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Review | Into the Darkest Corner, Elizabeth Haynes

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Quite possibly one of the worst things about being the victim of a crime is feeling judged yourself. It’s perfectly natural to think of your own actions and agonize over how you could have prevented the crime, or how, if circumstances were different, you might’ve escaped it altogether. Among the most empowering things, therefore, for a victim of crime to hear, apart from that the perpetrator has been caught, are “You’re not alone” and “It’s not your fault.” Some are fortunate enough to learn that right away, others need a bit more time. But what if you don’t hear that at all? What if the people you trust the most tell you that you are at fault, that in fact, you are lying and not a victim of crime at all? When Catherine Bailey, the heroine of Elizabeth Haynes’ debut novel Into the Darkest Corner, calls herself “such a fool” for not having escaped an abusive relationship with Lee when she had the chance, I wanted to hug her and tell her not to blame herself. When she thinks about how her parents’ death led to her going to bars, flirting with strangers and eventually meeting Lee, I wanted to tell her that it’s useless to dwell on the what if’s, that in fact, her anger should be towards Lee and not towards herself or her past. I wanted to be the friend she so clearly needed.

Into the Darkest Corner is a difficult book to read, and I mean that as a testament to how amazing it is. Haynes has crafted a terrifying, emotional, claustrophobic story of abuse. My copy (photo on the left) is filed with Post-It notes and marginal scribbles, mostly comments like “Argh! You liar!” referring to Lee. Rarely have I marked up a book so much — Darkest Corner has provoked that much from me.

I detested Lee from the very beginning. The novel opens with Lee’s trial in 2005, where he testifies that Catherine was an emotionally unbalanced girlfriend whose obsessive jealousy caused him to snap and punch her — the “first time [he’d] ever hit a woman,” and allegedly an act of self-defense. This may be because I already knew from the book’s back cover that Lee was the jealous one with a “darker side,” but this scene just made me sick. How dare this man not just beat up his girlfriend but now try to paint her as the one at fault?

The novel is structured so that the story of Catherine and Lee’s developing relationship in 2003 (pre-trial) is told in alongside (in alternating scenes) the story of Catherine in 2007 (post-trial). It took me a while to get into this structure, mostly because I felt I already knew how the 2003 storyline was going to turn out, and I wanted to get on with the rest of the story. I soon found myself liking Haynes’ choice of structure however — the scenes of Catherine being carefree and flirting with the handsome, mysterious Lee are especially heart-wrenching when contrasted with the perennially frightened Catherine in 2007, who suffers from OCD and practically has to be dragged to the office Christmas party.

Even when Catherine was really in love with Lee, I never found him attractive. There was a major red flag from the beginning — Lee’s secrecy about his job — though I guess I could see how that would have a dark, brooding stranger type appeal. I do wish I saw a bit more of Lee’s charming side, just so I can understand how Catherine could have fallen so hard, and how her friends could have been so won over.

I have rarely detested a character as much as I do Lee. He’s just creepy and controlling. For example, he switches around the knives and forks in Catherine’s kitchen drawer. When Catherine demands to know why he did it, he replies, “I just wanted you to know I was looking out for you.” Catherine admits she feels uncomfortable without knowing why, and that was one point when I wanted to just yell at her — how can you not know why that creeps you out? Talk about the heebie-jeebies! To Catherine’s credit, she does ask him not to do it again instead of just letting it alone.

Haynes does an amazing job of putting us in Catherine’s frame of mind. It was terrifying to see Lee’s controlling tendencies escalate, to the point that even when Catherine realizes how much she needs to escape this relationship, it’s already too late. Several times in the margins, I’ve written “how to escape?” The story at times felt claustrophobic — Catherine’s experience of being trapped by Lee felt so real that even I, who knew he’d be convicted in 2005, saw no way out.

In contrast to Lee is Stuart, Catherine’s neighbour in 2007, who is a psychologist and who wants to help her deal with her OCD. I was initially put off when he tells her she has OCD and asks if she’s gotten any help for it. I knew he was trying to be helpful, but I also wanted her to tell him it was none of his business. Still, she does need help, and I like how Haynes balances out Catherine’s wariness of Stuart with her desire to get better. Stuart gradually grew on me — I love how, despite his attraction to Catherine, he is first and foremost a friend. I kept wishing that he wouldn’t turn out to have some hidden agenda, that he really is as nice a guy as he seems. Lee is such a horrible, manipulative person, and the way he destroys Catherine is painstakingly, painfully methodical. Because Catherine’s relationship with Stuart unfolds in the book alongside her experiences with Lee, it is difficult to allow ourselves to trust Stuart, just as it must have been for Catherine as well.

