Callum McLaughlin's Blog, page 13
November 14, 2020
Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson & Emily Carroll | Book Review
Speak: The Graphic Novel by Laurie Halse Anderson, art by Emily Carroll
Published by Hodder, 2018
Rating: 
[image error]Anderson’s novel, Speak, follows a teenage girl in the wake of sexual assault as she attempts to handle depression, navigate social isolation, and find the confidence to speak her truth. First published back in 1999, it is highly revered by many and had been on my radar for years. When I heard that Anderson was working with artist Emily Carroll (whose work I’m a big fan of) to adapt the story into a graphic novel, I knew it was the edition I wanted to get hold of.
Part of my love for Carroll’s art style lies in her vibrant use of colour, so the fact this is presented in greyscale initially worried me. It needn’t have; her characteristically playful use of imagery, form and layout means the artwork still has real impact. It serves as an excellent accompaniment to the story itself, which handles heavy subject matter in a way that feels truthful and heartfelt, without ever condescending the target YA audience.
Having not read the book in its original form, I can’t directly compare the two, but I feel confident in saying the graphic novel format works brilliantly to convey Melinda’s story. Art itself plays a key role throughout her arc, as she learns to process trauma and express herself. These moments can be woven into the narrative seamlessly and more boldly thanks to Carroll’s illustration.
The book is clear in its messages – that no means no, that the victim is never to blame, and that the mental scars of trauma are just as painful to deal with as the physical ones – and I admire that Anderson takes time to explore them with due sensitivity and realism; never rushing or understating her points. By contrast, I will say I found the denouement a little abrupt, but this didn’t diminish the story’s overall power. I also really appreciate that Anderson never presents Melinda as “perfect”; she can be moody, mean-spirited, and a little judgemental of others – but this works so well to make her feel like an authentic teenage protagonist and to press home the point that no one – however complex and flawed they may be – ever deserves to endure what Melinda goes through.
November 11, 2020
Pew by Catherine Lacey | Book Review
Pew by Catherine Lacey
Published by Granta, 2020
Rating:
[image error]A person of indeterminate age, gender and race, with apparent amnesia and an unwillingness to speak, is found sleeping on a church pew in an unnamed American town. A local family offers to take them in, giving them the nickname Pew. Although claiming to be charitable, the town grows increasingly impatient with Pew the more they refuse to answer questions or conform to strict societal roles.
The book is largely a meditation on the idea of the body versus the person, and the individual versus the community. The townsfolk show little interest in getting to know Pew’s personality or desires, determined instead to categorize them based on physical characteristics and identifiable labels alone. They are at pains to imply they’re open minded regarding Pew’s ambiguous gender, sexuality, and origins, but there are clear implications that people’s charitable efforts may no longer be on offer should the answers to their questions not be what they want to hear; that this community remains more divided than they want others to believe. It is this hypocrisy that Lacey really wants to interrogate, and with Pew being both an outsider and – in many ways – a blank canvas, people repeatedly feel compelled to purge themselves of secrets in front of them, revealing the town’s dark heart. Though I could see what the author was going for thematically with these scenes, it has to be said they felt incredibly unbelievable from a dialogue and narrative perspective.
On the other hand, several scenes in which the group discuss what to do about Pew – as though they aren’t present – felt uncomfortably real. I thought Lacey did a great job here of reflecting the way society so often dehumanises those who – for whatever reason – don’t have a voice; forcing us to ask ourselves whether Pew is in fact a guest or a prisoner.
Set across a week leading up to the town’s mysterious ‘Forgiveness Festival’, the book does an excellent job of subtly building tension; the nature of this annual event seeming ever more sinister as it grows near. Sadly, I felt all of this foundational work was undone by a rushed, info-dump explanation as to the festival’s purpose, and a final few pages of pretentious, literary waffle – neither of which satisfied on a narrative or thematic level. The trouble is, the story hinted at in Pew’s final chapter is far more interesting than the one we actually got, and rather than leaving me wanting more in a good way, it left me questioning why we were given so little when Lacey clearly had more to bring to the table.
