Jesse feels like a loser. His soon-to-be ex-wife, Linda, told him as much before she left, taking their daughter Abigail with her. He neFROM THE BLOG:
Jesse feels like a loser. His soon-to-be ex-wife, Linda, told him as much before she left, taking their daughter Abigail with her. He needed to get his act together, she begged him. To take his music seriously. To build a better life with his family. But Jesse’s insecurities always manage to get the best of him, and so he fails to progress. Now Linda and Abigail are living with a corrupt cop who has always had it in for Jesse due to some of his somewhat illicit side-hustles. And he’s alone, living in a bleak trailer with a mood to match. To make matters worse, it’s Christmas Eve, and Jesse has nothing to show for it — no gifts to present to his adoring daughter. Jesse feels like a loser, all right. On top of it all, he must also be losing his mind, because he swears he has just seen Santa Claus drop out of the sky and run into his trailer park, and a pack of monsters following behind him.
Krampus feels like a loser. He has been imprisoned under the earth for the better part of a millennia by now, placed there by a traitorous Santa Claus, betrayer and usurper. His false holiday has overtaken the tried-and-true traditions of Yuletide, making the world forget about its old gods and spirits and, indeed, the Yule Lord himself. Full of vengeful rage, he sends his faithful Belsnickels after the jolly old fraud, intent on unleashing the spirit of Yule back into the world, where it rightfully belongs.
Fate will make Jesse and Krampus cross paths, forming the unlikeliest of duos, finding that they need one another to fulfill each of their ambitions.
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I didn’t think much of Brom’s Krampus: The Yule Lord, unfortunately. It’s a shame, since Slewfoot was one of my favorite reads this past Hallowe’en season, and in many ways this is very much the proto-version of that book, with all its focus on Pagan traditions and customs, and its fervent criticism of Christianity. In Slewfoot, this angle was compelling because its main character was a woman fighting against Puritan superstition and oppression with the help of the title character, an old forest god that, to the colonists, represents the evils of the natural world. Here, Krampus — basically a more fanatical, whimsical version of Slewfoot — uses his disdain for monotheistic narrow-mindedness to… mostly help a small-time crook get back with his wife and daughter?
Which is basically my main gripe with this book. Jesse’s story, while interesting in a crime drama sort of way, bears no real relevance to Krampus’s plot against Christmas, other than in the most peripheral of ways. And the problem is that, despite this novel’s title, Jesse is very much the main character: he’s the one who gets a proper arc; the one whose journey forms the emotional center of the book. The way the story is constructed, though, ends up as acting like a detriment to both plots: whenever a particular thread is picked up it feels like an interruption of the other, rather than a complementary narrative. It makes the novel seem as if two vastly different books have been forcefully fused together, forming a very oddly-shaped beast. It doesn’t help that the characters themselves comment on this same thing, either, with Jesse forever complaining about Krampus’s obsession being an obstacle for his own objective. Again, it’s a very peculiar choice.
I didn’t hate the book, though. Even if it’s not what you expect going in, you still end up invested in Jesse’s story. On the more fantastical side of the tale, I found Brom’s Norse take on the whole Christmas mythos fascinating. It’s a little overwrought, but it also makes complete sense to make trickster figures like Santa Claus and Krampus related to the god of mischief himself. Krampus himself was an interesting character — a monster with a romantic bent. I enjoyed reading his melodramatic rants and outbursts. Really, it’s just a shame that he ends up becoming a supporting character in his own book.
Once again, Brom’s art is stellar, and once again I wish there was much more of it here....more
The Manderley Resort is a modern marvel. Designed and built as an exclusive getaway for the glitterati, it boasts only state of the art FROM THE BLOG:
The Manderley Resort is a modern marvel. Designed and built as an exclusive getaway for the glitterati, it boasts only state of the art technology, with a security system to rival those of most governments, the better to ensure the peace and privacy of its pecunious patrons.
