Category: 2024

DECEMBER 2024

~ Ricardo ~ Leave a comment

Hello. This was December—a month full of Christmas cheer and sheer chaos, in that particular order. Most of these were read early in the month, mostly because I spent the latter half of it slowly losing my mind. 

Anyway!

Skipping Christmas by John Grisham. Well, this was absolutely joyless. It was published in the early aughts, although you wouldn’t know it by the attitudes and social mores portrayed here, which seem to belong more to the Mad Men era than the 21st century. I tend to enjoy stories of contemporary Christmas chaos, but this was just relentless in its mirthless mundanity. I felt the same way about the film adaptation, which I watched for the first time last Christmas season, so I’m not entirely surprised by my reaction, but I was hoping the book, as is often the case, would at least be better. Unfortunately, this is one of those rare instances where the book is just as bland.

I listened to this on audiobook, and the narrator—actor Dennis Boutsikaris—does a marvelous job of making a mostly intolerable book somewhat tolerable (though I suppose it helps that the book is blessedly short). His lively, playful narration the only saving grace of this tedious reading experience.

The Man Who Invented Christmas by Les Standiford. A nice and eminently readable little volume. I don’t think I gleaned any new knowledge or insights into A Christmas Carol from it, but Sandiford’s love for the story and its author is clear and captivating.

“Only Santas in the Building” by Alexis Daria. Good at what it set out to do, I suppose, but this is the sort of spicy romance I’m not really into. The instalove trope just comes across as overly goofy to me. Undoubtedly sexy and festive, though, which is, of course, the entire point.

“Krampuslauf” by Holly Black. Read this on Krampusnacht, natch. Liked the concept of this story quite a bit, but Black’s style just doesn’t do it for me. Her writing is full of fae, witchy vibes, which would normally be right up my alley, but there’s a certain superficiality to it that I find bothersome. I don’t know!

One Big Happy Family by Susan Mallery. The sort of Christmas book that I, for some godforsaken reason that a therapist can uncover for me somewhere down the line, enjoy reading the most: full of familial fracas, domestic drama, petty grievances, and needless secrets set against a festive, cozy background. Were some of the character choices maddening? Absolutely. Everyone and their literal mothers talked like therapists here, but then they would go on and take the most asinine action possible, thus undermining an already silly trait and making the characters more frustrating than they needed to be. 

But, by god, did I still relish in the messiness of it all. Due to some deep-rooted trauma, I’m sure.

I did find the ending entirely too abrupt, though, but I do wonder if that is just the author setting up a possible sequel. I would be down to read it if that turns out to be the case.

Friday, Book One: The First Day of Christmas by Ed Brubaker, Marcos Martín, Muntsa Vicente. Oh, this was rad. Following a former teen detective into darker, grittier adult territory is not a novel concept by any means, but in the hands of crime fiction masterminds like Brubaker and his crew of usual artists, it makes for a striking, arresting book. I particularly loved its New England port town setting, brought to glorious Gothic life by illustrator Marcos Martín and colorist Muntsa Vicente. Brubaker’s notes at the end of this volume mention he wanted a place that was equal parts Lovecraftian and Goreyesque, and the art absolutely nails it. It’s an excruciatingly short book, as graphic novels tend to be, but I’m definitely picking up the following installments. 

“Holiday Hideaway” by Mary Kay Andrews. I’m becoming increasingly aware that these sorts of holiday romcom short stories are not for me. Again, I can’t deal with the instalove trope in the best of cases, and much less when the two love interests have the personalities of a brick and a potato, respectively.

“Resting Scrooge Face” by Meghan Quinn. Of course I would enjoy another holiday-themed romance right after writing smack about them earlier. Barring some nonsense prose, this was great. I think I would have enjoyed it a lot more if it was written entirely in epistolary form, since that was the best, most engaging part of the story. As it is, though, it’s a perfectly fine, fun story full of slapstick and heart.

Landline by Rainbow Rowell. Enjoyed reading this because it’s Rainbow Rowell, and Rowell writes great situations and even greater characters. Half of that is true here (this has a great premise), but I had a much harder time finding this cast compelling. Believable? Certainly. Likeable? Not so much. Not that characters have to be endearing for a story to work, but, given that the cover proclaims this “a Christmas love story,” having something to cheer for might have been nice to include. Instead, we get a seemingly thankless relationship, which, despite how much time is spent looking at it through the rose-tinted lens of nostalgia, still seems very much sad and tragic. Because while Georgie definitely has her faults, we can all be in agreement that Neal absolutely sucks, right? Like just pick up the phone dude it’s your wife and it’s the holidays holy shit— 

Sorry, but that aspect of the novel was particularly infuriating. Especially since we’re meant to feel like Georgie is the most at fault for their relationship troubles by putting her career ahead of her family so much, but we’re supposed to swoon for a milquetoast manboy who willingly gave up on his dreams and then has the gall to resent his successful wife? I’m sorry, but no. With most of Rowell’s books, even those that don’t particularly resonate with me, I can understand their popularity and appeal—but I genuinely can’t fathom how so many people could find this story the least bit romantic. 

