Review: Call Me By Your Name

3 stars. This book lands squarely in the middle for me. Andre Aciman is talented, no doubt about that. He can paint a pretty picture, he refreshingly avoids cliches, he makes things feel inevitable and unexpected at the same time. He captures moments in time with great care and thoughtful word choice. His phrasing is lyrical, lush, at times very dreamy and atmospheric. Yes, the p word (pretentious) crossed my mind, but I admit that I was caught up in the story and the first world problems and this beautiful, painful romance.

Call Me By Your Name, for those who somehow don't know at this point, is about a 17-year-old boy named Elio who falls deeply in lust with a 24-year-old summer guest in Italy. Oliver and Elio circle and circle and circle before crashing together in incredibly intimate ways. I don't think it's a spoiler, really, to convey that you shouldn't expect a happily-ever-after. Oliver and Elio were always meant to part ways and so they spend their time accordingly. As the novel draws to a close, Aciman revisits them 20 years later and - as always, through Elio's perspective - examines their romance through time and place and memory and fear and shame and hope.

There are many who say they relate to Elio and his obsession. I would count myself among them. Aciman captures perfectly what it means to desire another - to long for them, fantasize about them, take note of their every move and savor every moment in their presence. There are many who say this is unhealthy, or unheard of. What perhaps upsets me is that Elio's obsession was reciprocated in a way that was both hopeful and tragically sad. He experienced mutual infatuation, and lost it. For me, it is both a fantasy and a nightmare - I want it to be true, but I don't want to believe it, and if I believe it for a second, the sadness is unbearable.

It's a testament to Aciman's writing, of course, and his ability to craft an emotional story. But honestly, I didn't find myself racing to pick this up again. I understand that the prose was polarizing for most - I found things to like and hate about it - but ultimately it was a bit much for me. And while I'm sure this was partly the intention - partly the point - I felt like I was drowning, occasionally, in hormones. Been there, done that. Of course I rooted for Elio and Oliver and of course I don't mind an unhappy ending, but something about this ... perhaps my REACTION to it ... felt like a 3-star reaction.

I'm afraid this review doesn't make much sense, and won't serve as a helpful resource for potential readers. But it's what I feel, at this time. I think you have to be in the right mood for Call Me By Your Name - for something slow and ethereal and weepy. I admire and appreciate its beauty but I don't feel fulfilled. I do, however, want to go to Italy immediately.

Call Me By Your Name on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: Rebecca

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. Yikes. Yikes. This book.

It's a masterpiece. A true masterpiece.

I feasted on this novel. Absolutely dined on it. I devoured it in two days and was shocked to come to its end. It's incredible.

The writing is masterful and the storytelling is atmospheric and layered. It touches on so many things: the power of a place and its many unrealized secrets; the stubborn naivete and innocence of youth; the wired, uneasy journey into adulthood; the constant inner battle for a certain sense of self; the pressures of society and the lousy insensitivity of human nature; the tragedy of being a woman.

It's very captivating, and very horrifying, and a true gift.

I will admit that halfway through the book I was disappointed. I felt so uncomfortable and awkward reading about a hypersensitive girl making her way through a tough world. This is either a testament to the powerful writing or my own personality, but I personally felt Rebecca's presence, constantly whispering in my ear, telling me I would never live up to her, would never escape her shadow. Anyone who suffers from insecurities or anxiety will relate to the narrator's extremely accurate voice. It wasn't creepy, it was too real.

But then the revelation! The other shoe dropped, and as it turns out, it was a perfect fit. And I truly didn't anticipate the twists and turns - which I really appreciate in a world of predictable storytelling.

To those who criticized the book due to the thoughts/actions of the narrator: just because an author writes from a character's perspective does not mean the author agrees with or supports or resembles the character in any way. This should be obvious. The narrator in this story is sensitive, timid, terrified, ignorant, innocent, naive, misguided, and annoying. This is not my interpretation of her, this is how she is portrayed. It's intentional! Her desire to be loved leads her to stay married to a murderer. That is not a "heroine" in any sense of the word.

