Callum McLaughlin's Blog, page 8
June 2, 2021
Horrid by Katrina Leno | Book Review
Horrid by Katrina Leno
Published by Little, Brown, 2020
Rating: 
I very rarely pick up YA books these days, but this one intrigued me enough to consider giving it a shot. On the whole, I’m glad I did; its slower, more character focussed approach to horror allowing it to stand out in an otherwise saturated genre.
The story opens following the sudden death of Jane’s father. Facing financial strain, and hoping to escape their grief, she and her mother are forced to sell their house in California and relocate to North Manor; a run down, inherited property in rural Maine. It’s clear that Jane’s mother never wanted to return to her childhood home, and as strange goings on begin to occur, and whispers of a dark past grow ever more apparent, it soon becomes clear why.
The novel is chiefly concerned with mental health, both the impact of grief and the influence of inherited, generational trauma. It is definitely at its strongest when it leans into these more cerebral elements, embracing the ambiguity of true horror versus horror of the mind. I particularly appreciated that Leno wasn’t afraid to present us with a protagonist who is clearly flawed. Jane, suffering from severe anger issues, is not always easy to like, let alone to root for, and this moral complexity adds depth and dimension to the narrative.
I also enjoyed the subtext about the comfort and escapism offered by books. We are repeatedly told how much Jane loves to read, especially the works of Agatha Christie. When her anger threatens to overwhelm her, Jane’s preferred coping method is to secretly eat a page from one of her books. In a thematic sense, the act of consuming literature helps to ease her mood, but it also establishes Jane’s mental state as increasingly unreliable. Surreal elements like this, and the story’s twisted climax, really give the novel some punch, and I would have loved Leno to push them even further.
Less successful are the book’s pacing and structure. The Big Reveal hinges around a so-called “secret de Polichinelle”. Put simply, this means an open secret that everyone knows except the protagonist, but which no one mentions because they assume the protagonist does already know. This technique can be successful, but feels laboured in this instance. Not only is there a convoluted means of shoehorning its definition into the story, it also becomes clear to the reader what’s going on long before it occurs to Jane. This results in a lot of meandering, with everyone skirting around the (obvious) truth, and not much else going on to justify the word count.
Solid in its ideas but flawed in execution, Horrid is both singular and readable enough to be worth checking out if you feel at all tempted.
May 31, 2021
May Wrap Up
It’s time for a quick look back at my month in books and embroidery. Let’s just jump right into it, shall we? As ever, we’ll start with what I read.
Books read: 8
Yearly total: 43
The books I read in May
1. Other People’s Children by R.J. Hoffmann
| Review to come for BookBrowse
2. Sealed by Naomi Booth
| Review
3. Black Girl, Call Home by Jasmine Mans
| Review
4. Speak No Evil by Uzodinma Iweala
| Review
5. No One Is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood
| Review
6. Infidel by Pornsak Pichetshote & Aaron Campbell
| Review
7. Running Upon the Wires by Kae Tempest
| Review
8. Horrid by Katrina Leno
| Review to come
Favourite of the month: Speak No Evil
The big update on the embroidery front is that I opened an Etsy shop! With finished pieces stacking up and more than a little persuasion from kind people, I decided to give it a shot. A huge thank you to everyone who has bought something or shared the shop; it’s been so lovely! There are still some pieces available if anyone is at all interested (click here), but as for the projects I completed this month, here’s a little look:
May 27, 2021
Three Mini Reviews
Black Girl, Call Home by Jasmine Mans
Published by Berkley, 2021
Rating:
In this collection of poems, Mans explores her identity and experiences at the intersection of race, gender and sexuality.
Often narrative driven, her approachable, punchy style reflects her performance background, as she muses on the highs and lows of living as a young, Black, queer woman. Quite a few pieces are written as though open letters to various celebrities, which isn’t a framing device I’m particularly fond of, but I enjoyed the unflinching immediacy of Mans’ voice.
