenes; whereas in reality, Ada is a lonesome woman with nothing going for her but the troubles she causes. I will make myself clear; there is a scene that depicts Ada’s rape at the hands of the man whose house she was residing in during her previous teaching contract. My previous comment in no way speaks to this situation. Ada is not at fault for the actions this man took; she is not to blame for the assaults she suffered. What I am saying in the previous paragraph is that Ada goes through life engaged in angry & vile behaviour as though she deserves a free pass because her father was abusive. Certainly, what might encourage the reader to reflect on the moral turmoil that Ada experiences is her long history of abuse. Ada loses her temper with the children in school, she beats a child, she treats children like they are the scum of the earth; she does not listen to the concerns of these children’s parents because she believes she knows what is best. One may wish to believe that the religious lifestyle chosen by the townspeople is ridiculous however, it is not our place to judge. Ultimately, the people in this town have had the opportunity to live whatever form of lifestyle they choose. They live in a small town in the country, they go to church, they pray to a God, & they send their children to school to learn the basics (i.e. reading, writing, & arithmetic). It is odd for Ada to wish to cause harm to children whom she deems poorly educated. Why would she not take it upon herself to encourage them to be better? Arguably, Ada does think that she is helping by bringing the children around the woods to look for dead animals; the river; berries; etc. However, these are country children. Therefore, it would stand to reason that they would learn about these facts of life regardless of Ada’s hundred-acre wood wanderings; these ultimately feel like a waste of time & do not accurately tie into the reality of the story’s setting. Though Ada’s appreciation for the natural sciences might seem odd for a woman at the time, she does act peculiarly. During her youth, Ada & her sister brought home animal bones, they drew pictures of dead animals; they collected fallen leaves, accords, & other such random things. Yes, it is good to be aware of your surroundings & no, it was not acceptable for Ada’s parents to physically beat her & her sister in response to their interests. However, Ada was a weird person from the jump. What makes her character all the more peculiar is that she appears to enjoy being odd. Her hobbies do not ring true to an earnest appreciation. Rather, throughout the book, Ada seems to do things for the sake of wreaking havoc. I am not ashamed to say that I do not remember any of the character’s names days after reading this book; such is the nature of a shallow story. I do not say this to be mean. However, there is no depth to this story. By the end, Ada is roaming around the country as though eager to meet someone who will tell her she is unwell so that she can openly assault them. Why is that? The story itself does not set up the pretense that Ada is a woman scorned. Ada is a person who has experienced abuse, yes. However, Ada is also a person who abuses others; she is sexually abusive towards her alleged “friends”; she beats children; she disregards the sentiments of people who care about her safety, etc. It is hard to care what happens to Ada one way or another. With that being said, the final portion of this book is reminiscent of “The Witch” (2015). Ada is courted by an unknown entity who is neither scary nor monstrous as it is given no form; no one can describe it except to say that it has appeared as a big dog—a Clifford, of sorts, if you will. Ada’s journals go round & round the premise as though coveting prey though Ada’s inability to speak with clarity was consistent throughout the entire book, therefore rendering the conclusion rather tired. Why would the reader care that a paranormal entity is pursuing Ada? What good could Ada bring to anything? Is the reader meant to feel fear? Is the reader meant to care that Ada will vanish into the woods? What makes Ada an attractive person to claim—she has no attributes to speak of. There is little detail given to the reader about the logistics of women being coveted by a demonic force. Those who have watched satires of horror films or who have delved into the realm of paranormal romances will have had their fill of the invisible looming darkness of Peter Pan’s shadow. There is nothing in these last parts of the story to make a person feel any level of intrigue. Ada murders her friend because she cares about her—how very predictable. What I am saying is that the pacing of the novel was unsettled; & chaotic in that it was not well-paced. Had the beginning of the story seen Ada act as any normal well-adjusted person with a secret, the tension build-up would have been superb. Scenes depicting the carved & hollowed-out eyes of children can be overlooked. A demon took a child into the woods & the child carved his eyes out because he couldn’t live with the sight he beheld; What does that mean? There are ample examples in this book that are well-placed for literature at the time of this story but which have no impact in the modern world. What is a thing that is too horrible to see? One need only turn on the television to be flooded with news stories of children dying in war. In comparison, a demon who adopts the shape of a dog is not so horrible as to curse your eyes out of your head. Therefore, I ask again: What is the terrible thing in the woods? Ultimately, I wanted more from this story than it had to give. The writing style was juvenile, simplistic, & dry. The characters were one-dimensional & offered no room for the reader’s emotional investment. With that being said, readers of Horror who find themselves with similar books on their shelves & movies in their repertoire, as me, are not the target audience for this book. As a debut, it attempts great things for those who have not drowned in the river of scares. Straub, Bradbury, Malfi, Jackson, Hogarth, & Reid are among a league of Goliath writers whose stories creep into the blood like leukocytes to the site of the unknown. It is difficult to write scary stories, I shall never deny that. What is terrifying lies deep within & it is the successful touch of the writer who sees through the dark to find the reader within. Thank you to NetGalley, ECW Press, & Elliott Gish for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
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not set
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Nov 14, 2023
|
Nov 14, 2023
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||
85
| 
| 3.95
| 2,642
| 1946
| 1946
|
liked it
|
**spoiler alert** In their later years, the siblings came to find that a house is only a home, in so far as you verse the trunks of wood & slabs of ma
**spoiler alert** In their later years, the siblings came to find that a house is only a home, in so far as you verse the trunks of wood & slabs of marble with parts of yourself. Before this realization dawned on them, their life was mundane, almost vapid. With days spent seeking French literature in the heart of Argentina in 1939; knitting colourful & useful garments; & spending their mornings cleaning the abode, the tedium of the hours was not lost on them. Readers are met with a very short story indeed. Clocking in at three (3) pages exactly, this story marks itself by the fallacy of logic; the characters are alone in the house because nothing else has been seen. Perhaps the mots of dust & debris count as entities that peruse the empty house though, I rather doubt that. The siblings roam free of others & in their freedom, they are weighed by the final lap of their genetic family tree made in the home. This last bit counts a great deal in the grand scheme of things though, readers might certainly blaze past this information, a decision I do not begrudge them. It is tricky to read stories sparse in the traditional sense. Cortázar appears to have wanted to say something more to himself than to an unknown reader. This is not necessarily a bad thing, though, it makes the deciphering of such a story bromidic. What can this review possibly state in earnest truth that the author has not revealed himself? What might I decipher from the numbing simple verse that is not already clear to all readers? I ponder these questions even now but, I put much weight into my ability to answer them after I finished reading this story. After all, the exercise of reviewing—posing a critique & philosophizing the nature of texts—is part of the reason I am here. I do not think it is wrong to be in agreement with readers who took nothing from this story. The siblings wake up one day to sounds coming from the other side of the house. They lock all the doors & soon find that the mysterious intruders have colonized territory in the great mansion in mere hours. Who are these beings? Are they people or pests? The author does not reveal these details to the reader & therefore asks them to denote who they might fear the most; a roach or a human face. The deluge of panic overtakes the siblings as they worryingly seek to evade the intruders. They leave parts of themselves behind in their raving escapes; from room to room their favourite items & prized possessions are abandoned with near disregard as they lunge for the doorways. The purpose of this story is to maul over the details. Why was the one sibling always seeking French literature? Why did he think books were more valuable than knitting? Is it accurate to believe that something you can revisit holds more value than a project finished & never ours to behold again? Why did the colour & texture of the wool not matter to the sibling who spent all her time using it? Was she right in investing all her time in twiddling her fingers as though the hands of the clock would reveal themselves to her more swiftly? I am not a great fan of stories that are not meant for general consumption. I am left feeling rather sullen & sad that pieces of written words were shared with me almost to the demise of the story itself. I do not know that this is a story that will ever make much sense to any reader because there is no point in making a clear & secure conclusion; anything is possible with no muscle-hugging bone. There is no intimacy to this story though one reads an account of despair. Rather than find ways to link the reader to the experiences of the siblings, Cortázar seems to have simply wanted to write. What haunts the house is the worry & responsibility to survive when one has nothing to live for. With complacent natures & cool demeanours, the siblings roam around a castle drenched in weeds. The perversity of isolation needles through the pages like bristles on a starving tongue. Readers are at liberty to decide whether or not the characters are deserving of their sympathies. Is the tenderness of kin—the pendulum of beats, rapt in ache—necessary for the settled breath of life; to be absorbed through the hours of an empty life, once moored with an enduring ambition? If you would like to read this story, please visit this •LINK•. ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Oct 08, 2023
|
Oct 30, 2023
| |||||||||||||||||
83
| 
| 1782279547
| 9781782279549
| 1782279547
| 3.42
| 1,296
| Jul 26, 2013
| Jul 27, 2023
|
liked it
