It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book as well as those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on substance abuse, grief, intergenerational trauma, psychological distress, body decomposition, the death of an animal, animal mutilation, violence, & others.
When we stand alone we become aware of the world. Our individuality allows us the opportunity to reflect on proximity, warmth, the global experience & the alteration that we undergo deep inside when we live contrary to the collective. When the reader meets Mackenzie, she is another lost soul in the Acheron. Her personality & mannerisms read as very young yet, when we become acquainted with her we realize she is perhaps too old to be acting the way that she does. Though, I suppose it is fair to say that there is no age limit for grief. Regardless, Mackenzie maintains an ignorance bewildering in its stability within her person. How can an adult wander the world unknown to themselves to the degree at which Mackenzie does?
You will wager, early on, that I did not enjoy this book. I hesitate to say that I disliked it because there were moments that truly captured my attention. I adored the initial setting of this novel & was ever the more eager to see Cree beliefs take centre stage in a novel dedicated wholeheartedly to Indigenous storytelling. I have a soft spot for stories that take place in Canada—finding the places that are home to me in the stories told by others is a wonderful experience. The beginning of a story only lasts for so long before it becomes the essence of the tale. Johns’ lost her way as she developed a plot that held no semblance of intrigue or depth to the fear she was trying to cultivate.
First and foremost this is not a Horror as you might imagine. The premise of this story plays on folktales found within many Indigenous communities. Some people call them Windigo, others Skinwalkers, some cultures of people view them as shadow folks; others still as demons. In this case, wīhtikow is the named figure of the human eater who wanders the land in darkness set to feed on the weakness of our species. Depending on whom you ask, these creatures might be hard to distinguish between you & me. Their main purpose on earth is up for interpretation, but most people can agree that they are entities whose paths you do not wish to cross.
I have many issues with the plot layout, but I will start by encouraging others to read this book for themselves. Just because this is not a Horror as you might imagine does not mean that it is not worth your time. I am very familiar with the genre—I love it dearly—because of this fact, none of what transpired within this book felt interesting, engaging, or spooky. I knew where the story was going from the jump & spent the entire novel waiting for Mackenzie to get a grip on reality so that we could move forward with the conclusion of events. That being said, if you are someone for whom folklore, cereal-sweet writing, casual plum-sauce gore & the fear of the unharmed are thrilling, then I would encourage you to read this book.
Because the writing style of this book felt sloppy & disengaging, I meandered through the plot in circles. This is not necessarily my fault, I was following a slew of characters who seemed incapable of making different decisions than the ones they had already made thrice. Why did we need to read about Mackenzie’s dream sequences only for her to continuously be faced with the unanswered question? Why did Mackenzie start dreaming about her sister a full year after her death? I do not ask this question in vain. Certainly, the anniversary of Sabrina’s sudden passing is reason enough. However, why would the wīhtikow need to haunt Mackenzie who lived a full province away from the land in which it festered?
How did the wīhtikow garner the ability to send text messages? Did Mackenzie not recognize the area code preceding the number that sent her strange messages? I cannot speak to every location on earth but, in Canada, area codes are a simple & fairly standard way of pinning down a location. We also have many websites that allow a more narrow search so, I wonder why Mackenzie never Googled the phone number that was alleging to be her dead sister. I suppose I cannot expect such things from a person who saw a zombie figure of her sister in her dream & instantly thought about touching & coddling her—couldn’t be me but, I digress.
These annoyances do not necessarily break the story, many people will find it easy to look past the bizarre lack of action on behalf of many characters as simply the tang of the story. Why did Jolie become incapable of contacting anyone? If they feared that the wīhtikow was blocking their communication with Mackenzie why did they not play dumb & engage someone else in the communication? How far-reaching are the abilities of the wīhtikow? This creature is seemingly able to manipulate current-century technology, consume souls, & transport itself through geographical distance yet, it remained bound to the forest, only able to be inside the home when Mackenzie brings part of it inside.