Hotel Splendide by Ludwig Bemelmans. I had to take a break from Christmas. A short, breezy read. Full of the urbane, cosmopolitan wit and verve I’ve come to admire from writers of the Jazz Age and its sister eras. Very fun, and it made me want to read more of Bemelmans’s work. 

The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett. This was The Crown’s fault—I may have started rewatching it on a stress-induced whim. An interesting if slightly thankless thought experiment. The romanticized depiction of Queen Elizabeth brought to mind The West Wing, another narrative that dealt with real world issues through the eyes of idealized leaders. Less a “what if” and more of a “if only” kind of fable. (It also reminded me, curiously, of Robin Sloan’s fantastic “Proposal for a book to be adapted into a movie starring Dwayne The Rock Johnson,” his short story about The Rock becoming president. Uncommon Reader reads very much like an inversion of that story.)

Sherlock Holmes & the Christmas Demon by James Lovegrove. A fun Yuletide yarn, though a bit overlong. Personally, I would have liked it to be more Krampus-centric than it was, since really the Christmas Demon of the title barely figures into the plot, with Holmes more or less dismissing it out of hand in the first few chapters. While I understand that one of most appealing aspects of the Holmes stories is how grounded in reality they often are, there is a precedent of pastiches with a more fantastical, supernatural bent. and I was fairly sure that’s the direction Lovegrove was heading towards, particularly when he mentions the village of Wold Newton and its famous meteorite more than once. But it was not to be. Alas. The story is undoubtedly Christmassy, though, and for that I have to give it credit. 

“The Wood at Midwinter” by Susanna Clarke. Clarke is one of my absolute favorite authors, so I was all too ready to love this. Unfortunately, the story left me feeling somewhat underwhelmed. But even a slightly disappointing Susanna Clarke story is infinitely better than the output of most other writers, and this was still full of the lovely, lyrical language one has come to expect of her writing. The afterword, where Clarke writes about the inspiration behind the story, helped me understand and appreciate it more, in either case. Author notes are often my favorite part of short story collections, and I wish more writers would do them. 

YEAR IN REVIEW ○ 2024

~ Ricardo ~ Leave a comment

The very best I can say for 2024 is that it was a good reading year. Personal? Not so much. But this blog, despite all my rantings and diatribes, is about the more literary aspect of my precious little life, so we’re going to focus on that, instead of… the rest.

(The one great thing that happens to overlap both aspects of my life is the fact that I started writing for Booklist, something that makes me incredibly happy and proud. It’s been a great experience thus far, and I think I’ve already learned a lot in the few months I’ve been with them. Exciting!)

I read some really fine books this year. These are some of them:

CHRISTMAS DAYS by Jeanette Winterson

This is, so far, the only Jeanette Winterson book I’ve read, but I was ready to call her a favorite author upon finishing it. I fell absolutely head-over-heels in love with her writing—so much so that I found the vignettes written before the recipes she’s included here almost as beautiful as the short stories themselves. (It’s a true testament to her skill that she took what was essentially a meme in the online culinary world—the drawn-out preambles before cooking instructions—and made wonderful art with it.)⠀

A true Christmas collection, in the purest sense of the term, as Winterson runs through the absolute gamut of wintry tales: from unsettling ghost stories down to charming, sickly-sweet romances—all written with sublime grace and aplomb. Christmas Days quickly became synonymous with the holiday season for me, and I may just make it an annual tradition to read it. Wonderful stuff.

THE WEE FREE MEN by Terry Pratchett

Genuinely don’t know why I torture myself by depriving myself of these wonderful books for such long intervals. This was my first Pratchett book in a handful of years, and reading it felt like coming back to a home full of love and understanding that was also, maybe, just a tiny bit disappointed in me.⠀

Because The Wee Free Men is a brilliant showcase of Pratchett’s famous righteous anger. Tiffany Aching, like her creator, is an angry person, positively full of rage. She just uses that rage to make the world a better, more compassionate place—if only to spite the darkness. Beautiful and necessary. 

MY FATHER, THE PORNOGRAPHER by Chris Offutt

Chris Offutt’s less-than-flattering portrait of his flawed father is a challenging, thought-provoking, and undoubtedly fascinating read. I flew through this in a day, despite the difficult subject matter. It helps that Offutt writes a hell of a sentence, crafting with them a tale of obsession, melancholy, and forgiveness that’s equal parts insightful and heartbreaking. A hell of a read.

DUNE by Frank Herbert

A mesmerizing reading experience through and through. What really drew me in was the writing, which I found to be the complete opposite of its reputation for being dense and dry. “Organic” was the word that kept coming to mind. This book felt like a living, breathing thing. It helped that Herbert’s world-building was downright virtuosic—the sheer scope of the thing is truly staggering, and I was captivated throughout its countless psychedelic pages. 

