Review: The Sea Queen (The Golden Wolf Saga #2)

5 stars. A very worthy sequel / trilogy bridge that took me for.ever. to read because ... well, everything. But I didn't give up and I'm so, so incredibly glad for that. This type of writing - the language of this story - is so unique and crunchy I think I'll miss it and return in the future. I mentioned this in my review of the first book, but there is true escapism here, even if it offers escape into a super brutal, ugly world full of pain and death and bloodshed.

In The Sea Queen we continue to watch the rise of Harald Fairhair, conqueror of Norway, through the eyes of his capable sworn warrior Ragnvald and his headstrong sister Svanhild. The quest for a unified land is complicated, however, by growing political and martial threats, throwing confusion and pressure onto seemingly strong alliances. It's a story both vast and vastly personal that offers a unique and emotional window into a very interesting, and very treacherous, time in Scandinavian history.

What makes this series so refreshing:

- Characters second guess themselves and change their minds all the time based on shifting circumstances and revelations. This makes their actions much more believable and grounded.

- The interconnected webs of romance and sex. This story has positive depictions of non-monogamy all over the place; women who experience desire and are direct about it; men and women who circle around each other and recognize that lust comes and goes. The different types of lust, even. Lust as power and lust as comfort and lust as distraction. The phases.

“It was pleasant, to be desired by this beautiful giant, and when they tired of each other, she would have wealth, and every freedom except taking another man to her bed.”

I don't know much about what social sex was like during Viking times, but I know a little about human nature, and this stuff (especially the stuff from Svanhild’s perspective) rang true to me - told so directly and matter-of-factly because the author's setting allows it (especially compared to, say, a contemporary setting). This isn't a romance, don't worry, even though in an interview the author expressed her interest in exploring different types of long term relationships. It's just strange sometimes what aspects of a book stand out even when it's truly not the point of the book at all.

- Impressive details, but not too many details. Irish whiskey makes an appearance, as a little treat, but it is not the point of the scene nor is it there to prove the author's ability to research and write with accuracy. The accuracy is apparent in her storytelling, not her info dumping or lack thereof.

- A badass, fierce, believable female action hero.

I believe I mentioned this in my review of The Half-Drowned King, but I think it's worth saying again that the comp titles here are a bit off. This is an epic trilogy of historical fiction but it is NOT ASOIAF, nor is it the Outlander books, nor would it be for fans of action-packed military fantasies, though I love those myself. This is for readers interested in something deeper and warmer and slower, something super immersive and thorough and focused on the intimacy and dialogue of politics. It's totally its own thing, and for that reason these stories will live in a special place in my heart for years to come.

On to the final chapter (with dread).

The Sea Queen on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: The Only Good Indians

5 stars. Absolutely incredible. A surprising, thought-provoking, heavy metal level of scary book that really sticks. I slowed down on this so I could savor it and relish the unfolding of each dynamic, captivating chapter. I wanted to chew on it respectfully; wanted to really taste the creeping dread and brutal punches. Reading it this way - carefully, instead of barreling through - was an incredible experience and I feel kind of cleansed despite the buckets and buckets of blood (good horror does this to me?).

The Only Good Indians, borrowing its title from the infamous phrase, is about four Native American men living ten years after they experienced a strange and disturbing hunting trip on forbidden land. Two of them are eventually killed under brutally violent circumstances, and the others are haunted and hunted unaware as they continue to embrace and defy their cultural identities through fresh grief and old regrets. There's so much more, but I don't want to spoil anything.

This is a story that blurs lines all over the place. It's a slasher, but it's a twisty one - the monster may not be the monster after all. It's a mystery, but not to us as readers - to the characters who are largely oblivious of what stalks them. It's a cautionary fairy tale that teaches many lessons - with an unexpected take on good and evil. It's an exploration of Native American culture - but through a unique and fascinating and terrifying lens. It captures characters that suffer that internal battle within and around and about themselves so well: "He hates being from here. He loves it, but he also hates it so much."

It's a story about tradition and choices and the urge to chafe against your core identity; the urge to defy custom and ignore the rules; the urge to be wasteful for selfish reasons; the urge to resist the reality of your own making; the urge to escape what you can't; the urge to blame everyone and anyone for your decisions knowing that deep down it's you - it's your doing - and you'll pay for it in the end. It's a story about how outrunning the past is impossible. And it's about revenge. Deep, natural, solid, earthly, instinctual, all-encompassing, bigger-than-you-and-me vengeance that is ugly and beautiful at the same time.