Darkest Corner has been compared to S.J. Watson’s Before I Go to Sleep. Watson even blurbs Darkest Corner, calling it “intense, gripping and utterly unputdownable.” I am a huge fan of Before I Go to Sleep — I found it, quite literally, “unputdownable,” and it kept me up all night. Its premise of not knowing who you really area is terrifying.

I found Into the Darkest Corner difficult to put down as well, but more than that, I found it difficult to read. Catherine’s story gets into you, in a way the very best books — of any genre — do. Catherine battles not just Lee the person but, perhaps more difficult, Lee the memory, which haunts her even after Lee is behind bars. I cheered every time Catherine fought back. I wanted her to win, to beat Lee once and for all and finally get on with her life, even though I knew that no matter what, the scars left by her experiences will never fully go away. Catherine’s story feels real, ever last terrifying, tragic bit of it, and kudos to Haynes for not holding back on such a difficult subject. Brilliant book, one that will stay with you long after you’ve finished reading.

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Thank you to Harper Collins Canada for an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Review | The Absolutist, John Boyne

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It takes great courage to fight for your country, but sometimes it takes even greater courage to refuse to fight. An absolutist, according to Corporal Wells, a character in John Boyne’s The Absolutist, goes “one step beyond conscientiously objecting.” I’ve heard of conscientious objectors — conscripted soldiers who are morally opposed to fighting in a war, and therefore opt to serve their country is less violent ways, i.e. working in hospitals. An absolutist, on the other hand, Wells says, is “at the far end of the spectrum… He won’t do anything at all to further the war effort. Won’t fight, won’t help those who are fighting, won’t work in a hospital or come to the aid of the wounded.”

A long time soldier, Wells considers absolutism as “cowardice on the most extreme level,” and on one hand, it’s easy to see where he’s coming from. Here are men risking their lives every day to fight the Great War (World War I, before the world even dared consider the possibility of a World War II) and keep their country safe — it’s completely understandable that they would resent those who refuse to fight and therefore stay away from enemy fire. On the other hand, for someone who truly believes that anything to do with the war is immoral, there is also much courage in being able to look at your fellow soldiers, all of whom are pressuring you to join in, and just say no.

When I first read the publisher’s description of The Absolutist, which says that a soldier, Tristan, has a secret he is working up the courage to confess to the sister of his fellow soldier Will, I thought that the big secret was going to be that Tristan and Will have a romantic relationship. (I’m not posting a spoiler one way or the other; this is just what I guessed would happen from the publisher’s description.) The story, after all, was set at a time when there was still a social stigma against homosexuality (sadly, that stigma still hasn’t been completely eradicated). Boyne does touch on the difficulties of being in love with a fellow soldier of the same sex, and I love how faithful he is to the language of the era. Delicate rather than overt, much like E.M. Forster’s suggestion of same-sex romance in A Passage to India, Boyne’s writing emphasizes how much Tristan has to hide his sexuality, even as other characters are free to broadcast their homophobia.

However, The Absolutist shows that there are much more dangerous confessions than coming out as gay. While being gay is seen by the soldiers in the novel as an object of ridicule, being an absolutist is viewed as a betrayal. Will is conscripted into the army and from the very beginning, launches formal proceedings to be recognized as an absolutist and released from military duty. There’s something appealing about his being so honest about his intentions, especially in the world of confusion and chaos of the Great War. And when he witnesses something so terrible he demands justice, you realize how heroic he is.

Yet the best thing about Boyne’s writing is that he offers no easy answers. While we applaud Will’s unwavering morality, Boyne also immerses us in the atmosphere of horror and fear that the other soldiers endure. In one scene, Tristan is talking to a fellow soldier when “I am immediately rendered blind by what feels like a bucket of hot mucus being chucked in my face.” The other soldier has just been shot in the head, “one eye completely gone — somewhere on my person, I suspect — the other hanging uselessly from its socket.” Just reading that made me shudder — I don’t even want to imagine how it would feel to live it day after day after day. How can I blame the soldiers who resented Will refusing to take part in any aspect of the war effort? Yet how can I accept how horribly they in turn reacted to Will’s objection?