Also, once again: big worms!

TRIGGER MORTIS by Anthony Horowitz

While I genuinely adore Ian Fleming’s writing (in particular his exceptional eye for detail), I find Anthony Horowitz’s Bond books, in general, much better constructed. Which is probably a sacrilegious thing to say. But where Fleming was a brilliant stylist, Horowitz is a master craftsman. The man simply lives and breathes thrillers.

Enjoyed this one a little less than Forever and a Day, his first Bond outing, but found it brilliant all the same. Can’t wait to read his final 007 story.

MOONBOUND by Robin Sloan

I loved Moonbound in a way I haven’t loved a book since probably Becky Chambers’s A Psalm for the Wild-Built. Which is apt, seeing as how they’re both stories that are inherently optimistic about humanity and what the future holds in store for us. Despite my deep-rooted cynicism, stories about radical optimism always resonate with me in profound and lasting ways.⠀

This is also a story about stories, which have always been my favorite kind of stories. Sloan plays around with a lot of tropes and archetypes here, and the fun he has with it all is palpable and infectious.⠀

Also, this book has the literary equivalent of a cinematic needle-drop, and it is, without hyperbole, one of the raddest moments I’ve ever read.⠀

My favorite book of the year.

THE ANTHROPOCENE REVIEWED by John Green

That pesky radical optimism again (hi Dua Lipa was my top artist on Spotify Wrapped this year). John Green delivers a wonderful collection of essays reviewing the myriad ways humans have–for better or worse–made an impact on this planet–and then proceeds to rank them on a five-star scale. The premise may be slightly facetious, but Green never fails to consider his subjects in a thoughtful, measured, and inherently hopeful manner. ⠀

A humorous and heartfelt celebration of humanity, I give The Anthropocene Reviewed five out of five stars.⠀

DIAVOLA by Jennifer Thorne

My favorite Hallowe’en read not actually read during the Hallowe’en season. A Gothic and thoroughly modern ghost story that explores family dynamics in a more visceral and brutally honest manner than most high-brow contemporary novels. ⠀

I loved a lot of things about Diavola, but mainly I adored its Dumpster-fire protagonist, a veritable harbinger of chaos, and how the story proceeded to validate her nature rather than condemn it, making this an exceedingly fun and cathartic read.⠀

THE BLACK SLIDE by J.W. Ocker

There are few things I respect more than children’s horror novels that aren’t afraid to go dark and still remain full of heart. J.W. Ocker’s middle grade work is characterized by this trait, but he took it up a few considerable notches with The Black Slide, and it’s all the better for it. Harrowing, haunting, and heartfelt. More children’s horror like this, please. 

LUCY UNDYING by Kiersten White

My favorite Hallowe’en read actually read during the Hallowe’en season. I just loved the hell out of this. Very much a spiritual companion to Kiersten White’s previous novel, The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein. Lucy Undying is likewise gloriously Gothic, unreservedly feminist, and meandering in the most interesting, fascinating ways. A hell of a read.

I hope you all had a great year, and I hope the next one treats us well.

See you on the other side.

📖

NOVEMBER 2024

~ Ricardo ~ Leave a comment

Hello. Here’s what I read in November. It was a hectic sort of month. I’m dealing with a move and that has taken up most of my brain these last handful of weeks. Still found time to read, though, because otherwise I would have certainly gone insane. As my bio says, escapism is kind of my thing, etc.

“On the First of November, the Ghosts Arrive” by Nina MacLaughlin. Not at all fiction, but wanted to highlight it because it’s a wonderful, gorgeous piece about death, remembrance, and the waning days of the year. The closing paragraph, in particular, took my breath away: 

It’s November now and there’s something different afoot. In November, when the nights get long and the days get cold, as we approach the long dark that is winter, we feel that hand following us down the hall. We feel death’s presence and are therefore more alert to our own. November makes us know, at the edges of our mind, that for each of us, looming winter will one day stretch into eternal darkness. So we welcome the dead among us, remember them, invite them back, and we eat and drink and let the boundaries dissolve, and we are more certain that we’re alive. That’s what’s on offer in November. It makes us know, at the edges of our mind, that we still cast shadows, that we are still bones and blood, that for now, for now, our heft is still heated. Feel it?

I want to set a reminder to read this every November. 

“Some Other Animal’s Meat” by E.M. Caroll. This comic served as the basis for “The Outside,” an episode of Guillermo del Toro’s Cabinet of Curiosities. My Culture Chronicles email reminded me I had watched it on that given day a couple years back, so I figured it was only appropriate to look up the original and read it then. Stunning work by Carroll, as per usual, although I have to say I was a bit disappointed by the ending. (As much as I love Carroll’s work, I’ve noticed they do tend to struggle with endings. But then again, so does Stephen King, so I suppose there are worse problems to have.)