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on the death of a loved one, grief, adultery, body mutilation, physical violence, parental neglect, self-harm, violence affecting a child, sexual abuse, elder abuse, & others. As is so often the case, one’s experience with a story is entirely subjective. Fujino writes as an omniscient translator of traditional horror; the torment of everyday life a banal yet utterly terrifying reality each much affront. In this collection, she has decided upon three (3) tales of tenderly mundane terror: a novella that presents the demure of an egotistical maniac; a short story that explores elder abuse; & finally a short story that lingers on the psychotic. Readers are either in or they are out; outside of the haunted house & the neighbourhood filled with the indistinguishable. Ultimately the stories are the purely paranormal essence of what is scary when we fail to understand. Unfortunately, the vast panorama of the phantasm does not linger for all eternity when the reader is given the chance to question whether or not they should be afraid at all. Nails and Eyes In this novella, Fujino’s characters are cathartic shadows. The story follows the narrator as she dictates the demise of her stepmother or, rather, the woman with whom her father was having an affair & who came to live with them after the narrator’s mother died. I was rather uninterested in the logistics of this stance; whether or not the narrator was actually omnipotent or simply a child with an ego problem—this story functions in so far as the reader allows themselves the opportunity to listen to the ramblings of a child who very clearly is immature in every sense of the word. From some point in the future or, maybe from no place understood by humans at all, the narrator recounts all the events that took place, leading up to the physical assault she carried out against the woman who lived with her. The graphic nature of her crimes—i.e. pealing open eyelids to scrape the iris & orbs with chips of nail polish—would have been better suited for a more fulsome buildup. The author introduces the relationship between the daughter (aged 3) and her new parental figure (early 30s) as a slow-burning fire in the middle of a haunted wood. Readers spend so much time going over practically mundane occurrences that the final blow of violence comes as a disappointment. This story is not written in a way that is daunting or riddled with tension. I was utterly immersed in a domestic drama with a narrator who was an egomaniac—constantly droning on about her perfect vision. I was surprised to find out that this was actually a Horror. That being said, I understand the genre to be a fast plain of a multitude of facets. This story had nothing more than tedium to accompany the pacing. I enjoyed the habitual torment of realization that dawned on the new maternal figure as she discovered the blog of the deceased. I liked how viscerally her emotions translated to the dull wording on the page. Her character was troubled in a nearly apathetic manner & for this, I was grateful. She was written with the ease of unexpected normalcy; she was nothing special, she expected nothing in return & understood that at the end of her life, she would die. Yet, all this time, she was squirming inside an egg that she struggled to crack for one moment of bliss. This story functions well as an introduction piece to the genre. For readers who are uneasy with graphic violence, the author introduces the gore of an almost unbelievable situation in a disconnected way. The events that take place make practically no sense. How much did this child weigh to be able to crush the ribs of a fully grown adult? Was the woman totally asleep—she is described as having closed her eyes. The child’s nails were already nearly non-existent; how then did she have daggers for nails after they were further filled down? I appreciate the willful belief that one could develop a skill at pealing nail polish clean off a fingernail but this has more to do with the quality of the polish than the actual mouth or fingers of the person in question. Alas, this is not the story in which the reader’s logical ponderings are needed or relevant as they do nothing but denigrate the magical rambling of the premise at hand. I find this a rather hard pill to swallow. After all, the premise relies wholeheartedly on the reality of the events. One needs to be able to appreciate the tedium of everyday life to understand that death is certainly a curtain swipe away. Regardless, my questions remain. I am left apathetic as a consequence. Ultimately, the plot holds gems of an especially cruel nature. The narrator, though crude in her existence & responsible for the death of her mother; is still a child. She was three (3) years old at the time of the events. She might have perfect vision according to the Snellen chart but she remains unable to gauge the world around her; she murders her own chances of growing strong by biting the hands that feed her. Therein lies the true terror; a noted future starvation, a gullied & sullen intestinal track wrought & vapid as a consequence of one’s own choices. What Shoko Forgets Shoko is not her real name though; the reader will be forgiven for forgetting this along the way. The main character is an elderly woman who is being kept in a physical therapy hospital until she is better. What ails her is perhaps the slow steps of the end of her days. She spends her time in a fog, sometimes able to recollect tired pieces of information such as her maternal role but, for the most part, she sits in solitude, haunted by a young man whose reasons for roaming the halls are unknown. This story is crass, exploring the churching reality of an all-too-prominent unspoken truth; abuse often happens right under our noses. Shoko speaks to herself & tries to recall that which her mind blocks out as the sun rises; the reoccurrence of what is most probably sexual abuse (rape). The author explores the physical reality of bounds & mounds, yet allows the night owl to remain unnamed. After having enjoyed the novella, I was disappointed to find that there were two (2) short stories included alongside the bind. Because I had been immersed in the novella, its sharp & sudden ending left me annoyed. I was not ready to read another story so, I gave myself some time in the hopes that the silence would reprieve this story from my disappointment. Unfortunately, it was difficult to read this story because it was so utterly ambiguous. There is very clear abuse taking place but the villain is not made apparent. Is the reader meant to deduce that the extroverted young man in the clinic is the one committing crimes? Is the reader being encouraged to reflect on their own prejudices; if a person is not obviously unwell, are they ill? Though the premise of this story does sound intriguing, it does not deliver on its promise. The reader should not have to fill in all the blanks to make a Mad Libs out of this story. One can roam at leisure back & forth throughout this story without really arriving at any clear conclusion. Is Shoko simply a product of her time or is she a cultural marker? Are the women imagining the man or is he really there? Is Shoko experiencing a progressive form of Dementia or is she blocking out the trauma of residing in a care facility against her will? What is the purpose of this story? In a manner far too obvious to be quaint, the author presents the simple terror of existing at the mercy of other people’s kindness as the ultimate antagonist. Readers are at liberty to remain apathetic or wrought with sorrow. Minute Fears I hold preferential feelings toward the modernization of terribly spooky stories from childhood. There is something altogether charming about the simple scares that exist in the narratives without fallacy. In this final short story, one is brought back to the lunacy of uncommunicable fear. The main character is a mother & she is very proud of this. Her friends are married & happy but, they are not as free as she is. With a husband who is fully supportive & independent & a son who is smart & punctual, this lady of the house remains content to live her life in her own way. On the night in which we meet her, she is preparing to go out with her friends. I mention this background because it is the crux of both the main character’s person & the essence of the plot. Without these differing points, the main character becomes another person utterly unknown to the reader. Her physical & characteristic attributes are rarely mentioned but, the author emphasizes her long hair. One becomes eager to see this mother figure out in the world enjoying time with her friends. The sympathy that is drawn from readers throughout this story is merited. It is comforting to think that any multitude of readers might at once understand the plight of a crying child & yet, long for his mother to meet the opportunity for a social engagement. When I was young there were many scary stories that followed me around. The morbid curiosity that accompanied my fears pulled me onwards like a rope to the waist. The same holds true for the narrator’s son. The local playground carries with it the curse of a luring demon. If any child remains on the playground after 4:45 PM they will be subject to a curse wherein the spirit of a dead girl will haunt them until they too are cloistered captive in the playground, for all of eternity. The demon rings the house of the child, taunting them to come back to the playground to join her. After a couple of coos & pleas, she arrives at their door & brings them along with her. On its own, it is easy to understand why this would scare a child. The threat of separation from their safe place, their home, is freaky; to be captured by a creepy ghost is fowl. Yet, what if the ghost is no such fang-leering figure? What if the demon were the boys’ own mother? Once again, the ambiguous ending that accompanies this story is perhaps not what readers want to find. It would be a harsh encounter to be met with a plainly written conclusion. However, this story works better because it remains hidden within the readers themselves. What is the best-case scenario? Would it have been preferable for the narrator to let her child sleep, comforted by both his parents in his own home? Surely. The simple scary story made scarier by the unknown is a pleasure to behold. The simple figure of a mother is not all that she is inside. Her long dark hair reminded me of the whisper of an invisible wind. Japanese folklore references a woman just like the mother figure in this book; a woman with long dark hair, a conflict in what remains of her soul, & the intentional wanderings of her listless feet across the earth. For traditional Horror film aficionados, “The Grudge” (2004) will have acted as an introduction to Kayako—the demon-spirited girl with the long hair. In other versions of this story, she is called Kuchisake-onna & is a Yūrei. What the multiple versions of this story have in common is the translated ease of this spirit to wander the earth collecting upon what she wants—what she needs. Readers will never know what becomes of the boy & his mother. The too-suddenly employed final marker of the end of the sentence leaves room for a raving rambling of thoughts none of which will find ease or repose in any aspect of this story. What has befallen the characters in this book might be as simple as wandering in the dark or, as troubling as the trembling legs of the young as they wander through the unknown grasping onto the hand of the person they thought they could trust. Thank you to Edelweiss+, Pushkin Press, & Kaori Fujino for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Sep 20, 2023
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Sep 29, 2023
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Paperback
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82
| 
| unknown
| 3.52
| 191
| Nov 15, 1998
| Oct 15, 2019
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liked it
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**spoiler alert** Three members of a previous quartet have recently moved into a house near the woods. The Eight ChimneysThis week, a delightful littl
