2022/116: Treacle Walker — Alan Garner

'Why live in a bog?’
‘And if I didn’t,’ said Thin Amren, ‘should I not rot?’
‘And all that dreaming stuff.’
‘What else should a body do when he sleeps?’
‘How long have you been there?’ said Joe. ‘In the bog.’
‘A honeycomb of ages.’
‘How long’s that?’
‘From then till now.' [loc. 461]

This is very short, 131 pages in the print edition, and very dense: I'm not sure that I understand it yet. It's the story of Joe, who likes comics and marbles (so may be a child) but seems to live alone (so may be an adult) and at one point wonders if he is dead (so ..."I will not say that you are dead.") Regularly, just after noon, a rag-and-bone man calling himself Treacle Walker shows up outside the house. On his first appearance, he trades with Joe: a donkey-stone (used for whitening doorsteps) and a chipped Victorian medicine-jar in exchange for Joe's old unwashed pyjamas and a lamb's shoulderblade from his 'museum' of natural findings. This trade seems to set something in motion. Joe has a lazy eye (there's an odd episode with, presumably, an optician) and wears an eyepatch over his 'good' eye: but his good eye enables him to see what he would otherwise be blind to, for instance the edges of the bog, and a man named Thin Amren sitting up out of the water, copper-skinned, naked except for a hood over his head, and disinclined to dry out.

There's a deeply mythic feel to this novel, from Treacle Walker's 'this Middle-Yard' (= Midgard?) to the region of the summer stars, from the unseen cuckoo in the wood to the whitening of a doorstep to keep out malign influences. But there are also comics -- Knockabout, featuring Stonehenge Kit the Ancient Brit, turns out to be a real comic from Garner's own boyhood -- and mirrors that can be portals (but so can the pages of knockabout). There's a round meadow with three sides and a mound in the middle: a tomb? There are forgotten words (slutch, mools). Joe meets himself returning from a dream: but who's the dreamer? There's circularity, on several scales, and a sense of recursion: perhaps there's nobody here but Joe, and maybe the cuckoo he unwittingly summons. When you (I), the reader, start counting the cuckoo's cries, it's time to stop and draw back from this perplexing, beautiful, unsettling novella. For now.

I'll close with a quotation from an interview with Alan Garner, published in 2012 when Boneland came out: I think he might have been talking about the genesis of Treacle Walker.

"something's going on, and the shape it's taking is interesting in that it's complete at whatever stage I finish it. In other words, provided I get a few paragraphs down and then I just drop dead, it's still complete. It's intriguing me. It's making me think here we go again, perhaps, but in a quite different way," says Garner.
Source: Alan Garner: a life in books. Interview by Alison Flood. Guardian, 17AUG2012 (retrieved 11SEP2022).

2022/115: Jack of Thorns — A K Faulkner

He addled Laurence’s gaydar and Laurence wasn’t sure it was because the guy was British or straight. [loc. 1289]

Laurence is a former heroin addict, now a florist living above his mother's shop. He's still trying to get rid of Dan, a troublesome ex, and he's painfully aware of the urge to relapse into his addiction. Laurence has inherited, from his mother, a supernatural gift for horticulture, but he also sees visions of the future, and when he encounters a familiar-looking young Englishman in the park, he's keen to advance the friendship.

Quentin d'Arcy, who happens to be the Earl of Banbury, has led an extremely sheltered life, is unaccustomed to commoners, and refuses to accept that there's anything unusual about him -- even though freak weather events seem to occur when he's scared or angry. He's fled England following conflict with his father, and is leading a nomadic existence, moving from city to city across America with only his mother's piano and his own vast wealth to insulate him from, well, people.

This might be a straightforward slow-burn opposites-attract romance if not for the presence of the eponymous Jack, who shows up during one of Laurence's prayer/meditation sessions, apparently in response to Laurence's cry for help. Jack might be a god (he certainly presents as one) and he's keen for Laurence to 'feed' him. Jack's influence grows, and Laurence and Quentin must work together to defeat him -- while negotiating their budding relationship, Quentin's horror of his own body, and Laurence's ever-present craving for something stronger than the cannabis he grows in the greenhouse.

This was free on Kindle, and a pleasant enough read. There are intriguing hints of Quentin's backstory, and Laurence has a lot to learn about himself as well as his new friend. But I don't feel inclined to follow the series: the prose style didn't grab me, and Quentin's exaggerated, comic-book Englishness ('really, old boy ... one doesn't recall ...') was overdone. Yes, it was amusing the first few times that Laurence misunderstood Quentin's (stereo)typically British understatement, but one would have hoped that Quentin would loosen up just a little by the end of the novel.