I wonder why the author held back. Why didn’t any character that we were familiar with become faced with actual danger? Why was the main character able to escape harm at every turn? There existed no crux of reality within a story that held us to the belief that the world in which we live is filled with the unknown. There were no stakes to be won here because nothing was being gambled. Mackenzie didn’t care where she was in the world & her family was too closed-off to ever tell her that they cared so, where does that leave us? These are certainly issues in & of themselves but there is no resolution to them.
With the story rolling around in circles the reader is given no choice but to be faced with the lack of depth within each of the scenes. The sheer number of times we have to read about Mackenzie trying to talk or touch people while she dreams; the number of times everyone asks if Mackenzie dreamed; the number of times talk of mundane inconsequential things are brought up as though they were life-altering pieces of information, was brutal. The scenes that should have counted towards building the core of this story read as vapid exchanges between one-dimensional characters.
Every character sounded & acted the same. To a certain degree, I appreciate that we were able to connect every member of Mackenzie’s family to one another. They spent so much of their formative years closely intertwined, it only makes sense for some of their mannerisms to be similar. Yet, in all of the redundant conversations about random things, I found that it didn’t matter which auntie was speaking, or if it was in fact Mackenzie’s mom who spent time with her, or whether or not Kassidy or Tracey caught her eye in the room. Nothing mattered enough for it to be upheld as an agency for the characters.
The central conflict of the story is a tale as old as time. For the purpose of this review, I will not be detailing the consequences of colonialism on Indigenous folks on Turtle Island—I encourage you to do that when you have the time to dedicate to welcoming the information. However, intergenerational trauma is certainly a facet of life many people understand innately. In this case, we find ourselves faced with a slew of folk who, though filled with a certain degree of love for one another, experience life in an entirely singular way.
I am not here to judge the approach that any of the characters undertook to gauge their way through trauma. What I am going to do is pose the question as to why we never see those efforts take place within this story. The narrative ensues that Mackenzie harbours a great deal of self-degradation, manifesting these beliefs in the way she interacts with the world. She often reflected on how she believed that love was conditional; we only have so much to give & once we have run dry, there is none to give to anyone else. Why does she feel that way? What part of her life led her to feel that the adults in her life could not love her & her sisters—that they needed to choose?
We never explore the reality that plagues this family. Due to the lore that surrounds wīhtikow & in consequence, the approach towards trauma & grief; people are believed to have died because they harboured the consequences of traumatic events in their bodies. I am not a doctor by trade but, I am someone who has a leg to stand on in this race—I understand this to be true. Whether or not we recognize the effects of hardship, they play out on our bones like splinters through the skin. They eat away at us like wīhtikow in the pits of the forest.
That being said, I wanted to understand why that was for these characters. Mackenzie was so disconnected from her family yet all we read about is their eagerness for proximity. They felt so warm towards one another that simply being in the same town was enough for them to feel strong within themselves. What aspects of their lives altered their behaviour with each other so that the younger generation felt that they were not wanted; that they were a burden?
I wanted to know these characters because I felt like what they had to share was valuable. Though, I conclude my reading by wondering whether or not the author believed that to be true. The exploration of trauma does not necessitate the revelation of the inner workings of the self. In this context, simply revealing Mackenzie as a fully formed individual would have been enough. I didn’t know anything about her which made empathy a difficult emotion to employ.
When all is said & done, I found this story to be exceedingly corny. I appreciated the dreams; I appreciate the state of repose as the ease of finding it escapes me in a chronic & morbid fashion. I appreciated the endeavour; revelations through the tenderness of shadows, love even in silence.
Yet, the writing style was illusive, mundane & tired. We wadded through reefs & corals dulled with the shallow scrape of our footing. Where was the hero? Who saves the person who is a villain to themselves? I think, to an extent I agree; this night is ever-lasting. Yet, there is more to night than its shadows; there is the life inside the grey shading of the sky, the whisper of those with whom we share this side of the moon. Lest we forget the wallowing of water guiding us down a path lined with greenery, even if we remain in a perpetual state of monochromacy. I wanted more from the people who claimed to slither the grounds beside me; lying straight to my face under the guise of pretending to know what it is like for life to always be a night.