In the Tall Grass by Stephen King and Joe Hill
Published by Scribner, 2012
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
In this novella, adult siblings Cal and Becky pull over for a rest stop by the side of an old church. On the other side of the road, a field of impossibly tall grass spreads to the horizon. From it, they hear a young boy pleading for help, and his mother, begging them to stay away. Against the mother’s warnings, the two venture into the grass to try and help; a decision they will quickly regret.
Father and son writing duo, King and Hill, do a great job of creating tension and unease. The fever dream of events that unfolds is as disorientating for the reader as it is for the characters, with several horrifying tableaus that are sure to linger in the mind. I can’t say the plot itself did much to satisfy, however; this being a conceptually driven story that hinges around its atmosphere and key set pieces rather than a particular arc. In that respect, I found it to be the kind of read that is somehow weaker than the sum of its parts. Still, it’s morbidly entertaining if you want something unapologetically strange and disturbing to fly through well within a couple of hours.
You can read In the Tall Grass online here, or purchase it as part of a full collection of stories by Joe Hill here.
Wisdom from a Humble Jellyfish by Rani Shah
Published by Dey Street Books, 2020
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
The primary aim of this book is to encourage us all to follow the many examples of self-care and wisdom found throughout the natural world, by simplifying our daily lives and prioritising our own health and wellbeing. It does so by sharing fascinating facts about the weird and wonderful creatures we share the Earth with, and exploring what principles we as humans can take from them to apply to our own routines.
It has to be said that a few of the equivalent self-care tips for people were very tenuously linked to their animal counterparts, but I consistently enjoyed the gentle, warm tone of the book. The highlight for me was definitely the plethora of fun, interesting facts I picked up along the way (like how porcupines have evolved to have a coating of antibacterial oil on their quills, to reduce the risk of infection when they accidentally cut themselves on them). By imparting knowledge in small, bitesize chunks, and finding ways to make it applicable to our everyday lives, it’s the kind of read that educates stealthily, focussing on genuine interest and readability, and successfully avoiding the dreaded feel of a school lesson.
I appreciated the way Shah brought everything together at the end, by highlighting the sad reality that many species referenced throughout the book are currently at risk of extinction, and why it’s critical that we redress the balance of our lives to reconnect with simpler, kinder, and more natural ways of being. After all, ‘caring for nature is self-care for us all.’
Thank you to the publisher for an advanced copy via Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.
You can pre-order a copy of Wisdom from a Humble Jellyfish by clicking here.
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This account of Machado’s experiences within an abusive same-sex relationship is at once painfully honest and uniquely indefinable. In documenting the reality of her emotional trauma, and the frustration she felt at the lack of representation for queer domestic abuse, her approach is unflinching. In terms of structure and style, she challenges our expectations, shifting the boundary lines of what defines a memoir.
The initial setup for Liz Moore’s Long Bright River is almost classic crime/thriller territory, as we’re introduced to a police officer concerned that her missing sister (a drug addict and prostitute) will emerge as the next victim in a string of killings against similarly vulnerable women. Her personal investment in the case will push her prided professionalism to its limit, as she seeks to find her sister before the killer can. While the novel does have all the gripping intensity and intrigue of a good mystery romp, it opts (initially, at least) for a very different stylistic approach.
Written by a queer Vietnamese American, the poems in this collection are largely concerned with identity, trauma, and the painful journey towards acceptance – particularly when you feel othered by those who should love you most. There are a few absolute gems in here, particularly the final poem, Notes on Staying, but Nguyen’s poetic voice and array of styles didn’t always click with me, sadly.
I love the concept of this short from Tor Books. Set in the near future, the successful development of pain transference allows people to literally carry the burden of someone else’s sickness on their behalf. We follow a mother who has spent the majority of her adult daughter’s lifetime shouldering the excruciating pain of her degenerative joint condition, allowing her to focus on establishing her own life and career. With impressive brevity, Walton is able to comment on both the selflessness and the folly of her heroine’s actions, the story reading in some ways like a cautionary tale about the dangers of ignoring your own health and happiness for the benefit of others.
This short from Tor Books is about a mission to make contact – and attempt to draw up a peace treaty – with the first newly discovered alien race. It has many hallmarks of classic sci-fi, and is a quick, engaging read, but it’s the subtext that helps this one stand out – even if it does become a little heavy-handed by the end. Essentially, the story is a riff on the idea of what constitutes power, and where, as a society, we place credence. Chiefly, Older asks the reader to consider why we feel compelled to supress pain.
This graphic memoir of Frida Kahlo offers a particularly insightful look into life with chronic pain, and the transformative power of art. It’s very interestingly structured, both in its forgoing of traditional panels in favour of a freeform layout, and in its narrative framing, with the book presented as though a first-person discussion between Kahlo and Death. Having suffered many losses throughout her life, and flirted dangerously close to death many times herself, this has effective thematic resonance.
Reading this novel was an odd experience, in that I flipped between immensely enjoying it and finding it incredibly frustrating on multiple occasions. Put simply, it’s full of excellent themes, ideas, and characters, but the execution is almost uniformly clumsy, leaving me with the distinct impression that it’s a brilliant book trapped inside a good one.
Frannie Langton has been called many things throughout her life. ‘Mulatta’, slave, whore, seductress. And now murderer. Facing the death penalty for the supposed killing of her white master and mistress, Frannie vows she remembers nothing of the fateful night in question, though maintains she could never have murdered Mrs Benham, the woman with whom she was deeply in love. This novel is her testimony, taking us all the way from her birth on a plantation in Jamaica to her incarceration in London, as she attempts to make sense of the life she has lived, and to prove her innocence – to the jury as much as to herself.
