Book Reviews – Page 3 – The Wuthering Cephalopod

Rebecca Serle’s “One Italian Summer”

Cover of "One Italian Summer." Brightly colored balcony overlooking bright blue water.

Okay. I admit. I cried at this one.

I can only defend myself by describing my environment while I was reading: South Carolina, my mom’s house, the holidays. To say I have a complicated relationship with my parents, family, and heritage is probably the only time I won’t speak with flamboyantly flourished— do you know I couldn’t find a single word meaning language that starts with an F (words)? Anyway, when reading a book about complicated relationships while engaging with complicated relationships, even the best fall.

Katy begins the books with loss. Her mother, Carol— who she considers her soulmate and true love beyond all other relationships— has died. This leaves her bereft, to the point that she leaves her lukewarm husband to go on the Italy trip they planned before Carol’s death by cancer.

Katy’s mother had taken this trip to Italy in her own youth, and Katy plans to visit locations her mother described from her trips. Somehow, she finds out she’s not quite sure when she is, as she sees her mother as a young woman, recognizing her from old photographs. From there, it deals with things like loss, changing views of those we love and put on a pedestal, and charting a life worth living for oneself.

I wouldn’t call this a light read, despite being a romance. It’s not the deepest and darkest topic ever, but it deals with common ones that hit close to home. It requires a modest amount of reading comprehension, but delivers a cathartic cry if you even remotely had a maternal figure.

Would I Read it Again?: Nah. It’s at a high school level, reading smoothly even when dealing with the previous generation’s issues. I also disliked the ending because it seemed a little too regressive based on what I previously read about the character.

Rating: A 3. A solid, if not entirely innovative, story that delivers on the feels. Add a +.5 if that type of romance is your jam or don’t, because the ending is kind of frustrating if you thought the whole book was supposed to be an invitation to adventure.

Two Sentence-ish Sometimes-Horror Reviews (Part 2)

I’ve been writing reviews for a month or so now and have yet to get out of my December reading. In an effort to catch up. I’m just going to do batches of one or two sentence reviews. Given that I read two-three books a week, I’d otherwise just be a skeleton typing things 400 years from now like some Muir protagonist.

Cover of Witch of Willow Hall. Woman wearing regency dress in front of mansion.

The Witch of Willow Hall by Hester Fox*: 3.5. Banished from Boston as a result of a horrible rumor about her sister, Lydia is just trying to live her life with superpowers when she meets her Mr. McHotty. It’s not a deep read, but a little something angsty to add to my cotton candy endings doesn’t have to be.

Cover of Hidden Pictures. Shadow of car, trees, and person burying body against dark blue background.

Hidden Pictures by Jason Rekulak: 3.5. Is the nanny crazy, she’s fresh out of rehab; is the kid creepy, he’s seeing ghosts and drawing like someone many times his age; or are the parents simply too indulging, Teddy has a thousand rules and little freedom? It’s a modern take on a Gothic trope, with a ghost that gave me a fear of cottages for at least two days.

Cover of Tender is the Flesh, lower half of head is female, upper half is of a cow.

Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica: 4. Due to possibly nefarious reasons (the government lie, never!), society now relies on humans for food, leather/hair goods, and dairy products; our point-of-view character receives what is the wagyu beef of people and establishes a forbidden relationship with it. I feel some of the brutality was made more vicious by the translation, and while I don’t eat a lot of meat anyway, I have never thought about being a vegan so hard.

The cover of The Fifth Season. Stone symbol against dark background.

The Fifth Season by N. K. Jemisin: 4.5. In a weird narrative structure that eventually makes sense, three women describe their experiences with powerful elemental sorcerers known as Orogenes, men and women who can move the very earth. I was initially thrown off by the way the story unfolds, but when I started putting it together it felt very rewarding and I loved the world building.

Cover of The Book of Cold Cases. Car with door open in front of white house on rainy night.

The Book of Cold Cases by Simone St. James***: 3.5. Shea Collins has a day job, but you wouldn’t know it with the amount of time she spends writing her crime blog, and she’s just landed the whale: Beth Greer, an uber-wealthy old woman who was tried and acquitted of serial murder when she was in her early twenties. There were a few weird loose ends, but the ghost makes sense and the motives aren’t completely pulled out of thin air, so it’s a decent murder/ghost mystery.