**spoiler alert** Three members of a previous quartet have recently moved into a house near the woods. The Eight ChimneysThis week, a delightful little blue bird chose a tale morbid & decrepit as the antiquated ghost story that haunts its reputation. The fanatics of Horror luring the mind through common tropes of lore & folk stories will linger two seconds too long in the spaces between the words of this story. The protagonists are under the age of ten (10). They are naïve & reek of a boldness in their confidence that is crassly deranged. Left alone in their new home, the twins roam about the property without the guardianship of their parents. The paternal figure is too preoccupied with being an adult to remember that he is also a parent. The maternal figure is dead; deceased by an intention that castrated a disappearing act within the icing sugar life of the gingerbread family’s world. Nothing is explicitly explained to the reader throughout this story. A veteran reader might hobble along the spine of this tale without reaching its tendons through no fault of their own. This is not as enjoyable an experience as it might appear. Tropes of moor & morbidity do well to seethe earnest intent into the words they select in an attempt to nestle reality into a story’s structure. In an intentional bid to forego the anticipated conclusions of the reader, Link gives them permission to draw their own conclusions. The first judgment is posed in the opening lines—the title speaks to nostalgia. The entryway to the story promises an oddity that is incomprehensible but, it will be familiar.—named after the literal eight (8) chimneys that adorn the house—is haunted. Rather than boast of ghosts & ghouls, the walls have stools & steps that allow little feet to get lost within the structure. The villainous poltergeist of personified instruments of head-warming & fashion, carve the skulls of the fantastical with grooves, like teeth on an unsuspecting tongue. Who has murdered the ghosts that fall behind the age of puberty, consent, adolescence, & innocence? Reviewing work that is incomplete is a difficult task. It’s rather tedious to attempt to piece together an interpretation with the appropriate reflections & emphasis, holding true to the knowledge that the author had the opportunity to do that themselves, but did not. Though this story looms like a bloated body in water, the essence of the tale itself is intriguing; one is inclined to float alongside what is already visible in the hopes of understanding what buried the lead. The twins, Claire & Samantha, play at being Dead—capital D. Their game of comfort in finality arose following the death of their own mother. The story presents the absence of maternal figures. The metaphorical representation of motherhood is explored via a dirty glass; a young girl, the babysitter, is adopted as a mother yet she is also described as being nearly the same age as the twins. The visiting group of tourists is littered with mothers—women—who blur as the day passes. It appears that a certain type of person is unable to leave the house unscathed. What might the reader deduce from this? Could one say that a maternal figure, a woman, a girl, is stuck in the stable home that will be her prison & palace once it is deemed necessary for her to scale the walls & slither the floors to clean crevices & crooks? Might we assume that the women in this story, the girls, & the lost mothers are all part of a scheme to punish the apple-bearing fruit lovers of old? As is my habit, I am inclined to read into the symbolism in this story & what better place to start than in a book that is poorly understood & seldom read—the Bible? The woman in the woods who lures the fathers away; the horses running rampant in dreams of wishes & promises; the invisible snakes slithering through the greenery; the loss of innocence & trust; in all of this eight. The number is often associated with otherworldly goodness; the feminine energy. The eight chimneys might be viewed as tunnels out of the palace of man; the house of God; the invisible & adapting voice of the Specialist’s Hat. In ways strangely reminiscent of the complexity of absurdity found in classic Horror—think “Phantasm” (1979)—this story teeters back & forth through two narratives. At once the inner monologue of the twins, the verses presented in brackets & pauses coin the story like a rusty penny. One is meant to feel muddled & confused. Unfortunately, for some of us, confusion does not segway into fear. Rather, the lack of a logical plot may lead certain readers to feel more perturbed by the lack of an explicit nature. Why did the babysitter play with a hat that has human teeth? Where did the hat come from? Is the Specialist just a man who has perfected the art of forgetting his own responsibilities? Or is the Specialist the original tyrant who led men down the path of mortality? I suppose one would need to believe that one person is to blame for all the misfortunes of the world in order to have faith in this explanation. On the opposing side to the fantasy story of fruit being bad for humanity’s vampiric lifespan, one is face to face with the questions that plague the plot. Who is the antagonist? Did the Specialist’s Hat adopt the voice of a parent or did the children cower from their father? Did the children suffocate in the attic or were they dead to the world & in turn, actually out of this world? What drew the fathers to roam the woods? Why were there so many snakes? Is the forest an Eden to male paternal figures? Is the house a Purgatory for female characters? I am left wondering if this is a story that profits off of the inquiring mind. Suppose a reader were to find the toothed hat a bore—would the story still make sense? Suppose the father figures didn’t neglect their children—would the children have become friends at all? The narrative explores the agility of the mind; its own desire to wonder & awe at the simplicity of a single haunted house with quaint key haunting features, spooky only so much as they resemble the haunted place of our minds. Had I been left with no questions, I’m not sure that I would have been so eager to dissect what this story was sharing. Many children play strange & peculiar games. Many parents need time to wander the world on their own. These two things do not a villain or victim make. Yet, one is inclined to conclude, with certainty, that something is amiss. What would the reader be left with if this was simply a story about an Ed Gein figurine, a bit lost, & severely traumatized? Or, what if this were simply a story about an old house & lonely children? Ultimately, what I enjoyed in this story is its inconsequential inaction. The children are possessed; they were always dead; they were haunted & cruel; they are ghosts to their father & mysteries to the town; they are just two twin girls playing in the world of loss & grief. The identity of each of the characters is that of a shadow figure. The reader is given very little—grey eyes, a brooding temperament, solitude & coy memories. Who are these people, really? The eight chimneys, is a reflective piece of strange wanderings & eager readers set to recall the desolate need within to find reason in the absurd tendencies we find each other inclined to practice. Morbid poetry & tender longings; this story is a crisp fingernail across a dusty baseboard. Readers are met with no one in particular; no one they know, nothing of note but, the permeating sense of dread follows them as they crane their necks to search the chimney for signs of disturbed dust moats & hidden keys. If you would like to read this story, please visit this •LINK•. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Aug 09, 2023
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Sep 21, 2023
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Audiobook
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80
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| 1250798078
| 9781250798077
| 1250798078
| 3.49
| 6,182
| Apr 12, 2022
| Apr 12, 2022
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really liked it
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**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on violent crime, gore, body mutilation, the death of a child, mental illness, & others. The central narrative is nestled in the loudest voice. The reliable truth is whispered in a sheltered wood. The stories that humanity shares are intimate reflections of the possibilities that exist within our community; the abandoned warehouse a breading ground for ghosts, the tall tower the vampire’s lair. When I was young & the world of stories was a blossoming tsunami of possibility, there was no story I didn’t long to know. Every person held to experiences that transformed the past into a monstrous beast the likes of which Dickens could only hope to mirror. I was raised around people who inquired of others the drip of their tale: What is your story? The premise of this book highlights the essence of human experience. The main character, Spence, is a man who is healing. In him, the reader meets the uncomfortable truth of their existence. From the moment Spence was introduced to the world via birth until the time at which he begins his speech, his life has been dictated by an invisible weaver. He is left feeling that the life he has led was not so much his own as it was the intentional script of the writer; the debonair plot that drives the existentialist over the edge of the crisp white pages. Throughout his life, Spence came to believe that some things mattered more than others; some truths were more honest & some stories more closely resembled reality. One day, his mind grew so ill of the narrative that he fed it, he came to believe that some human beings were turned into monsters. Spence was not alone in this belief. Other people grew to view humanity as a double feature; ghoulish cannibals on one side & the trusted John Wayne prototype on the other. The two sides duelled for ownership of the land. In reality, one group of people was becoming poisoned with their form of chosen reality & the other was being hunted for sport. I do not reference the tried & true old Western films of the American South featuring the dashingly manly John Wayne, in vain. One is encouraged to ask what made John Wayne the ideal candidate to face off against the Wild West. What becomes humorously evident to the philosopher is that Wayne’s characters seldom do much of anything other than play on their reputation. In “Stagecoach” (1939) John Wayne’s character–Ringo Kid–appears in the middle of the travel boasting of an exceedingly good reputation as a marksman only for the watcher to never see this come to be. Rather, Ringo Kid loves the unlovable—a woman outcast by society. In each of these films, one goes into the experience knowing that the screen will light up the genteel features of the rugged Iowa-born protagonist. We will see his brows furrow just enough to make way for a sideways smile & our hearts will warm at the kindly man roaming the desolate lands of a newborn America. What we choose to ignore is that the villain is the native-born land protector whom the protagonist is meant to destroy. These films decide who the viewer roots for. In many ways, human beings encourage one another to make this same decision. Spence was perhaps an untrusting child. Having grown up in an environment that was harmful & cruel, he sought the organized confidence of a storyline where he got to play the hero. One need not look far to see this same scenario at play in society today. Whether one is studying the structure of impeachment, the categories of foreign interference, the dogma of a celestial being, or the crucial need to feel communal support; human beings find each other in good company whether or not this company seeks to do good. As the illness took root in the minds of the ailing, they began to view society as a desecrated virus. The evil monsters—the party of healthy folk—transformed into toothy, gory, scalloped crustaceans who put everyone in danger. A simple tug from the jaw of a monster would lead one to become the very thing they feared. Instead of panicking, the infected chose to revolt. They carried weapons & built structures; they shot at the others as these unsuspecting healthy minds roamed the world that had become a breeding ground for malaise & violence. This reflection shimmers of gold the likes of which we know very well. Some people choose to believe that one must repent from sin, other people think that we each deserve the freedom of a kind life. Some people believe that it is their right to carry firearms regardless of the malpractices of many. In this I would like to be clear—whether at home or abroad, in a land where you have identified the innocent life of the young, the unarmed, the trespasser you clock as antagonistic to your narrative—you misuse a tool that might be relied upon for the collection of nourishment & neutral good. Here we find ourselves at an impasse. Spence believed that he was in danger. He believed that the tools he had could be used to annihilate others—the danger, the bad guys. Not once did he question this reality. Not for a single second did he think to wonder; what changed from one moment to the next? The hesitation to question the stance we take or to seek to understand why the stance of other people differs from ours truly sets us at a disadvantage. This is not to say that by so doing one is acting with passivity in the face of monstrous actions. Rather, to solve a problem one must understand it first. For those who became infected with sickness life was a cloistered mess. Their groups consisted of folk eager to act in aggression, take the lead, & manipulate already tired brains into believing that this was the way of the world. There was no room for a different perspective nor was there any real chance of seeing the bright light of nuance. However, just as in real