Despite ultimately feeling frustrated by the novel’s untapped potential, this was still a provocative and worthwhile read in its own way. It poses fascinating questions about identity, community, organised religion, the precarious line between tolerance and impatience, and what can happen when charity starts to feel like a burden.
November 7, 2020
Cynan Jones & G.V. Anderson | Mini Reviews
Stillicide by Cynan Jones
Published by Catapult, 2020
My rating:
[image error]Set in an unnervingly believable dystopian future, the climate crisis means water is now commodified; the vast armoured trains that transport it around the country often attacked by frustrated, displaced citizens. Though not hugely plot driven, we move between various perspectives, gaining insight into the new normal, and the persistence of love, loss, and the will to survive when it feels like hope is lost.
Initially, I felt this series of linked short stories existed in a frustrating state of flux; each piece neither stand-alone nor connected enough for the book to be entirely certain whether it was indeed a collection of shorts or simply a fragmented novel. We spend such little time with certain characters that it was hard to form an emotional connection to them, but as others begin to recur, disparate viewpoints weave together in a satisfying way that cleverly brings the overarching narrative full circle.
In all, I’d describe this as a book of great ideas peppered with moments of real promise that never quite comes together to capitalise on the power of its potential. That said, Jones’s signature spare yet powerful prose is present throughout, and I was left curious once again to see what he will write next.
Thank you to the publisher for a free advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.
Hearts in the Hard Ground by G.V. Anderson
Published by Tor Books, 2020
Rating:
[image error]Following the death of her mother, Fiona moves into a new house, but the ghosts of former residents haunt her new home as much as Fiona’s guilt and grief haunt her.
The way Anderson weaves equal amounts of pathos, creepiness, humour, and poignancy into this brief tale is really impressive. Above all, she does a fantastic job of capturing the fine lines between love and hate, and care and cruelty, as Fiona reflects on the strain of watching her mother’s declining mental state. Anyone who has seen a loved one fall into the grips of dementia will know this unique frustration all too well.
“It’s kindness at arm’s length, but still, you tell yourself you are kind. Slowly, time and circumstance erode your conviction: you hope you are kind. You’re impatient with your mum when her mind starts to go. She fumbles with buttons, eating utensils, her knitting, and its irritating because you know she’s better than this – she was whip-smart not five years earlier, beating you at Countdown. And its unfair, too, because you’ve only just started to catch glimpses of what your relationship could become. […] You have to yank her out of someone’s way in the supermarket because she’s staring into space again, blocking the vegetable aisle, and though she soon forgets, you replay it over and over in your head, more violent each time until you expect to see bruises on her arm where there are none.”
Evoking hauntings both real and self-inflicted, with some striking imagery and a lot of heart throughout, this is an emotionally complex story that says a lot in few words about the pain of letting go.
November 1, 2020
October Wrap Up
The books I read in October
Having felt the threat of a slump hovering over me for much of the previous month, I’m relieved to say October ended up being a really enjoyable reading month. I finished 11 books in all, taking my total for the year so far up to 105. This also took me beyond my annual goal of 100, which was nice! Here are some brief thoughts on what I picked up, with links to full reviews if you’d like to know more.
Some Are Always Hungry by Jihyun Yun
[ ] This excellent collection of poetry uses the recurring motif of food to explore the hardships of the immigrant experience and intergenerational trauma. The poems are deeply personal, but Yun also pulls back to take in wider contextual details in a way I really admired.
Sisters by Daisy Johnson
[ ] In this atmospheric chiller, Johnson does an excellent job of capturing the paradoxical love and cruelty that teenage girls are capable of. The prose can feel a little overdone at times, but this enhances the stifling atmosphere, and there are a couple of brilliantly creepy moments that really stand out. The handling of a couple of plot points fell a little flat for me, however, and predicting a crucial twist early on hampered its ability to land with the impact Johnson was aiming for.
Malorie by Josh Malerman
[ ] This sequel to Bird Box never quite lives up to the intense atmosphere of the original, but it does a great job of building on the core themes and characterisation established in the first book. If you can suspend your disbelief somewhat, and contend with a rushed climax, this is a hugely readable, wild ride: a sequel that is enjoyable if not strictly necessary.