The day before the hotel opens for a press preview, a small group of employees work through the night to make sure things will go smoothly. It’s a stressful enough time for Tessa, the hotel manager, without having her distant foster brother come barging into the resort and her life, dragging along with him their complicated, cluttered history. The rest of the group bring their own convoluted baggage to stir into the pot of the hotel, the pressure of which is sure to come to a head sometime during the night.
Witness to all of this is a seemingly all-knowing, all-seeing presence, tucked away in a secret room on the topmost floor, monitoring all these people that he can watch through Manderley’s myriad of security cameras hidden everywhere throughout the resort. Cameras through which he can watch these domestic dramas play out. Cameras through which he can see the killer in the Michael Myers mask holding the knife that he uses, effortlessly and methodically, to cut through the tension of everybody in the hotel.
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Gina Wohlsdorf’s Security is a lot of fun. Pulpy, and very tongue-in-cheek (the killer is literally dressed up as Michael Myers). The plot is inventive and intense. Its narrator — who, with their exceedingly detailed asides that increasingly veer into the abstract and existential, reads like a Stoic spec ops Patrick Bateman — is one of the most interesting I’ve ever read, and really is the star of the book. The reveal behind their identity stands as one of the most genuinely surprising and entertaining twists I’ve come across in recent memory. I had a blast reading this book.⠀ ⠀ But, a couple of weeks after finishing it, it’s the format that has stuck in my mind more than anything else. ⠀ ⠀ I first tried reading the ebook version a couple of years ago, but quickly found the robotic narration tedious. I came across a couple of reviewers that felt similarly, but also how they fared so much better when they picked up an actual, physical copy. So, still interested in the premise, which is great (modern hotel with extremely high tech security becomes a deathtrap), I purchased the paperback version. And I was glad to find that it was, indeed, a much better experience. The particular writing style still took a few chapters to get used to, but, thanks to the design of the book, eventually became immersive rather than tiresome.
The main stylistic conceit of this slick thriller is that its chapters are meant to represent the many (so many) security cameras hidden throughout the hotel — the story’s sole setting. At times, when things are happening all at once, the paragraphs will rearrange themselves into a grid, as if you’re viewing a multi-monitor setup in a control room. More than an aesthetic, gimmicky choice, it’s actually justified in the story when you slowly learn more about who the narrator is and what they do.
The ebook, though, seemingly eschews all of that, leaving these sections as regularly formatted paragraphs. And while the text itself remains the same, there’s a dynamic that’s lost in the digital translation. There’s something stimulating about your eye moving freely across the grid, knowing you can read the sequences out of order and still be just as informed as if you read them sequentially, if not more so. It’s an element that adds to the tension and thrill of the overall story, and without it feels less immediate and more, as previously mentioned, robotic and mechanical, almost as if you’re reading a Wikipedia entry rather than a proper book. ⠀ As someone who reads mostly digitally these days this was a good reminder of how format is much more than convenience, and can be used to add depth and verve to a story.
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Clever devices aside, a story is nothing without good writing, and Wohlsdorf does a spectacular job here, elevating what would be a convoluted, run-of-the-mill suspense story with flair and panache.
After their summer adventure, friends Shirley Bones (kid detective extraordinaire) and Jamila Waheed (new spunky kid on the block) prepaFROM THE BLOG:
After their summer adventure, friends Shirley Bones (kid detective extraordinaire) and Jamila Waheed (new spunky kid on the block) prepare themselves for the school daze ahead. It turns out to be a busy term, and between all the extracurriculars, the friends find themselves with limited time to hang out together. Jamila in particular struggles to find new friends, being the new kid, until she meets Seena while trying out for the local basketball team. Like her, Seena is of Pakistani descent, and the pair form an instant connection over their shared cultural quirks. Jamila worries that her budding friendship with Seena will affect her relationship with Shirley, since the two couldn’t be any more different. Add to that the fact that Seena seems to be hiding a checkered past….
