Heart Shaped Box is a hard novel to review. Not because it was a bad read, but because the author's background is hard to separate from the story. Joe Hill, soon after his book was published, was revealed to be the son of Stephen King. Some may say the revelation was a publicity stunt, and maybe it was on the publisher's part, but I do not believe this was Hill's desire. According to reports and interviews, Hill was careful not to tell his publishers exactly who he was until his manuscript was accepted on its own merits. I can respect and understand that: how can you know you are good if you are published on your father's laurels? Add in the fact that Heart Shaped Box is a ghost story and I believe Hill hands down. You have to be pretty blasted bold to write and publish a ghost story while hanging on your father's, the master of horror's, reputation.
So, for the moment, let us set aside the notion that Joe Hill is the son of Stephen King, and see how Hill stands on his on two feet.
Heart Shape Box opens on one of the most absurd, but logical premises: an aging rock star, Jude Coyne, (think an American Ozzy Osbourne, but one who was a little more sober) buys a ghost off an Internet auction site. Absurd, yes, but logical, too: after all, there seems to be EVERYTHING for sale on eBay. The ghost really does exist: a menacing figure of an old man, with disturbing black squiggles for eyes- as if a child scribbled on the eyes in a photograph with black marker. Yet, the ghost is no ordinary ghost, however, rather he is the ghost of the father of one of Jude's cast away girlfriends, and he's out for revenge.
What follows is a curvy, up and down ride of slow thrills and chills. Hill takes the simple yet absurd premise and builds up a tale of surprisingly chilling horror. Nothing is ever how it seems, neither Jude nor the ghost, the haunting or the haunted. The story itself takes off in directions not to be expected: for example, rather than stay and fight the ghost at home, Jude hits the road- if he has to fight a ghost, he'll fight it in his own way and time. The result is an enjoyable thrill ride, and a nagging feeling to check the eyes of any suspicious person for black scribbles.
Now, as mentioned above, Hill does have an impressive family background, and the question remains: how does he compare? The answer is simple, yet complex. Joe Hill stands on his own. If you read the book with no knowledge of who his father is, you would find it perfectly enjoyable: the writing is impressive, well composed; the plot is quirky, unique, enjoyable; the characters seem like old friends. Those same traits, though, are what his father is known for. Yet, rather than just being an imitation of King's style, Hill has shaped that style into a form of his own. The bones are the same, the delivery- excellently done- is all his own. It is obvious Hill learned on the knee of a master, but it is also apparent that Hill is a writer of his own merits- one to watch.
Bottom line: Joe Hill is a writer to watch, and his parentage just makes the package all the sweeter.
Friday, May 4, 2007
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
You may have heard of this book, The Road by Cormac McCarthy, it was recently selected for Oprah's Book Club. It was really amusing, actually, because the day before the book was announced, I ran across a review of the book, which reminded me I wanted to read this title due to the interesting concept, and I placed a hold at the library for it. Who knew that this grim little book would be Oprah's book choice?
And The Road is a a grim little book. It is sparse and dry, empty and full of quiet heartbreak. One does not smile reading this book. One does not feel joy reading this book. McCarthy paints a bleak future, where man hunts man and the world is dead. After closing the pages of this book, I felt tired and emotionally dead. The book left me feeling there was no hope in the world, if that was the end.
The story follows a nameless man and his son. In this future world, names do not matter, only survival. The man strives on only for his son: if he can stay alive, so can his son. The son is suppose to be a bright beacon. He still believes in good guys and honesty and something waiting at the end of the world. Yet the world this child walk through shows nothing to support this belief in good amd a future. The earth is dust, dry and barren. The few people encountered on the road are theives and cannibals. Starvation is a constant companion.
Yet, for all that the book is depressing and draining, it is compelling. Although you know there is no hope, it is written into the very landscape of the novel, you read on, hoping against hope for some ray of hope. The writing is crisp and smooth: McCarthy has a deft hand at words. If you are looking to go on a journey with a master storyteller, regardless of an outcome of sheer darkness, than this is a book to persue, but if you are simply wishing for a pleasent read, well, one might wish to look elsewhere.
And The Road is a a grim little book. It is sparse and dry, empty and full of quiet heartbreak. One does not smile reading this book. One does not feel joy reading this book. McCarthy paints a bleak future, where man hunts man and the world is dead. After closing the pages of this book, I felt tired and emotionally dead. The book left me feeling there was no hope in the world, if that was the end.
The story follows a nameless man and his son. In this future world, names do not matter, only survival. The man strives on only for his son: if he can stay alive, so can his son. The son is suppose to be a bright beacon. He still believes in good guys and honesty and something waiting at the end of the world. Yet the world this child walk through shows nothing to support this belief in good amd a future. The earth is dust, dry and barren. The few people encountered on the road are theives and cannibals. Starvation is a constant companion.
Yet, for all that the book is depressing and draining, it is compelling. Although you know there is no hope, it is written into the very landscape of the novel, you read on, hoping against hope for some ray of hope. The writing is crisp and smooth: McCarthy has a deft hand at words. If you are looking to go on a journey with a master storyteller, regardless of an outcome of sheer darkness, than this is a book to persue, but if you are simply wishing for a pleasent read, well, one might wish to look elsewhere.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Angelica by Arthur Phillips
On the surface, Angelica seems simple enough: a classic take on the Victorian ghost story, with a slight psychological twist. The plot revolves around a young mother in Victorian England who begins to suspect that her daughter is being haunted by a vengeful ghost. But what begins as a simple Victorian thriller spins out to be a complex and thought-provoking study of human relationships and the delicate nature of the human psyche.