2022/114: The Forgotten Dead — Jordan L Hawk

“…don’t you agree that your personal involvement could lead to stronger manifestations?” Patricia Montague had asked. And he had agreed, but he’d never expected it to be like this. [loc. 783]

Nigel Taylor is a parapsychologist at Duke University: his role is in danger of funding cuts, but a wealthy socialite offers to fund his research ... if he'll agree to work with a professional ghost-hunting team, and investigate rumours of a haunting at a particular property. The ghost-hunters in question are the team behind a show called 'OutFoxing the Paranormal', and their lead, the charismatic Oscar Fox, is immediately attracted to Nigel. It's mutual, but it would be unprofessional to do anything about it while they're staying in the haunted house. Wouldn't it? Even though (a) Nigel has first-hand knowledge of the events in that house, and (b) whatever's there is really very scary?

This is a sweet M/M romance (one of the protagonists is trans) and the sweetness is especially strong in juxtaposition with the truly horrific paranormal element. The cast is diverse (Oscar's team comprises a woman and a non-binary person; Nigel is supported by his former advisor, a woman who has undisclosed history with sponsor Mrs Montague) and Nigel and Oscar's pasts, gradually revealed, explain why Nigel feels driven to investigate this particular haunting, and why Oscar is in denial about his gifts as a medium. Some nice details, including the use of an ESD (electro-static discharge) strap, as used by IT techs, to 'ground' someone who's under attack by a spirit; and some nice interpersonal elements, such as the care Nigel and Oscar both take to accommodate and accept one another's quirks, habits and weaknesses. I'll likely read more in this series.

Fulfils the ‘Recommended by a favorite author’ rubric of the 52 books in 2022 challenge. (KJ Charles: "SODDING TERRIFYING".)

2022/113: Kill the Boy Band — Goldy Moldavsky

I did love The Ruperts a lot. I loved them more than vanilla ice cream in summer, more than seeing a new review of one of my fanfics, more than discovering a good ’80s movie I’d never seen before. Just because I was a Ruperts fangirl does not mean I was crazy. [p. 5]

The nameless narrator (who uses a number of aliases from her favourite 80s movies) is staying, with her three best friends, at the Rondack, an upmarket New York hotel. The Rondack also happens to be hosting the Ruperts, a boy band comprising four young Brits (all named Rupert) who met, and were made into a group, on a UK talent show. The girls (Erin, Apple, Isabel and our narrator) are all 15, and are determined to meet their idols. But we can tell from the novel's opening -- they have one of the Ruperts tied to a chair in their room -- that it's all going to go horribly wrong. Over the course of one sleepless night, friendships unravel, manifestos are stated, secrets are revealed, hosiery is used for nefarious purposes, and several people are arrested.

Kill the Buy Band is claustrophobic, giddy, and has the frantic feeling of a group of friends inciting one another to extreme behaviour. It features a lot of familiar fandom elements: crowds of screaming teenagers, rumours of band-members' homosexuality, hooking up with band members, writing real person fanfic, queuing for days just to catch a glimpse, speculating about the hidden meanings of songs, analysing every second of every TV appearance... There's definitely a dark side to all four of the girls. One thinks she's going crazy. One's had an unpleasant encounter with a Rupert. One has severe self-image issues. One has a criminal past, or possibly present. And they all conspire to cover up a major crime.

How much can we blame the author for the problematic elements of a first-person narrative? Sometimes the narrator is just an unpleasant person, woth unpleasant views: and sometimes the narrator is fifteen years old, with self-confessed mental health issues and a distinct lack of maturity. (I forgive her for juxtaposing fanfiction and 'real' creativity, even though I think she is wrong.) Yet I did find the fatphobic language uncomfortable, especially as the narrator otherwise seems to accept her friend as she is. And then uses the word 'blubbery'... There are some other issues with the novel, though I think the narrator's reactions to them are more honest. She's uneasy about the consent issues involved in accidentally kidnapping, and deliberately kissing / touching / groping, their captive; she's the voice of reason, urging the others to do the right thing, when disaster strikes; she's determined to tell the truth, even though she won't be believed.