life, the fine-sewn thread of this system is splintered by a rushed job. For some people, this came in the form of heightened aggression. For others, the disparity within the observable world. Spence began to see things differently when he started to note that the homes his group was raiding had been manipulated in different ways. Some rooms had been painted entirely in pink while others had furniture stapled to the walls. The most powerful form of change lies in doubt. Spence found himself confused as to why he was the only one perturbed by these staged scenes of banality. He followed the steps that led him to the institution where he underwent healing practices to rework the way he interpreted the world. At this stage, one must ask themselves what they believe. Is it possible to hold a system of beliefs without being aware of the fact that it is in actuality a belief, not a fact of existence? Can the reader trust Spence? There is certainly the possibility that his story is untrue but, I do not think that is the point. One might venture to cross paths with any random person & be made aware of their differing perspectives. Does this mean that someone is wrong? For Spence, this question did not even factor into his reality until he realized that there were different versions of the same experiences. This is particularly interesting because he was raised in disparity & aggression whereas people around him experienced security & kindness. What this book sought to highlight is the force by which our ideologies transform our experiences of the world. To believe that prayer means you are heard is neither good nor bad but, to declare that prayer is the sole means of communicating leads one to ostracize oneself. Nuance exists alongside us & the parties we choose to support. Nuance is a part of who we are. It was a key aspect of Spence’s healing process—to acknowledge that a viewpoint is singular, though it encompasses a tapestry of choice. Aspects of this story leave one with questions. What did it look like when a monster bit a person? What did the transformation process look like? It might be overeager to ask why the majority of the population didn’t simply fight back or kill all those who were ill. This would be an ignorant question as I am sure many people might recognize & as I have said before; you cannot kill an idea. A system of beliefs lives beyond breath & rest; it resides in the invisible & is carried out via action & whispers just as I wrote in the introduction. We benefit when these ideologies fit our system of beliefs. However, we reside in a circular caloric gorge when we make our personalities & lives desolate shrines to beliefs. Hooded figures around a campfire, guards shadowing a collection of trophies, sacrifices in pride & honour all in the hopes of demonstrating a lesser human need to be part of a species that changes its mind. Nothing is without fault & as we meander to the end of this book the reader is allowed & encouraged to welcome this reality. Perhaps some of the characters were waiting for an excuse to execute the lives they led. Perhaps, some of the people in this book didn’t realize that anything had changed at all. Whether it be a surge in violence disguised in clown suits or the roaring detonation of shells from the stone we throw in a lake; humanity is plagued by a game it both refuses to play & waits eagerly in the shadows to win. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Jun 11, 2023
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Jun 16, 2023
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Paperback
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79
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| 1504066863
| 9781504066860
| 1504066863
| 4.25
| 2,548
| Mar 01, 2014
| Apr 20, 2021
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it was amazing
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**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on grief, violence against a minor, graphic violence, violent crime, the death of an animal, mental illness, & others. In your mind, there is a laneway that leads you back to the start. Lined with darkened vines, tingly webs, & abysmal silence. The dirt road opens to the place you keep to yourself; a manifestation of somewhere you never wish to be again. For some, this starting point is littered with trees & treasure troves. For others, a gateway to the shadow lair where nothing was intended to grow. Lovers of Horror usually follow a trail that leads them to the specific types of Horror they love. Some readers gaze longingly at the dystopic land of vampires, blood clots, & snarls. Other readers paddle boats down rivers lined with unblinking eyes, tarantula trees of secrets, & sleeping villains. When I was young I came to believe that the genre exclusively dealt with the extremely monstrous & imaginary. Nothing has scared me more than real life. In Malfi’s stories I am met with the antagonist I loath to meet again, the one I know well; the slimy searching fingers of humanity. Malfi has—once again, & to the surprise of no one—written a masterpiece. The only hesitancy I feel when reading books by the author is brought on by the fact that he has not written enough books to last me a lifetime—a task I hope he continues to undertake, selfishly. There are a seldom few authors who make me trust their stories. When we breached the narrow road into the small town I knew that someone would show me the way. Certainly, I did not know where the underpass was or why there were tire tracks left by the side of the road; nor could I ascertain the politics of the town or the need to ignore so many missing children. What I did know was that I was sitting near the fire on a cool October night where, in my mind, a storyteller began their tale. The young protagonist, Angelo, is 15 when he is introduced to the reader. He is vivid & boisterous; his life consists of reading, riding his bike, summertime independence, friends of all sorts, home-cooked meals, school, & the rising dawn of adulthood. Angelo’s character might strike the reader as overtly vivid in nature. The story makes his life seem tangible in a way that practically eclipses the other characters. Perhaps this is because he is the main character though, I am inclined to believe that the author found space for himself in the story, making it so Angelo reflected the eagerness of a young Malfi from all those years ago. The story opens with Angelo leading the reader down memory lane & quite like the opening of this review, the reader is unsure of what awaits them. Rather timidly, one realizes that the 90s nostalgia of the book is rather unlike the world of their own childhood. I was born during this decade & did most of my growing & exploring as the millennia drew near. I remember learning that during the year of my birth, in a town over, two babies had been stolen from the hospital while the new mothers rested. Becoming habituated to reality is a very complicated & disorienting affair. Angelo is just as ill-prepared as any young person, though we suppose he might be better suited to face the monsters that sleep near his house, owing to the fact that his father is a police detective. However, just as I couldn’t fathom someone stealing infants in the hospital ward where they rested, fresh & new to the world, so too was Angelo confused as to the nature of dereliction in his well-known safe space. I don’t know if we ever truly make our way in the world without the jolt of displeasure that arises from violence. I am quite distanced from Angelo in age & yet I grew up petrified of the very real danger I was reminded existed every day. I would have never wandered where my parent told me not to go because if I did, the gaping maw of horror would swallow me whole & I wouldn’t have a chance at life. This is no way to go about childhood, I am not ignorant of that fact. However, I bring this up because it left me sidelined by many of Angelo’s choices. I couldn’t understand how young people were so eager to break the rules imposed on them by adults. I couldn’t understand why they didn’t take the threat seriously. I have always stood by the fact that reviews as individual efforts are incredibly difficult to achieve neutrally. I do not read books & forget who I am. Though I can appreciate that Angelo had never had a reason to fear anything up until this point, his blatant disregard for the increasing number of missing & murdered local children is shocking. I am left feeling that some children truly feel free in their youth & I am grateful that they have gotten the opportunity to experience that. With that being said, this was a very minor criticism. The plot in general allows a reader to become lost in the world of cheap movie tickets, summer sun, corner stores, barbecue dinners, & the joys of an antiquated time period. This setting allowed for the story to flourish. As the group of friends maneuver their way through this story one is made aware of their ability to do so residing snuggly in the changing times. Society’s plight began to draw blood from communities as crime rates escalated without any dedicated attention to solving the root cause of the issues. In this same breath, one might ask themselves who the antagonist of this story actually is. I am inclined to trust that Angelo’s father didn’t know how to parent a child who was mentally ill. Seldom do we hear from people of his generation having the ability to clock when & why something is going wrong. His own father (Angelo’s grandfather) boasts of a war that saw him murdering strangers in a jungle while he was 15 with little empathy for the issues that Angelo experiences. I cannot imagine that being faced with a child such as Charles was made any easier by the fact of not being able to acknowledge a sickness for what it was. Charles’ behaviour teeters on psychotic. His father hints that he might have raped a girl from another town, or perhaps we are meant to deduce that he was an irresponsible partner. Regardless, his manic behaviour—almost allowing Angelo to drown—was dangerous to everyone in his surroundings & I should think would not have lessened as he grew more physically agile. I cannot say with any level of certainty that enlisting him in the United States Army was the best solution. I cannot say that forcing anyone to enlist in military service is the best solution. I do not have the expertise to make any claims. However, what I can say is that sending Charles to perform military duties enhanced his ability to do what he ended up doing. I am not left without questions. Why did he decide to kidnap & murder youth around the town? Arguably there exists a very thin line between sexual assault (rape) and violent crime—both falling into nearly the same category. Yet, Charles was originally combating people of the same life level as he was. What made him approach younger people with the goal of violence? In line with these questions is the one that asks about the delay in Charles’ response when murdering Nathan. After months of torment and two (2) occasions of violent physical assault, Charles finally gets around to committing the one act he promised to commit. I understand & appreciate that this is a story & as all good stories do, it follows a series of events intended to grip the reader. It’s not necessarily far-fetched to believe that this was a final act done with the intention of flagging his presence to Angelo or before he began making his way into another small town. Yet, it still felt rather sad that Angelo had to suffer two occasions of violence at the hands of Nathan before the predator was put to rest. What is interesting about this story is that it feels very youthful in nature. The gang of friends understands the nature of a police investigation & yet they feel no desire to inform the adults that they trust that something more is happening. Whether or not one chooses to believe that the clues the friends collected might have prevented the following abductions or not, the reality is that these were vital pieces of the puzzle. I say this knowing fully well that it seemed the policing body wasn’t in its right mind throughout the investigations whatsoever. How do close to 10 children go missing only for the investigators to never check every single location in town? It made me chuckle when Angelo claimed that the adults were out of touch & that they didn’t know the town as the young people did. All the while, this same group of youth hates the fact that the cycle of life in