It's also, wonderfully, about basketball and marriage and friendship and paperbacks and masculinity and motherhood at its most ancient and primal. It's full of delicious details that lighten up some super dark themes in entertaining ways. Second person is used brilliantly in the second half to a jarring and energetic effect. Pacing, plotting, dialogue - it's all there and it's all excellent. Also, there's a really clever play on the final girl trope.

And the ending brought it home in a way that made me cry, although I don't know if I can articulate why.

Random lines that jumped out to me: "The best jokes are the jokes that have a kind of message to them. A warning." and "They stand together, their doors closing at the same time, an accident of sound that makes the boy straighten his back, like it's bad luck."

By the way, there are two things in this world that I absolutely hate: reading/seeing/hearing about animals getting hurt or killed, and feeling hot, temperature-wise. This book has a lot of both. I don't usually issue trigger warnings but I AM WARNING YOU: if you, like me, were traumatized by Where the Red Fern Grows in fourth grade and can't even think the words Bambi or The Lion King without crying, this book is not for you.

In fact, I typically dock a star automatically for UDDs (Unnecessary Dog Deaths) because I often see it as a cheap shot to play on readers' emotions. I stuck with this book, though, because horror tends to wash differently into my brain than other genres, and it was worth it in the end. Plus it was written so perfectly, and (this is not a spoiler) the animal deaths were absolutely necessary IMO.

A must-read for horror fans - and I think for everyone. I'm obsessed with this and gutted in a good way.

The Only Good Indians on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: The Ruins

5 stars. FUCKING BRUTAL. And I fucking loved it. I have to say, this is an absolutely brilliant piece of horror. To develop the idea for this story, plot it out, and then fall into the right headspace to write it must have been absolute torture. Sure there's a level of predictability, but it's employed really well, like the meta moments strewn throughout the tropes. It's deeply disturbing and I am in awe.

The Ruins is about two couples who, while vacationing in Mexico, decide as a sort of adventure to help a new German friend find his missing brother. Accompanied by another new friend (a Greek man who speaks no English), the group ventures deep into the jungle to find the guy with varying levels of enthusiasm. It's hot, it's buggy, it's muddy, and by the time they reach what appears to be their destination, a sense of dread and discomfort permeates the group. Something is very wrong in this part of the jungle, and now the locals won't let them leave.

I've seen this book described as survival horror, but I'm not sure it fits so squarely under that umbrella. Ultimately it is about survival, and there are enough anxious parts about finding water and food rationing to satisfy even the most academic reader. But there is another evil central to the story - an unnatural, malevolent force - that threatens them in sadistic, horrifying, almost playful ways. That's true horror right there. That's a monster. To have this force play with and off of the natural attempts to survive exposure is breathtaking. No complaints about the villain.

Along the lines of survival: I have to say, I've read (and watched) horror all my life and I've never really contemplated my own mortality in ways that this book inspired. I think it's mostly due to context (2020, heavily associated with death) and some recent news that sent me spinning a bit, and maybe my own experiences traveling, but man, some of these passages punched me right in the existential feels. You’ve been warned. But for me, no complaints about the triggers.

I have seen other reviews touch on the fact that these characters may or may not be one-dimensional, idiotic, not worth rooting for; may or may not even be likeable. Did I feel annoyed with them, at times? OH MY GOD YES. Did I want to yell at them? PUT DOWN THAT WATER, AMY. Did I want a little more complexity beneath all the hand-wringing and tequila slinging? I FEEL LIKE MATHIAS WAS HOT. HE WAS HOT, RIGHT? But at the end of the day it didn't matter, it didn't impact my reading experience negatively. I thought each character's arc was actually really well-planned and well-written. And so, no complaints about the characters.

I know I fucking drone on about Stephen King all the time and I'm constantly comparing other authors to him and blah blah blah. I'm sorry! I can't help it. But trust me when I say this: The Ruins will appeal to readers who enjoy King. It's that good and Scott Smith is that talented. I can see why it's considered a classic.

And now I'm going to go take a big ol’ shower.

The Ruins on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: Piranesi

5 stars. All the stars. Favorite read of 2020. Piranesi will be etched in my mind forever as a book that feels written For Me. Beautiful, strange, special. Those are the words that come to mind but there's so much to think about and so much to unpack - how on earth can I process it all?! I checked it out from the library but will be buying it immediately so I can return to the Halls as often as possible. Daily, maybe. For comfort.

