Review: The Cabin at the End of the World

5 stars. WOW. I don’t even know where to begin. I loved Paul Tremblay’s A Head Full of Ghosts but felt really meh about Disappearance at Devil’s Rock, so I had no idea what to expect going into this. And honestly, until the end, I was on the fence. I really don’t take to Tremblay’s attempts to write children, and I fully expected to hate what looked to be a very bleak ending. But then I reached the last page and … felt the whammy of a gut punch so big I nearly burst into tears.

I guess we should back up. The Cabin at the End of the World opens with Eric and Andrew and their 7-year-old adopted daughter Wen on vacation in an isolated cabin with … you guessed it … no cell service. While Wen catches grasshoppers in the front yard, she’s approached by a huge and friendly man named Leonard, who engages her in weird conversation until three others show up - carrying terrifying hybrid weapons and wearing similar outfits in different colors.

Leonard and his companions are a threat, but not the type of threat you’d assume, and this sort of apocalyptic home invasion story runs a very tension-filled course. What follows is a nightmare - a nightmare that never ends and only gets worse. Wen and her fathers are good, good people who experience incredibly awful things. It’s pretty hard to recap, actually, but just know that this is a scary read. A traumatic and interesting and well-written read.

I loved that Tremblay offers us many clues - throws explanations our way, in fact - and yet leaves things ambiguous at the end. We have answers, but we don’t know what to believe. And it’s a tremendous exploration of what happens when we are backed into a corner - when our worst fears for our loved ones and ourselves unfold right in front of our eyes. You will feel like you are there. You will feel in it. You will experience the horror and the loss and the pain.

And yet it’s so captivating. I couldn’t put it down. Even when my eyes were blurry with exhaustion, my head hurt, my knee ached with sympathy pain, even when I was convinced I knew what to expect and had to muscle through it to be sure, I couldn’t put it down. Tremblay still can’t shake the almost hilarious analogies ("Leonard falls off his knees and returns to all fours, a reversal of the evolutionary ascent-of-humans pictograph..." or "Leonard is battered, a diminished and broken King Kong after the swan dive off the Empire State Building. Sabrina is pressed against the wall as though standing on the crumbling ledge of a cliff face.") but his writing here is deeply emotional. He plays it all just right.

And that ending. Fuck, it really worked for me. I thought I had it figured out - thought I knew what was going to happen. Nope, I was thrown for a wonderful loop. A wonderful loop. It felt like Horror with a capital H. Damn. This book coaxed my brain into stunning, dark places. I suppose I’m a little bit in awe. The evil here - you can't really wrap your head around it. It’s monstrous, but it’s not a monster. If that makes sense.

Look, I almost feel like I can’t recommend this. It will fuck you up and leave you wrung out. But it’s a five star book, for sure, and its brilliant premise, vivid prose and deliciously rich themes will stick with me for a long time. I mean … okay, I need a drink.

The Cabin at the End of the World on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: The Terror

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. I decided to revisit this book in anticipation of the TV adaptation (which is highly entertaining and I recommend). I enjoyed it so much the first time and was once again completely shocked, completely impressed and completely immersed. Mr. Simmons has crafted an epic masterpiece and I can't wait to watch it become a classic.

I've written before about how a historical fiction novel is successful, to me, when I feel inspired to learn more on the subject. The Terror definitely sparked an intense curiosity about the arctic, arctic expeditions and the age of icy exploration. It truly is a fascinating subject and I appreciated Simmons' level of research.

And beware: there is a lot of research-based content. The length to some may have felt cumbersome, but it felt luxurious to me. Some books go deep instead of wide, some books go wide instead of deep. This book goes deep AND wide.

I didn't find it to be as scary as some readers, but I was disturbed - certainly as I was meant to be - by the detailed portrait of man's hubris in the face of nature. I'm not sure what to call it, exactly: hubris, ego, toxic masculinity, misplaced faith ... I'm referring to the stubborn streak that drove these men to the end of the earth only to be bitten, chewed and swallowed (quite literally). I wouldn't go so far as to call it poetic justice, but when these men do meet their fates, there's a sense of inevitability, acceptance, or maybe the urge to shake your head and whisper "you fools."

The writing itself is consistent. The author treats every character, every development, and every subplot with as much care and dedication as the last. He uses his skill to avoid tripping over tropes - the monster could've been a cartoon, the men could've been caricatures, the descriptions of the landscape could've been stereotypical. But this is truly unique and special.

I read an article recently about art and the author posited that there is only one true way to identify a "masterpiece:" you know one when you see one. I'm afraid that isn't a terribly objective form of measurement, but I feel like it applies here. Not only do I understand what this book is trying to do, I was also really, really entertained. 5 frozen stars.

The Terror on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Turn of the Screw

5 stars. About halfway through The Turn of the Screw, I almost put it down for good. The language was too dense and intricate, I didn't enjoy the "scary" elements, and I wasn't invested in the characters. But I kept going, and it was worth it. Things clicked. I had been trying too hard. Letting my eyes fly, instead of insisting they ruminate on each phrase or sentence, made this a more rewarding experience than I expected. I would argue it's a masterpiece.