The book starts from the point of view of Constance Barton. Her young daughter, Angelica, is finally being sent to stay in her own room, after having spent the first four years of her young life sleeping in her parents' room. The move is more traumatic to Constance as a mother than it is for her young daughter. Angelica is Constance's only child, after a painful series of ill-fated pregnancies. She also serves as Constance's protection from intimacy with her husband Joseph: Constance has been warned that having further children will kill her, and as a result she fears her husband's touch.
On Angelica's first night in her own room, Constance wakes in the middle of the night, feeling uneasy and bothered by a slightly noxious smell. She follows it to the door of her daughter's room, peers in and sees a ghostly sight: a faint blue glow hovering over her daughter. Thus begins Constance's battle with nightly terrors, and the reader's journey into wonder: What is Constance seeing? Is it truly a ghost? Is Constance stress and terror over the separation from her daughter causing hallucinations? Or is something even more sinister at work?
When Constance's story reaches its pinnacle, the novel takes an unexpected turn: the story turns back on itself, and begins again, only this time from the perspective of Anne Montague, a medium whom Constance called upon for help. Things first seen from Constance's perspective are now shown in a new light: conversations have a new depth, events a slight twist. Angelica's haunting is seen with a fresh eye and new suspicions: the mystery expands as new details are revealed. Anne's tale then spins to a close to reveal the same tale again, this time from Joseph's point of view. The book closes with the recollections of Angelica herself.
The effect of a story told in four parts, over and over again, from a different perspective is an unusual one: a fifth perspective is created. That fifth perspective is that of us, the reader. Following the tale as told by four separate voices, one cannot help but tell the tale to themselves, thus creating one's own private interprations of events. The result is a tale both engaging and thought provoking, one that will stay with a reader long after the book is done.
Angelica is one of those rare books that, when you close the cover on the final page, you can't help but see the world in a new light.
The book starts from the point of view of Constance Barton. Her young daughter, Angelica, is finally being sent to stay in her own room, after having spent the first four years of her young life sleeping in her parents' room. The move is more traumatic to Constance as a mother than it is for her young daughter. Angelica is Constance's only child, after a painful series of ill-fated pregnancies. She also serves as Constance's protection from intimacy with her husband Joseph: Constance has been warned that having further children will kill her, and as a result she fears her husband's touch.
On Angelica's first night in her own room, Constance wakes in the middle of the night, feeling uneasy and bothered by a slightly noxious smell. She follows it to the door of her daughter's room, peers in and sees a ghostly sight: a faint blue glow hovering over her daughter. Thus begins Constance's battle with nightly terrors, and the reader's journey into wonder: What is Constance seeing? Is it truly a ghost? Is Constance stress and terror over the separation from her daughter causing hallucinations? Or is something even more sinister at work?
When Constance's story reaches its pinnacle, the novel takes an unexpected turn: the story turns back on itself, and begins again, only this time from the perspective of Anne Montague, a medium whom Constance called upon for help. Things first seen from Constance's perspective are now shown in a new light: conversations have a new depth, events a slight twist. Angelica's haunting is seen with a fresh eye and new suspicions: the mystery expands as new details are revealed. Anne's tale then spins to a close to reveal the same tale again, this time from Joseph's point of view. The book closes with the recollections of Angelica herself.
The effect of a story told in four parts, over and over again, from a different perspective is an unusual one: a fifth perspective is created. That fifth perspective is that of us, the reader. Following the tale as told by four separate voices, one cannot help but tell the tale to themselves, thus creating one's own private interprations of events. The result is a tale both engaging and thought provoking, one that will stay with a reader long after the book is done.
Angelica is one of those rare books that, when you close the cover on the final page, you can't help but see the world in a new light.
Who am I? And why are you reading me?
Welcome to my little spot on the Internet! After idly reading other people's blogs for ages and ages, I decided it was time to be a lemming and start my own blog of random musings.
I have to confess, though, that I live a very boring life with not much excitement in it. I'd wondered for a while what on earth to blog about, without much success, until just the other day inspiration struck! While my life is fairly boring, I liven things up by reading, reading, and reading. To say I am an avid reader would be an understatement- I am never without a book, never. So, I thought I would blog about the books I read, or rather, those books I feel merit blogging about (I'll spare you the boring ones!). Occasionally, I might even comment on movies, TV shows, and other random occurrences in my life, as the mood strikes me.
Beyond all that, who am I really? Well, that's a secret! But, as my name suggests, I am indeed a librarian (hence the love of books), but that "witty" part is up for debate. I am also happily married to Andrew and have two adorable fuzzy children, Caesar and Pompey (they're cats, so they are suppose to be fuzzy).
So that's me, and this is my blog. I hope you enjoy it, and maybe you'll find a good book or two or a dozen (and remember, all books are available at your local library!).
I have to confess, though, that I live a very boring life with not much excitement in it. I'd wondered for a while what on earth to blog about, without much success, until just the other day inspiration struck! While my life is fairly boring, I liven things up by reading, reading, and reading. To say I am an avid reader would be an understatement- I am never without a book, never. So, I thought I would blog about the books I read, or rather, those books I feel merit blogging about (I'll spare you the boring ones!). Occasionally, I might even comment on movies, TV shows, and other random occurrences in my life, as the mood strikes me.
Beyond all that, who am I really? Well, that's a secret! But, as my name suggests, I am indeed a librarian (hence the love of books), but that "witty" part is up for debate. I am also happily married to Andrew and have two adorable fuzzy children, Caesar and Pompey (they're cats, so they are suppose to be fuzzy).
So that's me, and this is my blog. I hope you enjoy it, and maybe you'll find a good book or two or a dozen (and remember, all books are available at your local library!).
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