Seasoned sleuth Shirley Bones has no time for interpersonal drama, though — not when there’s a case to crack. A loathsome sixth-grader by the name of Chuck is known throughout the school as a notorious blackmailer. Possessing a veritable hoard of incriminating pictures, videos, and text messages, he lords over his classmates, extorting favors in exchange for his presumed silence, lest he ruin their elementary school careers. Bones and Waheed soon make it their mission to take down the crooked character’s coercive enterprise.
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I had an absolute blast reading Shirley and Jamila Save Their Summer, the first book of this seasonal series, last year. It helped that I picked it up knowing next to nothing about it, other than it involved kid detectives. So I was pleasantly surprised when I realized, halfway through the book, that the series was a Sherlock Holmes reimagining! It’s not overt from the outset (in fact, I don’t think even the blurb mentions it) so I had a lot of fun going back through the story and picking up all the references and homages, most of which seemed obvious in retrospect (the assonance of their names, for one). In a world saturated with interpretations of this world and its characters, this one in particular felt like such a fresh and clever take. I finished it eager to get back into this story.
I’m happy to report that I also had a blast reading the sequel, Shirley and Jamila’s Big Fall, and in fact would say that I liked it a bit more than the first book, if mostly because of the gorgeous autumn setting, which I am always a sucker for. This one is based on “The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton,” a story famous for featuring a villain that was even more revolting than Sherlock’s traditional nemesis, Moriarty. (Fans of BBC’s Sherlock will no doubt remember Lars Mikkelsen’s brilliantly repulsive portrayal of the character in the show’s third season.) Chuck is a great and outrageous juvenile analogue of the character, who, instead of doing the things he does for power and influence, here he’s just an overly privileged, pretentious child who has never been denied a thing in his life. It was a lot of fun to watch his machinations being undone by Bones and company.
Goerz’s character work is wonderful. The supporting cast in the first book was a highlight, and although I’m sad to see they don’t play a role in this story, the newcomers are also immediately endearing. Seena is the obvious standout, but her family is also a delightful addition. That familial aspect is another thing I admire about these books. Middle grade stories tend to do away with grown-ups in some form or another, but in Shirley and Jamila’s lives, they are not obstacles to overcome, but integral. It’s a nice and lovely change of pace.
The artwork remains exceptional. Goerz draws people in a simplistic style that’s very reminiscent of Raina Telgemeier’s work, but her characters are a lot more expressive. They are never static — their faces and postures change constantly throughout the pages and panels, lending the story a dynamic feel. But Goerz in particular excels at scenery: her backgrounds are beautiful and incredibly elaborate, positively bursting with fun little details. They are also super cozy, which is only appropriate, given the autumnal setting (the aesthetics of Seena’s family apartment are goals, as the kids would say). I usually fly through graphic novels, but I consciously slowed down while reading this one, the better to appreciate the art.
All in all, another highly enjoyable adventure featuring two intrepid sleuths that are quickly becoming favorites. And I can’t wait to see what surprises Winter has in store for them....more
Teenager Marvin Summer writes bestsellers. His latest series of thrillers, The Mystery of Silver Lake, has taken the country by storm, aFROM THE BLOG:
Teenager Marvin Summer writes bestsellers. His latest series of thrillers, The Mystery of Silver Lake, has taken the country by storm, and the public waits for the final book with fevered anticipation. Marvin is feeling the pressure, although nobody around him would be able to tell: he writes the books under a pseudonym — Mack Slate — so no one, save his younger sister, knows he’s actually rich and famous. Much to his chagrin, at times. If his schoolmates knew, he could surely get with any of the girls he frequently lusts over, and the arrogant jocks and overbearing teachers that look down on him would turn to idolization instead. But that’s a fantasy Marvin must entertain at least until he turns eighteen, lest his abusive, alcoholic father find out about his fortune and exploit it. So Mack Slate remains a secret.
Until one day Marvin finds a letter in his postbox proclaiming to know his secret, words that start a chain reaction that will turn his already complicated life upside down as the intrigue and murder that fill his fictional stories suddenly bleed out into the real world.