the town sees people remain where they are. At some point in time, one would have hoped to have come across an adult with brains in their skull but, I digress. All this being said, I adored this story. Each of the characters becomes someone you want to see stay safe. As much as I found myself reading this book with the insights of adulthood, so too did I remember how wonderful it would have been to have free-range freedom across a town where nothing bad happens. The writing left me eagerly engaged with the story to the point at which no one was beyond my sympathies. I suppose that is not entirely true. Nathan & his gang of miscreants were an odd sight to behold & I couldn’t help but wonder that they never feared being charged with the disappearances seeing as they were harassing & abusing local youth every chance they got. This story is perfect. It’s haunting & disconcerting; it’s ravaged with plagues of violence, terror, & lore. This story presents readers with leaps & bounds of hope & despair while eagerly nipping at their fingertips as they seek to shepherd the group of friends back to safety. Malfi has an exquisite talent for daunting horror. When one is faced with reality there is certainly no turning back, no fostered sense of the devil living anywhere else but in the house with you. What I loved most about this story was that it played with the knowledge it knew I had. Malfi writes for readers he knows are intelligent. The pacing of this plot did not leave me with fear as one might expect but, it brought me back to the timid aura of youth; waiting for the saviour that never comes. I knew that the woods were bad, I knew that someone would be hurt. Yet, it made me wait. One more bike ride down a trodden road, one more hiding spot, one more whimpering nightmare. Ultimately, what I love to find in Horror is what challenges me in this life. Nothing is scarier than the unchangeable truth of our species; nothing more terrible than the clown that is just a man. There is nothing worse than a villain skinned alive by manmade experiences. When I come back to this story, I will search for clues of the trauma of loss, the worry & guilt of a parent’s love for the misunderstood & raucous child of their own making. When I come to the end, once again, I will be loath to let go; feeling a tired sadness in the pit of my person who wishes that the deplorable gravity of adulthood be held back from the youth one more day. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Jun 2023
|
Jun 02, 2023
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||
78
| 
| 1419732935
| 9781419732935
| 1419732935
| 4.18
| 2,168
| Oct 17, 2017
| Aug 28, 2018
|
really liked it
|
My reading habits have changed very little since I was a child. Though we are often encouraged to seek the story within—not to judge a book by its cov
My reading habits have changed very little since I was a child. Though we are often encouraged to seek the story within—not to judge a book by its cover—I find myself engaged in the love at first sight that comes from a book’s cover art. Certainly, one has ample opportunity to read the synopsis, flip through the pages, & even read the story held inside of a book but, I prefer to let my eyes guide me. This approach has led me to discover many wonderful stories & it brought this book to me. I am no longer in the age range of the ideal reader though, I remain a target audience for ghoulish little books that happily present the world of the forlorn. I would have been drawn to this story as a child. The imagery was captivating & dark; warm in its hues of orange & purple that flowered the landscape of an abandoned manor at the edge of town. Though this book is perhaps not as spooky or morose as it might appear, there is certainly a need to warn the sensitive reader to remember that the subject matter might be a bit discomforting. This story follows the young protagonist, Ghoulia, as she watches out the manor windows longing for a friend. Ghoulia is a zombie, which means she is dead. Other members of her family are elderly or significantly older than her which might lead a reader to wonder why or how it is possible for Ghoulia to be a zombie if she is so young. Though the plot does not outwardly deal with the subject of death as a principal facet of life, readers might be inclined to wonder about the circumstances. Ghoulia is also accompanied by her dog, Tragedy—who is also dead. It is not a bad thing to explore the intricacies of this story with a more tender-hearted reader. Ghoulia’s existence is not plagued by horror or despair—death is not a bad thing; it is simply a way of being. Her main desire is to make friends with the local children who aren’t aware that anyone inhabits the old manor at the edge of town. With that being said, the age range of readers who might be drawn to this book leaves me inclined to express these facts. Ghoulia is a happy little zombie & is given lots of attention & freedom to “be a kid” though her situation differs from the norm. With that being said, this story is wonderfully creative. I adored the Halloween setting & the ways in which Ghoulia advocates for her agency all while respecting the house rules—rules that are in place to keep her safe. Ghoulia is a smart zombie who understands her circumstances enough to know that she needs to think hard about how to go about succeeding in her quest. This story advocates for unique & creative approaches to goals all the while reminding readers that their safety is important. The illustrations in this book are a delight. I will certainly seek out the following books in this series as Ghoulia goes about exploring the modern world in new & creative ways. The format of this book is enticing & magical. It encourages readers to interact with the presented imagery while fostering a sense of normalcy. Does the reader have a pet? Does the reader like holiday celebrations? Ultimately, this was a sweet treat of a read. I am so glad to have come upon it. I would have absolutely appreciated the awkwardness of a family of friendly antiquated zombies as a young reader, just as much as I appreciate it now. For readers who are eager to colour the world of past & present with characters of grandiose proportions, this book will offer a silly darkness the likes of which line the streets during Halloween, in a jack-o-lantern fashion. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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May 31, 2023
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May 31, 2023
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Hardcover
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77
| 
| 1803362286
| 9781803362281
| B0BFZXJYB7
| 3.81
| 564
| Jun 13, 2023
| Jun 13, 2023
|
it was ok
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on the death of an animal, the death of a minor, violent crime, insinuations of sexual violence against children, body mutilation, body decomposition, grief, self-harm, domestic abuse, inter-generational trauma, & others. The unsuspecting town of Little Hope is nestled quaintly in the California countryside. Not far enough away that its inhabitants are prevented from a jaunt to civilization yet, too far away for them to feel a part of the booming populace of the State. The slow-moving town boasts of one morbid point in its history, leaving the townsfolk confident that they made the right decision to remain aloof from the developing world. However, on one casual afternoon like every other, after the townsfolk had been told that three (3) teenage girls had wandered off for shopping malls & city thrills, did they realize that horror is not the concept found in the homes of the other—it is the terror found in one’s own backyard. The publisher—Titan Books—has become something of a trusted source for me with regard to the publication of good Horror stories. Over the course of many years, I have fine-tuned my appreciation for the genre into a specific type of Horror. Though the tales of monsters & lore are terrifying in their own right, I find nothing to be more unsettling than reality. When I started reading this book, on a sunny Sunday morning, I found myself easily swayed into the story. I didn’t ask much of this fiction; I wanted to know the layout of the town, & understand why the inhabitants were so easily fooled into believing that three teenage girls would simply run away from home. These are not complicated demands & one may note that the latter is more so a request for intimacy with the world of the story rather than a need for a logical rationale. In the non-fictional world, people go missing every single day. Judicial bodies are hard-pressed to turn to the worst-case scenario, even knowing that it is probably the most likely. What readers will find within this book mirrors the real world with a tinge of orange lighting. The characters in this story have known one another for their entire lives & in a bid to play pretend, they adopt more distinct roles within their community. One of the men becomes a police chief whereas another is a religious leader intent on protecting a child predator. Amongst the women, we have the drunken housewife who cannot stand her religious husband whilst simultaneously loving the wealth devotion allows her. Another is a young mother whose husband beat her senselessly. No adult in this book felt very real to me. Certainly, not every single character needs to have a fully formed backstory nor do we need to spend pages on end delving into their person. However, they were niche representatives of a category of people. I certainly would have appreciated following the narrative of another parent rather than Kat’s. Between the two the reader notes a great deal of tension that never really meets its own potential. Kat is dead throughout this entire story, save for the sections the reader explores via her personal diary. Her mother, on the other hand, is about as ignorant as a person might get while raging against logic, every chance she gets. I found the sections of the journal somewhat tedious to read, though they certainly brought a much-needed level of normalcy to the story. Kat is a regular girl trying to make her way in a town filled with adults who have no way of clocking their own drama. Perhaps this is unfair. Kat’s mother fell pregnant with a man who was a domestic abuser. One might find it acceptable to give her some leeway. However, she turns around & treats Kat like a golden spoon for the entirety of her life, ignoring Kat’s own feelings towards the matter. Each of the three girls shared a relationship with their parents that was tumultuous & veered on abusive. Rae is sent to a conversion camp which results in her self-harming. Donna is abandoned by her mother & lives in poverty. While Kat’s mother is a helicopter parent that drafts her into beauty pageants & bemoans her for her weight. There is rather little to highlight in terms of a positive aspect of any of the parents. Because of this, the girls are somewhat left to their own devices. On one such occasion, they decide that it would be a good idea to follow a man convicted of familicide into the woods on his property in the hopes of getting close enough to him for an interview. Their journey into the woods leads them to a strange gorge—perhaps it is something else but I had a rather difficult time picturing the landscape of this particular bit of forestry & therefore imagined something of a darkened pit that led into a ravine where a monster lived. The monster in this story reminded me of The Kaonashi (No-Face) from “Spirited Away” (2001) while sprouting the dimensions of a magnified earthworm. The way that the beast consumed spirits truly made me flash through the bathhouse scenes in the 2001 film & I couldn’t move past the similarities. This is not to say that it is a bad thing rather, I couldn’t move past a giant No-Face slithering in the woods as he did throughout the film. My eagerness to have the mystery resolved all but vanished when we learnt that a parasitic sentient mucus was flitting through the woods consuming everything in its path. Again, this is not so much a problem with the book as it is because I do not necessarily care for monsters & ghouls—rather less for ones that remind me of childhood movies that were spooky in their own right & therefore leave me with little room to be afraid of the familiar. I have overall, very little to say about this book. It allowed me to pass the time & I enjoyed the first half. I cannot say that it was a bad book because that would be untrue; so many readers will find this to be an exemplary read. Therefore, suffice it to say that, this wasn’t a book for me. The terror that I was hoping for was rather surface-level scares whereas I wanted the beast to be all of the purely terrible things hidden in the town. Ultimately, this story will be for readers who enjoy the gore of a body being sucked up from its middle; the imagery of blood-soaked sheets, tarantula limbs reaching past thick darkness to touch the delicate young skin of the tormented young girls who stood at the entrance of its cave. Thank you to NetGalley, Titan Books, Dale Halvorsen, & Sam Beckbessinger for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
