Callum McLaughlin's Blog, page 32

Animals Eat Each Other by Elle Nash | Book Review

Animals Eat Each Other by Elle Nash

Published by 404 Ink, 2019

My rating:

[image error]In Elle Nash’s unflinching debut, we follow a young woman on a downwards spiral of self-destruction as she embarks on a three-way relationship with an established couple. As the dynamic becomes more complex and involved, and the line between the physical and the emotional begins to blur, she loses her grip on her sense of self, consumed by her need for their approval.

Our protagonist remains unnamed throughout, aside from the ominous moniker given to her by her new sexual partners – Lilith. This reflects the sense of distance they wish to maintain, but also her own lack of identity and meaning, as she uses her body to seek validation in all the wrong places. Beyond her increasing reliance on alcohol and drugs, the book goes on to examine the perils of obsession and addiction. With her own self-loathing becoming more and more apparent, it seems that she craves the pain both physical and emotional that comes from being used and abused, as though degrading herself is a form of punishment, or a distraction from the void inside herself.

There are undoubtedly those who will feel our flawed heroine’s behaviour and frankness dip into the vulgar, and as such, it’s the kind of read I’d be hesitant to recommend widely, despite my appreciation for its raw, striking, and perceptive exploration of its themes. The stripped-down prose and entirely unsentimental approach to her mental state really do pack a punch, however. The book itself has an almost hazy, claustrophobic quality, perfect given the subject matter. And though I read it across a few sittings, it’s a book I think would benefit from submitting yourself to entirely.

Featuring one of the most instantly engrossing openings I’ve ever read, and a perfectly pitched ending, this is a book guaranteed to split opinion, but an undoubted gem when it’s in the right hands.

***

If you’d like to give Animals Eat Each Other a go, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

May Wrap Up

[image error]

The books I read in May

Here are some brief thoughts on the 10 books I read throughout May, with links to full reviews if you’d like to know more. My total for the year now stands at 52, and I look forward to seeing what books June will bring my way!

Transformation by Mary Shelley

[ ] A collection of three short stories by the creator of Frankenstein that is suitably gothic and thought-provoking, proving how much she pioneered the genres of science-fiction and horror.

Where Reasons End by Yiyun Li

[ ] This very meta book explores the language of grief, presented as an imagined conversation between a mother and her deceased son. It’s one I admired more for its intellectual stimulation than I did its narrative or emotional impact.

The Last by Hanna Jameson

[ ] An apocalyptic survival story, a murder mystery, and a social commentary all wrapped into one. I found the complex story utterly gripping, and yet it was elevated by a surprising amount of thematic depth and nuance.

Orkney by Amy Sackville

[ ] Drawing on Scottish folklore, this book examines an unconventional relationship, exploring the notions of love, obsession, possession, and loss. The remote island setting is evoked beautifully, and the ending is presented in a way that invites deeper thought and discussion.

Vertigo & Ghost by Fiona Benson

[ ] This impassioned collection of poetry combines mythology and personal experience to comment on male violence and the perils of motherhood, both physical and psychological. The use of imagery is bold, the language beautiful, and yet the meaning behind the words always shines through with punch.

Little Darlings by Melanie Golding

[ ] A thriller that uses changeling mythology to tap into our fear of not being believed, this perfectly fine read strikes a successfully ambiguous line between the supernatural and the struggles of mental health. Panning out rather predictably, however, I felt it offered nothing new in a saturated genre.

A River in Egypt by David Means

[ ] This short story is a snapshot of a moment, as a father awaits his poorly young son’s diagnosis. It could have been emotional and tense, but I found it too tangential, and it left no lasting impression, sadly.

My Favorite Thing is Monsters by Emil Ferris

[ ] This engrossing, heartfelt graphic novel follows a young girl’s attempts to uncover the mystery surrounding the death of her enigmatic neighbour. Through her unique perspective and singular narrative voice, we explore xenophobia, intolerance, grief, family, class divides, and homophobia.