Everyone in My Family Has Killed Someone by Benjamin Stevenson. It’s no secret that the film Knives Out is essentially my lodestar when it comes to mystery fiction, so I’m always on the lookout for clever, self-referential crime stories. I’ve read some fine ones that meet this criteria, but I don’t think any of them were as loaded as this one, full of fun asides and references to the act of writing a mystery story itself. It’s all delightfully meta, and I was very into it. The conceit does end up somewhat overstaying its welcome, though, thanks to a whodunnit that’s convoluted from the start and only grows increasingly more complex and absurd as the novel goes on, leading to an ending that, while entirely fair and adheres to every single rule laid out by the author at the beginning of the book, falls a little bit flat. But I enjoyed this enough to still want to read the sequel (it’s set on a train!), and immediately purchased the third to read during the holiday season—because of course there would be a Christmas mystery in this series.

“The Three Monarchs” by Anthony Horowitz. A fun, if inconsequential, Holmes story. I don’t think Horowitz captured Doyle’s voice nearly as well as he did Fleming’s, but he is undoubtedly the finest of craftsmen.

The Bullet That Missed by Richard Osman. Enjoyed this one a bit less than the other two books, but I’ll be damned if it still didn’t make me cry more than once. I just wholeheartedly love these characters. The main mystery, while fun, wasn’t really my favorite, though I did like that it showcased the individual skills of the club members better than their previous cases. The plot is secondary in this series, anyway, used by Osman as a means to throw more and more ridiculous, outrageous, and instantly endearing characters into the mix—and I am absolutely all for it. 

By sheer cosmic coincidence, I happened to finish this on the same date as I did the first novel in the series three years back, and I think that’s neat.

A Very Perry Wedding by Marie Landry. I had read and enjoyed A Very Perry Christmas a couple of years ago, so I figured I would have a good time with this fall-themed follow-up as well—and I was correct. I quite like the Perrys and the friends who orbit them, finding them perfectly endearing and believably flawed characters. 

This one follows Jasper, who was a fairly insufferable character in the first book but gets to absolutely shine here. I found myself relating to his struggles with anxiety quite a bit (while at the same time wishing I had his organizational skills). Willow, our lively, vivacious narrator, is a charmer, and I really liked the chemistry that formed between these two polar opposites. 

A Very Perry Wedding is a slow burner of a romance, but it’s also cozy and charming as hell—at least right up until the final act, when we’re suddenly met with a very forced conflict and given an equally forced resolution to accompany it. Slightly disappointing, given how grounded the rest of this novel was.

Still, I didn’t hate reading this, and would be perfectly fine following this family on further forays.

Up next, properly: Christmas.

THE PUMPKIN PRINCESS AND THE FOREVER NIGHT by Steven Banbury

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This review first appeared in Booklist on November 20, 2024.

Eve has spent much of her young life running away, be it from a cruel orphanage, an identity that never felt like her own, or loneliness and fear. Her repeated efforts to escape this dreary existence finally find success when she meets the Pumpkin King, an imposing figure with a jack-o’-lantern head, who helps Eve not only by giving her a proper name and a royal title but also by spiriting her away to the lands of the undead. In the bewitching Hallowell Valley, Eve hopes to find friendship, family, and a place to finally call home—though not without first facing the many challenges that come with bearing the noble rank of Pumpkin Princess. Full of wonderful world building, clever conceits, and autumnal abundance, debut author Banbury has written a cozy, heartwarming story that has all the makings of a seasonal staple. Reminiscent of books like Ray Bradbury’s The Halloween Tree and Joseph Fink’s The Halloween Moon (2021), readers will find similar festive delights here.

Oh hey here’s something new: I’m writing for Booklist. Continue reading “THE PUMPKIN PRINCESS AND THE FOREVER NIGHT by Steven Banbury” →

OCTOBER 2024

~ Ricardo ~ Leave a comment

Hello. You know the books I read during the month of October because I did an individual review for every single one of them. Like a madman. But I also managed to read a bunch of short stories throughout the month, and I want to talk about them, too. So here we are. (Also it gives me an excuse to post a picture of a very satisfying pile of books. My gloriously garish Hallowe’en display.)

The books, in case you missed them: 

Beneath the Trees Where Nobody Lives by Patrick Horvath. Wonderful!

The Chronicles of Viktor Valentine by Z Brewer. Fine!

Clown in a Cornfield 3: The Church of Frendo by Adam Cesare. Disappointing!

The Black Slide by J.W. Ocker. Amazing!

Lucy Undying by Kiersten White. Glorious!

Stay Out of the Basement by R.L. Stine. Fun!

All Hallows by Christopher Golden. Great!

The short stories:

“Parthenogenesis” / “Wait for Night” by Stephen Graham Jones. Would you believe that these are the only things I’ve read by Jones? Neither can I. Really need to get on that. Anyway, “Parthenogenesis” was a fun story with a super creepy atmosphere, but I felt like the ending was a bit of a cop-out. “Wait for Night” was just a simple and super rad vampire tale. 

