Book Review: A Monster Calls
“Stories were wild, wild animals and went off in directions you couldn’t expect.” So is the lesson at the center of A Monster Calls. It couldn’t be more accurate.
“Stories are important, the monster said. They can be more important than anything. If they carry the truth.”
Patrick Ness’s novel, inspired by an idea by Siobhan Dowd, follows the story of 13-year-old Conor, whose mother is dying of cancer. Conor is tortured by a recurring nightmare that is so frightening that he will not tell anyone about it. He barely will allow himself to think of it.
Then one night a giant yew tree outside his house turns into an ancient monster. It claims that Conor called it into existence, though the boy cannot figure out how or why. The monster shares three stories about heroes and villains. Yet in each case, the tales twist at the end, revealing an unsettling truth about the complexity of life.
In turn, Conor will share his story, his truth. And that leads him back to the nightmare.
There have been plenty of novels about children facing enormous, heart-wrenching challenges: life and death, terminal illness, physical abuse, war.
Ness takes these same elements and layers a fable quality over them, while still remaining grounded in Conor’s internal world. Everything is filtered through Conor’s lens – his awkward relationship with his father, the cold war with his grandmother, the cruel interactions with the school bully. Yet each time the monster appears, though it seems fantastical, it is an elemental part of Conor’s story. Whether the monster is a manifestation of his psyche or an actual creature from the Old World come to life, it doesn’t matter, because the true monster of the story is the truth that Conor has to face.
I love novels that tap into deep, emotional currents where authors have expressed in uncanny detail what a tragedy or a victory feels like. There are many times I have teared up, and not from sentimentality but rather a sense of communion with the characters.
Patrick Ness is one of those authors. I confess I have faced challenges similar to Conor’s, but that wasn’t the simple reason I had tears running down my face. Rather, it was that the author knew how to express that precarious balance of complex emotions. Grief isn’t one thing; it’s many. Anger isn’t shameful; there are legitimate reasons for feeling it. And Ness carries us through the maelstrom of Conor’s inner world and brings us out into a surprisingly tender conclusion that hasn’t anything to do with miracles. It has to do with recognizing that people are “complicated beasts,” as the monster describes them, who are capable of holding contradictory thoughts – the intellect and the heart at war with each other, and one isn’t any more right than the other.
Yes, stories are wild and dangerous. They have to be, especially when they deal with the truth.
“Stories are important, the monster said. They can be more important than anything. If they carry the truth.”
Patrick Ness’s novel, inspired by an idea by Siobhan Dowd, follows the story of 13-year-old Conor, whose mother is dying of cancer. Conor is tortured by a recurring nightmare that is so frightening that he will not tell anyone about it. He barely will allow himself to think of it.
Then one night a giant yew tree outside his house turns into an ancient monster. It claims that Conor called it into existence, though the boy cannot figure out how or why. The monster shares three stories about heroes and villains. Yet in each case, the tales twist at the end, revealing an unsettling truth about the complexity of life.In turn, Conor will share his story, his truth. And that leads him back to the nightmare.
There have been plenty of novels about children facing enormous, heart-wrenching challenges: life and death, terminal illness, physical abuse, war.
Ness takes these same elements and layers a fable quality over them, while still remaining grounded in Conor’s internal world. Everything is filtered through Conor’s lens – his awkward relationship with his father, the cold war with his grandmother, the cruel interactions with the school bully. Yet each time the monster appears, though it seems fantastical, it is an elemental part of Conor’s story. Whether the monster is a manifestation of his psyche or an actual creature from the Old World come to life, it doesn’t matter, because the true monster of the story is the truth that Conor has to face.
I love novels that tap into deep, emotional currents where authors have expressed in uncanny detail what a tragedy or a victory feels like. There are many times I have teared up, and not from sentimentality but rather a sense of communion with the characters.
Patrick Ness is one of those authors. I confess I have faced challenges similar to Conor’s, but that wasn’t the simple reason I had tears running down my face. Rather, it was that the author knew how to express that precarious balance of complex emotions. Grief isn’t one thing; it’s many. Anger isn’t shameful; there are legitimate reasons for feeling it. And Ness carries us through the maelstrom of Conor’s inner world and brings us out into a surprisingly tender conclusion that hasn’t anything to do with miracles. It has to do with recognizing that people are “complicated beasts,” as the monster describes them, who are capable of holding contradictory thoughts – the intellect and the heart at war with each other, and one isn’t any more right than the other.Yes, stories are wild and dangerous. They have to be, especially when they deal with the truth.
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