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*All of Hester Fox’s work that I’ve read focuses on a heroine during a specific time period which varies but is always “Gothic” in tone. The protagonist is usually an outcast for some reason, and public opinion of her is not very high. There’s also a romance, and so far it’s all been with males who have a reason to be an insider. The ending is always at least sorta happy. Add some dark secrets and mix liberally with elements of the supernatural.

***From what I’ve read of Simone St. James, she blends the beats of crime mystery with a supernatural force in every book. Best of both worlds if you’re a true crime lover who just wants a ghost to pop up and testify now and then.

Michael McDowell’s “The Elementals”

Red sky with sun, black shadow of house and sand against red background

I have a problem, one that Adam Neville (we’ll get to him later) has caused to flare up to a ten. I thought I like nebulous endings, the things we can’t define or understand, the things that just exist without beginnings or endings.

I was half right (I still enjoy a vague ending), but I need an origin story, if just because I know the author just didn’t throw sand monsters at me without a thought.

Enter “The Elementals.” In a twist no one saw coming, a rich family does what rich families do by spending a summer in two houses (the third is uninhabited) on a strip of sand they’ve had in their family forever. This is all precipitated by the death of their matriarch, a harsh and unloving mother who drove them all batshit insane, when not outright abusing them. The point of view does change from time to time, but most of the story unfolds in front of India, the daughter of Luker and granddaughter to that same awful matriarch.

She’s the innocent of our tale, despite her required precociousness. It’s this lack of experience along with an adult-like perception that gives her the ability to see the horrors of those mansions on the sand, but also be able to explain and interpret them for the reader. Unlike the adults, who have had the mysteries of the third mansion hovering in their lives for as long as they can remember, she doesn’t know what’s going on and won’t take a denial as an answer.

In this process, she seems to awaken whatever lives there on the beach, and it shows itself capable of taking human form despite its lack of a human consciousness, mimicking the people it’s stolen away over the years. Whether it’s malevolent or just alien and hungry is left to the reader; given its desire to consume, I tend more to the latter. It’s a neat analogue of what sand does to even the oldest and greatest of things— it drowns and devours them. Savage mothers eat their children right up.

I could have taken the ending if I knew some things, like why that third house? Why that strip of sand? What screamed into the void and drew these things? I’ve always felt even the most cosmic of horrors needs an invitation. Yes, bad things just happen without a reason and maybe we don’t get that answer because it would read too much like a cautionary tale when we’re supposed to just fear the sand; however, I need about 25% more exposition to feel like someone at least put some thought into it. I’m also not fond of the magical black person trope (I’m looking at you Stephen King) because it’s lazy.

Would I Read it Again?: I think I would. This is considered one of the quintessential horror novels of our time, and a lot of people think it’s terrifying. I just didn’t get that feeling from this, and I have to wonder if it’s me when this happens.

Rating: 3.5. I reserve the right to adjust this if/when I read it again.

Two Sentence-ish Sometimes-Horror Reviews (Part 1)

I’ve been writing reviews for a month or so now and have yet to get out of my December reading. In an effort to catch up. I’m just going to do a batches of one or two sentence reviews. Given that I read two-three books a week, I’d otherwise just be a skeleton typing things 400 years from now like some Muir protagonist.

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Cover of Death By Cashmere. Yarn basket in front of ocean view window.

Death By Cashmere by Sally Goldenbaum: 3.5. Ocean-side knitting club investigates the murder of upstairs roommate while doing traditional, wealthy East Coast BS. Fun little murder mystery with a focus on yarn; also, you get a knitting pattern in each book!

Cover of The Death of Jane Lawrence, two hands with something resembling a cat's cradle string drawn between them.

Death of Jane Lawrence by Caitlin Starling: 3.5. Young orphan seeks a loveless marriage that will meet her requirements for a husband and lifestyle, but doesn’t anticipate the necromancy (or actually falling in love with him). It’s okay, but suffers a bit from the trope of cosmic horror not requiring more than some creepy shite happening.

Troublemaker: Surviving Hollywood and Scientology by Leah Remini: 4. Sci-fi religion abuses those who speak out or ask questions about it: I mean, where is Shelly Miscavage? While not an entirely unbiased view of Scientology, it’s a worthwhile read where you can at least see why Remini left and continues to speak out against it.

Cover of the Kingdoms of Savannah. Red velvet chair sitting in the middle of a swamp.