What is cowardice? What is heroism? When you’re down in the trenches, should your loyalty be to an idea or to people? Where is the line between understanding someone and excusing his behaviour? The Absolutist raises more questions than it answers, and creates a web of morality that is as ambivalent as it is realistic. And the moment when we learn Tristan’s secret — and his motivation behind it — is, for me, probably the most heart wrenching scenes in the novel. A powerful ending to a very complex tale.

Review | A Dog’s Journey, W. Bruce Cameron

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My aunt and uncle owned a dog. I can never remember the name of the breed, but she was an adorable white fluffy ball of energy. I loved visiting their house and having that dog run up to me, tail wagging. She was probably more excited just to have guests around than to see me specifically, but it was always a nice welcome. She died last year, and every time I visit my aunt and uncle, a part of me still expects to hear her excited barks, and to see the little ball of white fur hurtling towards me. Something’s missing now, and I can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel for my aunt and uncle, for whom that dog was such a big part of their lives.

What if beloved pets don’t die, however? Rather, what if they are reborn as another dog, and what if fate finds a way to bring them back into our lives? W. Bruce Cameron’s A Dog’s Journey is the sequel to his bestselling A Dog’s Purpose. Buddy, who has lived several lifetimes searching for his purpose in life, begins Journey believing that he has found and fulfilled it, having taken care of his owner Ethan. So Buddy dies, believing it to be the final time. However, it turns out that Ethan’s granddaughter Clarity needs a dog of her own, and Buddy finds himself reborn and adopted by Clarity, beginning a whole new cycle of birth and rebirth throughout Clarity’s lifetime. (Buddy is reincarnated in various forms and given various names throughout the novel, but for simplicity’s sake, I’ll just keep calling him Buddy.)

To be honest, a part of me feels uncomfortable with this idea. Surely a dog exists for far more than his human’s needs. Why would a dog’s value in life be determined by how comfortable he’s made ours? More importantly, why would a dog’s entrance into doggie nirvana be dependent on our human lifespan? At one point, I felt pretty bad for Buddy, who, in all his various reincarnations, kept thinking of finding Clarity, because she needed him. I just wanted to let the dog have his rest.

That being said, there is something reassuring in the idea that loved ones — human, animal — never really leave us, that they will be around in some form for as long as we need them. Putting aside my desire to give Buddy a life beyond the support he can give Ethan and Clarity, A Dog’s Journey is really a very touching book. It reveals how devoted our pets are to us, and, just as important, how devoted we are to them. On the book jacket is the question, “Do we take care of our pets, or do they take care of us?” A Dog’s Journey suggests that it’s both — humans and dogs as best friends, very much linked to each other.

If anyone ever needed a dog’s unconditional love, it’s Clarity. Growing up with low self-esteem and a hypercritical mother, Clarity feels unloved. Even when her best friend Trent, who is obviously in love with her, asks her out, she suggests he find someone prettier. Best thing about Clarity is that she’s not a self-pitying sad sack. She does feel low about herself, but she is also funny and charming, and you can see why Trent would be in love with her.

You can also see how much she needs the unconditional love Buddy provides. Being completely free to talk to Buddy about her problems, and having to take responsibility for Buddy’s well-being helps Clarity. I especially love the part where she has to perform community service and chooses to help train cancer-sniffing dogs. Even though Buddy wasn’t being trained himself, he learned how to do it by watching the other dogs. Cancer is one of those truly horrible diseases that’s become so common you probably don’t think about it much unless it happens to someone you know. Having lost a loved one to cancer myself, I love the idea that dogs can be trained to detect cancer early, and thereby help get the patient to a doctor before it’s too late. I hope the author based this particular bit on research.

Cameron does a great job at presenting a dog’s eye view — things we take for granted (e.g. a woman can be called both “Gloria” and “mother”) are things Buddy, as a dog, makes a conscious effort to teach himself. A visit to a TV studio leads to a heroic misunderstanding and one of the funniest moments in the book. Trent is probably my favourite character — such a nice, sweet guy! Like Buddy, I wanted Clarity to realize what a good man she has in him, and as a reader, I had the most emotional response while reading this book at a plot twist concerning Trent.

Buddy, especially, is a hero to cheer for. Smart, playful and fiercely loyal, he’s the kind of dog kids probably have in mind when asking for a dog. A Dog’s Journey is a funny, touching novel, highly recommended for dog owners, animal lovers, and anyone who’s ever considered getting a dog.