Poe: Stories and Poems by Edgar Allan Poe, art by Gareth Hinds
[ ] Seven of Poe’s best known short works are collected here, with accompanying artwork that is suitably gothic and moody. In general, I enjoy Poe’s concepts, creepy atmosphere, and striking tableaus (hence why his work suits the graphic novel medium), but his actual prose and narrative arcs do little for me.
Frankenstein: The Graphic Novel by Mary Shelley, art by Declan Shalvey & Jason Cardy
[ ] It was lots of fun to revisit one of my very favourite novels through fresh eyes, as it were. Though the text is slightly abridged to allow the art to supplement the story (a couple of my favourite lines got the chop, hence the docking of a star), the core prose, themes, and narrative that made Shelley’s work so iconic still feel intact.
Pet by Akwaeke Emezi
[ ] Emezi strikes an excellent balance between due reverence for the big themes being tackled here and an avoidance of gratuity. It has a wonderfully diverse cast of characters, and some excellent things to say about the power of art and the importance of speaking out. It all felt way too rushed for me though, sadly. For a book about confronting monsters, I found it uncomfortable that the story’s victim is completely side-lined, afforded no voice or agency whatsoever. The resolution also felt problematic to me, indulging in a potentially harmful trope re: disfigurement and villainy, and contradicting many of the book’s previous themes.
Grimoire by Robin Robertson
[ ] I adored this collection of narrative poems inspired by the dark side of folk and fairy tales. Drawing on Scotland’s rich history of mythology and storytelling, the pieces often focus on those who are ostracised for their differences, meaning they pay homage to the classics as much as they resonate within the context of today’s society. Haunting and lyrical, yet always so readable, this is a collection I know I’ll return to.
One Night Two Souls Went Walking by Ellen Cooney
[ ] Full review to come for BookBrowse.
The Doll Factory by Elizabeth Macneal
[ ] This is such an immersive gothic romp through 1850s London. Looking at art, autonomy, love, and obsession, it explores the huge limitations placed on women at the time, and builds tension brilliantly towards an inevitable though no less thrilling final act. Macneal’s prose is lush and intoxicating, and I loved every moment I spent in the vivid, sinister world she created.
Through the Woods by Emily Carroll
[ ] I always like to revisit this haunting collection of graphic short stories at this time of year. Carroll’s art – with its striking use of colour, chilling imagery, and playful layout – is the real star, and the collection as a whole is definitely stronger than the sum of its parts.
The Hole by Hye-Young Pyun, translated from the Korean by Sora Kim-Russell
[ ] Subtle psychological horror that looks at grief, isolation, and revenge. It has a very claustrophobic, unnerving atmosphere and taps into our fear of becoming prisoners within our own bodies, but things were never pushed quite as far as I hoped.
There we have it! My favourites of the month were definitely The Doll Factory and Grimoire – both of which have a very good chance of featuring on my books of the year list. What was your favourite read in October?
October 31, 2020
Emily Carroll & Hye-Young Pyun | Mini Reviews
Through the Woods by Emily Carroll
Published by Faber & Faber, 2014
Rating:
[image error]I’m not generally a re-reader, but something seems to compel me to keep returning to this collection of graphic short stories at this time of year. This is the third or fourth time I’ve picked it up now, and my appreciation for it has grown each time. I always explain that as individual pieces, the majority of the stories fizzle out somewhat from a narrative perspective, but the concepts and atmosphere are so consistently creepy that the collection as a whole leaves a very strong lasting impression. If I were to pick a standout piece, however, it would definitely be The Nesting Place.
Carroll’s accompanying art is the real highlight. The vivid, bold use of colour, the striking, disturbing imagery, and the forgoing of traditional panels in favour of a playful, lively layout give the stories such a distinct energy that works so well. Opting for shivers up the spine more than outright scares, this is great for those who want some short, punchy tales of the uncanny.