Kingdoms of Savannah: A Novel by George Dawes Green: 2.5. In this mystery, Savannah’s wealthy elite does like rich people do as they seek one of the rumored locations for freed black men and women during the reign of slavery in the South. I feel like it’s coasting on Green’s reputation, since it’s not poorly written but still ultimately unsatisfying, unless you really enjoy the tiny snippets of history.

Cover of the collected Schizophrenia. Different colored marbleized patterns.

The Collected Schizophrenias by Esmé Weijun Wang: 3.5 A collection of essays about how Schizoaffective disorder sent one woman’s life off the tracks and how she has to constantly struggle with what it means to herself and others. Any person with mental illness can relate to how difficult it is to both find almost everything impossible while also trying to deflect what others perceive to be true,

Luke Arnold’s “Dead Man in a Ditch”

Cover of Dead Man in a Ditch-- yellow with street map..

Back in June, I was put on indefinite (okay, six weeks) hiatus due to a food-poisoning induced hernia and the subsequent surgery to fix it.

Knowing I wouldn’t be able to lift anything over five pounds, and also being aware that would just make me want to lift things more, I went ahead and asked my friends for books to read so I kept my mind off of “Fuck you, I do what I want.” This series was one of the suggestions.

A lot of urban fantasy novels focus on what happens when magic suddenly reinvigorates the world. Luke Arnold, from Black Sails and other series, instead focuses on what happens when magic is suddenly stripped from an Earth that always had it: elves suddenly age, vampires turn to dust, fairies revert to the trees and rocks they called home. Humans, once the underdog and now the standard, are even affected as the magical fires and tools that kept their cities running stop working, forcing everyone to resort to other methods to keep warm and survive.

Fetch Phillips, our main character, is at least 50% responsible for what happened to magic. After being on the side of the humans in staving the flow of magic, the result of his envy of the magical types and anger at their treatment of him, he’s become a private investigator trying to keep the non-magical lights on. In the first book, he has some vampire and women problems— his fairy romantic interest became a tree— but in the second one he’s dealing with things like actual guns, dead businessmen, and a strange stalker who’s literally stealing the essence of once magical creatures. These thefts open up another question: what if magic isn’t quite dead? What would once-magnificent creatures do to recapture the past?

These books are fun. They remind me a lot of the Dresden files, with a little more noir and fewer references to the various assets of women. Fetch Phillips is flawed and remains flawed throughout the series, which is relatable as he just feels like less of a stand-in for the author. The mysteries at the center of the novel are well-laid out and make sense within the context of the world. If you’re into that whole magical noir genre, it definitely will fill that hunger, even though it’s about a world where magic was killed.

Would I Read it Again?: Maybe. It’s not exactly the most mysterious of mysteries, but if I wanted to spend a rainy day with heist movies and detective fiction, I would happily return to it.

Rating: 4. It’s straight forward, interesting, and I enjoyed it. The plot makes sense and gets wrapped up well, with enough of a lead into the next book to make me want to read it (as soon as I whittle down the reading list a little).

Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris & Mrs. Harris Goes to New York

Cover of Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris and Mrs. Harris goes to new York showing older woman holding fancy dress in front of her with another cast of characters from the book across the top.

Occasionally, I delve out of horror to read books that a friend recommended, where a movie is being made, or they come across my suggested feeds from social media. Things like that. In this case, I saw a movie being made out of the first book, and it hit a chord with my deep love of historical fashion. I’m a multi-faceted person. If only I could put that into my art, right?

Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris (and New York!) follows the widow and charwoman (housecleaner) Mrs. Harris as she goes on two journeys set in motion by her dogged determination. In the first, she sees a Dior dress at one of her rich client’s houses and makes the decision to save up the 500 pounds she needs to travel to Paris and the House of Dior to own the gown of her dreams. Along the way, she charms aristocrats, models, and accountants, even setting in place a romance for the supporting characters. She does much the same in New York, seeking the father of a poor, abused child she basically kidnaps from his foster family. She’s charming, so it’s okay.

If you are looking for short, feel-good reads, then these two novellas will satisfy you. There is some heteronormative bullshit, as a dear friend would call it, as you see women who lead envious, glamourous lifestyles just seeking to settle with something less, because why the fuck not? But, these were written by a man during an era when women were expected to want that, so it’s not out of the blue, just kind of obnoxious.