Infidel by Pornsak Pichetshote, art by Aaron Campbell
Published by Image, 2018
Rating:
A highly contemporary twist on the haunted house archetype, this graphic novel is set in an apartment building that was once the site of an improvised terrorist bombing. The story looks at racism, Islamophobia, faith, and responses to extremism. It does so by essentially personifying hatred and xenophobia into the ghosts of those who died in the attack, and who now stalk the building’s current residents in search of revenge.
It was incredibly refreshing to see important social and political issues woven into a horror story without feeling too heavy-handed (though it did come close a few times). I also appreciated that the two leads each offered a different, modern perspective on life as a woman of colour raised within the Islamic faith – the positives and negatives alike.
The artwork is also strong, presenting us with some striking tableaus and finding a balance between realism and frantic energy that really complements the story. That said, a few scene cuts didn’t quite work, jolting me out of the story somewhat, and I wasn’t wholly satisfied by the way things wrapped up. Enough was left open to revisit this world, and if a sequel ever emerges, I certainly enjoyed enough about this to check it out.
Running Upon the Wires by Kae Tempest
Published by Picador, 2018
Rating:
I’ve read several of Tempest’s other offerings – both poetry and nonfiction – and I wanted to continue making my way through their back catalogue. Though I still enjoyed the bold poetic voice on offer here, this was easily my least favourite of their books so far. The pieces chronicle Tempest’s emotions as they come to the end of one relationship and tentatively begin another.
There are certainly still some great lines throughout, but thematically and linguistically it’s much more stripped back, and, for want of a better word, basic; indulging in much of the angst and melodrama one tends to associate with poems centred on love. If that’s your thing, you’ll enjoy this more than me (I did like reading about unashamedly queer love though, I must say), but I missed Tempest’s sharp observations on society, which is where their voice really comes into its own, I think.
May 24, 2021
No One Is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood | Book Review
No One Is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood
Published by Bloomsbury, 2021
Rating:
Seeing this repeatedly described as “experimental” and “a book of two halves” had me intrigued but a little apprehensive heading in, as such novels can often be difficult to connect with emotionally. I’m pleased to say I ended up liking it a lot more than I initially anticipated, and on the contrary, I found it surprisingly moving.
Being more ruminative and thematically driven, there’s not much plot to speak of, per se. The first section is told in a series of largely unrelated vignettes. These consist of random thoughts and moments as experienced by our narrator, a young woman who found unexpected internet fame after an inane tweet (the social media site in question isn’t named, but it’s very obviously twitter) goes viral. The second section is still told in vignettes, but a much more tangible sense of narrative and continuity come into play, when complications in her sister’s pregnancy lead to heartache.
Structurally and visually, the book’s choppy, fragmented nature cleverly reflects the feeling of scrolling through a newsfeed on social media, as you jump from one post to another. It also creates a sense that our narrator lacks focus in life, which changes immediately when tragedy strikes the family. This dramatic shift – from curating a somewhat vapid online persona, to the overwhelming love and pain she must navigate in relation to her baby niece – suggests a critique of the frivolity inherent to much of internet life, and how quickly its seeming importance fades when “real life” hits us with a curveball. That said, we still only see the family’s grief in fleeting moments, mirroring the previously established idea of what we show versus what goes on in private; that we’re only ever piecing together an impression of someone’s life based on the tiny snippets we get to see.
To me, the book ultimately felt like a commentary on the idea that life is indeed a jigsaw puzzle of individual moments, thoughts, feelings, and ideas – from the redundant to the earth shattering and everything in between. However, on a narrative and thematic level, I do think the two threads of the novel could have been tied together in a more cohesive and satisfying way. The merits of the internet, especially in times of hardship, are only every marginally hinted at, but the access to information, community and support it can offer could have been invaluable to someone in the narrator’s situation. In that respect, it felt like there was some untapped potential; the amount of time given over to random tweet-esque musings not wholly justified.
