This kind of review never fails to bring out my shifty, shyster side. (Yes, I certainly do have one).
I tend to think of my reviews for this genre as...moreThis kind of review never fails to bring out my shifty, shyster side. (Yes, I certainly do have one).
I tend to think of my reviews for this genre as shoddily assembled, incoherent rambles. And I use the word “genre” there without a modifier because if you take a peek at my shelves for this book, you’ll see that I have absolutely no idea where to put it. That’s right, I probably couldn’t tell the difference between speculative and sci-fi if they walked up to me on the street and punched me in the face.
Let’s just say, I’m out of my comfort zone here. So I do my best to distract people from my complete lack of knowledge with a barrage of emotional response and long tangents.
Look, over there! Adverbs!!*runs away*
Whenever I get the chance to read an entire book in one sitting, I inevitably emerge from it feeling a little drunk and disoriented. (view spoiler)[Not drunk and disorderly, although that’s happened after some books. (hide spoiler)] Surfacing too quickly after being submerged in a foreign fictional world, I find myself in a bit of a daze, squinting at my flatmate like I can’t remember who she is and having to be reminded to “use my words”.
I loved the experience of being in the world Veronica Rossi has created in Under the Never Sky. She drops the reader in with little in the way of backstory or explanation, to an extent leaving them to stumble around blind and gradually get a feel for the place. But for me, this wasn’t a frustrating experience. It was intriguing - I needed to know more, to push on, to search out answers in the text. And the detail that Rossi does provide is fascinating. She’s taken some familiar concepts and put her own unique slant on them, pushing together two very different worlds to create a setting of extremes.
I’m poorly equipped to examine the technical strengths and weaknesses of Rossi’s worldbuilding, as I’ve already admitted upfront this genre is not exactly my strong point. However from a lay perspective (so to speak), the world of Under the Never Sky reminds me a little of Blood Red Road. Not in that the settings are strikingly similar, but in the sense that both are rich with atmosphere and a curious blend of familiar and strange. The Outside, or the Death Shop, is definitely better realised than Reverie, but that’s probably attributable to the simple fact that the majority of the story takes place there.
Possibly the greatest weakness I found with Under the Never Sky was its opening, and I fear that the first few chapters may struggle to hold the attention of some readers, if not lose them altogether. It wasn’t the loud, punchy, gripping opening I was expecting. The book gets going at more of a saunter than a sprint, and keeps this relatively sedate pace for some time. When the story really hits its stride, it’s good, but the slower build up isn’t going to win over everyone.
On the other hand, the characters are so well developed and carefully crafted that they’re more than up to the task of carrying this story. Both Aria and Perry have the substance that I’ve found lacking in some comparable novels. While I didn’t find both immediately compelling (read: it took me a while to like Aria), they are both strong characters and their interactions felt believable. However, I do want to mention that (view spoiler)[I wish the element of "rendering" had not been a part of this story. While I think I understand how this could work amongst the Scires, I disliked how it detracted from the element of choice and free will in Perry and Aria's relationship. (hide spoiler)]
Perry’s story and motivations in particular came across loud and clear, probably why I felt invested in him as a character almost straight away.
Add to this the fact there’s more on offer here subject-wise than romance-masquerading-as-dystopia, namely: loyalty, trust, respect, family and visits from “Aunt Irma”, and it’s an entertaining read with some depth.
This could be the read-a-thon high speaking, which I’m yet to come down from, but at the end of the day this book is just a lot of fun to read, and one of the stronger contenders in the recent field of YA sci-fi/post-apoc/dystop (view spoiler)[(just covering all bases) (hide spoiler)] that I’ve read. Although, having just made such a big song and dance (er, disclaimer) over how little I have to substantiate my opinion, take that as you will.
As I was racing towards the end of Variant it became very clear that the number of pages I had left to read were no...more Well, the joke is on me apparently.
As I was racing towards the end of Variant it became very clear that the number of pages I had left to read were not going to be adequate to address the plethora of unanswered questions I had. My rising mental chorus of ”But what about...? But why...? How....? smacked straight into a four word brick wall: End of Book One.
I really thought this was a standalone book. Ha ha.