Would I Read it Again?: Nah. Both of these novellas are short and sweet, and there’s just not a ton of depth to them. They’re meant to make you feel good, like that third piece of chocolate cake you need on a crappy day.

Rating: A 3, maybe? It’s simple writing, but not everything needs to be super profound. It just needs to satisfy, and these books do a decent job of that.

Elizabeth Kostova’s “The Historian”

Cover of The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. Half face of statue with rest in darkness.

I love this book.

And while I could end the review there, as long as I added how much I loved it a few more times, I’ve committed to writing more words.

The Historian is a love letter to the weird history surrounding the life of Vlad Tepes and the myth of Dracula. After a diplomat’s young daughter discovers his cache of records and books dedicated to the history of Vlad Tepes, she starts to research the stories on her own. As she finds out more information, she even asks her father to tell her the stories from his youth, when he also sought out Dracula after receiving a strange book with a cryptic map when he was younger.

This map leads them on a strange journey, with malevolent figures and disappearances abounding, through how history viewed Dracula, as well as what it says about him. The book takes us from academics and anachronistic protectors in Turkey to abandoned castles in Romania, mingling folklore with the rigorous nature of academia. At first, it’s a father telling a story to his daughter about his own youth, before they throw themselves back into the search once more, following historical breadcrumbs with both glee and apprehension.

This is not a book of action, even though the characters do follow the myth from location to location. It’s a passionate letter to the history that supports a mythology and how those things seep into and change our primary sources. The language is beautiful, just as you would write to a lover who inflames you just… so. It reminded me quite a bit of “Interview with the Vampire” by Anne Rice with how it invokes atmosphere and mystery with language rather than a great deal of action.

If you don’t like slow books, this is not the read for you. I do suggest maybe just taking in the first chapter to see if you can get into it, but it’s still a tough sell if you like faster-paced mysteries. If you love history and language, this is such a great combination of those topics. It’s obvious Kostova loves both, and it’s nearly impossible not to get caught up in that underlying current of enthusiasm if you’re even vaguely a history buff.

Would I Read it Again?: Well, I liked it so much I bought it so I could do exactly that. Most of my reading is through the Libby app, but I felt this was a needed member of my personal library. I also was able to pick up another recommended book through it that’s a glorious historical reference for my writing work.

Rating: 5, if you like history. Probably more of a 3 if you want people to start doing things rather than telling stories.

Scott Thomas’ Kill Creek

Cover of kill creek by Scott Thomas showing outline of dilapidated farmhouse

Every haunted house has a story. A malignant owner. A heinous act. A terrible tragedy. Something that makes the people who see it shiver even on the hottest days. They rush past these places, sometimes running, until whatever lurks within those walls can no longer see or hurt them.

In Kansas, this house is on Kill Creek Road. Its very foundation is built on a terrible and heinous tragedy: the man who built the house, and his black girlfriend, were both violently murdered by the locals. Years after this crime, the Finch Sisters buy the house and become little more than evil witches to the townspeople. When one of them dies of disease and the other hangs herself from the same tree as the previously murdered lover, the story of Kill Creek only grows.

This house serves as an inspiration, as several horror writers (representing the provocateur, the ingenue, the christian, and the established, prolific veteran) are invited to the most infamous house in Kansas to film a live stream. While the house serves up a couple scares during the stream, most of what occurs there is unremarkable. A few cold winds, sounds, and a mysteriously bricked-up stairwell make up most of the mystery for these writers seeking inspiration.

It’s what happens after that inspires and strikes terror in the hearts of those same writers, as some dark force causes them to check out of their normal lives and throw themselves headlong into writing a story; despite using their unique styles, this story is remarkably similar for each of them. This sudden obsession, and the consequences they face when they try to stop writing, force them back to the house on Kill Creek, where shenanigans ensue. And holy shit, are their shenanigans.

It’s a straightforward read about the power of belief and how it interacts with spiritual forces. If you want a haunted house book where the house is haunted, but not where the typical ghosts are going to get everyone way, this is a good deviation from the mean. It has a similar feel to “The House Next Door” (Siddons), without all of the waxing sweetly about Southern life in between the house demon issues.

Would I Read it Again?: No. Everything in the book was pretty clear cut and once you read the ending, there’s not a lot that makes you go “So, that’s what happened.”