First, for interest, the excerpt from Henry James' notebook on his inspiration for the story: 

"Note here the ghost story told me at Addington (evening of Thursday 10th), by the Archbishop of Canterbury ... the story of the young children ... left to the care of servants in an old country house through the death, presumably, of parents. The servants, wicked and depraved, corrupt and deprave the children ... The servants die (the story vague about the way of it) and their apparitions, figures return to haunt the house and children, to whom they seem to beckon ... It is all obscure and imperfect, the picture, the story, but there is a suggestion of strangely gruesome effect in it. The story to be told ... by an outside spectator, observer."

And so The Turn of the Screw became a ghost story about a governess assigned to care for two children. And care for them she does. Little Flora and her older brother Miles prove to be apt pupils and the governess settles into life in the somewhat isolated estate. Until she starts seeing ghosts. Terrified for herself and the children, the governess attempts to navigate, handle and justify her fear as apparently no one else can see the apparitions. Tragically, her relationship with Flora is destroyed and Miles ends up dead.

SPOILERS BELOW.

The beauty of this story is not in the writing itself, although the writing is very beautiful, and very difficult to appreciate, at times. James is a wordy, wordy, wordy, wordy author. His verbose rambling essentially eradicates any chance for genuine suspense or terror. Don't expect to be scared. But there is beauty here - and I would argue that it emerges via interpretation, or perhaps it is better to say via the many possible interpretations.

It reminded me a bit of Black Swan, a film with a terrific unreliable narrator. Like the governess, Natalie Portman's character seems a bit off, or stunted, or off-putting from the first scene. You root for her, because she's clearly not a villain, but things get weird and you learn not to trust her. The film ends in tragedy, but perhaps without as much ambiguity as the book. Still, it's similarly uncanny and you walk away with lingering questions.

In The Turn of the Screw, the governess is - no doubt about it - the only character to acknowledge the ghosts. To acknowledge them. Other characters might see them, or they don't. They certainly deny it. So the question becomes: is the governess mentally ill? Is she hallucinating?  Is she manifesting her suppressed rage, or suppressed sexual desire, as old while male critics seem to think? Does Miles die because of an implication?

Or are the ghosts real? Are the other characters lying? Is she "gifted" in the sense that she's the only one who can interact with the paranormal? Is she the victim of a conspiracy led against her by the household and the children? Are the ghosts out to possess or harm her? Does Miles die because of a reality - a terrifying, supernatural reality?

Is she insane, or is she a hero? EITHER WAY, I'm disturbed. EITHER WAY, she loses. She is lost. We are lost. As Brad Leithauser writes in a review I love from The New Yorker, 

"Yet—the book’s greatest feat, its keenest paradox—the ultimate effect is precisely the opposite of openness. “The Turn of the Screw” may be the most claustrophobic book I’ve ever read. Yes, you’re free to shift constantly from one interpretation to the next, and yet, as you progress deeper into the story, each interpretation begins to seem more horrible than the other. As the gruesomeness gathers, the beautiful country house effectively falls away, like flesh receding from the skull of a cadaver, and we’re deposited in a hellish, plantless, low landscape of bone and stone: plenty of places to run, but nowhere to hide."

Which is why I like both. I love that it is, or could be, or might be, or without a doubt is, both.

There's another moment in this book I'd like to consider - the moment when Miles confesses about why he was expelled from school. When I first read his admission, I instantly thought that the "words" he said must have been homosexual in nature. I believe Henry James was homosexual, and this clicks really well in my mental comprehension of the story. It's just my comprehension, though, and there are certainly so many possibilities.

This turned out to be much more of a reaction than a review, but I think that's a testament to the book's power. I want to discuss it. I want to do the "further reading." I want to analyze the shit out of that ending. I want MORE. And for that, this crazy, complicated book gets 5 stars. "No, no—there are depths, depths! The more I go over it, the more I see in it, and the more I see in it, the more I fear. I don’t know what I don’t see—what I don’t fear!"

The Turn of the Screw on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: Let the Right One In

4 stars. Let the Right One In, a Swedish book I read in translation, is a story about a vampire. It takes place in a suburban town plagued by a series of violent murders. We meet curious young children, troubled adolescents, and cynical middle-aged alcoholics as they process and react to the horror and pain of loss and tragedy. 

It's almost a coming-of-age book for everyone, regardless of age. The identity of the monster is never in doubt, so it isn't a traditional mystery, but there is plenty of horror from vampires and humans alike. It's an interesting, unique take on vampire fiction reminiscent of Octavia Butler's Fledgling. And it's gorgeous. It's an atmospheric fairy tale full of lore and lessons.

And it's a story about love. Many different types of love.

The first type of love: pure, innocent love. 12-year-old Oskar, bullied and beaten and eager for revenge, finds a true friend in Eli. It is an honest, chaste, legitimate type of love that, when returned, truly elevates his sense of self-worth, his agency - his identity - in an incredibly powerful way. 

The second type of love: love driven by lust, obsession, greed, power. Wrong. This is the type of love manifested by Hakan. The wrongness of his love is reflected, almost too literally, by his physical appearance towards the end of the novel. He becomes, essentially, a walking, destructive, immortal penis. Yikes.