May 21, 2023
|
May 28, 2023
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||
76
| 
| 164445064X
| 9781644450642
| 164445064X
| 4.06
| 31,354
| Sep 21, 2021
| Sep 21, 2021
|
really liked it
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on graphic racism, bigotry, racist vernacular, violent crimes, grief, racial injustice, & others. To understand who we are we must look over our own shoulders. Over the course of time, the intention behind the documentation of human activity has garnered disgust. It has been said that that which lies in the past is dead. The excavation of the facets of our existence as a species raises eyebrows; we view ourselves as we were yesterday via a dissociated lens. It is perhaps easier for us to approach the day tomorrow will bring if we forget what happened on its eve. It is no secret that we have garnered distrust among each other. We sanctify bloodshed & burn books; looting spaces dedicated to intellectual property in the name of shadowing ourselves from the person that we are. We loom in the damage of our own actions with a rage rippling the cuticles of our fingers. We are as we have always been, hard as we try to hide it. Before continuing, I would like to make it explicitly clear that this book includes ideology & terminology that is rooted in bigotry. The purpose of this story highlights that the system of personal & institutional beliefs that allows & encourages racist behaviour exists today. Therefore, throughout this book words are included that might render the reader uncomfortable, or remind them of a time wherein they felt unsafe. I encourage readers of the book & my review to approach both with caution. After reading this book I found myself in a state of reflection. It has taken me several attempts to breach the first paragraph of this review. I find myself unable to pick a starting point. This story presents an interesting premise; the violent terrors that once openly befell territories of people have rounded on themselves to become a witch hunt. Yet, that sentence does not necessarily feel like it does the story justice. It is no secret that the history of Black folks in the United States is tormented; raunch with horrors so terrifying, they could only have been the result of intentional action. Yet, within this truth, there is the main obstacle which the reader is meant to overcome. Does the code of Hammurabi leave everyone blind or are we better set to face life equally if our collective vision is diminished? Within the town of Money, Mississippi, the inhabitants have been unable to find their way through the history that guides them. It would be ignorant to state that the first chapter of this history opens on a vast & empty plane. Many Indigenous peoples saw their lives slashed in a petrifying genocide that has lasted until the present day. Indigenous peoples are still here, as we shall be tomorrow, as we were before. This fact makes the turning of the tides all the more saddening to behold. Hidden in plain sight are the antagonists of this story. These same familiar faces can be found in any society of people. One would know them as the boasting, bellowing, voices ringing through the streets of truths only they have to share. In more modern times, or in the case of a collective shunning of such intentional ignorance; these same people find their way through the channels that plague the virtual world. When once we thought we might be able to share in a nice thing, we are swiftly proven wrong. Within the context of this story, the online world plays a key role in gratifying the original intention. Who pays the price for that which has been done? We find ourselves, perhaps, at another crossroads. I shall not pretend to understand the intricacies of the United States Justice System but, I would not need to be an expert to note that the system suffers from a lack of a clear mandate. Are people meant to be discouraged from crime or are people to serve as examples to one another? Here we come upon another problem; who punishes the inner workings of villainy if all who perpetrate violence lean on one another for support through the action? This very question is asked repeatedly throughout this story. Readers are brought to a fork in the road where they must question their own understanding of jurisprudence. The victims in this story are of two groups, it depends entirely on the reader to decide who deserved to die. This statement alone feels extreme & yet that is the way I intended it. When people are hung from trees to be skinned alive by racist goons can we not conclude that this behaviour is extreme? When people evict to reprimand everyone whom they believe to have ties to an ideology based on physical traits, can we not conclude this to be extreme? Who deserves to pay for these actions? Who is to be held responsible for the continued violence that is perpetrated throughout our species? I believe that life is filled with nuance, enough to allow us a moment to truly think about things. When the groups of alleged vigilantes in Money, Mississippi, decide that they are going to go about murdering the descendants of men who horrifically murdered a 14-year-old Emmett Till, they do not think about the precedent that their actions set. In their minds, they are doing what is right by eviscerating the bloodline of those who committed violence from the world. The same can be said for the zombies that are brought forward. The problem with extreme ideologies is that they often do not leave room for the truth. No child deserves to be massacred, ever, let alone for a bewilderingly stupid accusation. Justice is done by bludgeoning idiot customs to allow our communities to function peacefully. The men who were murdered by the vigilantes & by the zombies were people who were actively perpetrating hate. You will not hear any complaints from me when it comes to ridding the world of atrocities. How do we choose who is good & who is bad? This might seem like a silly question. Certainly, as within the book, those who massacre are evil. Those who engage in hate are evil. Those who harm children are evil. The original group of vigilantes wanted to feel a sense of retribution for the crimes that had gone unpunished. It seems to them that the descendants of violent crimes are able to waltz through life without worry. There is no sufficient penalty for causing the unjust death of a person, especially that of a child. Murdering these men leaves behind crumbs uncollected. These men have children who are now affected by a lifetime of grief. We come again to a fork in the road. Many readers will have come upon the age-old question regarding Hitler as a baby & whether or not his birth meant the rise of terror that was seen in WWII. It might feel good to say that one death to save the lives of millions is worthwhile. This is also a gruesome oversimplification. Just as we might note that ideologies are supported by the angelic figures of the righteous, so too are ideologies supported by the cruel carapaces of the vile. The death of the face of a movement does not demolish the ideology; these things live in us. Therefore, which death will serve as the final sacrifice needed to set our societies right? The children of the men who were killed because they were saturating the world in bigotry & hate will still have to live with the consequences of pain. These children will grow up without a person that society says is meant to be a representation of love. Whether or not these men were wonderful fathers is beside the point. These children are now faced with an adult problem. It is difficult to vocalize how vital safety is in our lives. When you grow up in a home in which you do not feel safe, the world is set in front of you like a minefield. You are forever hoping that your shin does not get blown through your leg muscles; the world is as cruel as your first experiences of it. Will the vigilantes feel safer in the world after they have killed three (3) people? Will their lives be altered for the better knowing that these men are no longer around? That is for them to answer. The story seems to indicate that they do not have the chance to ponder this question as the tide turns to revel in a rise in openly violent crimes. I hesitate to say that violent crimes are on the rise, or that the crimes in this book are now being done openly whereas once they were hidden. As I stated before, times only change for those who are standing on the iceberg as it slowly melts. For those who have been accustomed to the freezing waters in which they are meant to float, the circumstances of these crimes are nothing new. This leads me to my final point, the insurgence of what I have, up until now, referred to as zombies. I do not have the knowledge of calling them by another name. What is important to remember here is who these people once were. When we are first introduced to them, they are hidden within stacks of filling in the home of an old woman. They are known only to us as the victims of heinous crimes. As the story progresses they become names. They are listed to the reader as people. When we name something it becomes real. This is a belief system that many people hold which is why certain unfavourable aspects of life remain nameless or are shunned from their vocabulary. For some people, when you name a thing it develops an essence—something of a livelihood that it did not have before it was called upon. I very much appreciated the inclusion of this belief system in this story because it gave weight to the distress that lived in the hearts of all. After the names of the deceased were said out loud, after they became, once more, the people they had been in life, their stories were real. The ethnicity of people I am part of believes very actively in the power of stories. For us, when you share a part of a memory you have of someone, you are allowing that person to live forever. Emmett Till lived in the memories of people even more than 60 years after his murder. By calling him by his name; sharing his story; vocalizing his reality; his essence was able to glide through time & connect once again to his body. We are so much more ourselves when we understand that a part of us lives in the hearts & minds of those around us. We are someone to those we meet at the grocery store as well as the people who love us dearly. The names of the victims of violent crimes are people that were loved, even if they didn’t know it. Their names deserve to be shared & their lives deserve to be remembered. This story employs a magical realism approach to ghosts in the world of the living. Someone is not truly gone for those who remember them. Where does this leave the reader? Perhaps it is uncomfortable to think about all of the complexities that exist within our history & the things that are shadowed by newsstands in the present day. It is not a good feeling to know that someone is hurt on your watch. It is a worse feeling to know that something could have been done to prevent harm, & yet it was not done. At the end of the day, we are responsible for the world that we live in. My actions are a reflection of my beliefs & of my person. It is my responsibility to ensure that what I put out into the world ensures the peace I hoped to find myself. When all is said & done, I appreciated what this story sought to achieve. The questions posed within this narration are an acute reflection of the disturbances we meet in everyday life. Negligence to listen to stories incites poverty of the soul. It is not an accusation when someone shares with us the pain that they hold or the ways in which they experience the world. To ensure that rotted apples do not poison a tree we need the diligent hands of an esteemed & tender gardener. The orchard houses many trees but the trees whose roots are deep, those that understand the benefit of ecologically sound, nutrient-heavy, well-tended soil, gift the world crisp reminders of interwoven life. ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Apr 02, 2023