It really doesn't matter. It just doesn't. I found myself totally immersed in this story, heartbroken for both Rebecca and the narrator. Am I, as a woman, not somehow both of them? Required to be pleasant yet obligated to be direct? Failing to be simultaneously submissive and independent, as is demanded of me? Caught between doing what's expected and doing what feels right? Navigating a world that wants me to be both the Jezebel and the Madonna?

This book is a nightmare. A perfect, Gothic nightmare.

Rebecca on: Amazon | Goodreads

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

Review: Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places

4 stars. This book gets the Quintessentially Kelly award for 2018. It has all the ingredients for a home run: history, folklore, pithy writing, and the supernatural. I couldn’t put it down, and I’m devastated it’s over. If you’re looking for answers, or proof, look elsewhere. This is a straightforward examination of the questions.

I’ve always been interested in ghosts. As far back as second grade, I remember being mocked on the school bus for reading a chapter book about a haunted house. I was one of the first - and probably youngest - visitors of the early paranormal websites. In high school, my after-school routine consisted of popcorn, root beer, and A Haunting. I love - LOVE - Paranormal Witness.

And in Colin Dickey I found a compatible soul - another individual with endless questions and endless curiosity about the supernatural. I wish I had gotten to WRITE this! Talk about a dream job. He recounts ghost stories famous and not-so-famous across the country, diving into their historical context and background, truly bringing the past to life.

While some sections get a little bland, this is nowhere near a textbook. Dickey weaves through the stories his own investigation of the philosophy behind ghosts, asking and considering questions about life and death along the way. He manages to articulate many of the feelings I’ve had about homes, hotels, hospitals, cities - and the weirdness of how we interact with these … things … concepts … impressions … wrinkles … throughout history.

Keep in mind that this is not a scary book - at least, the ghosts aren’t scary. As Dickey demonstrates, many ghost stories reflect tragedy, or times of great suffering, or a failure of justice, or harsh, human cruelty. He’s smart to include this, as it wouldn’t be an American history without it. “But this, too, you could say, is part of the American story, as we have always been people who move on, leaving behind wreckage and fragments in our wake.”

And overall, it’s deeply enjoyable. I loved the chapter on Salem, and the Winchester House, and New Orleans. Dickey debunks - almost regretfully - many of the stories, but he’s careful to leave readers with a “what if?” I came for the ghost stories but LOVED his reflections on the abstract.

“We tell stories of the dead as a way of making a sense of the living. More than just simple urban legends and campfire tales, ghost stories reveal the contours of our anxieties, the nature of our collective fears and desires, the things we can’t talk about in any other way. The past we’re most afraid to speak aloud of in the bright light of day is the same past that tends to linger in the ghost stories we whisper in the dark.”

This should be read in schools. For history or literature or philosophy classes. For fun. Turn it into a documentary, or a podcast, I just want more of this content. Fuel my obsession, please. Do I believe in ghosts? Not really. But I’m deeply interested in what ghost stories say about humans. The stories within the stories. And this book delivered.

Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places 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

Retro Review: The Queen of the Night

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 savored this. I bathed in the words. I was unsettled and entranced and deeply, deeply inspired; a testament to Alexander Chee's unapologetic, romantic world. His fluid, dream-like words mingle in rich, dramatic ways. His portrait of the time is immersive and researched and, though filled with much sorrow and hardship, glitters with magic. Chee seduces with twinkly lights, dazzling dresses, stories and songs and all things that sparkle and glow next to all things rough and grotesque.

There are encounters with women and men and music and death and fear and true, true hunger. It's not a coming-of-age story in the typical sense, despite the lessons learned. Uniquely, Lilliet's identity - her intentions for herself, her obligations to herself - seem very intact from the beginning. She doesn't just tell her story, she muses and wonders and wanders and lets things percolate. And so we escape into her journey - the spectacular, unimaginable journey of a woman surviving in the heart of a spectacular, unimaginable time.