The Hole by Hye-Young Pyun, translated from the Korean by Sora Kim-Russell
Published by Arcade, 2017
Rating:
[image error]When he is badly injured in a car crash that kills his wife, Oghi is taken into the care of his mother-in-law. What follows in an understated though unnerving look at grief, isolation, painful truths, and bitter revenge. It does a great job of capturing an atmosphere of claustrophobia and mounting unease, and it certainly taps into our fear of losing autonomy and feeling like a prisoner within our own bodies (Oghi is left paralyzed and largely unable to communicate). I don’t want to say much else, as the core plot follows a very predictable trajectory, but there is more going on beneath the surface than first meets the eye.
I kept waiting for things to be pushed that little bit further, but for those who like their horror on the subtle, psychological side, this is worth having on your radar.
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October 29, 2020
The Doll Factory by Elizabeth Macneal | Book Review
The Doll Factory by Elizabeth Macneal
Published by Picador, 2019
Rating:
[image error]Set in 1850s London, this wonderfully evocative debut looks at art, autonomy, love, and obsession. Iris makes her living painting faces onto dolls alongside her twin sister, but she longs to be taken seriously as a true artist. When she is offered the chance to model for up-and-coming pre-Raphaelite artist Louis Frost, she agrees, on the condition that he will tutor her in return. But someone else is watching Iris’s every move. Silas is a lonely collector of curiosities with whom Iris shared a brief, (and for her) quickly forgotten encounter. Entranced by her unique beauty, however, Silas’s longings for friendship will soon develop into something decidedly more sinister.
This is such a brilliantly gothic read. Macneal’s writing is lush and intoxicating; the sights, scents and sounds of Victorian London practically leaping from the page. Much of the novel is technically a slow-build, and yet the pace never lags, the sense of mounting tension handled perfectly. And though the nature of the final act is arguably predictable (indeed, there is a lot of deliberate foreshadowing), it is no less chilling and gripping when it finally arrives.
Iris is an excellent heroine: talented, ambitious, headstrong, and determined to succeed in a man’s world. The book has really great things to say about the limitations placed on women at the time. With so much emphasis placed on physical beauty, Iris, who has a malformed collar bone and a slight hunch caused by complications during birth, and Rose, her twin sister who is heavily scarred from a near fatal case of smallpox, would both be considered “damaged goods”, unlikely to find a husband. The complex mix of fierce love and bitter resentment between the sisters adds a really interesting aspect to the narrative. That their only real prospect of bettering their station would be through marriage; that they would never earn enough as women to gain true independence; that Iris risks being disowned by her family and disgraced by society for agreeing to model (the act being seen as akin to prostitution at the time); and that despite her talent Iris must rely on the guidance and approval of men are all in for subtle though well-handled critique.
These latter points are explored particularly well. Macneal highlights the fact that using her body, either through prostitution or modelling, was one of few ways for a woman to earn decent money, and yet she would face social ruin as a result. The hypocrisy that men believed they should be able to admire and use women’s bodies while simultaneously vilifying them for it as a means of belittling their worth is both accurately handled from a historical fiction perspective and frustratingly resonant within the current patriarchal society in which we live. Its look at the art world also chimes true with the fact that to this day, far more paintings of women hang in galleries than paintings by women. I love that Iris wanted to prove she had every right to do both; that she was both beautiful enough to model for Louis and talented enough to one day get a piece of her own into the Great Exhibition.
As is usually the case within the gothic tradition, there is a romantic subplot throughout, as Iris and Louis grow increasingly close to one another. While not often a fan of such subplots, the chemistry between the two was so well realised, and permitted to develop organically over time, that I was completely won round. There are several great supporting characters too. I particularly adored Albie, a young orphaned lad who lives in a brothel with his sister, gathering dead animals to sell to Silas to try and raise enough funds to better their lives. When he begins to suspect that Silas may pose a threat to Iris, he determines to help her. His point-of-view chapters also do an excellent job of further exploring the stark contrast between the lives of the rich and poor.
I just loved every moment I spent with this book. It completely absorbed me as both a richly layered piece of literary fiction and as a compelling story. It’s true I felt the denouement was a little abrupt, but with prose, atmosphere, themes, characters, and a setting that were all so vividly drawn, this was just the gothic romp I needed; a fantastic look at womanhood, freedom, and resilience in the face of madness.