|
Apr 02, 2023
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||
75
| 
| 0451481488
| 9780451481481
| 0451481488
| 3.60
| 3,165
| Jun 04, 2019
| Jun 09, 2020
|
did not like it
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, theref
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book as well as those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on graphic physical abuse, the death of a child, suicide, intimate partner violence, psychological distress, graphic child endangerment, the death of an animal, & others. On a Sunday morning warmed by the promise of spring sunshine, I found myself reading this book. I hadn’t the faintest idea of what I might find behind a cover I deem to be quite enticing. It would be crass to say that I am floored with disappointment. It would also be too dramatic to say that I had any hopes for this book to begin with. I have been reading for too long to carry around the faintest expectations toward books. I am not a jaded reader but, I have come to realize that putting eggs in a basket is a practice that I do not enjoy. Rather, I prefer to try something without preconceived notions, & hope for the best. It is not that Young Adult books are unpleasant. I was never a person who felt inclined to read within my age range & therefore have spent many years roaming the shelves of bookstores, from top to bottom, in search of a story that I might like. I believe that a good book is a good book. Every reader deserves that, no matter their age. However, I have found that, more often than not, writers of the Young Adult genre approach their audience with disregard; as though they didn’t have the mental capacity to understand the complexities of a story. This book is a prime example of this tendency. Just because someone is in a period in their life where they might be struggling, trying to find their way, growing in a multitude of ways; might even have the confidence of someone far beyond their years; does not mean that they haven’t a clue how to comprehend complicated subject matters. Reiterating what I stated in the content warning—this book deals with sensitive subject matters that are not approached with much tact. First of all, the main character of this book was experiencing abuse from her boyfriend & this is used as a pawn on which to set the story a flame for the sake of shock value. It is not enough to simply state that Hendricks was being abused by her boyfriend, this needs to be included in the story with some level of depth so that the readers will understand how her mental unease plays into the possible haunting that is happening in the background. There were a few sentences that indicated that people who suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) might experience sensory hallucinations but, because the abuse is hinted at as something sneaky & juicy, readers are not able to grasp the weight with which abuse affects people. It would have been to the benefit of the narrative to have Hendricks’ experiences with intimate partner violence be stated bluntly. This poor girl is experiencing dreadful terrors to the point where she fears her ex-boyfriend is going to (once again) break into her family home, thousands of miles away; she cannot sleep, she is perpetually insecure about her parents believing her, etc. To hint at a big secret that will be revealed as was done in this book, when talking about abuse, leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It is, in all honesty, truly unsavoury. When Hendricks finally reveals to the reader the extent to which her past relationship has had a negative effect on her, it is swept past at staggering speed. It might seem difficult to bring this topic to light within his narrative. Certainly, there are textbooks & call centres where people can seek the professional assistance they need when they are being abused. However, not everyone is in a position to understand that what they are experiencing is abuse. Not everyone is in a position to freely make a phone call or scroll online articles or find the resources they need. It is a kindness to present facts surrounding abuse, in this case, intimate partner violence, clearly in the hopes that the reader who needs that helping hand may find it. I am not a fan of having violence against a person be a quirk for a character with little depth. We read about the person that Hendricks was before she met her ex-boyfriend in passing & it was very sad because she was just a child. She began a steady relationship with an abuser as a teenager & this had serious effects on her person & yet her parents seem to never be around to play their role in helping her heal. Did they make it clear that it wasn’t a negative thing to be moving to a new town? Hendricks is riddled with guilt that is difficult to read about given the fact that it is simply stated for cushioning to an empty narrative as well as being a decaying elephant in a room where everyone is sensorily numb. This approach to traumatic experiences carries over to a multitude of things. Eddie, one of the love interests & resident dark horse, is reeling from the sudden passing of his siblings. I do not appreciate his portrayal in this book as, once again, the nuance of human beings is severally lacking. Readers are people who live in the real world. Certainly, there are people who welcome reading books where there is no connection to their own lived experiences. However, in this story, the author has jam-packed so many horrible occurrences without remembering that real people—people who experience these things—-will also be reading the book. Am I meant to feel put off by Eddie’s gloomy temperament when I know, from the jump, that his younger sister was murdered; that his older brother was incarcerated for the crime & subsequently committed suicide from the injustice? Am I meant to feel spooked by the fact that his life is a cycle of emotionally unavailable surroundings? I feel bad for Eddie, he deserved better. Hendricks stands around & allows people to torment him while knowing that his family members literary died less than three (3) years ago & has the gall to say that it’s not her responsibility to step up. To top this off, Hendricks goes out of her way to seek Eddie’s companionship & comfort. Give me a break. Where in these interactions am I supposed to foster positive sentiments for the main character? Every time something happens, Hendricks is more than okay with sacrificing Eddie so that she doesn’t have to face anything on her own. Which leads me to the haunting of the town. I will give credit where it is due; there were certain aspects of this story that had the potential to be fantastic. With editing & refining, the aspects that polluted this story could have become a minefield of terror. Hendricks’ past experiences could have been explored with depth & they could have led the reader down a road that explored the terrors of intimate abuse in ways that made the actual haunting difficult to discern. Instead, we read about another horrific situation that was brushed over for reasons beyond my understanding. Eddie’s mother was severely bullied growing up. There is a scene in this book that depicts Eddie’s mother, Maggy, as a young girl, with her scalp cut up & her hair shaved with bruises across her face. The level of bullying that Maggy was experiencing was excruciating. As she became incapable of swallowing these events, Maggy took the situation into her own hands & violently murdered the three (3) boys who were abusing her; buried their bodies in the yard & became a cleaning fanatic in what one can assume is a consequence of her paranoia. However, there were many aspects of this that did not add up. Number one, who lived in the house at this time? It is stated that Steele House had been abandoned for many, many years. Some people posit that it had been haunted since the beginning. However, Maggy didn’t die in the house. How could Hendricks be having hallucinations of what she experienced if Maggy is alive & well, next door? The ghosts of the three boys are able to adopt their final hours because they are dead, but they couldn’t bring forward someone else’s, so, why did we see that? Why were they in the house abusing Maggy? Was Steele House used as a vessel for abuse? Did the boys drag Maggy to the house to violently abuse her? Why did Maggie move into the house behind where she was repeatedly assaulted? How did Maggy get all three boys bound? How did she drag three dead bodies through the house into the backyard to bury them? How was it that no one saw her do this? These questions are detail-oriented because the crimes make little sense. We read about the ghosts wanting to kill Maggy’s children in penance for their lives lost but, why would they do that if they were the villains? I would understand if we are meant to believe that they are evil creatures who couldn’t comprehend the weight of their own actions but, we never get any depth to their characters either. They remain the faceless ghosts that haunt the house waiting for Maggy’s children to enter it…kind of a weird thing to wait around for given she could have moved far away from town? I digress. However, on that note, no one in this story is the protagonist. Eddie commits suicide to save a town filled with people who ostracize him; who have a history of cruelty to his family. Why would he do this? I can appreciate that young love is a powerful thing but, he legitimately only just met Hendricks. What they feel might border on infatuation but to see them yell on about love was strangely out of line. I say this specifically because there is a scene in which Hendricks claims that she sacrificed love for the ghosts. Yet, she then recants on this stating that she never actually loved her ex-boyfriend because she loves Eddie. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but, love comes in many forms. Why are we reading about Hendricks questioning whether or not she can love someone new, without the ghosts coming around & ignoring the fact that she loves her family? By her own standard, she’d not be able to love her brother anymore or love any future pets that her family adopted. Why was she encouraged to sacrifice love to the demons? What would that have possibly changed in their lives? For that matter, why was Hendricks encouraged to sacrifice anything ever? Why not approach the situation from the perspective of someone who didn’t want to appease literal demonic entities? Again, I ask this question because the twist in this story is meant to come in the form of the reveal; Eddie’s mom killed the missing boys, who are now haunting the house in the hopes of taking what is most precious to her. Why, then, were the ghosts bashing the baby brother against a wall? What did that change in their quest? How did that alter the result they were seeking to achieve? If we assume they are omniscient beings they would know that Eddie was an outcast, so, at what point was the outcast going to become the hero that came to befriend the new girl? I digress, this situation goes in circles with no logical pattern. When all is said & done, this was an easy read. I wish there had been more effort into crafting a good story; one that put forth all its aspects with delicacy & talent. Why the ghost boys needed to become zombies is beyond me. To be honest, I found that to be baffling in a crudely hilarious way; ruining the progress the story was attempting to make. Why did Hendricks’ parents send her home to nap, after she told them she didn’t feel safe in the house? This story is meant to be taking place in the present time yet the adult figures in this narrative play their 90s-Horror roles too enthusiastically. I’m not mad to have read this. This book was a decently hilarious companion during my sunny Sunday. I cannot fault it for being exactly what it was; pages in a bind with words spread throughout. It would have been nice though if it had been something else. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Mar 05, 2023
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Mar 05, 2023
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Paperback
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73
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| B09JVY9QZ3
| 3.69
| 109,569
| Jan 17, 2023
| Jan 17, 2023