Variant is a fast-paced, fairly gripping read that slaps you with quite a doozy of a cliffhanger on the last page. It’s told through the first-person perspective of seventeen-year old Benson Fisher, who applies for and receives a scholarship to Maxfield Academy, thinking this will be a relief from a life spent in a series of foster homes. Of course, all is not what it seems.
There are no adults at Maxfield, just intense video camera monitoring and four rules: no “violent” fights, no sex, no refusing punishment and no trying to escape. Breaking the rules results in detention, and no one returns from detention.
Sometime prior to Benson’s arrival, the students of Maxfield had been getting their Lord of the Flies on in an all out intra-school war (really, what is it with me and books about kids beating the heck out of each other?). A tenuous truce between the three “gangs” (Havoc, Society and Variant) has brought a kind of precarious order to life in the Academy. So what exactly is going on? Is this a prison? Are they unwitting lab rats in a cage? And who is behind the sinister rules and punishments of Maxfield?
It’s a chilling premise and the for the most part, I think, well done. Wells’ keeps a tight rein on the tension and it builds rapidly, making this a fast-paced read. There’s definitely an unsettling atmosphere of paranoia about the whole claustrophobic set up, especially through Benson’s eyes as the newcomer. Comparing his viewpoint with that of the students who accept their strange lives with a type of “it’s this or die” resignation, is quite effective. The power play – both psychological and outright physical - between the different factions of students is disturbing and keeps the story compelling.
As a heavily plot driven story, the characterisation and development of relationships felt a bit thinner than what I usually enjoy. The primary focus here is on Benson attempting to figure out what’s going on and plotting escape, although he does form some tentative bonds with some students.
The writing is brisk and quite business-like, which suits the pace and the urgency of Benson’s situation. (After all, this is not really a story to linger over, but one that almost forces you to race through). The sharp twists throughout, and particularly towards the end, are neatly orchestrated and pack enough shock value to consistently hold attention.
And the ending? Well, all I’ll say is that Variant raises more questions than it answers.
And beware if you’re not a fan of severe cliffhangers :) (less)
Everything on the street is still. No wind, no sound. It's as if the earth itself has stopped breathing.
*Long, wistful sigh*
If entering the world of This Is Shyness was like wandering into a darkened hall of mirrors, returning to it in Queen of the Night is like sliding from wakefulness back into a welcome dream. Hall continues to gently twist the seam between fantasy and reality, creating an alternate version of Melbourne that is shaded with the fanciful and strange, the curious and bizarre. But the perpetual night hanging over Shyness feels familiar this time, and crossing Grey Street into the darkness is more like a homecoming than a tumble down the rabbit hole.
Until I began reading Queen of Night, I don’t think I had realised just how much I had missed this world and the characters, Wolfboy and Wildgirl. We reconnect with them six months after the events of This is Shyness, and whereas the first book had a larger focus on their shared quest through Shyness, the second book takes a slower, more subtle approach, examining the delicate web of the characters’ relationships and the ties that bind them to Shyness. It’s a quieter book, in a manner of speaking, but perhaps deeper than the first – delving into the nature of dreams, hope, and cause versus effect. After finishing This is Shyness I was inclined to think it an excellent standalone, but Queen of the Night proves there was (and is) much more to be explored in Shyness.
Leanne Hall’s writing is incredibly beautiful. For me, it’s just the right blend of lyrical and local, the striking imagery tempered with the distinctly Australian voices. Wolfboy and Wildgirl’s narratives are clearly defined, and as much - if not more - is conveyed in their manner of speaking and actions than their respective dialogue. Wolfboy’s burdened heart and tentative advances, and Wildgirl’s impetuousness and courage make for a compelling dynamic between them, and I loved the way Hall developed their relationship, allowing her characters to make mistakes and grow.
Also: Wolfboy, I want to climb into your lap and stroke your cheek. Just sayin’. *blushes*
While Queen of the Night further tears back the layers of this world and reveals more about the darkness, Shyness and Dr Gregory, I appreciated that it still does not give away all the answers. Hall leaves space for the imagination, for speculation and questions. Allusions are made and hints are given, but there are no explicit answers and the book doesn’t talk down to the reader by spelling everything out. The unexpected still lurks around corners, from a blindingly bright underground club to a deserted velodrome, the mysterious Datura Institute and pale flowers growing in teacups on street corners. And despite how much “curiouser and curiouser” Shyness becomes, it feels organic and unforced.