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Master of Murder by Christopher Pike was trash of the highest caliber — and I mean that as a total compliment. An outrageous, but ultimately fun ride. This read like Fear Street by way of Twin Peaks, where the central question was not “who killed Laura Palmer?” but “who hurt Marvin Summer?” instead. (The fact that the book felt Extremely Nineties only added to my enjoyment.)
This was my first Pike book! I tend to read mysteries and thrillers around this time, and seeing as how The Midnight Club adaptation on Netflix was one of my favorite things I saw this past Hallowe’en, I thought one of his books would be the perfect transition between spooky season and murder mystery month. The man wrote a mean and compulsively readable book, although at times it very much read like a first draft affair, partly due to all the unusual names that seemed more like placeholders than anything (Quade, Triad, Sesa, Pella — you know, traditional Pacific Northwest names), but also due to the prose itself, which was sometimes very clunky and decidedly juvenile. (Although maybe that last bit was meant to be intentional, seeing as how this was a story about a teenage author hopped-up on raging hormones.) Also it’s good that not much is known about Pike himself, as he rarely does any press, because Marvin Summer reads like a self-insert if there ever was one — and it’s not a flattering portrayal at all.
Still, I had fun with it. I just hope The Midnight Club gets another season, because Mike Flanagan and company could spin wonders out of this angsty adolescent murder mystery....more
A Night in the Lonesome October was a re-read for me, although it had been so long that I had forgotten most of the particulars. It FROM THE BLOG:
A Night in the Lonesome October was a re-read for me, although it had been so long that I had forgotten most of the particulars. It certainly made an impression, though, since the little framing story that I had been writing throughout the season turned out to be my own humble riff on this wonderfully playful and spooky story about a group of occultists trying to impede — or invoke — the End of Days through the closing — or opening — of a gateway for the Great Old Ones. (“Humble,” he says, shamelessly.)
The influence shouldn’t have come as a surprise, though, since Zelazny was a writer after my own heart. The book is full of clever, whimsical wordplay (there’s a romantic subplot that exists solely as a means to a pun) and droll dialogue riddled with amusing arcane-babble (techno-babble’s mystical equivalent).
Lonesome October is also very much a love letter to classic horror, not only of the filmic and literary persuasion, but the historical as well (our narrator is, after all, Jack the Ripper’s canine companion). References and easter eggs abound, focusing mainly on the monster movies of Universal Studios and the lurid yarns of the Victorian era. Some Lovecraftian lore is thrown in for good measure. (And also Sherlock Holmes, because of course he would stick his pipe in at some point.)
Each chapter corresponds to one night in October, and I had a tremendous amount of fun picking up this book every evening throughout the month. It turned out to be a grounding ritual as well — a reminder that, despite my tendency to stress out over wanting to watch all of the things and read all of the books and write all of the stories, this ludicrous holiday should be, above all, an enjoyable time. This book made my October even more fun than it already was (and, indeed, much less lonesome).
And it has been a good one. I watched some decent movies. Read some fine books, of course. Even wrote a mad bit of a short story! So I think we can jot this month down as a success. Surely we’ve managed to keep the darkness at bay for a little while longer.
Slewfoot is one hell of a slow burn. Author Brom takes his time crafting this Pagan and Puritan mashup, dedicating the larger part oFROM THE BLOG:
Slewfoot is one hell of a slow burn. Author Brom takes his time crafting this Pagan and Puritan mashup, dedicating the larger part of the book to its construction. Both seemingly incompatible worlds come crashing together with the meeting and burgeoning friendship between Samson, an old beast of the forest, and Abitha, a widow — making this story a lot less like the film The VVitch (which I was expecting) and more like a strange combination of Guillermo del Toro’s The Shape of Water and Pan’s Labyrinth (which I was decidedly not expecting). (This also meant that I kept picturing the titular creature as played by Doug Jones, which only helped this tale.)