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October 23, 2020
Grimoire by Robin Robertson | Book Review
Grimoire by Robin Robertson
Published by Pan Macmillan, 2020
Rating:
[image error]I love all things inspired by the dark side of folk and fairy tales, so when I caught sight of this collection of narrative poems from Robin Robertson, I was instantly intrigued. From stories of ghosts, witches and doppelgängers, to tales of selkies and changelings, the poems draw on Scotland’s rich tradition of mythology and storytelling to explore themes of heartache, revenge, and transformation. Often focussing on those who are vilified for their differences, thematically the pieces pay homage to the classics as much as they resonate within today’s society.
The absolute standout piece for me was a gender-swapped piece about a woman who attempts to keep her half-selkie children safe from the prying eyes of their neighbours – and the wrath of her jealous husband. “For years she tended each difficult flame: / their tight, flickering bodies. / Each night she closed / the scales of their eyes to smoor the fire.” It’s a tragic and beautiful poem with an absolute knock-out ending that is all the more powerful for how subtly it is delivered.
Other favourites include the stories of a town cursed to suffer a brutal winter by a scorned woman; a boy attempting to outsmart a witch; and a couple whose son is snatched by faeries and replaced by a changeling despite their exhaustive efforts to keep him safe.
I love Robertson’s use of language. It’s lyrical yet always so readable, and I adore the way he weaves in Scots words throughout (there’s a glossary of these terms at the back for those unfamiliar with them, but the meaning of most can be gleaned contextually). He has a knack for creating stark, hauntingly macabre images perfectly suited to the subject matter. Take for example a decaying corpse, its ribcage “a rack of bones like a sprung trap”. Or this description of a girl obsessed with exploring the bodies of dead animals:
“[…] cutting up fish
to see how they worked;
by morning’s end her nails
were black red, her hands
all sequined silver.
She unpuzzled rabbits
to a rickle of bones;
dipped into a dormouse
for the pip of its heart.”
Simple yet haunting illustrations – provided by Robertson’s brother, Tim – are peppered throughout the collection as well. Compared in the blurb to cave paintings, these striking images do indeed possess an eerie timelessness that enhances the impact of the book as a whole.
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A few examples of the illustrations
As is to be expected with any collection, a few poems failed initially to land with quite the same impact as the strongest offerings, but the quality of the language and narrative drive is consistently high throughout. Plus, I’ve already been dipping in and out of this again and picking up on new details; my appreciation growing each time I do. A few individual poems are undoubtedly among my favourites from any poet, and it seems the more time I take to mull this one over, the more the collection as a whole is also cementing its place among my favourites.
I’ll leave you with another excerpt, as I think the best way to know if a poet’s style will work for you is simply to give it a try. So here is one of my favourite passages from one of the aforementioned poems, in which a mother accepts the painful truth that the baby she has been raising as her son is in fact a changeling; that he will never belong in their world, and her true son is gone. (Note: ‘north-dancers’ is a term for the aurora borealis.)
“Mother always said that we wear our dreams – all living things:
the goshawk shows on his breast a flock of geese,
the mountain hare becomes snow in winter; the mackerel
carries the streamoury of the north-dancers on its back,
the silver-green and barred black
that ebbs to grey when it’s taken from the sea.
So our son had eyes the blue of far off places,
and he wore his skin like water.
For some it’s not long, the waiting, for that
decay of light – when all is flown, all faded, washed away.
When I reached the cottage, the crib was still empty.
The crib lies empty still.”
October 21, 2020
Let’s Recommend | Horror Graphic Novels
Let’s recommend some horror graphic novels!
Partly because I’ve enjoyed a couple of them myself recently, and partly because I always like to recommend some seasonally appropriate books in the run-up to Halloween, today I’m shining the spotlight on a few horror graphic novels. I like graphic novels in general, but I think horror is perhaps the genre best equipped to show off the strengths of the form; art being the ideal means of enhancing the kind of rich atmosphere and striking imagery that so often define good horror.