Chee has a talent for capturing emotions for which there are no words. I admired this book the second the main character's dress turned against her, which is to say, immediately. Never have I seen that specific emotion described so beautifully. It's an emotion I don't think I've ever even acknowledged in a tangible way, to myself. The emotion you experience when you realize you don't look like you thought you did. Shudder.

And there is much to say about men.

"In this world, some time ago, far past anyone's remembering, women as a kind had done something so terrible, so awful, so fantastically cruel that they and their daughters and their daughters' daughters were forever beyond forgiveness until the end of time - unforgiving, distrusted, enslaved, made to suffer for the least offenses committed against any man. What was remembered were the terms of our survival as a class: We were to be docile, beautiful, uncomplaining, pure, and failing that at the least useful return we might be allowed something like a long life. But if we were not any of these things, but a man's reckoning, or if perchance we violated their sense of that pact, we would have no protection whatsoever and were to be treated worse than any wild dog or lame horse."

There are some aspects I didn't like: the flashbacks, the foreshadowing, the cliffhangers, the smirky way certain details were included (or not included, like the tenor’s name). The timeline was a bit confusing, or self-indulgent, or far-fetched, even absurd - although that may have been intentional, to demonstrate the swirly-whirly nature of time and place and memory. Lilliet seems oddly distanced from her story, at times, as though she's telling it from a separate space, from a different perspective, completely removed.

There's also an interesting exploration of choice and fate, sort of a cage match between "our fate is sealed" and "we seal our own fates." I had a visceral reaction to our protagonist's sense of entitlement and could not relate to her expectation of a free pass. I admired her refusal to accept anything less than her desires, and of course I appreciate that she lived in a world designed to limit her, but life is difficult for everyone. Sometimes, you just can't escape. You must face consequences, you must resist the temptation to run. All that being said, the last few lines of the book call into question my resentment and demonstrate Lilliet's previously hidden level of self-awareness and regret. Noted: "And the gods did not kill for hubris-for hubris, they let you live long enough to learn."

Complaints aside, the power of an incredible historical fiction novel is, for me, unveiled in the pathways I pursue upon finishing it. The Queen of the Night, which is full, decadent, lush and perhaps excessive at times, did inspire me to seek out more. I listened to Chopin, researched the plots of operas and read biographies of the players who made an appearance. I found myself wishing for an illustrated version, or a guide of commentary to which I could refer and compare and explore. Finishing Lilliet's story did not mean I was done with her world.

I realize it's melodramatic and intricate and perhaps it is easy to grow tired of the victory, defeat, victory, defeat, victory, defeat. But ultimately I didn't mind the melodrama because the writing was so thoroughly badass; that specific type of badass I would use to describe an orchestra, or flan, or the word "cornucopia." 5 stars for this book and may we bask in its glow forever.

The Queen of the Night on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: How to Write an Autobiographical Novel: Essays

4 stars. I feel privileged to have read this. I was thrilled to read Queen of the Night and this is something equally special. Alexander Chee strikes me as one of the most honest writers out there, and the honesty of his essays in How to Write an Autobiographical Novel: Essays inspires. 

I have always been a consumer. By that I mean the opposite of a creator. I've never enjoyed writing, only reading. Its why I have a degree in English literature, not English. And I studied art history, not art. I prefer to be reactive instead of proactive. 

But the creative process absolutely fascinates me. I love reading about writing, and talking about writing, and learning how others approach the craft. And so I was deeply captivating by Chee's perspective on existing as a writer.

And, delightfully, so much more. I swam through this - floating easily at times, diving determinedly through others. I learned. Chee writes about AIDS, about advocacy, about being young, about hardship and tragedy and betrayal, about odd jobs and about 9/11 and the 2016 presidential election or, as it is simply called now, "the election."