Although Brom’s writing is clear and serviceable — and the passion he has for this peculiar story is evident — this first half is somewhat of a slog to get through, the narrative insistent on pushing us through the muck and mire of convoluted lore and mythology before getting us to the action proper. The story doesn’t truly pick up until its third act, which begins with a heartrending and infuriating (and, from what I can gather, fairly accurate) depiction of a witch trial, and ends with a massacre. After spending so much time focusing on the ill treatment of Agitha, its main character, witnessing the struggle and slander being piled on top of her to an almost oppressive, stifling degree, the euphoric release she is ultimately afforded in the final few chapters feels entirely and utterly satisfying, and we can’t help but revel along with her.
A dark, undoubtedly bewitching tale. Slewfoot is full of haunting imagery* and harrowing historical horror. I enjoyed it quite a bit.
* Literally, in this case, as Brom is an accomplished artist and illustrator and as such fills his novel with stunning artwork. I only wish more pieces had been included....more
Christina Henry’s Horseman turned out to be the epitome of the three star read for me. I didn’t hate it. It didn’t blow me away. It FROM THE BLOG:
Christina Henry’s Horseman turned out to be the epitome of the three star read for me. I didn’t hate it. It didn’t blow me away. It was fine.
I do think it’s a little long, and would have benefitted from some more editing. Particularly, there’s a weird repetition thing going on that actually starts with the very first chapter, which is essentially an ode to Brom Bones, the bombastic “baddie” of Washington Irving’s original short story. Brom, the protagonist’s grandfather, is big and strong and imposing, you see. Not only that, but he’s also imposing, big, and strong, as well as, it is known, strong, imposing, and big. The tautological tendency was more conspicuous in the paragraphs that would literally say the same thing as the ones preceding it, only with slightly different wording. It’s an odd quirk that feels less like a motif than it does an oversight, and the fact that it runs throughout the length of the book is baffling.
Aside from that, I enjoyed most of Henry’s writing. The story is very atmospheric, which I am always into. It’s full of deliciously creepy imagery, and it even gets surprisingly gory at times. I also thought the characters were great. Brom Bones is a blast, being such a larger-than-life figure (further augmented by his grandson’s unbridled adoration and idolization). But Ben is the real standout, making for a layered and dynamic protagonist. Curiously, the Horseman gets the short shrift here, relegated mostly to the background. But then again, this is more Ben’s tale than it is the famed goblin’s.
I do want to focus on one of this story’s most interesting aspects, which is that a fair bit of it revolves around Ben’s identity as a transgender man. Folks from the trans community can, of course, better speak as to how well Henry portrays Ben’s journey, but, narratively speaking at least, it seems slightly superficial here. At the beginning, his identity is mostly incidental: Ben considers himself a boy and that is that — the opinion of others be damned. And I really dug that. People from underrepresented communities can and should appear in more stories that don’t solely revolve around their marginalization. But then the book tries, especially towards the end, to tie Ben’s identity to the story’s larger theme of belonging. It makes narrative sense: What better way to illustrate that theme than by having a character figure out and accept who they truly are? Only that’s not really Ben’s story for much of the novel. He starts knowing fully well who he is and is in fact comfortable in his identity. And although the story at times tries to sell us this notion that Ben is somewhat shunned by the people of Sleepy Hollow, the text only ever shows support and acceptance from most people around him. For the most part, the other characters don’t react to Ben’s identity much at all, other than maybe thinking the child a little odd (tame, considering the time period). The rare moments of true ire and disdain against him are ultimately blamed on the supernatural influence of the antagonist. And in fact the only real pushback Ben gets comes from his grandmother, who wants her grandson to fit into a more traditional, socially acceptable mold — but even then that conflict is resolved not even halfway through the novel.
Which is fine! Again, stories about marginalized folk don’t have to be only about their strife and struggle. I just thought it was peculiar that Horseman tries, at the literal homestretch, to restructure itself into this story of a trans man’s search for acceptance and identity featuring a protagonist who had already found these things. It would have made for a more dramatic story, to be sure, but that particular journey was seemingly already over and done with before the first chapter even began. It ends up making that particular angle of the story ring a little, well, hollow.