As always, I encourage you to share your own recommendations in return, but without further ado, here are some horror graphic novels to delve into if you’re in the mood for something spooky.
Wytches by Scott Snyder; art by Jock & Matt Hollingsworth
Forget black cats and pointy hats, the creatures in this offering are far more monstrous. Drawing on the more sinister, animalistic early mythology of witches, and accompanied by a suitably intense, frenetic and visceral art style, this is a captivating read about a family seeking a fresh start in the wake of trauma, in a place where the townsfolk make pledges to appease the monsters lurking within the trees.
[image error]
An example of Wytches’ art style
Poe: Stories and Poems by Edgar Allan Poe; art by Gareth Hinds
Poe is one of horror’s most iconic names, so I’m sure he needs little introduction. That said, if you haven’t actually tried his work before, this collection is a great little sampler of some of his better-known shorts, brought to life by artist Gareth Hinds. The writer certainly has a knack for bold concepts and striking images, and it’s fun to explore the origin of some of the genre’s most beloved tropes.
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An example of Poe: Stories and Poems’ art style
Through the Woods by Emily Carroll
I’ve revisited this several times now and I’m always utterly entranced by Carroll’s haunting artwork, which utilises colour and layout to such great effect. Though the individual stories don’t tend to stick with me, the overall sense of threat and unease she creates always draws me back – which is saying a lot for someone who almost never rereads.
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An example of Through the Woods’ art style
Snow, Glass, Apples by Neil Gaiman; art by Colleen Doran
This fairy tale retelling poses an instantly enticing question: What if Snow White was a liar? Gaiman does well to completely reframe everything we think we know about a classic story from this new perspective – in which the so-called ‘wicked Queen’ is only ever trying to protect her realm from the true monster – without contradicting any of the tale’s major canonical details. Creepy and poignant in equal measure, Doran’s ornate yet macabre artwork serves as the perfect companion to the text.
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An example of Snow, Glass, Apples’ art style
Frankenstein: The Graphic Novel by Mary Shelley; art by Declan Shalvey & Jason Cardy
The suitably gothic artwork in this adaptation of Shelley’s masterpiece stays true to the novel’s core atmosphere, allowing its narrative, prose, and themes to still shine despite some slight and well-handled abridging. A perfect means of re-exploring an old favourite from a new perspective, or a fantastic entry point for those who are yet to explore the origins of the science fiction/horror genre, this is a very successful adaptation.
[image error]
An example of Frankenstein’s art style
What are some of your favourite horror graphic novels?
October 19, 2020
Pet by Akwaeke Emezi | Book Review
Pet by Akwaeke Emezi
Published by Faber & Faber, 2019
Rating:
[image error]In this singular new offering from Emezi, we follow Jam, a teenage girl who lives in a world that has supposedly rid itself of “monsters”. She soon finds herself confronted, however, with a strange creature that has emerged from one of her mother’s paintings. Calling itself Pet, it tells Jam that a monster lives among them once again and that they must hunt it down together. Worse still, it tells her that the monster lurks within the home of Jam’s best friend, Redemption.
It’s frustrating when you have such mixed feelings towards a book that is so widely revered – especially when you hoped to love it too. With that in mind, I’ll start by talking about Pet’s merits, because I do think it has a lot to admire. It becomes clear to the reader very quickly precisely what kind of “monster” we’re dealing with, and Emezi strikes an excellent balance between due reverence for the big themes being tackled and an avoidance of gratuity – especially considering the book’s relatively young target audience.
With Pet being a literal manifestation of art as a means of confronting life’s difficulties, and our heroine quickly heading to the library to read up on monsters to equip her with the knowledge she’ll need to face one, there’s a subtle though excellent thread throughout about the value of the arts; its ability to document, educate, and empower.
The cast of characters is wonderfully diverse. Jam herself is trans and selectively mute due to anxiety, and though both of these facts are referenced several times, they are incidental to her role within the narrative. This kind of casual, normalised representation is just as important as stories that place trans and neurodiverse/mental health issues front and centre. I thought both aspects were handled beautifully.