As mentioned above, the pacing and structure of Queen of Night is somewhat different to This is Shyness, but the plot feels more nuanced here. The secondary characters play a larger role this time, and ideas about the nature of both literal and metaphorical darkness, and the role of dreams as a conduit for emotion, are explored.
It’s hard to pin down exactly what it is about these books that I love so much. The writing, definitely. The imagination, of course. But in Queen of the Night I was particularly struck by the tender way the various relationships in the book are portrayed. The characters are flawed, vulnerable, but the connections are palpable. The final scene in which Ortolan and Diana appear perfectly articulates this, the way so much love and understanding can be communicated in the description of a simple action.
If Beatle Meets Destiny was a flirty love note to Melbourne, then Queen of Night is a kiss blown to this eclectic, secretive city, and a gentle acknowledgement of the hidden worlds it holds within.
And it’s this absence of firm answers, the subtle power of suggestion, that makes The Golden Day such an unsettlin...moreAmbiguity can be incredibly creepy.
And it’s this absence of firm answers, the subtle power of suggestion, that makes The Golden Day such an unsettling, evocative read.
This slim novel succeeds as a sort of urban rendering of Picnic At Hanging Rock (let’s all just forget about Chapter 18, okay? It’s better this way, trust me), if mostly due to Dubosarksy’s elegant and assured writing.
Opening in Sydney in 1967, The Golden Day is about eleven schoolgirls and their teacher who go to the Gardens to meet a poet. What follows becomes a mystery, an unexplained event that in one way or another leaves an inedible imprint on the psyche of the group.
The Golden Day raises more questions than it answers, but I believe this is where it’s strength lies. The plot itself is slight, littered with innuendo and hints, glimpses of things seen but not fully understood by the children involved. There’s something languorous and dream-like about the storytelling, a darkness lingering at the edges of the prose, that makes the book so disquieting.
Truthfully, I was not expecting to like this book as much as I did. But Dubosarksy’s haunting story won me over with the very first paragraph:
”The year began with the hanging of one man, and ended with the drowning of another. But every year people die and their ghosts roam in the public gardens, hiding behind the grey, dark statues like wild cats, their tiny footsteps and secret breathing muffled by the sound of falling water in the fountains and the quiet ponds.”
The Golden Day is an odd and enchanting novel, not one that will meet with universal praise, but worth the experience for lovers of slightly strange, slightly quaint tales.
[Note – the chapter titles in the novel are taken from the paintings and drawings of Australian artist Charles Blackman]
I liked Night School. But I say that with a massive caveat. (More on that later.) So, Night School and upcoming Night School sequel: you and your rati...moreI liked Night School. But I say that with a massive caveat. (More on that later.) So, Night School and upcoming Night School sequel: you and your ratings are on probation.
The synopsis is fairly ambiguous as to the genre of the novel. It drops hints about a strange boarding school and a mysterious loner guy, but is evasive on the specifics. Even the cover looks like it would be home among a shelf of paranormal romances. So while I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say this, I’ll put in spoiler tags all the same: (view spoiler)[Night School is not a paranormal romance. Which I appreciated, but I suspect might disappoint others. (hide spoiler)]
If you didn’t click on that spoiler, it’s going to be somewhat difficult to discuss the plot of the novel without giving it away, so bear with me as I attempt to dance around it.
Night School relies heavily on intrigue and suspense. By creating an atmosphere of vague threat and unease, and by alluding to mysterious goings-on all around the central character, Daugherty sets up a fairly compelling premise. It’s hard not to wonder what, exactly, this school is hiding and how Allie has landed in the middle of it. The unsettling vibe of Cimmeria Academy is well done, and the “all is not what it seems” undercurrent is sufficient to keep the initial pages turning.
That said, I’m not entirely sure the tension and mystery is enough to sustain the 451 pages of the book. To be fair, a lot of this time is used to set up character relationships so that they can effectively be broken down and convincingly illustrate Allie’s confusion as to who to trust. Daughtery does a good job of making everyone a suspect. However, that doesn’t change that fact that, well.. not a lot happens. There’s a fair amount of repetition to Allie’s routine (it is boarding school, after all) and the lack of and space between the action scenes compounds the issue of plot drag. I found enough tension to hold my interest, but reader mileage will vary on that front.