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did not like it
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**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, theref
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book as well as those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on abuse, child endangerment, violence, parental neglect, psychological distress, violence against a child, the death of a child, grief, & others. I won’t lie to you—I skimmed the bulk of this book. I always begin reviews with a recap. I go through, as a tertiary party, & reflect on what has taken place in an attempt to draw myself into what I have to say. I do not necessarily feel the need to do that in this case because the redundant, flippant nature of the horrifically mundane, trite, & dull plot was so graphically corny that my mind clocked out when the first hand struck the hour. This is very harsh criticism, I understand that. However, in 1993 R.L. Stine published “Night of the Living Dummy” for young readers & was able to incite, in under 200 pages, what this novel failed to glimpse in over 400. The reader meets Louise & is immediately aware of the lack of direction this story will undertake. The story circles around itself endlessly—all without reason. I became confused as to whether the author was simply trying to render Louise an unreliable narrator or if they had actually forgotten that we as the reader were meant to be engaged & attentive to the material they were presenting. Louise’s character adds to the false premise of security. Certainly, there are reasons why she is this way; always believing herself to be the only person on earth who had a less-than-stellar experience at some point in life. Though this ignorance might have added to her narrative it was incredibly dull to have to read. At once Louise tells the reader that she was never given anything by her parents, though certainly, money must grow on trees for her to have been able to have all the luxurious extracurricular activities that she was able to pursue on a whim. Yet, we then read that her family was in fact very financially insecure for several years of her childhood so, why does she believe that everything money can buy is her due? Louise tells the reader that money from her parent’s inheritance would help her buy a house with a yard so she could have a dog & give Poppy, her daughter, more freedom. Then, she turns around & tells us that she lied to Poppy for her complacency—she’s never going to buy a dog. What does this add to the story? I do not think that Louise is unreliable, I think that she is a poorly constructed character. This is supported by the same lack of continuity within the story at large. For example, in one scene Louise has not yet cried about her parents’ death. When she lay on her childhood bed she began to cry for the first time. This is evidently forgotten by the author because a couple of chapters later Louise is described as crying for the first time with Constance. This same formula is employed throughout the novel for a multitude of things which leaves me feeling that the author lost track of their original intention. I can appreciate that Louise felt disconnected within her family unit because her parents seemed to be coddling her brother, Mark, even when it seemed he didn’t deserve it. I suppose it’s an act of sheer ignorance that keeps Louise from noting her own failures as a human being. Her focus is locked into all the shortcomings of her brother, whom she cannot fathom as being anything less than a burden on society. I mention this fact because I grew tired of hearing about their quibbles. This is also why I reference R.L. Stine’s 1993 book—this relationship is identical to the one that the sisters share in his book. Wouldn’t it have been wonderful to have seen one member of the family act like a fully formed entity within this plot? Am I meant to think it’s funny that Mark has to attempt to validate his emotions after his sister sliced his arm off? Are we meant to all laugh & giggle about silly Mark, who almost died & was denied his experiences, trying once again to find solace in the heart of a person who was as hollow as the Tin Man? I think not. The crux of this story is technically one I might be interested in watching play out in a cinematic medium. Poltergeist stories are incredibly difficult to write. I believe that the author has to have the trust of the reader, before anything else, so that the reveals are subtle; actions leading the reader to question how they might interpret the situation if it were happening to them. I should not be laughing & rolling my eyes while reading about a demon-possessed hand puppet that is trying to murder & possess human beings. Though this story has been done a thousand times, a skilled author—someone with a mind for details & gore—would be able to present the essence of this fear in a way that makes a reader forget its familiarity. I should not be reading a book & think about all the times I had seen this same premise carried out in smoother strokes. I cannot fault someone for trying something; I know this book will be loved by many readers. Thankfully, the world is filled with people who are different from me—it’s part of our charm as human beings, there are so many of us, all a bit different though similar, to one another. Because of this fact, I can appreciate that some readers will come across this book & appreciate the cheesy dialogue. They won’t care that Pupkin—the poltergeist—leaps out of a closet like a demented frog in the middle of the night to hound a child who would just as soon forget he exists as spent her lifetime of energy following his orders. What would Pupkin achieve by having everyone kill each other? Genuinely, where do you go when the family that houses you is dead? You’re a puppet, you can’t just waltz out of the house given you rely on the energy & spirit of the living beings in the house. Or maybe you don’t? I don’t know, most of the details of his entity are—like those of every other character—unclear. Having said that I really enjoy stories of poltergeists. The premise is one that has great potential. I truly believe that with proper, steady & diligent editing, this story could make for a wonderful screenplay. I laughed my way through the scenes with the taxidermy squirrels. I could not find anything frightening about a trio of blinded carcasses standing around the room whilst Louise—a fully grown adult human—loomed in fear. In the region in which I live, squirrels are massive. They can become very, very chunky so I appreciate that if a 10+-pound squirrel was threatening me, my heartbeat would pick up but…I’m also a fully grown adult human being, I recognize my options in this situation. This leads me to my next point, Louise is intent on being useless. She never thinks ahead, & never takes a moment to reflect on how her actions will impact those around her. She is very selfish yet, she pretends that everything she does is because she is duty-bound to act. She simply shoots off to Poppy, right before she is meant to go to bed, that her beloved grandparents have died. She degrades Mark because he was drinking before calling her to tell her of their parent’s passing. She thinks that the funeral arrangements are wrong because she never thought to consider that her parents might be unknown to her, far away in her secret-keeping life. I digress, we could go in circles along with the story on these points. Louise is not a character worth following & her bickering is tiresome. Inconsistencies do not a scary story make. Perhaps for some readers, but, I am no such one. I would have appreciated it if Louise had remembered saying that the trash was going to be collected when she dumped Pupkin inside. Yet, we read about her freaking out because she didn’t see his doll body in the garbage, days later, when she looked. I didn’t care that the TV kept being turned on. I would have loved for this to have been the introduction to something eerie & torrential but, instead, I’m met with the comical squeaks of dead squirrels & an old possessed puppet that acted like a dead battery. All that to say, this book was not for me. I was eager to read it—I have heard so much praise for this author & their work. Ultimately, I wanted something more mature, something more pointed. I wanted bat caves of steaming breath without a body. I wanted limp ragtag arms swaying in dead air. I wanted the slightly slow-moving painted eyes of the possessed to glimmer in a sun that the characters would never see shine again. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Jan 21, 2023
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Jan 21, 2023
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Kindle Edition
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my rating |
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|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
93
|
| 3.99
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not set
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May 13, 2024
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92
|
| 3.65
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really liked it
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Apr 21, 2024
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Apr 21, 2024
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|||||
74
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| 3.77
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did not like it
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Mar 2023
not set
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Apr 10, 2024
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|||||
81
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| 3.57
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it was ok
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Aug 27, 2023
not set
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Apr 09, 2024
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91
|
| 4.04
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liked it
|
Apr 11, 2024
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Mar 31, 2024
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|||||
90
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| 3.33
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really liked it
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Oct 31, 2023
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Jan 25, 2024
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|||||
86
|
| 3.79
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liked it
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Oct 29, 2023
not set
|
Jan 21, 2024
|
|||||
89
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| 3.72
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liked it
|
Dec 04, 2023
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Dec 24, 2023
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|||||
88
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| 3.33
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did not like it
|
Nov 30, 2023
|
Nov 30, 2023
|
|||||
87
|
| 3.94
|
it was ok
|
Nov 14, 2023
|
Nov 14, 2023
|
|||||
85
|
| 3.95
|
liked it
|
Oct 08, 2023
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Oct 30, 2023
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|||||
83
|
| 3.42
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liked it
|
Sep 20, 2023
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Sep 29, 2023
|
|||||
82
|
| 3.52
|
liked it
|
Aug 09, 2023
|
Sep 21, 2023
|
|||||
80
|
| 3.49
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really liked it
|
Jun 11, 2023
|
Jun 16, 2023
|
|||||
79
|
| 4.25
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it was amazing
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Jun 2023
|
Jun 02, 2023
|
|||||
78
|
| 4.18
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really liked it
|
May 31, 2023
|
May 31, 2023
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|||||
77
|
| 3.81
|
it was ok
|
May 21, 2023
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May 28, 2023
|
|||||
76
|
| 4.06
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really liked it
|
Apr 02, 2023
|
Apr 02, 2023
|
|||||
75
|
| 3.60
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did not like it
|
Mar 05, 2023
|
Mar 05, 2023
|
|||||
73
|
| 3.69
|
did not like it
|
Jan 21, 2023
|
Jan 21, 2023
|
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