Piranesi is a collection of journal entries written by an unknown and unnamed narrator who inhabits a labyrinthian world of connected classical buildings full of statues. He shares this world with no other people - just the ocean, amiable flocks of birds, and the remains of those who traveled there before him. He seeks to catalogue the world, tracking the tides of the ocean and mapping the halls and their statues. He receives regular visits from another man he calls the Other - a man who seeks a Great Knowledge within the world. And he begins to realize, slowly, that there is more beyond his world. More than he ever could have possibly imagined.

I keep considering Annihilation as a suitable comparison - both feature deeply academic minds (systematic thinkers) as protagonists, both feature mindbending, metaphysical mysteries, both have become infinitely special to me. I appreciate books about people who must work hard to fit; people who try and try to fit and don't and eventually discover that the fact that they don’t allows them to navigate impossible - and I mean impossible - situations. I love these characters. They are my tribe.

Clarke's aesthetics, her visuals and imagery and descriptions of the statues, were shots straight to my art-starved heart. I certainly didn't expect to miss museums so much during the Terrors of 2020 - not just the museums themselves, but the specific experiences and memories of visiting them, walking around, feeling weightless and soothed by the art around me (ex-art history student, lol). I realize Piranesi's world is NOT a museum, exactly, but the sisterly concept made my soul ache all the same. Some of the passages about how the narrator turns to the statues for comfort, knowledge, protection, with so much reverence and respect ... are absolutely lovely.

Are there lessons here? Probably - definitely. For such a little book, Piranesi explores big stuff like identity, academic pursuit, ego, humanity, survival, resilience, fear, deception, friendship, memory and kindness. Moments, such as when Piranesi sacrifices three days of fuel to help an albatross build a nest, will stick with me forever. The contrast between the interactions Piranesi has with the Other and then with 16 (trying to avoid spoilers) says so much about intention and empathy. It hurts but it feels good.

So much about me!! Ugh. This is turning into a response/reaction, not a review. Plot-wise, story-wise though, Piranesi is a work of genius. We as readers are dropped into something so strange it should be too much - but it isn't. Clarke never, ever asks too much of the reader, and the way she drops little hints and clues and glimpses of the bigger picture is brilliant. The pacing is perfect. The unspooling of this thread is incredible. This should be studied. Which it will, by me. A lot.

Piranesi on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: Catherine House

5 stars. WOW, UNEXPECTED!! In a great way. Very Vita Nostra, which I INHALED and loved, so I really enjoyed this. I saw Catherine House described as quirky in another review, and I'd agree except I'd maybe say darkly quirky instead. The narrator has a meandering, unpredictable voice that feels like quite a slap to the brain and the plot doesn't really progress in a natural way. Again, very unexpected and unique.

The story is told by our protagonist, Ines, at the beginning of a three year stay at Catherine House, an exclusive and isolated school whose alumni go on to be incredibly successful - rock stars, famous authors, Supreme Court judges, etc. Catherine House has an unusual set of rules and curriculum standards, and Ines, after a rocky start, begins to feel at home in a way she never felt on the outside. She finds herself drawn toward an academic path focused on "new materials" and attempts to investigate while determining her own uncertain future.

The writing here is very beautiful and atmospheric, and to me shone far brighter than the plot or central mystery. That's okay with me, it won't be for other readers. Just like Vita Nostra - pulling from what is probably The Secret History (I see you I feel you *waves* Hi, Bunny) - this book has a campus novel slash dark academia feel to it in all the best ways, with some absolutely brilliant details. Yeah, I'm talking about the meta lessons about the uncanny, and futurism, and surrealism. Yeah, I'm talking about the references to all the rich, sweet food eaten in the Hall. Yeah, I'm talking about the wavy, vague depictions of what it is to be wine-soaked and young in the summertime. These details really impressed me and came across as vivid, important and thoughtful.

Now that I'm writing this, I think I'd call this book a feeling. It's not an answer, or a declaration, or even a narrative in the traditional sense. It's like slipping into a pool or a cloud or a bubble. It feels cold and hot and provokes dread and anticipation and desire with subtle gestures rather than outright action. Reading it is sensational, in a literal sense; unsettling and even disturbing at times, but all in all it is the type of thing I love. Cinematic and beautifully artistic. So, yeah, not for everyone, definitely for me. 

I have a feeling that Elisabeth Thomas and I are about to become good friends. 