Despite feeling it could have been tied together more convincingly, I devoured the book in just two sittings, and this was largely thanks to Lockwood’s gorgeous prose. I’m not at all surprised to see she has previously published poetry, as the book is peppered with beautiful imagery and lovely turns of phrase. For its originality, timeliness, craft, and emotional impact, I’m glad I gave this a chance.
May 18, 2021
Speak No Evil by Uzodinma Iweala | Book Review
Speak No Evil by Uzodinma Iweala
Published by John Murray, 2018
Rating:
[image error]Speak No Evil is a book of contrasts, being at once subtle yet affecting, tender yet devastating, and tragic yet hopeful. It is testament to Iweala’s control that he can pull off this intricate balancing act, without ever losing focus on his plot or characters.
The book opens with Black 18-year-old Niru coming out to his white best friend, Meredith. Though she is supportive, his devout Nigerian parents are considerably less so. Defying their forced attempts to “cure” him of his so-called affliction, Niru continues to explore his true feelings and desires in secret. But the revelation also drives an unexpected wedge between the friends; as their lives start moving in different directions, resentment simmers, culminating in a violent incident that will have a profound impact on them and all those around them.
It’s difficult to talk about the full extent of the novel’s power without spoilers. Suffice to say, the climax comes about three quarters into the story, and it hits like a sledgehammer. From there, everything shifts – tone, perspective, themes, etc. – in a way that can feel somewhat jarring, but deliberately so. In various nuanced ways, Iweala explores identity, shame, the cost of silence, and the devastation that can come from suppressing our true selves.
Though I felt a couple of important side characters were oddly absent in the final chapters, resulting in some untapped emotional depth, I loved the time I spent with this book, and hugely admired what it had to say about friendship, love, and the difficulties of being queer and Black in modern America. Iweala writes with such grace, and in Niru, he has created a character I know will stay with me for quite some time.
May 10, 2021
Sealed by Naomi Booth | Book Review
Sealed by Naomi Booth
Published by Dead Ink, 2017
Rating:
Sealed is the kind of speculative fiction that is at once both highly allegorical and frighteningly plausible. This is testament to Booth’s ability to ground her thematic intent within a compelling narrative.
Set in the near future, global warming has resulted in an increasingly toxic atmosphere and the rapid spreading of wildfires. With news circulating about a deadly infection that causes your skin to seal itself into one homogenous mass (fusing shut your eyes, mouth, etc.), heavily pregnant Alice and her partner Pete decide to leave the city for the comparable safety of the countryside. But Alice is haunted by her mother’s recent death and her mounting paranoia; and it soon appears their rural “escape” may not be as safe as they hoped.
Booth uses this brilliant yet disturbing setup as an in to explore the potential horrors of pregnancy and birth; the alien sensations taking place in Alice’s body almost as unnerving to her as the thought of contracting the infection itself. At its core, the novel is a commentary on our fear of losing control and becoming prisoners within our own bodies. There is also a more subtle though well-handled look at the idea of female “hysteria”; the dismissal of women’s concerns when it comes to science, medicine, and even their own bodies.
On a more direct narrative level, there is such a cloying atmosphere throughout, perfectly encapsulating the balmy heat and claustrophobic tension felt by Alice. It can’t be denied that reading a book set on the cusp of a pandemic during covid times added another layer of resonance (and believability) to certain aspects of the story, particularly the government response, attempts to downplay the severity of the situation, and the exploitation and disproportionate suffering of poor communities.
I think Booth gave enough hints as to the possible nature and origin of the infection to make it genuinely frightening, while still embracing a level of ambiguity befitting of the characters’ bewilderment. The climax, though largely predictable, takes on an almost fever dream quality that also really works, with a few key tableaus that I suspect will stick with me. Somewhat less successful is the pacing, which lags at times due to an indulgence of unnecessary tangents.