The Haunted Boy by Carson McCullers

[ ] A collection of three short stories from a master of the Southern gothic. In each, McCullers deftly examines the hidden pain that many of us deal with, from the anxiety of trauma, to the sting of nostalgia, and the struggle of alcoholism, respectively. Her prose is observant and sensitive, yet highly readable, and I’m excited to pick up more of her work.

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

[ ] Catch me out here giving one-star ratings to Nobel Prize wining novels. I know this is considered highly allegorical, but I found the plot so dull, the characters so nondescript, and the prose so lifeless, that I just couldn’t care enough to bother searching for any hidden depth. I’m glad to have tried Hemingway at least once, but his style clearly isn’t for me.

***

There we have it! My favourite read from this batch was probably The Last, but it was a strong month overall, despite a few blips along the way. What was your favourite read in May?

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

David Means & Carson McCullers | Two Mini Reviews

A River in Egypt by David Means

Published by Faber & Faber, 2019

My rating:

[image error]This is the first of the Faber Stories range that sadly didn’t work for me. It wasn’t bad, per se, but a story about a father’s anguish as he awaits a potentially life-changing diagnosis for his young son should have made me feel emotional or tense. Instead, I have to concede that I felt a little bored by its tangential style.

I suppose it’s a snapshot of a moment. It explores the idea that illness affects a whole family, and that sometimes ignorance is bliss. It just never gets into the grit of the situation or the characters’ mindsets enough to leave any lasting impression beyond the power of its concept.

You can pick up a copy of A River in Egypt by clicking here.

***

The Haunted Boy by Carson McCullers

Published by Penguin, 2018 (first published in the 1950s)

My rating:

[image error]This slim volume collects three short stories by McCullers, often described as a master of the Southern gothic. The prose throughout is sensitive and observant, yet highly readable, and though this was my first taste of her work, it certainly won’t be my last.

The title story, The Haunted Boy, was far and away my favourite. In it, a young boy arrives home from school with a friend. Unsettled by his mother’s inexplicable absence, he determines to keep his friend there as long as possible. What unfolds is an unbearably tense and poignant look at why the boy fears being alone, and why his mother’s disappearance causes so much anxiety. Exploring love, trauma, mental health, and the pain of things left unsaid, it’s a truly fantastic example of short fiction at its best. [5*]

The Sojourner is a melancholy though charmingly hopeful read about the unique nostalgia that comes from reconnecting with an ex-lover, and seeing them well established in their new life. far less impactful, but still a pleasant read. [3*]

A Domestic Dilemma is a snapshot of a family’s private crisis, unfolding behind closed doors. It explores a father’s fear for his children’s wellbeing and his own reputation as his wife slips into the grip of alcoholism. It’s a perceptive look at how fine the line between love and hate can be in domestic situations. [4*]

You can pick up a copy of The Haunted Boy by clicking here.

***

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

My Favorite Thing is Monsters by Emil Ferris | Book Review

My Favorite Thing is Monsters by Emil Ferris

Published by Fantagraphics, 2017

My rating:

[image error]Styled as the diary-cum-sketch-pad of a horror loving 10-year-old girl, My Favorite Thing is Monsters is a playful, meta, and engrossing read. Taking place in 1960s Chicago, there is an element of mystery at the story’s core, with our protagonist determined to uncover the circumstances surrounding the death of her enigmatic upstairs neighbour, Anka – a troubled Holocaust survivor.

Set against the backdrop of the civil rights movement, Ferris uses the lens of this tumultuous time period, Karen’s singular narrative voice, and the secrets uncovered from Anka’s past, to explore themes of xenophobia, class divides, intolerance, abuse, grief, and homophobia. With such heavy themes, and a focus on outsider characters living on the fringes of society, you’d expect things to be wholly dark and depressing, but our protagonist’s unique world view and charismatic approach to storytelling injects just enough light to keep things balanced.

Being a graphic novel, the artwork is equally important, and thankfully it lives up to the high standard of the text itself. Ferris plays with colour, style, layout, and form to create an authentic scrapbook feel, adding an extra layer of immersion to the reading experience.