Kill the Boy Band is a fast-paced and darkly humorous novel about friendship as much as fandom, about truth and lies, about appearances and personas and the stories people tell about themselves and the people around them. I liked it, though felt it faltered at the end: no real sense of closure, or justice, or even credible consequences. But I look forward to more of Moldavsky's fiction.

'... we even have an endorsement deal with cat food ... Do you want your cat to eat like a normal cat, or do you want him to eat like a Rupert?’ I couldn’t help but snort at his funny, infomercial-guy voice while simultaneously thinking very seriously of getting a cat. [p. 170]

2022/112: Angelika Frankenstein Makes her Match — Sally Thorne

"Are you ever afraid that they cannot survive the things we have done to them in the name of science, and love?" [loc. 2494]

Angelika Frankenstein is quite as brilliant as her more famous brother Victor, but he's engaged to be married, while Angelika's suitors are generally discouraged by her intelligence, or perhaps by her habit of quizzing them from a prepared list of questions. At 24, she's almost given up on the notion of meeting a man she can love, so she takes matters into her own hands. Literally. Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match opens -- after a prologue from the viewpoint of the neglected family seat, Blackthorne Manor -- in the local morgue, where Victor and Angelika are selecting body parts for the men they wish to make. Victor's aim is scientific one-upmanship, but he jokes (rather creepily) with his sister about penis sizes, and demands for his own creation the hands of the handsome cadaver she's selected. Back to the laboratory they go; it is a dark and stormy night; their experiments are successful; Victor's resurrectee takes one look at Angelika and flees screaming into the night; and Angelika's creation ... well, at least one part of him is attracted to her, as evidenced by his instant erection.

Angelika tends her new companion, and attempts to unravel the secrets of his past: he has no recollection of anything before waking in the laboratory to see Angelika leaning over him. He seems, at heart, a gentleman, but he insists that he doesn't and can't love her. Angelika names him Will, because of his strength of character and stoicism in the face of constant pain. She is guiltily aware that the hands once belonging to this body are attached to her brother's nameless creation, who's terrorising the neighbourhood. Angelika's investigations into Will’s past lead her to the local Military Academy, site of a recent tragedy: there she meets handsome and charming Commander Keatings, who makes no secret of his romantic interest in her. Yet it's Will who stars in her fantasies ...

If I'd read this novel with rose-tinted glasses, I'd have liked it a lot more. It's written in a light-hearted and humorous style, and the characters are, at heart, kind, pleasant and well-meaning -- though Angelika in particular is oblivious to the oppression that surrounds and supports her privileged life. But, but, this is a novel about issues of consent: about a man being resurrected to suffer agonising pain, unwanted desire (Angelika's chosen 'second-largest' penis being incompatible with Will's brain and having a will, haha, of its own), dismissal of his religious faith, and the expectation that sooner or later he will succumb to the charms of the woman who's forced all this on him, and who continues to lie to him in the name of 'love'. This to me is a scenario of horror, not of humour.

With my rose-tinted spectacles on, there’s plenty to admire here. Angelika is an intriguing heroine, intelligent and self-aware and in charge of her own sexuality, and confident enough not to care what the villagers think of her wearing trousers: she's sheltered and privileged, but does strive to be better when she realises the extent of the deprivation in the local community. Her friendship with Lizzie is charmingly intimate, and Lizzie herself -- a playwright, of Russian and Spanish heritage -- is a fascinating character. (I'd love to read the story of how she and Victor met and fell in love.) Victor, while not as arrogant as his literary inspiration, is somewhat misogynistic, and he's only too ready to 'promote' Lizzie to Angelika's role of lab assistant without any consultation. His creation, eventually named Adam, turns out to be quite a nice fellow, and there is an amiable pig named Belladonna.

But I'm still disturbed by Will's torment, and by Angelika's overweening selfishness in playing Pygmalion and assembling a sentient being, to her own specification and for her own use, from assorted spare parts.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK publication date (15 SEP 2022). Thanks, too, to the anon reviewer who used the term 'dick'n'mix'.