Catherine House on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland

5 stars. Phew, this was excellent. Say Nothing is a few things: a detailed history of The Troubles, an investigation into an infamous murder and the others who "disappeared" during those times, and a wrenching character study of the key figures affected and involved. Using a tone that reads much more textbook than true crime (not a bad thing - it's still a page-turner), Patrick Radden Keefe pulls on various threads from this complicated tapestry to uncover and examine the dark truths about the conflict, about morality, about belief, and about humanity as whole. 

A couple of observations:

First of all: for as long as I can remember, I have never really been able to wrap my ahead around the conflict in Ireland. It's an intimidating, almost unbelievable piece of history that's essentially ongoing, and despite my Irish heritage and basic knowledge of the strife I could never talk about it intelligently. This book changed all that. It should be curriculum. It should be a fundamental resource. It should be studied and admired for the way it deftly unlocks an incredibly intricate - and dangerous - safe.

Second: applause to the author for doing so and somehow never truly labeling, criticizing, judging or ultimately losing respect for any of the key players. There are no bad guys here, or rather, everyone is a bad guy (or a bad girl, as it happens). Huge disclaimer, of course: I wasn't there, I've never lived in Ireland, this was my first detailed exposure to this story, and it's quite possible that I just don't get it. But I do believe that Keefe is able to stick to the facts, sordid as they occasionally are, sensitively; maintaining reverence for the victims and for the messy, life-altering aftermaths. 

To that point, I was really struck by the chapter that details Brendan Hughes' later life and eventual conversations as part of the Boston College project. Keefe writes in this chapter - aided by some seriously stomach-churning quotes from Hughes - what are, in my opinion, some of the best words ever written on post-radical disillusionment. "Painting murals on walls to commemorate blanket men after they have died a slow and lonely death from alcohol abuse is no use to anyone ... I would hate for young people now to have this romanticized version of the events of that time. The truth is so very far removed from that and I suppose I'm living proof." 

It's especially heartbreaking and vivid because the entire thing resulted in what many viewed as a non-victory, so IRA participants couldn't even come near to validation. Opinions changed, views were swayed, and political circumstances swirled in vague intangible clouds that lightened as years went by. And the dead ... well, the dead stayed dead, except in the haunted minds of the survivors. Compartmentalizing (and romanticizing, as Hughes ironically notes in a house full of Che posters) must've been so easy in the youth and excitement of it all; grappling with the consequences in the face of long-term failure, though... I cannot. even. imagine. No matter how you look at it, no matter who was "right" or "wrong," the trauma here knows absolutely no bounds.

Human-dealt trauma - that's what it is. Trauma and tragedy perpetuated by the neighbors, the acquaintances, the extended family, the circles you've navigated and known and trusted your whole life. Trauma and tragedy that twists its way into your heart forever. Trauma and tragedy that is so fundamentally human and also so fundamentally useless it makes you repaint the image that comes to mind when you think of "advanced civilization." Human-bred, human-borne, human-built tragedy. It's the world's oldest story, when you think about it, and the one that keeps repeating itself, the one that will continue to repeat itself until the end of time.

I'll be thinking about this - thinking, reflecting, re-reading, researching, and bringing it up randomly at the dinner table - for a long, long time. 

Say Nothing on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: Mexican Gothic

5 aromatic, fruitful, gloomy stars. I'm slowly recovering from the biggest reading slump I've ever experienced, and I'm happy to report that Mexican Gothic served as a healthy reminder that books are magic, to me. Everyone's saying it - and now I can happily confirm that this is Bronte meets Vandermeer. I loved it. This is one of those books you hate to put down, because it sucks you in story-wise AND character-wise. Every person in this story is distinct and interesting. 

The story: an intelligent, headstrong young woman named Noemi is sent out of town to investigate when she receives a rambling, mysterious letter from her newly-married cousin. She heads to High Place, a crumbling old mansion occupied by a cold, cranky family. The longer she stays at High Place, the more concerned she gets for her ill cousin, and the more ill she feels herself. So many secrets!

Among the positives: the setting, the snappy, brave protagonist, the writing that is somehow both matter-of-fact and also lushly atmospheric, the pacing, and the subversion of certain tropes about masculinity and love. As soon as I read the last word I wanted to rewind and start all over again, which is extremely rare for me (as in, it happens maybe once every 50 books or so). I snagged this at the library but will be investing in a copy for myself. It's that good. More than good, it's that FUN. 

There are plenty of little details here (like Noemi's knowledge of chemicals and dyes) that make this work so well, but I think overall the story is just a classic one. It borrows from the greats but it's not too boring or familiar - it has all the exciting elements for a fantastic gothic mystery. The villain is absolutely (and delightfully) awful and there's plenty of social commentary to unpack. I'm just really, really impressed.