In a lot of ways, the book also serves as a love letter to horror and art, the heroine’s passion for both influencing her own experimental and fluid approach to drawing. This is also seen in the often surreal imagery she employs, and the use of the character’s pulp horror magazine cover recreations rather than traditional chapter breaks.

I will say that, despite its generous length, this doesn’t really serve as a complete story. Many threads are left open, with questions still to be answered. Given that this is volume one, that’s no surprise; just be prepared to commit to the follow-up if you want the whole picture. Given how much I enjoyed this, however, I for one will have no hesitation in reaching for volume two when it’s released later this year.

***

If you’d like to give My Favorite Thing is Monsters a go, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Little Darlings by Melanie Golding | Book Review

Little Darlings by Melanie Golding

Published by HQ, 2019

My rating:

[image error]Following an unsettling encounter in the hospital, a young mother becomes convinced that her new-born twins are under threat of abduction. Drawing on changeling myths, the book taps into our fear of not being believed, and strikes a successfully ambiguous line between the supernatural and the struggles of mental health.

The prose itself isn’t exactly flashy, but it does a fine job of propelling the narrative forward. The concept is solid, and there are a couple of suitably creepy moments. I was genuinely intrigued, and wanted to see how everything would turn out, but therein lies my main issue with the book: it hits every single narrative beat you’d expect. A thriller that plays with fairy tale tropes, and flirts with the murky line between psychology and the possibly supernatural should be able to toy with reader expectations and provide satisfying twists. Instead, it all panned out exactly as I expected. This isn’t helped by the fact that the book opens with a brief glimpse of the story’s climax before jumping back in time to show us how we end up there. Knowing where we were going, predicting exactly how we would get there, and being unsurprised by how it all turned out left me feeling very underwhelmed, even if the reading experience itself was perfectly fine.

Some of the characterisation felt off to me as well, particularly with the protagonist’s husband. In one scene, he is selfish, cruel and disinterested, to the point of being a caricature. In the next, he is loving and supportive to the point of being sickly sweet. I understand that some people are like this, hiding their abusive personalities under a mask of kindness. But the dichotomy in his character went completely unexplored, meaning it came off as inconsistency rather than complexity.

We’ve seen many stories that explore the idea of changelings. I hoped this one would offer something original and genuinely disturbing, but sadly it just didn’t quite deliver on either of these fronts, being let down instead by its familiarity and reliance on coincidence.

On a positive note, one of the main characters is bisexual. Her sexuality has no bearing on the plot and is merely incidental. This kind of normalised representation of diversity is great! I also hope my largely negative review doesn’t detract from how quickly I flew through this. It was an easy, escapist read, and though it didn’t offer anything new, it was fine enough to spend a few evenings with.

***

If you’d like to give Little Darlings a go, you can find a copy by clicking here. If you’ve read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Flannery O’Connor & Fiona Benson | Two Mini Reviews

A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O’Connor

Published by Faber & Faber, 2019 (first published in 1953)

My rating:

[image error]This offering from the Faber Stories range follows a family as they set off on a road trip across the American South. When they run into trouble, the man they flag down for help just happens to be an escaped convict.

Once you get passed the few instances of uncomfortably outdated language in here, it’s a fantastic short story. The characters feel well established (especially the wonderfully haughty grandmother); the dynamic between them clear from the off despite the story’s brevity. O’Conner utilises striking imagery to employ a heavy dose of foreshadowing and dark humour. Added to the sweltering heat of the southern setting, this makes for a fantastic sense of mounting tension as we head towards an inevitably tragic and brutal conclusion.

Its narrative is impactful in and of itself, but there are interesting undercurrents of religion and morality that add depth well worth mulling over. A great introduction to O’Connor’s work!

You can pick up a copy of A Good Man is Hard to Find from Book Depository by clicking here.