Though this wasn’t the new favourite I hoped it would be, I found it smart and unsettling in equal measure. It has certainly made me eager to check out more of Booth’s work.
May 1, 2021
April Wrap Up
It’s time for a quick look back at my month in books and embroidery. Let’s just jump right into it, shall we? As ever, we’ll start with what I read.
Books read: 9
Yearly total: 35
The books I read in April
1. The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett
| Review
2. The Kids by Hannah Lowe
| Review
3. Dead Dad Jokes by Ollie Schminkey
| Review
4. Piranesi by Susanna Clarke
| Review
5. Winter in Sokcho by Elisa Shua Dusapin, tr. by Aneesa Higgins
| Review to come for BookBrowse
6. Shiver by Junji Ito, tr. by Jocelyn Allen
| Review
7. Hello Mum by Bernardine Evaristo
| Review
8. Because of You by Dawn French
| Review
9. Unsettled Ground by Claire Fuller
| Review
Favourite of the Month: The Vanishing Half
Now onto the embroidery projects I completed throughout April. As with the previous month, I enjoyed coming up with original designs and trying out a few different styles.
The first piece here came from a desire to try out something with a more contemporary look, while the second piece is a more traditional landscape with a chunky, textural feel.
The cat piece was made as a birthday gift for a friend; the squirrel is part of my little ongoing series of woodland creatures; and I’d wanted to stitch a bee for a while!
What was your favourite read in March?
April 27, 2021
Unsettled Ground by Claire Fuller | Book Review
Unsettled Ground by Claire Fuller
Published by Fig Tree, 2021
Rating:
It took me a little while to get fully drawn into this melancholic tale of secrets, poverty, longing, and dependency, but once it had me in its grip, I found it surprisingly moving. We follow adult twins, Jeanie and Julius, who have lived their entire lives with their mother, Dot. Following her abrupt death, the two must attempt to navigate their grief, while tentatively taking their first true steps towards independence at the age of 51. This is further complicated by a series of revelations regarding their mother’s past and the true state of the family’s financial situation.
The novel has such interesting things to say about familial connection, exploring what can happen when attempts to shield someone edge into cruelty; establishing an over-dependence in others that ultimately causes more harm than good. This is true for Dot and her children, but also between the twins themselves, to an extent. Indeed, there is real poignancy in the dynamic between the two; each being the other’s greatest obstacle to freedom and their greatest source of comfort.
The book is also chiefly concerned with class and poverty. It is desperately sad to watch as events increasingly spiral out of the twins’ control, as they become trapped in a cycle of bad luck and exploitation. There’s a particularly well-handled focus on the way older generations often find it difficult to admit to their struggles and ask for help, ruled by stubborn pride and fear of judgement. This notion is furthered by the book’s tone and setting, with Fuller capturing the time-capsule-like quality of rural villages that seem to lag behind in certain ways. In fact, the book often feels like historical fiction (deliberately so); the jolt of contemporary references emphasizing just how ill-equipped Jeanie and Julius are to deal with the practicalities and social norms of the modern world.
That said, for all the things they lack, the two have an endearing tenacity and resourcefulness that make them easy to root for. Without being too heavy-handed with it, Fuller shows that intelligence and skill can manifest in different ways (like their musical flair, and Jeanie’s passion for gardening). With academic, professional, and financial attainment always given credence, people with more creative or physical prowess often go undervalued, cruelly made to believe they are stupid.
A sense of intrigue hangs over the narrative, and while there are some subtle mystery elements, these never feel like the focus. On the contrary, most revelations can likely be puzzled out well in advance, but this felt deliberate to me; the reader able to see the truths that Jeanie in particular is blind to, both wilfully and otherwise.
The conclusion itself is very bittersweet. Furthering the book’s look at longing, connection, truth, and reliance, the tragic yet understated outcome has a clever full-circle quality that means it’s in-keeping with Fuller’s commentary on the trappings of life on the fringes. Offering closure without feeling the need to wrap everything up too neatly, I appreciate the ending’s much-needed dose of hope.