Rating: 3.5. It’s a solid horror novel, but that’s really it. There are some loose ends that get lost in the twist. Like another recent read, Last Days, it’s a little unsatisfying.

Laird Barron’s “Occultation”

Cover of "Occultation and Other Stories" by Laird Barron. Naked couple holding each other, with another person squatting near warthog.

I have a thing for the outer dark.

Not in the sexy way, but instead a darker, filthier fascination of what oblivion means to all I know as me. Terrified of either truth. That kind of thing.

“Occultation” by Laird Barron definitely satisfies this particular hunger and manages to do so in one of my favorite formats: the short story. The book is a collection of nine short stories all dealing with those things that are beyond ken for many. Madness waits for the rest. If Eve ate an apple and gained the understanding of her vulnerability, then “Occultation” is eating the whole damned tree and losing oneself in the process.

I won’t pick a favorite story. The entire book is full of things I love. They range from a couple slowly going mad while the world outside devolves to eternal dark to a man who hears strange sounds in his vent, the voices slowly getting closer as he loses his mind. Most of the stories deal with relationships in some shape or form, showing both the comfort and claustrophobia such ties bring when the stars are right (when, really, they’re all wrong).

If you are into the kind of creeping madness that stays out of sight but definitely on the mind, while also breaking down the ties that bind us to reality in a sort of folie a duex, “Occultation” is a fantastic read.

Would I Read it Again?: Happily. I think this is one of those books where you pick up more and more details once you already know the end of the story.

Rating: 4.5. The .5 is about how dense the language can be, especially concerning dialogue. Reading through things again to catch clues is awesome, but needing to read it again to understand what is going on is a complete PITA.

Anne Rivers Siddons’ The House Next Door

The cover of The House Next Door, showing a house hidden behind vegetation.

What’s a house without a ghost? Still one bad motherfucker, if The House Next Door is to be believed. It doesn’t need any incorporeal spirit rattling its chains or throwing plates. Those are so… last year. Instead, it relies on a person’s own weaknesses, feeding them until they become grotesqueries and horrors beyond imagining. And what if you just happen to live next door to all of the zany butchery?

That’s the premise of The House Next Door. The neighbors, Colquitt and Walter, are pissed when they find out the empty lot next to their house— in a very influential Atlanta neighborhood— is to be no more. A newly-minted architect has been hired by an old money daughter of the South to build a house that says fuck daddy in all its glory. Colquitt and Walter do come around on it, even becoming close friends with the architect, as they see his talent come alive in the form of a modern home. Then shit starts to go down.

After several suspicious wildlife maulings, the new neighbors lose everything that is valuable to them: a child, reputation, their father— until they are driven from the home in an attempt to to maintain their reputations. Two more families follow, along with various incidences of “bad luck” with those who visit the house. The architect loses his talent, other neighbors watch their son throw his life away, and “Col,” as the book often calls her, and Walter almost implode an otherwise impenetrable marriage. Walking into this house is the karma equivalent of breaking a billion mirrors and passing under a ladder on your way out. It takes a family or two, as well as the drunken ramblings of the architect, before anyone believes something might be going on and Col/Walt find a reason to start taking… action.

Siddons is known for her slice of Southern, and I think that shows well in this horror story. One has to move those stories at a certain pace, or they become absolute trudges. In this case, it meant there was always more action with enough of the slice of life to make the story of this strange house in a conservative (of course, they think themselves liberal), old money community feel like an avoidable tragedy.

There are some issues with language used to describe an queer entanglement. In addition, a Jewish character is portrayed as a new money-hungry boo. It’s an unforgivable part of an otherwise good book, even though many might say it perfectly emulates the mindset of the Southern WASP who happened to write in 1978 about other Southern WASPS. It definitely shows how even those who consider themselves on the right side of the Civil Rights movement are the type who speak and act one way in public and become entirely different people within their cloistered communities.

Would I Read it Again?: Yeah. Apparently I rushed a little at the end and missed important information. This happened a couple of times and I had to go back to correct my understanding. The book isn’t so spectacular that I would read it again just for enjoyment, since I feel like I got most of what I needed the first time.

Rating: 3. The writing was solid, but the Jewish character really just threw off everything for me, especially with all the calls to it the characters make. I knocked a point off for that since it wasn’t just narrator perception framing the racism.