***

Vertigo & Ghost by Fiona Benson

Published by Jonathan Cape, 2019

My rating:

[image error]Benson’s impassioned collection of poetry draws on mythology to explore the perils of womanhood in a toxic masculine society. The first section places Zeus in the modern world, a serial abuser full of brazen self-importance. In these pieces, Benson fuses the personal with the historical to show how sex is weaponised, victims demonised, and oppressors excused. In the second section, the poet shifts her attention to motherhood, exploring the physical and mental strain of pregnancy, birth, and caring for a child. The themes of both sections coalesce in the closing pieces, in which Benson muses on the simmering panic of raising daughters in a world still unsafe for girls; the horror of modern warfare reflected in the war on women’s bodies and autonomy.

Benson’s use of imagery is bold and impactful. There is depth and nuance to explore in the language she employs, but the meaning behind her words always shines through with punch. As such, I think this is the kind of collection that has something to offer both relative newcomers and seasoned poetry readers alike. I, for one, will certainly be reading more of Benson’s work.

You can pick up a copy of Vertigo & Ghost from Book Depository by clicking here.

***

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Orkney by Amy Sackville | Book Review

Orkney by Amy Sackville

Published by Granta, 2013

My rating:

[image error]Orkney is a quiet, claustrophobic look at an unconventional relationship, fuelled by Scottish folklore. Richard is a 60-year-old literature professor. His 21-year-old wife is his former student. Pale, silver-haired, enigmatic, and beguiling, she requests they spend their honeymoon on one of the wild and remote Orkney Isles.

Each chapter follows a day spent on the island. It has to be said that this isn’t a hugely plot driven novel. Events, themes, and ideas are explored in an almost cyclical way. To some, this may prove frustrating. For me, it created a sense of ebbing and flowing, like the tide against the island’s shores; of being suspended in time and place, as the characters themselves feel once cut off from society. Sackville’s prose is so beautiful, her sense of setting and atmosphere so evocative, that I was more than happy to spend extra time in the book’s lilting grasp.

Richard is a storyteller, in several senses of the word. He is spending a sabbatical working on a book about female figures from myth and legend, and it becomes increasingly clear that the line between these fictional women and his real wife is very much blurred. Projecting his fantasies onto her, she remains nameless throughout his narration, presented instead as an impossibly idolised vision that she could never live up to; her version of events constantly contradicting that which he presents to us. Whilst it could be argued that the writing is overly flowery at times, it ties in perfectly with Richard’s desire to embellish and beautify the truth into something greater or more pleasing.

Ultimately, the book explores love, obsession, possession, and loss. There’s an air of mystery surrounding Richard’s wife. Who is she? What is her past? Why is she simultaneously drawn to and afraid of the sea? With Richard’s mindset ruled by his fascination with her, and her stifled sense of self reflected in her recurring nightmares of drowning, it becomes interesting to consider who holds the greatest power and influence over the other.

If you’re aware of the stories the novel draws from, there’s a sense of inevitability with regards to where the story is heading, and indeed, Sackville employs much unsettling foreshadowing throughout. But this adds a melancholic tone and a sense of mounting tension to the whole thing that really worked for me. With such a deft and subtle use of (possible) magical realism, and Richard established as a wildly unreliable narrator detached from reality, the end can be interpreted in several very different ways, at once tragic, chilling or hopeful, depending on your reading of the text. It’s one I would love to discuss with people!

***

If you’d like to read Orkney, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts, particularly on the ending!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

The Last by Hanna Jameson | Book Review

The Last by Hanna Jameson

Published by Viking, 2019

My rating:

[image error]On paper, an apocalyptic-nuclear-survival-story-meets-murder-mystery-meets-social-and-political-commentary shouldn’t work. Somehow, Hanna Jameson pulls it off, resulting in one of the most enjoyable reading experiences I’ve had for a long time.