If the book has a presiding theme, it’s the notion that true monsters hide within plain sight; that it’s crucial we remain vigilant to the kind of warning signs we may not want to accept, and that we step in to help those who need it. I love and wholly agree with this, but here is where the book’s execution began to fall apart for me, sadly.
In short, it all feels too rushed. The novel is simply too brief to allow sufficient breathing space for the many characters and the enormity of the situation they find themselves facing. As such, most of the side characters fade into obscurity. And fundamentally, though I warmed to Jam hugely, I could never shake the feeling that she was the wrong choice of narrator, as this simply isn’t her story to tell. In a similar vein, it felt like a real missed opportunity to me that the monster’s actual victim is never given a voice. Afforded a mere couple of passing references, they feel like little more than a plot device used to facilitate Jam and Redemption’s confrontation with the monster, lacking any depth, agency, or closure of their own. The book may be about stepping in to help others, but it still felt like an odd choice to sideline a crucial character in what is essentially their own story.
The book’s climax also sat very uncomfortably with me. There is initially some well-handled commentary on the futility of “killing monsters” (what I read as critique of the death penalty); arguing against its barbarity, suggesting that to live with your mistakes is a greater punishment, and explaining the value of having living examples of where society can go wrong, so we can better address the underlying issues that turn people into “monsters” in the first place and remain vigilant to their presence. This was all great, but then, (and consider the rest of this paragraph something of a spoiler warning) … Pet melts the eyes of the “monster” out of his head, torturing him physically and breaking him mentally, in order to force a full confession. Not only is this arguably a dubious moral message to be sending to young readers in and of itself, but it completely contradicts the book’s previous efforts to suggest that real monsters look like “normal” people – for want of a better phrase. By choosing to punish the villain by mutilating him, thus marking his body out as noticeably Other, Emezi unwittingly reinforces the harmful trope that physical flaws denote a corrupt interior.
As you can probably tell by my review, this is a deceptively complex novel and my feelings towards it are suitably conflicting. There’s no denying that Emezi is an interesting author tackling important themes through a bold lens. The many glowing reviews pouring in for Pet suggest I’m in the minority, but certain creative choices and (what was to me) a problematic outcome stopped it from winning my heart. I’ve found myself thinking about it a lot though. It will be interesting to see how it stands the test of time; whether its strengths outlast my initial frustrations, or whether the latter prove too great.
October 17, 2020
Edgar Allan Poe & Mary Shelley | Graphic Novel Mini Reviews
Poe: Stories and Poems by Edgar Allan Poe, art by Gareth Hinds
Published by Candlewick Press, 2017
Rating:
[image error]Some of Poe’s most iconic short stories and poems (including The Tell-Tale Heart, The Pit and the Pendulum, and The Raven) are given new life by artist Gareth Hinds. When it comes to Poe, I tend to enjoy his creepy atmosphere, striking concepts, and strong visuals (all of which are emphasised here by Hinds’s artwork), but I find his prose and narrative arcs do little for me, often fizzling out after a lot of excellent promise.
All-in-all, this is a great little sampler if you want to dip your toe into the author’s work. And while I’d say the collection has been curated well on the whole, the inclusion of the poem Annabel Lee feels at odds tonally with the rest of the selection, with otherwise focuses on horror. That said, it’s fun to explore where a lot of modern-day genre tropes began, so fans of horror will no doubt get a kick out of Poe’s work if they haven’t already tried it, with Hinds’s art proving suitably gothic and moody to go alongside it.
Frankenstein: The Graphic Novel by Mary Shelley, art by Declan Shalvey & Jason Cardy
Published by Classical Comics, 2009
Rating:
[image error]Frankenstein is one of my favourite novels of all time, so it was fun to revisit it with the added bonus of some deliciously gothic artwork. The team that worked on this did a fantastic job. Though the text is slightly abridged to allow the art to supplement the story (a couple of my favourite lines got the chop, hence the docking of a star), the core prose, themes, and narrative that made Shelley’s work so iconic still feel largely intact.
The visuals add a new dynamic for those looking to re-explore the birth of the sci-fi-horror genre, but they also make a potentially daunting classic feel all the more accessible for those who may have been putting it off.