“A Stranger Knocks” by Tananarive Due. Didn’t realize this was a vampire story when I first picked it up, but I do love a serendipitous theme. Similar to the Jones situation, this is the first story I’ve read by Tananarive Due. Definitely need to pick up more of her stuff because this was excellent.

“The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allan Poe. My shameful secret that would surely get my goth card revoked if it ever got out is that I’ve barely read any of Poe’s actual work. “The Raven,” sure, the odd story here and there—but, like with most artists I admire, I’m far more interested in their cult of personality first and their work second. It’s something I’ve been gradually realizing is a serious disservice to said artists, so I’m working on fixing that. Anyway—this was brilliant, obviously. I read it in a collection called Darkness There, a Kindle in Motion affair that I’ve had on my tablet for years. It’s a neat concept, and features some wonderful art by M.S. Gorley, whose work—and name—evokes Edward Gorey’s (another cult of personality from my personal canon).

“Lantern Jack” by Christopher Fowler. More of a monologue than a proper short story—but it’s a damn good monologue, which made it a delight to read. Very cool, very clever, very macabre. Very into it. Read from The Mammoth Book of Halloween Stories.

“Everybody Is in the Place” by Emma J. Gibson. Some great atmosphere here, but I found the writing style seriously grating. There’s this constant repetition of words that I guess is supposed to evoke some sort of whimsicality (“We’re running, running, running!”) but it only comes across as awkward and annoying, particularly when it’s done so often in such a limited amount of space.

“A Forest, or A Tree” by Tegan Moore. Impeccable and creepy atmosphere throughout, along with some good character work. It’s too bad that it’s all undermined by an abrupt, hasty ending. As is the case with a lot of Tor.com Originals, this felt too much like the opening of a novel, rather than the closing chapter of one.

“The V*mpire” by P H Lee. This is a short story about Tumblr, of all things. It’s also a story about identity and community. And it’s a story about vampires. It should be a mess, by all accounts, but this was a surprisingly intense and impactful piece. Of course, it probably affected me more because Tumblr was such an integral, formative part of my 20s. I was too old to be part of the social circles depicted here, but I was certainly aware of them and can say that, for better or worse, their representation here is entirely accurate—from the compassion right down to the toxicity. This is also a story about how easily predators can exploit the openness of these often vulnerable communities by appropriating their particular language for their own malicious means. The vampires in this story may be fictional bloodsuckers, but that doesn’t make them any less real.

“Bone Fire” by Storm Constantine. Another one from The Mammoth Book of Halloween Stories. My notes for this story read, “A fae and dusky little story. This very much felt like what I imagine a huge bonfire on Samhain must have felt like.” I have absolutely no idea what that means, but let’s go with it. 

(I should note that I often write my notes immediately after I finish reading a story, so they are very much a first impression kind of thing. It also means that they are almost always nonsense. Alas.)

“The Folding Man” by Joe R. Lansdale. A truly outlandish mix between an odd urban legend and, like, The Terminator. Simple, straightforward, and at times seriously savage story. I was super into it. Read from The Mammoth Book of Halloween Stories.

“Ghastle and Yule” by Josh Malerman. Despite its name, this was not a creepy Christmas story as I originally expected. Instead, it’s a tale about two rival horror filmmakers and their obsessions with both their craft and with one another. I enjoyed it a lot. The writing does leave a lot to be desired, at times—there’s more than a fair share of clunky, awkwardly phrased sentences—but the story itself is fascinating enough that I can easily forgive those shortcomings. I’ve always loved stories about film productions, particularly of the Old Hollywood and Mid-Century eras. This skews heavily towards the latter half of the fifties and early sixties, but it hit all the right notes for me. I was particularly impressed with Malerman’s world-building, which is so thorough and convincing that I found myself Googling the names of the characters and some of the film titles to see if they were real. Intriguing, morbid, and a lot of fun.

“The Ultimate Halloween Party App” by Lisa Morton. This one has a great and pretty terrifying premise, but it ultimately didn’t do much for me. The world-building felt cobbled together from interesting but half-formed ideas that never really meshed well. The ending, in particular, felt like a huge non-sequitur—as if the author got bored with her own story. Very baffling. Read from The Mammoth Book of Halloween Stories.

And finally, one book I did not do an individual review for, because I’ve written about it more than enough times: 

Pumpkinheads by Rainbow Rowell, Faith Erin Hicks. A seasonal staple, obviously. I used to pick this one up at the very beginning of October but have since realized that it’s actually the perfect transitional read, being set on the last day of the month and all about endings and new beginnings. It literally concludes with the characters talking about taking up seasonal jobs during the holidays. Which brings me, once again, to ask Rowell and Hicks for a Christmas sequel to this beautiful book. Please. I beg. I implore.