What’s left is still a fun, supernatural romp, though. Spooky and strange enough to make for a decent Hallowe’en read. ...more
This Hallowe’en season has felt… off. Mostly because real life has been very much getting in the way. It’s very frustrating, the way it FROM THE BLOG:
This Hallowe’en season has felt… off. Mostly because real life has been very much getting in the way. It’s very frustrating, the way it tends to do that. A month of pure escapism is not that much to ask, surely. Alas.
So, in an effort to keep the black flame of the season going, I turned to a Goosebumps book, which is what I’ve been doing every October for the last handful of years now. It doesn’t feel like Hallowe’en in this house, I tend to think, until I read one of these wonderful, silly books. It usually does the trick.
Which brings me A Night in Terror Tower, a book that’s as fun as goofy as any Goosebumps I’ve read so far. Initially picked up because it seemed like it would have all the gothic vibes (which I was planning on being a theme this season before my mood reading tendencies took over), but I soon found out that it was actually more of a time travel story than it was anything else. I was very skeptical of this timey-wimey element, but it ended up lending itself to some enjoyable Scooby-Doo type hijinks and chase sequences, which I am always up for. (“Run, run, run! That’s all we do anymore!” Eddie playfully lampshades at one point during the TV show adaptation.) Stine’s writing was particularly strong for this one, too. His descriptions of London — both past and, uh, nineties — were full of mood and atmosphere, and left me fairly impressed.
As I’ve done with the last couple of Goosebumps, I paired this one with the TV show adaptation, which I think I liked a bit more than the book. It’s curious because it’s a very faithful adaptation of the story, with most of the dialogue taken pretty much verbatim from the short novel. But the episode is one of the better produced of the series (it was filmed as a special, accounting for the upgraded production), and also every time the villain turned up the melody from the main theme of The Shining would play. Just a blast all around.
Funnily enough, my brother and I had this episode on VHS when we were kids, although I’m pretty certain we never actually sat down to watch it. Still, even back then, I remember appreciating it for its rad design. Like most Goosebumps products, it just looked cool, and, for superficial old me at least, that’s still a huge part of the appeal of the series. Nineties aesthetics, man. They remain undefeated....more
The Smashed Man of Dread End by J.W. Ocker may be middle grade horror fiction, but it is, without a doubt, the most unsettling book FROM THE BLOG:
The Smashed Man of Dread End by J.W. Ocker may be middle grade horror fiction, but it is, without a doubt, the most unsettling book I’ve read so far this Hallowe’en season. Brimming with chilling, frightful imagery, this novel is decidedly not afraid to go dark. And with it, Ocker joins the ranks of personal favorite authors like Katherine Arden and Neil Gaiman as an excellent purveyor of children’s horror.
The smashed star of the show itself will go down as one of the creepiest monsters I’ve ever come across, in terms of presence and demeanor. Many of the scenes involving the Smashed Man were simply full of dread and suspense — the tension so palpable you could almost cut it with a knife. One of Ocker’s intentions was to create a monster who would, in his own words, “be welcomed at Bobby Pickett’s ‘Monster Mash.’” I think he succeeded. All the great monsters come with their own set of rules, after all. What they can and cannot do. The Smashed Man is no different, and many of the story’s most interesting sequences had to do with the characters trying to find out what those rules were.
The characters were notably strong here, too. They felt more real and less stylized than the standard fare in a lot of children’s horror. Presumably because Ocker based the main siblings on two of his own daughters. Protagonist Noe in particular was smart and clever without ever veering into precocious, nettlesome territory. Len acted exactly like a toddler, with all the delight and frustration that entails. But I was even more impressed with the rest of the Dread Enders — Crystal, Radiah, and Ruthy — who were portrayed, not as capricious side-characters, always ready with a quip and a wry remark, but as thoroughly terrified, traumatized children. Which is, of course, exactly what they were. Drollery is often so much easier and safer to write than depth, so I appreciate the restraint Ocker showed with the depiction of these characters.