He writes about trauma and art and the intersection of the two. I felt at times heartbroken for him, in awe of his self-awareness and resilience. I felt the relevance of his work and - interestingly, a strong sense of validation. There is a point to all this. A point to writing and reading and making art. “There's a reason that whenever fascists come to power, the writers are among the first to go to jail.” I was sad to finish. But also perhaps ... happy for him. 

I think there are many out there who would find this book meaningful.

How to Write an Autobiographical Novel: Essays on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Wreckers

3 stars. Taking it way back this week with The Wreckers, a Yearling classic published in ‘99. My husband recommended it as a beloved read from his childhood and I couldn't resist the "high seas adventure" promised. I was immediately shocked by the sheer technicality of a shipwreck - I feel like I would've understood this better had I possessed an intimate knowledge of boats and sailing - but slowly relaxed into a tale that reads like a story heard aloud by the fireplace.

This is the tale of John Spencer, a 14-year boy determined to take to the sea. He accompanies his father, owner of the Isle of the Skye, on a trade voyage, until they are violently shipwrecked off the coast of Cornwall, England. Waterlogged and alone, he witnesses something horrible, something inhumane and tragic. He discovers that the coast is home to a town of wreckers - those who wreck ships on purpose, murder the survivors, and steal the cargo.

It's a nonstop adventure from there - John makes enemies, and friends, and unravels the mystery of the town. He meets murderous monsters and treacherous villains and journeys across moors and through hidden caves. He makes daring escapes and good, heroic choices. It's all really ridiculous, and unlikely, and fun and scary. It was almost a relief to read this from a young person's eyes and recognize the heart and morality of the story. I could depend on the hero.

I can't go without a quiet cringe at one of the story's antagonists - the character of Stumps could be described as downright derogatory. The Americans with Disabilities Act had been around for almost 10 years when this was published - regardless, Lawrence should've known better. It made me uncomfortable - okay, more than uncomfortable - to see a character whose disability was used as an instrument of fear. To make him scarier. Not okay at all.

But this was a page-turning, action-packed adventure, for sure, and a nice, nostalgic break from the angst of adult reading. I might even describe it as a beach read. There's a lot of good luck and a lot of bad luck and an enduring sense that everything's going to be okay. Despite issues with character and plot, the writing is atmospheric and strong. It's a practically nonsensical swashbuckling adventure pre-Pirates of the Caribbean, and like Pirates, it works. 

The Wreckers on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: The Passage

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.

3 stars. First, the wonderful: the novel is semi-epistolary, which keeps things interesting and provides a larger picture of the events depicted. Considering the expanse of Cronin’s vision, he avoids tripping into tunnel vision by including excerpts from government documents, journals and email correspondence. I don’t always enjoy having all the answers, but in this case, context felt really, really crucial to my understanding of the story. That plus a carefully crafted complex and sophisticated plot left me both satisfied and wanting more.

Now, the weird: first of all, all of the men in this book seem like different versions of the same male character – like the same face drawn in different colors. And the women are incredibly strong and multifaceted, but Cronin misses an opportunity to demonstrate a deeper understanding of the feminist perspective. It isn’t problematic in that sense, but in my opinion it’s lacking.

I should also comment on the writing, which is questionable at times. It’s arrogant and cliffhanger-happy, and Cronin bogs down the prose with details of the setting and romantic subplots (I’m certain this was done intentionally to send a message – but it was not to my taste). Cronin is definitely a master at writing action, but his character's’ internal monologues felt slightly amateur (Peter’s contemplation of Hollis and Sara’s relationship was really tedious to me). There’s melodrama and heavy-handed sentimentality.

Also, be prepared for some ... unusual ... exposition. Like The Terror, another sprawling, layered book that touches on humanity’s place in the world, this story gets more woo-woo as it goes on.

Despite these flaws (flaws may be too strong of a word – I would just refer to them as observations), the accomplishments of The Passage are countless. It is a literary vampire apocalypse story, of which there are many, but it’s also a fresh literary vampire apocalypse story, of which there are few. I will be reading more.

The Passage on: Amazon | Goodreads