And that’s another Hallowe’en season come and gone. I hope you all had a good one. I did, despite feeling at times as if I was forcing it a bit too much. (Really, is there anything more horrific than Life getting in the way of your enjoyment of frivolous things? I submit that there is not.) But in the end, I watched some fun movies, read some damn fine stories—even wrote one of my own—and I can’t ask for anything more than that.

ALL HALLOWS by Christopher Golden

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Publisher’s summary: It’s Halloween night, 1984, in Coventry, Massachusetts, and two families are unraveling. Up and down the street, secrets are being revealed, and all the while, mixed in with the trick-or-treaters of all ages, four children who do not belong are walking door to door, merging with the kids of Parmenter Road. Children in vintage costumes with faded, eerie makeup. They seem terrified and beg the neighborhood kids to hide them away, to keep them safe from The Cunning Man.

There’s a small clearing in the woods now that was never there before, and a blackthorn tree that doesn’t belong at all. These odd children claim that The Cunning Man is coming for them… and they want the local kids to protect them. But with families falling apart and the neighborhood splintered by bitterness, who will save the children of Parmenter Road?

🎃

All Hallows is a definite slow burn. Author Christopher Golden takes the Stephen King approach here, allowing us to get up close and personal with his sizable suburban cast—introducing first their personal demons before letting loose all the literal hellions.

The focus on interpersonal relationships might not resonate with some readers, though, as it does mean that for a large portion of the book, the horror is much more of the domestic kind, with the supernatural elements only really kicking in well into the second half. While the social drama is very much the heart of the story—it’s compelling and, at times, considerably more harrowing than any of the horrific happenings that follow—the novel could have certainly benefited from a better balance overall. The otherworldly aspects are alluring and fascinating, but they also feel somewhat tacked on, with Golden throwing in a lot of lore significantly late in the game. Horror often thrives on mystery and ambiguity, yes, but if the goal is to establish a larger mythology, you’re probably going to need more than a handful of cursory paragraphs.

Still, the sudden supernatural shift sets us up for some seriously shocking scenes, made all the more impactful by the considerable amount of time we’ve already spent with these characters and their struggles. We empathize, and thus we are horrified. I found the Cunning Man and, in particular, the old-fashioned trick-or-treaters exceedingly creepy. The preternatural principles of the story may be a bit vague, but they do bring a lot of dark folkloric flair. They work for me.

That shadowy atmosphere is the best thing this book has going for it—something I fully expected after reading Baltimore, Christopher Golden’s magnificently Gothic collaboration with Mike Mignola, last year. Golden completely captures both the informal, ephemeral nature of the holiday and its more arcane, ethereal facet. The end result is a lot of ghoulish fun—a novel that evokes the playful spirit of Spirit Halloween just as much as it does the mythical essence of Samhain—making All Hallows, for this reader at least, the perfect read to close out the All Hallows season.

STAY OUT OF THE BASEMENT by R.L. Stine

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Publisher’s summary: Dr. Brewer is doing a little plant-testing in his basement. Nothing to worry about. Harmless, really. But Margaret and Casey Brewer are worried about their father. Especially when they… meet… some of the plants he is growing down there. Then they notice that their father is developing plantlike tendencies. In fact, he is becoming distinctly weedy—and seedy. Is it just part of their father’s “harmless” experiment? Or has the basement turned into another little shop of horrors?

🎃

Stay Out of the Basement is just a lot of classic Goosebumps fun. I love how you can so clearly tell this was written very early in the series. It’s in third person, for one, which R.L. Stine more or less abandoned in the later books. A shame, really, since I think it suits his writing style better, making for much more effective storytelling. But I suppose first-person narration is better for young readers, in terms of immersion and all that.

Another way you can tell this was an early effort is by how delightfully deranged Stine still was. It’s a straightforward “Scooby-Doo” premise, really, about a father secretly fashioning some freaky flora, and his kids trying to figure out why he’s being so weird and mysterious about it. Hijinks, of course, ensue. But then things would get intense out of nowhere: kids slashing at parents with knives! (Plant) people getting sliced in half with axes! Green blood! Someone held captive for multiple days and everyone being all “it’s cool no worries” about it‽ You know. Fun stuff.⠀

The television adaptation of this on the original show was also pretty memorable. It’s one of the few I actively recall watching as a child—mostly because of the climax, which I think was more impactful than the book’s. 

Also! I picked this up before the trailer for the second season of the new television show dropped, but I thought it was a nice bit of cosmic coincidence, seeing as how it seems to be at least partly based on this story. I really enjoyed the first season’s darker, more mature take on these endearingly goofy stories, surprisingly enough, so I can’t wait to see what they do with this bonkers premise. (Ross is going to get wrecked.)

Goosebumps, kids. It’s always been rad.

LUCY UNDYING by Kiersten White

~ Ricardo ~ Leave a comment

Publisher’s summary: Her name was written in the pages of someone else’s story: Lucy Westenra was one of Dracula’s first victims.

But her death was only the beginning. Lucy rose from the grave a vampire and has spent her immortal life trying to escape from Dracula’s clutches—and trying to discover who she really is and what she truly wants.

Her undead life takes an unexpected turn in twenty-first-century London, when she meets another woman, Iris, who is also yearning to break free from her past. Iris’s family has built a health empire based on a sinister secret, and they’ll do anything to stay in power.

Lucy has long believed she would never love again. Yet she finds herself compelled by the charming Iris while Iris is equally mesmerized by the confident and glamorous Lucy. But their intense connection and blossoming love is threatened by outside forces. Iris’s mother won’t let go of her without a fight, and Lucy’s past still has fangs: Dracula is on the prowl once more.

Lucy Westenra has been a tragically murdered teen, a lonesome adventurer, and a fearsome hunter, but happiness has always eluded her. Can she find the strength to destroy Dracula once and for all, or will her heart once again be her undoing?

🎃

A handful of years ago, just as I started to become slightly obsessive with my Hallowe’en reading, I picked up Kiersten White’s The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein. I wanted something lofty to read—something Gothic and Romantic—and this retelling of Mary Shelley’s seminal tale seemed to serve the need. I was already planning to read about vampires anyway, so adding another classic monster into the mix felt like the appropriate thing to do. Elizabeth Frankenstein turned out to be a highlight read, not only of that spooky season but of the year as a whole. 

So when White announced she was planning to give the same sort of revisionist treatment to another horror classic, well, I couldn’t help but be excited, even if it was a few years down the line (writing: it takes time). It was well worth the wait, though, because I ended up loving the hell out of Lucy Undying, an elegantly Gothic, gloriously gay, and unapologetically feminist tome.

Like its predecessor, this is also very meandering—a veritable labyrinth of twists and turns that chances upon every conceivable emotion along the way. The winding, saturnine nature of the narrative will no doubt be a point of contention among some readers, as it does border on being exhausting and repetitive at times, but as someone who appreciates atmosphere above most things, I certainly don’t mind when a story takes the long, lugubrious way round in order to allow us to properly take in the sights and sentiments.

And what sights! The timeline and geography of this novel are truly epic in scale, taking us from London at the tail end of the Victorian age to Europe and Asia during the wars that shaped the twentieth century, and right up to North America and our current capitalist hellscape. White manages to cover all this ground and distinct eras while still maintaining an air of Gothic atmosphere, thanks largely to a protagonist who feels perpetually out of place.

Because that’s Lucy Westenra’s story in this rendition: a progressive young woman who holds unrequited feelings for a fellow female friend while living in a conservative, restrictive society during the turn of the century, who is then murdered and becomes, eventually, a revenant. Fate, it seems, has deemed Lucy an outsider in both life and in death. Until Iris comes along, another outcast who helps Lucy reclaim her narrative. 

We see much of this story through Lucy’s vivid eyes, but Iris is just as much a protagonist here, and an equally strong and fascinating presence. In fact, it’s through her that we get this novel’s most interesting conceit: by reading Lucy’s old diaries, she gleans insight that Lucy herself was never privy to. Having the perspective of a fellow misfit help the undead one see is as close to a central premise as this charmingly convoluted novel has.

While Elizabeth was largely a reimagining of Frankenstein, Lucy acts more like a proper sequel to Dracula, shedding new light on established characters and accounts. I’m not at all versed on scholarly studies of Stoker’s work, but I can’t imagine White’s interpretation of what Mina, Arthur and Dr. Seward were doing to the Westenra family is all that popular. It’s undoubtedly intriguing, however, and White tries her damnedest to prove her thesis here. It makes, if anything, for one hell of a yarn. One of my favorite reads this season.

THE BLACK SLIDE by J.W. Ocker

~ Ricardo ~ Leave a comment

No one in Griffin Birch’s class could say when the Black Slide showed up on their playground. One day, it was just there, replacing the old one.

Griffin couldn’t tell you why the Black Slide makes him feel so uneasy, either. Maybe it’s the way it always seems to be the same size, no matter how close or how far you are from it. Perhaps it’s  the way it looms over everything else in the playground, like a predator, patiently awaiting its prey. In either case, he doesn’t want to get near the thing.

But the promise of reprieve from constant bullying compels him to go down it one day. The slide seems interminable, with Griffin seeing things inside the darkness of the duct that shouldn’t be possible. After what feels like an eternity, Griffin comes out of the slide with a broken arm and fear deep inside his bones.

Shortly after, students start to disappear. Griffin sees them from his classroom window, walking up to the Black Slide as if in a daze. They climb up its chrome stairs, enter its obsidian cylinder, and they don’t come out. Weirder still, none of the adults around him seem to notice the missing children. 

And it’s only when his best friend Laila is one of those who disappears down the Black Slide that Griffin gathers up the courage to follow. 

What they find on the other end of the slide is a world of pain, inhabited by creatures that revel in it and are all too eager to share their suffering.

🎃

As I was updating my Goodreads profile soon after finishing J.W. Ocker’s The Black Slide, I stumbled upon a comment from the author himself, mentioning how he wanted to push the boundaries of middle grade horror with this novel. Mission certainly accomplished, because this goes places that even I, a huge advocate for children’s horror being no less horrifying than adult horror, was taken aback at times. “Hellraiser for kids” is an apt description indeed, but while that series is more interested in the physical, visceral aspects of horror, Ocker wisely focuses more on the psychological side of things. His characters still go through physiological trauma, to be sure, but the descriptions deal with how their ordeals feel instead of anything that’s overly explicit, which is much more affecting in the long run. Our morbid, reptilian brain can—and will—fill out the rest. 

But it’s a testament to Ocker’s writing that, in a story full of endless torment, the real horror does not come from the creatures whose existence revolves around the torture of children, but from the wanton, casual cruelty that people can—and so often do— inflict on one another. There’s a particular scene here involving Griffin’s estranged, abusive father that’s more shocking and terrifying than anything Ocker’s scaled-down Cenobites could ever conjure up.

Despite a second act that feels somewhat slow and repetitive, I loved pretty much everything about The Black Slide: from its captivating characters to its brilliant and nightmarish world-building (which at times reminded me so much of my own nightmares that I would actually physically recoil), to its themes. This is a story about friendship and resilience. It’s also a story about pain. And while there are countless children’s stories that deal with hardship, I’m hard-pressed to think of many that contend with just how often pain can—for better or worse—play a significant part in personal growth. This is a middle grade novel that faces that notion head-on, and as such isn’t afraid to explore some dark, disturbing places. Ocker navigates these gloomy spaces with tremendous nuance and compassion, all the while respecting his intended audience enough to never be coddling or condescending. Important and necessary.

SEPTEMBER 2024

~ Ricardo ~ Leave a comment

Hello. Here’s what I read during the month of September. Mostly talking about short stories this time around. I did read two other novels, but I can’t write about them here just yet because of reasons. Anyway! Good reading month.

“The Counselor” by Robin Sloan. This was provocatively written, but I’m not exactly sure what it was trying to say. The premise of someone being asked if they were ready to die and replying in the negative despite considerable suffering reminded me of a scene from, of all things, Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality, the famous (infamous?) work of fan-fiction, where Dumbledore talks with this world’s pretentious version of Harry about willingly accepting death one day. Harry argues that the premise is absurd, reasoning that if someone really wanted to live today, then they would, barring some truly terrible circumstances, also want to live tomorrow, and beyond, ad infinitum. That always stuck with me, because I happen to think similarly. Anyway, fairly sure this story is more about the ethics of using generative artificial intelligence in the medical field than it is about that, though.

Diavola by Jennifer Thorne. Well, I loved this. So much that I’m now wishing I had saved it for the Hallowe’en season. As it is, though, this was really the perfect read for the summer-to-fall transition. This is touted as Gothic horror, which I suppose it is, but it’s the most thoroughly modern Gothic horror story I have ever read. Sounds contradictory, but author Jennifer Thorne really managed to transport that classic, old-word feel of the genre into the present day, and the result is a veritable thrill ride — in particular, that third act, which stands among the finest I’ve ever read with its relentless, brutal, and inevitably cathartic pace. Anna herself is such a refreshing protagonist, as well — smart and sardonic but never coming across as pedantic or annoying. To say that she’s one of the most relatable characters I’ve read lately feels like an obscene thing to say, given her arc here, but it is also true. But I’m glad we got such a steadfast protagonist who, from the get-go, knew what she wanted, and I’m glad we got a story that wasn’t even remotely afraid to give it to her. A damn good read. This isn’t even mentioning La Dama Bianca, who is a fantastic and terrifying secondary villain. Secondary, of course, because the real antagonist of this story is Anna’s perfectly loathsome family, whom Thorne portrays with perfect contempt.

“Judge Dee and the Executioner of Epinal” by Lavie Tidhar. The latest Judge Dee mystery. This felt… very first draft, let us say. The writing seemed very rushed and somewhat sloppy. Most of the jokes and references didn’t land at all. (There’s a Princess Bride callback that I would have normally loved, that being one my absolute favorite stories, but it just felt forced and out of place here.) Very disappointing. Definitely the weakest of these admittedly irreverent pieces of short fiction.

“It Waits in the Woods” by Josh Malerman. Part of the Creature Feature collection on Amazon. I read a couple of the other entries for the Hallowe’en season last year and they were very hit or miss for me, as these Amazon Originals tend to be. This one turned out to be very effective, though. A little meandering, particularly in the beginning, but with a great, creepy atmosphere throughout. There’s a couple of curious errors here and there, but nothing that took me out of the story.