The third type of love: a cynical, wise love no less strong but based on companionship. Lacke and Virginia embody this type of love. These folks, who have been through it all, seen hardship, fought life itself, have somehow found warmth in each other. And it's beautiful.

I was actually in the mood for something much darker than this turned out, but I'm not mad about it. The characterization is incredible - even the minor appearances are more than plot devices. It lent to the book's distinctly suburban feel, a sort of small town-big problems vibe with a lot of blood thrown in. 

I suppose this ended up being a sort of weird review, but the truth is I really recommend Let the Right One In. I know it came out when everyone was all-Twilight-all-the-time (sigh), so, while often stated as BETTER than that shit, most people know it as the vampire book that isn't Twilight. Read it, though, because it's interesting, and it's canon.

Let the Right One In on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Haunting of Hill House

5 stars. A young woman, after spending years as the primary caretaker for her recently-deceased mother, responds to an invitation to spend the summer at Hill House, an isolated house rumored to be haunted. There she meets carefree, feisty Theodora, handsome owner Luke and the delightfully academic Dr. Montague, who is determined to investigate supernatural phenomena in the house. You can guess what happens next ... or can you?

This book is absolute, terrifying perfection. I am so inspired by Shirley Jackson's writing here - it's gorgeous, captivating and completely unnerving. Eleanor's unreliability is portrayed with such beautiful, unsettling prose - prose that weaves threads of isolation, sexual repression, desire, identity, femininity, etc. into a blanket as cozy (for a fan of horror) as it is torturous. 

I know it's full of tropes and shallow characters, but I happen to love horror tropes and there is nothing stale here. In fact, there is something that feels - even decades after it was written - revolutionary. Not just because of the lesbianism (it's blatant and a cornerstone of Eleanor's journey, sorry not sorry). The psychological terror depicted here would horrify anyone. The scares are soft but stayed with me for a long while and ... made me think. I can't remember the last time a horror story made me think. I felt this book deeply as a woman struggling to establish and embrace an identity - to reconcile what's expected of me + what I want; the pain of growing up and becoming an adult; etc. 

And The Haunting of Hill House is incredibly funny. There is a sharp, dark sense of humor here that cuts the tension and strengthens the dialogue. Eleanor's self-conscious naiveté is as adorable as it is relatable even as there is a sense that she is disjointed or stunted in some way. We learn about her not just through her internal monologue but from the characters that orbit around her, first with affection, then concern, then suspicion. 

I suppose a bottom line could be that this book should smell musty, but it doesn't. It's fresh. Another bottom line could be that this book is arguably the scariest ever written. Because it is, or is at least close to the top. I think the bottom line for me, though, is that this book is so much more than it promises; more than a simple ghost story; more than we rightfully deserve. The Haunting of Hill House is a gift and a treasure and should be recognized as such.

The Haunting of Hill House on: Amazon | Goodreads

List: 5 Scary Books

I am a huge horror fan. There's just something about bone-deep fear that brings a giant smile to my face. I tried to keep this list well-rounded - some classics, some contemporary - but it's certainly not comprehensive.

A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay | When 14-year-old Marjorie Barrett begins exhibiting abnormal behavior, her family turns to the Catholic Church for help. Grappling with the "diagnosis" - demonic possession - and faced with mounting medical expenses, the Barretts agree to be filmed by a production team for a reality TV show. Years later, Marjorie's sister Merry recalls and traces the events leading up to a horrifying and traumatic climax. This book left me out of breath and desperate for some sunlight. It took me hours to unclench my jaw and return to reality. It's The Exorcist for millennials. Amazon | Goodreads

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Alice by Christina Henry | Trippy and dark, this story follows a young woman who escapes from an asylum and embarks on a journey full of monsters and blood. It's edgy and disturbing (I had to take a break every now and then to breathe) but, not just for the sake of being edgy and disturbing. Ultimately, it's deeply creative and delightful. You've never Alice like this before. Amazon | Goodreads

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The Shining by Stephen King | Everybody knows this story, right? In an isolated hotel during the off-season, a man battles madness while his young son battles darkness. It's truly an epic - Stephen King goes deep AND wide - and while I wasn't terrified by this, there were plenty of cringe-worthy moments to enjoy. Amazon | Goodreads

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We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson | Merricat and Constance Blackwood live with their ailing uncle in isolation following the poisoning of their other family members. When a distant cousin shows up, their fragile form of existence shatters. Ugh, it's so good, and so unexpected and so full of incredible quotes. Dear Hollywood: please make a movie of this starring the Fanning sisters.  Amazon | Goodreads

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The Woman in Black by Susan Hill | Arthur Kipps is sent to Crythin Gifford to settle a client's affairs at the isolated and perfectly-named Eel Marsh House. As he uncovers the house's secrets, he starts hearing - and seeing - impossible and terrifying things. I love all forms of horror but I cannot pass up a traditional haunted house. "The Classic English Ghost Story" is quite right - this story is very classic and very English and very, very scary. Amazon | Goodreads