2022/111: Stone Blind — Natalie Haynes

Medusa is dead, I am dead. But I'm still the best narrator for this part of the story, because I was there for all of it, and because I am not a lying deceitful hateful vicious murderer. [loc. 2567]

This novel is subtitled 'Medusa's Story', but at first it seems like a complex interweaving of the stories of wronged women from Greek mythology: Zeus' first wife Metis; Andromeda, staked out as a sacrifice to Poseidon; Danaë imprisoned in the dark; Hera and Amphitrite, wronged wives. (Hera, 'a goddess with an almost limitless supply of spite, could barely keep up with the number of women, goddesses, nymphs and mewling infants she needed to persecute'. [loc. 77]) Yet it all circles back to Medusa's story, and the implacable hatred of Athene -- 'vengeful and cruel, always blaming women for what men do to them' [loc. 1209] -- whose curse transforms Medusa after Poseidon rapes her in Athene's temple. Does Athene make Medusa into a monster, though? Is Medusa truly the hideous, unlovable horror sought by Perseus? The great hero is an unlikeable and incompetent teenager in this account, constantly whining to Athene and Hermes about the appalling hardships of his quest for a Gorgon's head. Athene does not have much time for him, and in this one thing I am wholly in agreement with her.

It's not all grim. The love between mortal Medusa and her immortal Gorgon sisters, Euryale and Sthenno, is deep and heartfelt: it's the opposite of monstrosity, the epithet levelled at the Gorgons by both Poseidon and Perseus. Hermes, one of the few male characters who behaves decently in the pages of Stone Blind, asks of Perseus 'who are you to decide who is a monster?'. And Medusa tells Poseidon that beauty is more than skin-deep: she sees it in the loving care of her sisters, and she submits to Poseidon to save a (more) mortal girl.

Haynes plays with voices here: it's not only Medusa's story, but a multitude of voices making a mosaic of misogyny, abuse, privilege and trickery. There are chapters told from choruses of entities: a bickering slither of snakes, an olive grove, the Hespereides. There are so many wronged women, their voices distinct but their experiences alike. I'd love to hear this read aloud, as a dramatic performance... One voice is absent: Medusa's mother Ceto, who dwells in the depths of the ocean. But Haynes weaves her into the story, in a way that is both tragic and elegant.

So many connections I hadn't recognised: so many commonalities of experience. Stone Blind isn't always an easy read, but it is a rewarding one: I am reminded that I have several of Haynes' other mythology-based novels, and am encouraged to read them sooner rather than later.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy. UK publication date is 15 SEP 2022, and there's a virtual launch at the British Library.

2022/110: The Psychopath Test: A Journey Through the Madness Industry — Jon Ronson

It is an awful lot harder... to convince people you’re sane than it is to convince them you’re crazy. [p. 43]

A series of comically improbable events lead Ronson, via DSM-IV (the fourth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, from which pretty much anybody can pick a Mental Disorder that fits them), to the Hare Psychopathy Checklist, a 20-item questionnaire for diagnosing psychopathy. Investigating the 'industry' of psychiatry and its treatment, he encounters Bob Hare (of the eponymous Checklist); a prisoner at Broadmoor who claims he pretended to be a psychopath to evade a custodial sentence, and now can't convince his doctors that he's sane; a conspiracy theorist who tries to convince survivors of the 7/7 attacks in London that there were no bombs; a corporate executive who specialises in mass redundancies; a doctor who prescribed massive doses of LSD for inmates of a psychiatric ward ... Some of these men (I think all his subjects are male) can definitely be classified as psychopaths, while others may be simply eccentric. And while Ronson interviews his subjects, and muses on his own anxiety (he says at one point that anxiety is effectively the opposite of psychopathy), he's also interrogating the whole idea of 'madness' -- mental disorder, mental illness and the extremes of human nature -- and whether deviation from some imagined 'normal' is something that needs to be treated as a disorder. On the one hand, some people diagnosed as psychopaths are extremely dangerous to other humans, emotionally or physically or socially: on the other hand, the vast increase in prescriptions of psychiatric drugs seems a disproportionate response to behaviours that would generally be regarded as more or less normal. ('Normal.')

This was an entertaining read (Ronson is an extremely funny writer) but unnerving in places. It's a truism that the rich and privileged will get away with behaviour that would land a poorer person, one without connections, in prison or in a secure unit. Unfortunately, it's all too easy to apply labels like 'psychopath' to the movers and shakers of the world -- politicians, business tycoons, media personalities. Their achievements symbolise success, and their confidence and self-assurance are seen as goals to strive for. And meanwhile, the rest of us struggle towards 'normality', with no very clear idea of what it might look like, while the 'madness industry' regularly expands its definitions of disorder to maximise profit and power.

Fulfils the 'Humo[u]r' category of the 2022 Nonfiction Reading Challenge.