I said in a chat with some bookish friends recently that Fuller has always felt to me like an author who has an amazing book in her, even if she hasn’t quite managed to get it down on paper yet. While this may not be said masterpiece, it is certainly a solid offering that has much to offer on both a narrative and thematic level.
April 24, 2021
The Night Always Comes by Willy Vlautin | Book Review
The Night Always Comes by Willy Vlautin
Published by Harper, 2021
Rating:
This bold critique of gentrification and systemic greed combines the pace of a high-stakes thriller with urgent social commentary.
Approaching 30, Lynette has spent the past three years juggling multiple jobs so that she, her mother, and her developmentally disabled brother can buy the run-down Portland house they have always called home. Concerned about the cost and the rapid urbanization of the neighborhood, Lynette’s mother pulls out of the deal at the last moment, taking her financial contribution with her. Still desperate to ensure stability for her brother, Lynette embarks on a dangerous two-day mission to make up the shortfall. She hopes to pull together the last of the money she needs to afford the mortgage deposit on her own before the bank rescinds their offer. But this means reconnecting with various figures from her past — some of Portland’s most morally questionable citizens. This journey ignites old traumas for Lynette and pushes her family to a breaking point, as the reader comes to understand just how much she has suffered in her bid to find security.
Willy Vlautin lays bare the dark side of gentrification, showing how working-class and marginalized groups are systematically squeezed out of their own communities — victims of meager pay and a lack of opportunity.
You can read my full review over on BookBrowse . I also wrote a piece about gentrification in Portland, tracing its roots back to historic racism .
April 22, 2021
Because of You by Dawn French | Book Review
Because of You by Dawn French
Published by Penguin, 2020
Rating:
In a lot of ways, my rating for this one feels harsh. In the hands of the right reader, this is a perfectly decent book, full of warmth and heart. The story opens with two women, Hope and Anna, giving birth on the same maternity ward. While Anna’s baby arrives safely, Hope’s is tragically stillborn. In a grief-fuelled haze, Hope snatches Anna’s baby and endeavours to raise her as her own. We then jump forward nearly 18 years, when events will transpire to bring the truth out and reunite these two families.
At its core, the novel is very much a look at grief, what it means to be a parent, and the bond between mother and child. The first half is definitely the strongest, with French really taking time to establish her main characters, making it possible for us to sympathise with all parties despite the awful moral choice that Hope ultimately makes. The writing itself is solid and I found myself flying through the story, completing it in just two sittings. There is humour throughout, as you’d expect if you’re familiar with French’s work, but it’s (mostly) pitched at a level that doesn’t detract from the more poignant emotions at play.
As the novel progresses, however, things begin to unravel. In contrast to the three main characters, all of whom I liked and felt genuinely invested in, the male supporting characters (the women’s respective partners) are all very one dimensional, to the point of feeling like caricatures: we have the terrible husband, the wonderful, selfless husband, and the comic-relief joker. After taking the time to really look at the emotional impact of events in the first half, the pace ramps up to such an extent that certain key moments felt rushed, with characters accepting huge revelations in their stride. The ending itself will also be incredibly polarising. For those not adverse to soap opera levels of melodrama and sentimentality, it may appeal, but I found it far too saccharine.
It’s to the book’s credit that there is a surprising amount of thematic nuance touched upon, with both families caught up in the story being mixed race, and Hope’s parents suffering with addiction problems, but sadly I felt none of these issues were explored with the depth or impact they could have had.
In all, this is a very readable novel that I can see really working for lovers of what would typically be categorised as contemporary women’s fiction, and it’s sure to be a big hit with book clubs. It’s impossible to separate a book from the context in which you read it, however, and so picking this up following its listing for this year’s Women’s Prize for Fiction, my hopes were raised to expect something far more literary and original than I suspect the book was even aiming for.