Thrilling and thought-provoking in equal measure. Clown in a Cornfield 2: Frendo Lives, much like the first novel, is a cultural comFROM THE BLOG:
Thrilling and thought-provoking in equal measure. Clown in a Cornfield 2: Frendo Lives, much like the first novel, is a cultural commentary as much as it is a horror story. That first book was written and released right in the middle of the MAGA era, and its story of prejudice and generational conflict was very much a direct reaction to — and reflection of — that particular point in time. Frendo Lives was released a mere two years later, to a landscape that, for better or for worse, has irrevocably changed. It’s a strange and baffling new world, but one that Cesare once again manages to deftly navigate with a story about the malleability of truth, media manipulation, and the dangers of mob mentality. These are stories where the true horror comes, not from preternatural bogeymen or relentless murderers, but from social conduct instead. That there is also a murderous figure in a crumbling clown costume at the center of them is really just set dressing.⠀
But it’s this vestigial villainous visage from the first book that illustrates one of the more interesting things this novel does, in that it has it become an image and an idea around which a cult is formed. It’s a frightening notion, and the fact that it feels somehow entirely plausible and realistic is nothing if not disturbing and really says a hell of a lot about our current cultural climate. (That this cult is largely composed of ignorant, ill-informed “fake news” fools only adds to the realism.) (Cesare is not subtle, and neither am I.)
Curiously, this cult concept also represents the weakest aspect of the book. While I appreciate its verisimilitude, the odious group only amounts to a couple of lackluster action set pieces — especially when compared to those in the first novel, which was brimming with harrowing spectacle. I also had an issue with the plot seemingly not knowing what to do with its protagonists, who spend much of the story reacting exasperatedly to it instead of driving it forward. It’s very odd. I like their general characterization, and the way they deal with their shared trauma reads true for the most part, but having them be basically blasé towards all the chaos around them took a lot of the edge out. At no point did I feel like the main cast was in any real danger — again in sharp contrast to the first novel, where literally every single character felt up for grabs.
Still though, this was interesting and a lot of fun. Cesare continues to slice at social tensions with gleeful, surgical precision, and I’m more than willing to continue bearing witness to his procedures....more
Atmosphere in abundance. It’s the first thing that comes to mind whenever I think of Katherine Arden’s Small Spaces quartet. The overarcFROM THE BLOG:
Atmosphere in abundance. It’s the first thing that comes to mind whenever I think of Katherine Arden’s Small Spaces quartet. The overarching story by itself is fun and fittingly frightening, but it’s the exemplary quality of the writing that lifts up these features. I’m glad to see that Empty Smiles, the fourth and final book in the series, is no different in this regard. Indeed, Arden pulled out all the veritable stops for this one, almost overwhelming the reader with a steady stream of spooky set pieces and an incessantly ominous tone throughout, making this the most thrilling entry of the series.
Admittedly, I was worried over having clowns as the main monsters, thinking they were too obvious and cliché (they really are a penny a dozen in the genre), but Arden’s jesters manage to distinguish themselves by being, in equal measure, both alarmingly menacing and overly goofy (which somehow only added to their threat). Many of the scenes in which they were featured were unnerving and chillingly creepy. I thought they shone in all their ghoulish glory. (Also, there’s a giant skeleton in clown makeup crawling over roofs at one point. There are middle grade horror writers and then there is Katherine Arden.)
Again, much like my previous experience with this series, I had a tremendous amount of fun reading Empty Smiles. It has a frenetic pace that rip-roaringly carries you, much like a rollercoaster you would find in a carnival like the one at the center of this story, all the way to the end.
Unfortunately, it’s that ending that prompted my only real gripe: it felt entirely too abrupt. After all the harrowing ordeals we’ve experienced along with Ollie and her friends, it would have been nice and befitting to get a bit more in the way of closure, rather than the “hand-wavey” sort of conclusion that we got. But I guess if there ever were characters desperately in need of a break, it was the ones in this story.
In the end, I can’t help but love these books. They’ve set a standard, becoming what I point to as an example of what horror written for kids should ideally read and — perhaps more importantly — feel like. I look forward to revisiting them in seasons to come....more
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