The concept is sort of brilliantly bonkers. When international nuclear war is triggered without warning, major cities are simultaneously wiped out across the globe, killing millions, cutting off all means of travel and communication, and leaving countries without government. Aware that the devastation, fallout, and desperate fellow survivors will all pose a threat, a group of around twenty people decide to hunker down in the remote Swiss hotel they had been staying in at the time of the incident. Scavenging for food, rationing medical supplies, worrying about radiation poisoning, and avoiding conflict with other potentially dangerous groups all become part of their daily life. But when a body is found soon after, our protagonist becomes convinced that one of them may also be a murderer.

The reason this book can be so many things at once and still work as a cohesive whole is that Jameson gives equal attention to each aspect of the complex narrative. Though this is an utterly engrossing, page-turning read, there is so much depth to examine. The hotel setting not only harks back to the gothic undertones of the golden era of crime, but it allows for a believably international cast of characters. This, in turn, allows Jameson to explore the racial and political tensions that emerge in times of conflict, and the blame culture that can so often lead to division and mistrust.

Without ever having to name names, Jameson is unflinching in her critique of the current political climate, and the alarming future that could await should power remain in the wrong hands. Indeed, the plot is pitched in such a way as to be at once grippingly eccentric, and frighteningly plausible. Without getting spoilery, she also manages to seamlessly weave powerful commentary on several pertinent social issues into the narrative, such as women’s reproductive rights, and the attempt to silence victims who come forward in the wake of a crime.

The murder mystery element is as intriguing to read as the survival aspect is enthralling, but I have to admit I wasn’t completely satisfied by the way that particular plot point wrapped up. I remained hooked by it throughout, but the outcome felt a little far-fetched and over-constructed. This was the only factor holding me back from a five-star rating. However, I can ultimately forgive it, as the crime element was, in reality, a means through which Jameson could explore the book’s primary theme, which is how far we will go to preserve justice, even in the most desperate of times. With tensions rising, characters pitted against each other, and new dangers emerging every day, the author makes us consider what kind of person we would want to be in the face of such extremes. Which parts of society are a construct, and which are defining characteristics of humanity? Which laws, conventions and morals are worth holding onto until the bitter end? Does one life matter when the whole world is in peril?

The book is framed as a written documentation of the events from our protagonist’s point-of-view. As a historian (at the hotel for a conference), he wishes to preserve his and others’ stories for possible future generations. This not only brings in a thread about the importance of documenting experiences (particularly in tangible forms, should disaster ever befall the internet), but we increasingly realise how flawed he is. This leaves us to question just how reliable he is as a narrator, with Jameson even managing to incorporate a subtle metaphor about the toxicity of holding on to secrets. This cleverly reaches a head in the book’s climax, adding a whole other layer to our interpretation of key points throughout the story, and proving that none of us are wholly good or bad.

Honestly, I was floored that a book so gripping and fun to read could also have so much to say, by masking such complexity and nuance. Having powered through the entire Women’s Prize longlist recently, only to be disappointed by the short list, I had been feeling on the verge of a reading slump for a couple of weeks; burnt out and lacking motivation. This book was exactly what I needed to get my spark back. Though it’s just shy of 400 pages, I sped through the whole thing in a few sittings. I know I will look back on the reading experience with huge fondness and gratitude. There really is a lot to be said for finding the right book at just the right time.

***

If you’d like to read The Last, you can pick up a copy by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Where Reasons End by Yiyun Li | Book Review

Where Reasons End by Yiyun Li

Published by Hamish Hamilton, 2019

My rating:

[image error]First and foremost, let me make clear that my somewhat middling rating does not reflect my opinion on this book’s literary worth. It is a wonderfully crafted, original, and stimulating read. Li is a phenomenally talented writer, and I would certainly explore more of her work.

Where this book fell short for me was its actual narrative, and a lack of emotional connection, which I found particularly surprising given the subject matter it explores. The novel is a series of imagined conversations between a mother and her 16-year-old son, who has just committed suicide. As a writer, the protagonist uses her proclivity for language to explore her situation, and the contrasting wonder and limitation of words in capturing emotion.