I WANT ANOTHER ONE.

Mexican Gothic on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: My Dark Vanessa

Quick note: hello there. I’ve been gone for awhile. Nobody has noticed, of course, because nobody reads this blog or my reviews on Goodreads, so this is sort of a note to future Kelly. Hi, future self, you took a little unplanned hiatus from reading and reviewing because life had other plans and stress melted your brain until it oozed out of your ears. BUT GUESS WHAT?! You got through it. With flying colors, like the badass bitch you are. Welcome back.

5 stars. I'm not going to fully summarize because this book is so well-known and the plot itself attracted so much controversy - but basically this story, told via alternating flashbacks, is about an inappropriate and abusive sexual relationship between a young girl and her teacher. It follows Vanessa through the "affair," its immediate aftermath, and its deep and unrelenting impact on her life long after. 

I knew enough about this book going in to be aware that it's more than one thing: it's a fictional narrative story, but also a study - an exploration, if you will - by Kate Elizabeth Russell on culture, consent, desire, power, justice, trauma, youth, and much more (basically: a recipe concocted out of everything I’m obsessed with). You can tell that KER ruminated on some of these things for a long, long time, and occasionally it does feel patched together from what may have been academic ramblings (I say that fondly and mean it as a compliment). 

It's so weird to rate a book like this because "good" doesn't always mean "enjoyable." It feels weighted and draggy at times, occasionally amateur, unsophisticated and strange, and also Extremely Not Fun To Read. Very squirmy. But my rating is meant to reflect its bravery, its approach to messy characters and messy situations, the way it embraces - tightly - and portrays - accurately, I think - a super fucked up scenario with super fucked up characters. It also, quite frankly, interested me. This topic interests me.

I've seen many critiques of the length, and agree, though I wonder if maybe KER made it a little long intentionally, proving to us that Vanessa is, or would be, traumatized during the normal, mundane moments as much as the chaotic, dramatic ones. Strane tainted her, ruined her, and she feels that even when we want to look away, or when we're bored; when we aren't entertained.

Ultimately, I'm glad My Dark Vanessa was written. I'm glad it tackles and attempts to unpack what is essentially an unpackable subject. I'm glad I'm living in an age where there is a ton of discourse on this sort of thing - studies, poetry, literature - that will hopefully inform and impact the next generation of women (and men) for the better. Effectively, though, there's barely a conclusion here. Can there be? I don't know. 

To me, one of the biggest takeaways is that the human brain, at every age, in every iteration, is a complicated organ that we simply do not understand. We are confused creatures. We are confused, multifaceted, individual creatures, who have the potential to react to a hundred different scenarios in a thousand different ways, ESPECIALLY - ALMOST ALWAYS - WHEN IT COMES TO SEX.  

This is what prevents certain concepts - like consent and desire and power dynamics - from forming clearly when we're directly involved. It's all still vague, at every age, it's all still a moving and uncomfortable and tricky dilemma, it's all still grey. Of course we throw around words like morality and ethics and right and wrong and advanced civilization, but as I get older and more reflective (on myself as well as society and those around me), I've started to realize that the things we don't know far outweigh the things we do. 

I'm not excusing Strane or blaming Vanessa or any of that. Unquestionably, Strane, plus her school, plus her parents, plus society, even those who truly cared for her, failed Vanessa in multiple tragic ways. I guess I'm just trying to say that any sort of brightness, certainty or moral precision is absent here, as it often is in real life. Some questions that MDV asks, many of them deeply painful, can never be answered. That may be the point.

This should be required reading for everyone. That's all. 

Related reading: Tampa by Alissa Nutting, Lolita, of course. I'd also recommend The Real Lolita by Sarah Weinman, and maybe Call Me By Your Name by Andre Aciman as a more positive exploration of consuming desire (I’D LOVE TO SEE THESE TWO COMPARED/CONTRASTED). Related viewing: Unbelievable, a Netflix miniseries based on a true story that really points at how young people can be so easily manipulated by "trustworthy" adults around them. I’d also recommend following Kate Elizabeth Russell on Instagram, where she continues to post interesting content related to the themes in her book.