At the end, Night School gives some partial answers, but leaves the majority of questions unresolved, while raising even more question marks. The premise is somewhat far-fetched, but it’s one I like, so I’m willing to suspend some belief pending the follow up book.
There’s a slightly detached, cool quality to Daughtery’s writing. Night School is written in third person and I think this works for the story, although the reader is somewhat distanced from Allie. We’re still given insight into her character, while never completely getting inside her head. It’s a plot driven novel, and while Allie undergoes considerable development throughout, the focus is primarily on the secrets she finds herself caught up in. Nevertheless, there’s a toughness to Allie that I liked. She’s a character with assertiveness and drive, and she has agency beyond being buffeted between the brooding gazes of the love interests. (Although, of course, that happens).
Now, on to that caveat: (view spoiler)[ Bloody hell. I can’t believe I have to say this: would-be date-rapists are NOT LOVE INTERESTS. No, okay. Just no. A guy who, by his own admission, encourages a girl to keep downing alcohol, then takes her outside and engages in pushing her into a situation she’s clearly not into, and only stops when he’s interrupted, is not a love interest. Hear that? I have NO SWOONS to give. NO EFFING SWOONS. And although this character later apologises for his actions, and Allie calls him out on them, its going to take a metric crap-tonne of contrition to bring this character back in the realm of my good graces, although I have a suspicion that he may figure in the follow up book in the obligatory romantic tangle.
Actually, while we’re on this subject, it would be remiss of me not to mention that almost all of the male characters engage in some level of tosser-like behaviour at some point. Even the other potential love interest displays some less than desirable conduct, and its these type of interactions throughout the novel that are the main source of conflict as to how to rate it. (hide spoiler)]
Having not realised that Night School was not a standalone, I was pretty irritated to reach the final page only to find out I still had a plethora of questions to answered. However, I do want them answered, so I will pick up the sequel. Additionally, the Doc Martens scene at the end of the book was a nice touch, and the promise of some Allie kick-assery yet to come is a welcome note to conclude on. Fingers crossed she delivers. (less)
I’m not sure whether Lucid is extremely clever or just frustrating, but I’m leaning towards the decision that it’s a little from Column A, a little fr...more I’m not sure whether Lucid is extremely clever or just frustrating, but I’m leaning towards the decision that it’s a little from Column A, a little from Column B.
Sloane and Maggie dream they are each other. They live completely different lives: one a straight-A student in a small town, the other an actress in New York. Each girl believes that they are real, and the other is a dream. Except, of course, that thought is shadowed by the fear that they are in fact the dream, and they could disappear at any time.
Lucid spends some time establishing the two separate worlds of each girl, exploring the differences in their characters and day-to-day lives. Their realties are seemingly unconnected, yet each is fully cognizant of the other. They know each other’s families. They know each other’s secrets. They essentially live each other’s lives when they fall asleep. And with the exception of Maggie’s psychologist, no one knows that they inhabit a double reality, or that they both fear they are not real.
That is, until the fabric between their worlds begins to perforate, and parts of their lives start to bleed into the others’.
Although this is a premise I found intriguing, Lucid took some time for me to feel immersed in. I wanted to be fully engaged by this story, but some quality of the storytelling was almost repellent at first. The worlds felt slightly unreal to me (though in hindsight, perhaps this was a deliberate choice), and neither girl was initially very compelling. Lucid seemed more concerned with telling the reader how different Sloane and Maggie were, as opposed to creating characters that were interesting in their own right. It wasn’t until a considerable way through the book that I actually started to feel some investment in what was happening to them, which coincided with the plot gaining momentum.
While on the face of it Maggie and Sloane lead vastly different lives, there are subtle parallels in their stories and markers in their personalities. These small hints, and trying line them up with their counterpoints, are what keep the novel intriguing, more so than the actual events taking place in their respective lives.