The whole thing is incredibly meta. Li herself is, of course, a writer, and this book was written in the wake of her own teenage son’s suicide. Whilst this adds some undeniable fascination and depth, it also caused me to constantly analyse and contextualise the story with respect to its origins; the line between fact and fiction very much blurred. This meant I could always see the author through the work, and remained unable to fully submit myself to it from a narrative standpoint. This isn’t necessarily a flaw in the book’s construction, merely something I was unprepared for going in. I was expecting something raw, harrowing and introspective, rather than something so conceptual and outwardly ruminative with regards to its wider themes.

On that note, it’s worth pointing out that the suicide and resulting grief are important background presences that loom over the book’s content, but they are never really the focus. Instead, Li uses the somewhat abstract conversations to play with words, exploring their multiple meanings and the dichotomy between the complexity of our language and its evident failure to fully reflect the reality of our feelings. She also muses on the nature of time, psychology, identity, and memory, with some passages being both highly astute and beautifully constructed.

If you’re looking for something that delves deep into the emotion and trauma of grief itself, driven by a conventional approach to character and plot development, this isn’t it. If, however, you’re looking for something decidedly more literary that intelligently dissects the language we use to navigate that grief, this is well worth picking up. Had I been clearer on what to expect going in, and therefore in the right frame of mind to absorb it all, I suspect I would have been rating this more favourably. That said, I still greatly admire what Li managed to create.

***

If you’d like to give Where Reasons End a go, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Transformation by Mary Shelley | Book Review

Transformation by Mary Shelley

Published by Alma Classics, 2019 (first published in 1831)

My rating:

[image error]This collection brings together three little-known short stories by Mary Shelley, the revered author of Frankenstein. Each is a fantastic example of her writing prowess, and the ways in which she pioneered the science-fiction and horror genres.

The title story, Transformation, draws on classic fables and the work of Shakespeare to create a brilliantly timeless and evocative moral tale. In it, we follow a man, spurned by his great love and exiled from his homeland, who makes a deal with a strange, demonic creature in his pursuit of vengeance. Thematically, it explores the idea that true ugliness comes from the inside, the danger of succumbing to our own greed and entitlement, and the notion that the best lessons in life are often hard won. It also has all the hallmarks of the best gothic fiction, including rich settings, thick atmosphere, and sumptuous prose. (‘Evening was at hand when, seaward, arose, as if on the waving of a wizard’s wand, a murky web of clouds, blotting the late azure sky and darkening and disturbing the till now placid deep […] The waves raised their white crests; the thunder first muttered, then roared from across the waste of waters, which took a deep purple dye, flecked with foam.’) – 5 stars.

The Mortal Immortal is a melancholic and fascinating story that draws on Shelley’s own real-life experience of outliving those she loved, exploring the dichotomy of simultaneously hating life and fearing death. Her protagonist, an alchemist’s assistant, consumes a potion he hopes will cure him of the pain of unrequited love. Instead, it grants him immortality, dooming him to a life of loneliness as he watches those dear to him fade away. As with Frankenstein, there’s a thread about the danger of pursuing science beyond our control (‘… the more I live, the more I dread death, even while I abhor life. Such an enigma is man – born to perish – when he wars, as I do, against the established laws of nature.’) It’s another gothic gem, made all the more poignant given the context of Shelley’s own tragic life. – 4.5 stars.

The final story, The Evil Eye, has a subtle supernatural edge, but it’s considerably less gothic. A tale of piracy, betrayal, revenge, and family, it has a grand, epic scope despite its modest length. The adventurous nature of the plot means there are some exciting moments, alongside some typically gorgeous prose, but my love for the dark, gothic, and thought-provoking nature of the previous stories left me feeling underwhelmed by this one. – 2.5 stars.

In an ideal world, the third story would have been omitted in favour of something more in keeping with the tone and quality of the others, but altogether, this still makes for a solid example of Shelley’s skill, and why her catalogue of work beyond Frankenstein is well worth exploring.

***

If you fancy giving Transformation a go, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository with free shipping by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi