Kimberly Baer's Blog
July 26, 2020
Review of Little Eyes
Little Eyes by Samanta SchweblinMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
So many stories start with an intriguing premise but then quickly drop the ball. "Downsizing," starring Matt Damon, comes to mind (though, granted, it's a movie, not a book). That premise deals with a process that shrinks people down to just a few inches tall as a way to deal with resource shortages and other environmental issues. The notion is fascinating. What are the potential ramifications of being the size of a clothespin? Sadly, we never find out. The story veers into other territory and never veers back. If you tune in late, you won't even realize it's a movie about tiny people
Contrast that with Little Eyes. This novel tells the story of a new electronic "toy"—Furby with a webcam, if you will. One person "inhabits" the toy via their computer. They can control its movements, see what it sees, and hear what it hears. Meanwhile, another person--a random stranger--owns the toy, and it's their life that's on display. Little Eyes treats this premise like a gem, turning it over and over to explore all the various facets of such a situation. The author used a vignette approach, which works well, because there's no way all the implications of this scenario could be fully fleshed out via just one or two of these toys. The stories feel like real life. They're sometimes disturbing but always mesmerizing. Nothing is sugar-coated, and there are no contrived happy endings. I finished reading the book--and then started reading it all over again, because I wasn't ready for it to end. Five stars for Little Eyes.
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The Haunted Purse: Inspired by a True Story
My YA paranormal novel The Haunted Purse is about a teenage girl who buys an old purse at a thrift store. When random items in the purse start disappearing—and other, unfamiliar items begin to appear—she realizes something supernatural is going on.
Pretty far-fetched, huh? Actually, the idea was inspired by a true story, one starring yours truly as the unfortunate protagonist. Here’s how it went down:
When my son Derek was a high school junior mulling over college options, the two of us visited an automotive technology school three hours from home. We toured the campus, spoke with administrators, and watched some students working on cars. When it came time to leave, I unzipped my purse to get my car keys.
They weren’t there.
I always kept my keys in the same place, a little zippered pocket inside a bigger zippered compartment. Always. How could they not be there? But, okay, I was in a strange place, far from home. Maybe I’d been distracted by the unfamiliar surroundings and inadvertently slipped them into a different pocket.
I started searching all the compartments—and this purse had a bunch of them. I unzippered zippers, unsnapped snaps. I groped around in every nook and cranny.
No keys.
I was starting to get desperate. How were Derek and I going to get home? I went to the administrative office and asked if a set of keys had been turned in. The answer was no. The nice gentleman who’d given us the tour assembled a search group, and pretty soon more than a dozen students were combing the campus for my keys. The search went on for nearly half an hour, but the keys never turned up.
The tour guide suggested I call a car dealership for help. They’d be able to get me a new set of keys, though it wouldn’t be cheap. And it would probably take a while. He offered to make the phone call for me. While he was doing that, I decided to check my purse one last time.
And, yeah. I found the keys.
They weren’t in the usual compartment—but that didn’t mean anything. I’d searched all the compartments, multiple times. “Never mind; I found them,” I said with a sheepish grin. I apologized profusely and told the tour guide to thank everybody who’d helped with the search. Then Derek and I beat a hasty retreat out of there.
I couldn’t stop thinking about those keys as I drove home. How could I have missed them during my repeated searches? Was I really that stupid? Or could there be another explanation? My brain kept chewing on that question, and by the time I pulled into our driveway, it had come up with an answer: something supernatural was going on. Some mischievous other-worldly being had infiltrated my purse and hidden my keys.
I know, I know. That notion is right up there with crop circles and the Virgin Mary’s face on a grilled cheese sandwich. But I like it. I like it better than feeling stupid. So I’ve decided that’s what happened. For an hour or so on that fateful day, my purse was “haunted.”
And if it wasn’t? Well, at least I got a great story idea out of that embarrassing incident!
Pretty far-fetched, huh? Actually, the idea was inspired by a true story, one starring yours truly as the unfortunate protagonist. Here’s how it went down:
When my son Derek was a high school junior mulling over college options, the two of us visited an automotive technology school three hours from home. We toured the campus, spoke with administrators, and watched some students working on cars. When it came time to leave, I unzipped my purse to get my car keys.
They weren’t there.
I always kept my keys in the same place, a little zippered pocket inside a bigger zippered compartment. Always. How could they not be there? But, okay, I was in a strange place, far from home. Maybe I’d been distracted by the unfamiliar surroundings and inadvertently slipped them into a different pocket.
I started searching all the compartments—and this purse had a bunch of them. I unzippered zippers, unsnapped snaps. I groped around in every nook and cranny.
No keys.
I was starting to get desperate. How were Derek and I going to get home? I went to the administrative office and asked if a set of keys had been turned in. The answer was no. The nice gentleman who’d given us the tour assembled a search group, and pretty soon more than a dozen students were combing the campus for my keys. The search went on for nearly half an hour, but the keys never turned up.
The tour guide suggested I call a car dealership for help. They’d be able to get me a new set of keys, though it wouldn’t be cheap. And it would probably take a while. He offered to make the phone call for me. While he was doing that, I decided to check my purse one last time.
And, yeah. I found the keys.
They weren’t in the usual compartment—but that didn’t mean anything. I’d searched all the compartments, multiple times. “Never mind; I found them,” I said with a sheepish grin. I apologized profusely and told the tour guide to thank everybody who’d helped with the search. Then Derek and I beat a hasty retreat out of there.
I couldn’t stop thinking about those keys as I drove home. How could I have missed them during my repeated searches? Was I really that stupid? Or could there be another explanation? My brain kept chewing on that question, and by the time I pulled into our driveway, it had come up with an answer: something supernatural was going on. Some mischievous other-worldly being had infiltrated my purse and hidden my keys.
I know, I know. That notion is right up there with crop circles and the Virgin Mary’s face on a grilled cheese sandwich. But I like it. I like it better than feeling stupid. So I’ve decided that’s what happened. For an hour or so on that fateful day, my purse was “haunted.”
And if it wasn’t? Well, at least I got a great story idea out of that embarrassing incident!