Much of Lucid revolves around romantic drama. And while this makes sense to me now, it did occasionally feel tedious and drawn out while reading. Both girls meet new potential love interests, and there are other possible candidates for their affections existing in their lives. These entanglements are accompanied by a lot of internal rumination and complicated emotions, so a large portion of the book is concerned with working through these issues and “falling in love”.
In keeping with the continuous background questioning of ‘real or not real’, some of the characters feel more organic to the story, while others seem like anomalies. There’s a slight quality of wish-fulfilment to these characters and certain events that unfold, which are used almost as red-herrings, so that neither world feels consistently “real” or “unreal”. Again, it’s a tactic that makes sense in retrospect, though at the time seemed lifted directly from the Paranormal Romance Guide to Tropes. (Probably another reason I was initially resistant to the book).
Where Lucid really strengthens though, is in the convergence of the worlds. The pace lifts rapidly, and the writing nails the disturbing sense of unravelling and descent into chaos. Here, the book becomes hard to put down, as it become increasingly confusing while moving inexorably toward a conclusion.
However, it’s not an ending that will satisfy all readers. A few answers are provided, from which readers can draw their own conclusions (pun totally intended). Ultimately, much is left unconfirmed, several threads left hanging. This is both appropriate, and annoying, depending on your level of investment in the characters.
That said, by leaving readers free to fill in some of the blanks, Lucid makes a more lasting impression and almost guarantees readers will continue to puzzle over its unravelling long after the final page.
* * * * * Loved the concept, but I'm a bit ambivalent on the execution.
Despite a genuinely creepy and intriguing premise, I found the execution of Cry Blue Murder somewhat wanting.
The story opens with the abduction of Ha...moreDespite a genuinely creepy and intriguing premise, I found the execution of Cry Blue Murder somewhat wanting.
The story opens with the abduction of Hallie Knight, a school girl from Melbourne’s south-east suburbs, and the subsequent investigation into a possible link with two previous murders. Someone - dubbed the Cocoon Killer - is kidnapping girls in their early teens, poisoning them and leaving their naked bodies wrapped in shrouds of handwoven fabric and hair. Rocked by the tragedies, and as the cases remain unsolved, the community responds with understandable fear. Suddenly, their suburban streets are no longer safe.
Cry Blue Murder is related entirely through documents: emails exchanged between the two main characters, spliced with statements, interview transcripts and newspaper articles. The two girls, Celia and Alice, meet on a facebook page for then missing Hallie Knight, and quickly strike up a regular correspondence. Both feel somewhat isolated in their situations – Celia at a new school and Alice banished to a boarding school after a family tragedy – and find comfort in their budding friendship. It’s also a medium for the girls to express their anxiety over the ongoing Cocoon Killer case, and communicate how it’s impacting their lives.
With some reshuffling in order to tell the story in a logical and suspenseful manner, Kane and Roberts have attempted to replicate the kind of material that might be found in a Barrister’s brief – organising records of the police investigation to gradually reveal clues. And while the format works exceptionally well for a maximum impact reveal, it unfortunately makes the beginning feel somewhat flaccid and slow. I had expected to be immediately plunged into a chilling story, close to the detail of the mystery. In reality, the first half of the novel is more about the girls themselves and the way their friendship develops. In hindsight, it’s the right choice for the story, but it did take me a while to warm up to the pace.
The thing is though, I called the killer early. It’s possible that that was meant to happen, to augment the unsettling tone of the book; I can’t say for sure. By the final pages, I was less shocked by the reveal than by the abruptness of the ending. The authors leave readers with little explanation of the killer’s motivations, just a few breadcrumb hints threaded through the plot.
Cry Blue Murder is a quick read, and both Kane and Roberts have a good grasp of their characters’ voices (even if a couple of the cultural references and instances of slang felt somewhat dated given the ages of the girls.) The emails are conversational and expressive, while still conveying detail about their lives and fleshing out the secondary characters, including family members. That said, I never felt particularly engaged by either Celia or Alice, and perhaps this was the problem. For much of the novel, my lack of interest in them resulted in diluting much of what should have been a creepy, unsettling atmosphere.
That said, the concept really is clever, and I suspect other readers won’t have the issues with the execution that I did. If you’re looking for an inventive YA mystery, definitely give it a go. (less)
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