My Dark Vanessa on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: The Half-Drowned King (The Golden Wolf Saga #1)

5 stars. I cannot express how grateful I am for stories like this during times like these. The tale of Harald Fairhair's conquest of Viking-age Norway doesn't exactly have the most delightful, funny, feel-good vibes, but every time I slipped into these pages I felt relieved - a true escape. The Half-Drowned King is Harald's origin story told through the eyes of Ragnvald Eysteinsson, a young and skilled warrior attempting to navigate his coming-of-age, his birthright, his complicated family, his allegiances, and his desire for glory. After a harrowing betrayal and attempt on his life, Ragnvard finds himself caught between kings and fates as war descends on his harsh, beloved homeland. 

I quite admire this book because what happens in it is unusual. Sure, we have the usual suspects - revenge, duels, shield walls - but we also have flawed characters making imperfect decisions on wavering, unclear journeys. Solvi and Svanhild's relationship, for example, twists and turns in ways I can't stop thinking about. Ragnvold makes predictable mistakes and unpredictably learns from them; in fact, every major character has ugly qualities as well as heroic ones. None of it - within Hartsuyker's halting and unique prose - feels cliche, or typical, or traditional. It reads like a softer, fresher version of The Last Kingdom, though I reject comparisons to ASOIAF (hi, a book can have swords and more than one POV and not be Game of Thrones, thanks). 

I also really appreciated the way Hartsuyker has her characters look back at the sagas and stories and songs of their history similar to the way we look back at, for example, the sagas of Viking-age Norway. When one character tells another that her experiences sound like something from "one of the old songs," it's a self-aware nod to the nature of Hartsuyker's story. And while that nature for sure has an epic fairy tale flavor to it, this technique also essentially grounds and humanizes her heroes and kings (and queens) and underscores the fact that legends have their own legends; no "age" is untouched by the "age" before it. Legacy is a driving force for her characters. I quite love it when a book doubles down on the importance of stories. 

It's a complicated one, and reading it requires energy and effort. Figures poke at and orbit around each other in patchy, tricky ways. But it is rewarding, with its subtleties and deft plotting and its understanding of identity and honor. The politics, once they click into place, are not difficult to grasp. It is as oddly romantic as it is brutal, and I would hope to see the characters eased of their burdens in the future books. I've grown to love them, and I dread their fates. Still, I look forward to escaping into this dark and magical world for a bit longer. I think I will dream of icy waves and crackling fires and roasted meat tonight. 

The Half-Drowned King on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires

5 stars. I loved this. I'm so lucky I snagged it from the library, but I look forward to owning a copy one day so I can re-read my favorite bits. Absolutely epic.  

From the outside, Patricia Campbell has everything a woman could want - sensible husband, two kids, home in a nice neighborhood, a safe community. She's living the suburban dream. Unfortunately, life as a housewife and full-time mother leaves her feeling a bit hollowed out. She jumps at the chance to form a sort-of book club so she and other neighborhood moms can read all things dark and exciting: true crime, horror, and murderrrr books. 

Then a stranger shows up in the neighborhood, and things get weird. Patricia is violently attacked and children begin to disappear in the surrounding area. She's drawn to the stranger, but it soon becomes clear that he's not at all who he says he is - he's actually something much worse. Something that may or may not even be human. 

Like many (but not all) great books about vampires, The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires is not really about the monster. He exists rather in the shadows - in fact, he doesn't even show up until 10% in - as we watch Patricia Try To Have It All and Also Protect Her Children from a Suspicious Threat Even Though Nobody Believes Her.

(It's not actually that cliche - Patricia's a fantastically flawed heroine who messes up a ton with nothing but good, or at least understandable, intentions. Her friends are equally justified and essentially victims of a society designed to cripple women. So.)

Speaking of Nobody Believing Her, holy shit - I squirmed so much through the middle of the book, just prior to the flashforward. The term humiliation horror crossed my mind more than once as Patricia's character was completely squashed by the true monster of the book: her husband. All the husbands. All of them deserved so much worse than they got. I was hoping for a truly satisfying I Told You So moment, just to watch the tables turn. They deserved to be vampire food, all of them. Oh well. 

In many ways this book was exactly what I expected: a charming look at a group of strong and spirited Southern housewives versus a vampire in the 90s. In other ways, though, I was completely surprised. This book is so much more than a thrilling monster fight. It is a cultural study, a piece of anthropology, a tribute to imperfect efforts, a long overdue testament to the housewife, a deep and painful critique of the trash husbands of the not-so-distant past. It shouts loudly about the shittiness of marriage and parenting and adult friendships and the suburbs. It offers grotesque horror alongside hilarious moments. Slight uneven packing aside, there's snappy dialogue and true courage and a lovely wrap-up that left me grinning. Grady Hendrix nailed in. 

The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads