Monthly Archives: February 2018

More Horror

Such Small Hands (Andrés Barba); Devil’s Day (Andrew Michael Hurley); Things We Lost in the Fire (Mariana Enríquez)

My horror obsession has returned… is it a hangover from four years of reading/writing/thinking about Bolaño? Or maybe because my life in England feels very quiet and small most of the time. Routine-filled. I spend a lot of time by myself, or with the cat. I am working a lot on a writing project and rarely leave the house. I do try to see a friend at least once a week, and I take a trip to Glasgow. I mark student work and submit it. I begin the couch to 10k training routine, again. Sometimes my knee hurts, deep stabbing sharp pains, ancient remnants of an injury from playing high school basketball. I go to the library close to my house and pick up Such Small Hands by Andrés Barba and Devil’s Day by Andrew Michael Hurley (I return both late, and am fined).

The Barba novel, I’ve wanted to read for some time now. I’ve heard it described as “short” and “intensely creepy”, and it is decidedly both these things. It’s also a wonderful example of a novel narrated (partly) from the “we” perspective, a style I find deeply fascinating. What are other books that do this? The Virgin Suicides? The Buddha in the Attic? To be fair, in Such Small Hands the narration switches back and forth from the “we” perspective and the POV of Marina, a child whose parents are killed in a pretty brutally-described car accident in the opening chapter (this was probably the most memorable part of the book for me, in terms of graphic bodily violence).

Marina is taken to an orphanage (the girls already living there are the “we” voice in the book). They tear her doll apart limb from limb and bury it the yard. So Marina invents another game for them to play, in which the girls take turns pretending to be dolls themselves. None of this is really a spoiler. It’s all pretty unsettling.

I found this book very effective and scary (I also LOVE short novels), but I’m left uncertain as to what it all “means,” not that it matters. Is this basically about the evil of childhood? The afterword by Edmund White makes reference to an incident in a Brazilian orphanage that took place in the 1960’s, on which the book is apparently based. I won’t spoil it (you can find out by googling) but it’s deeply distressing. In this interview the author says he was inspired by a Clarice Lispector short story. His discussion of the purpose of fear in fiction, and of Henry James’ manner of writing about ghosts “as if he were speaking of tables or pencils“, is also pretty memorable.

Andrew Michael Hurley is another author I met via my job, when he came to the university last year to give a talk. I hope if we ever meet again, he doesn’t remember how I almost made him late because I didn’t have my keycard with me and we were couldn’t make it past the locked doors to the elevators, so we had to go down the stairs D: In my defense, I was a BRAND NEW staff member and didn’t know that the doors were going to lock!

Oh, what a good read this was. So immersive. Another book I read in a single sitting, sitting on my boyfriend’s couch while he slept in late in the next room. There are parts of this book that are still so scary for me to remember I can barely stand it. UGH, SO SCARY! Hurley is a master at using the understated and the unexplained when it comes to horror. Basically, anything that ever has to do with dead animals… or references to mysterious satanic rituals undertaken by rich university students… or when someone sees or hears something that someone else doesn’t… that’s it for me. UGH, I can barely even think about some of those scenes even now!

The moral ambiguity of the narrator here is also a really interesting component of the book. In a way, he “wins” – he gets what we wants. But is it really a victory?

Things We Lost in the Fire (Mariana Enríquez, translated by Megan McDowell) is probably THE best book I’ve read this year so far, after Station Eleven. Holy cow, it’s probably one of the best collections I’ve ever read, no joke. Again, I think this mainly is due to its use of FEAR in the stories. FEAR FEAR FEAR – so much of our lives is defined by fear, isn’t it? I think I respond to strong emotions in writing, and what is a stronger emotion than fear, amirite. Anyway, this collection is full of it, with plenty Shirley Jackson-esque darkness to boot. It’s so fun to discover a new author I instantly know I’m going to be obsessed with. I’ll have to hunt down her untranslated books. For me, highlights  of Things We Lost in the Fire include the following:

  • “Under the Black Water” – one of the collection’s strongest pieces. I haven’t read HP Lovecraft but I would definitely call this Lovecraftian. What with its emphasis on monsters emerging out of the dark water, deformed children, headless pigs in churches, and Satanic rituals… man!! I liked how the horror was linked to destroying the environment, and Argentina’s history.
  • “The Neighbour’s Courtyard” – Ok. So this one of the MOST FUCKED UP THINGS I have ever read. NO JOKE! I told my boyfriend the plot of this story in a bar and I traumatized him and ruined our date D: I LOVE the open, unresolved ending. So brutal. SPOILER WARNING: This is really brutal to read if you’re a cat lover. I think this story is an amazing example of horror fiction, in terms of how deliciously effective the slow reveal of creepy secrets can be.
  • “Spiderweb” – You can read this online via the New Yorker (https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/20…). What an ending!! I love the theme of disappearances, and how that ties in with Argentinene history in an unexpected and unique way. In a general sense, I also love stories about couples going on vacations. There’s nothing like a holiday to bring out the worst in people! This holiday story is particularly deliciously brutal in terms of how much the narrator hates her husband. Not sure if he (or anyone) deserves his final fate, though… it’s ambiguous but I have some theories about what happens to him…
  • “An Invocation of the Big-Eared Runt” – This one might be my favorite! I believe it’s the only piece narrated by a male. The ending said SO much to me about violence against women, and what is and isn’t monstrous. The main character is a tour guide, who runs a murder tour in Buenos Aires. He begins seeing the ghost of a famous serial killer. Sounds twee, but believe me… it goes to unexpected places.
  • “The Intoxicated Years” – I love this story! You can read it online in Granta (https://granta.com/intoxicated-years/). It follows a group of female friends over the post-dictatorship years, and their transformation into witchy beings that are either powerful or disturbing. Either way, they’re definitely capable of anything. This story makes me want to cry in parts (nostalgia? Sentimentality?), but I’m not sure why.
Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under books, review, short stories

Nutcase

  Nutcase (Tony Williams)

Tony Williams is an English author who (like Jon McGregor) came to give a talk at the university where I work. His novel, Nutcase, is deeply intriguing, not just because it’s an adaptation of Icelandic sagas (I wish I knew more about them; his talk definitely made me want to know more!), but because of its style. Williams discussed how what made him interested in Icelandic sagas was their lack of interiority, in the sense that reading them is akin to this happened, then this happened, then this happened. A focus on the litany, rather than the emotional. So he decided to write a novel in contemporary Sheffield, written in the style of ancient Icelandic sagas. It’s a fascinating experiment – in terms of both reading and writing. It made me think a lot about how so many novels (at least the ones I’m familiar with) are based on interiority, in terms of “showing” us the inside of a character’s consciousness.

Another interesting aspect of Tony’s talk was his path to getting published – no agent, and communicating directly with the publisher (good old Salt! Gotta love their anthologies ;)). It was a good message for the students to hear, I think. And it’s also good to witness how genuinely good art (like Alex Garland’s adaptation of Annihilation) isn’t always coming from the biggest, flashiest sources.

Tony and I and the rest of the staff got dinner after the talk (I always order the exact same thing, a medium rare hamburger, as it’s one of the cheapest things on the menu, but I am thinking of switching to the halloumi salad just for a change). I talked for a bit with Tony’s friend, who he had gone to school with. Apparently (if I’m remembering correctly) one of the parties they hosted (attended?) as youth made its way into the book – I wonder if it was the basis for one of my favorite scenes in the novel, in which a fire is started due to someone burning U2 CDs in a biscuit tin.

Reading this book reminded me of what a deeply exotic and strange country England is to me, still. There are so many little corners and worlds that I just don’t know about, never will know, though this is probably true of every single place I have ever lived (and indeed, maybe feeling not at home is what makes me feel most at home). Whenever I ask anyone where they’re from in England, I rarely know their answer (but maybe English people would have the same reaction? Part of me thinks… no). There’s so much about England I still don’t know, even though I’ve lived here for six years.

I read Nutcase in a single sitting, on my train ride home. Definitely check it out – support independent publishers!

Leave a comment

Filed under books, contemporary, review