Review | The Wolf Gift, Anne Rice

I devoured Interview with a Vampire in high school. The movie version was notable for a truly nightmare-inducing scene where the child vampire played by Kirsten Dunst pretended to cry and, when a kind elderly lady hugged her to comfort her, Dunst immediately sank her fangs into the woman’s neck. That, and hotties Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and Antonio Banderas, of course, but seriously, it was the Kirsten Dunst scene that made me cringe away from any hug for months afterward. The movie is great, but the book is amazing. Rice created such an enthralling, tragic, and yes, seductive mythology around vampires.

So when I heard Rice was coming out with a werewolf novel, I looked forward to seeing the mythology she’d create for werewolves. The Wolf Gift is a solid novel. It didn’t transport me like her vampire novels did, but it did entertain me, and Rice did introduce a fascinating twist to the werewolf mythology.

Reuben, a handsome young reporter, is bitten by a werewolf, and receives what he calls the “Wolf Gift.” Whenever he transforms into the Wolf Man, he can hear cries of distress and can smell evil. Wolf Gift reminds me of the standard superhero origin story — Reuben as the Wolf Man follows his wolfish super-instincts to track down evil and save the innocent, all the while yearning to find out more about the origin of his condition. In an ironic twist out of Spiderman and Superman, Reuben is assigned to cover the Wolf Man stories for his newspaper, and dryly wonders where Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen are. The public views Wolf Man as a hero — who wouldn’t want rapists and killers to be ripped apart? — but, as with all superhero stories, I kept waiting for the part where the public turns on the hero.

Some members of the public do turn against the Wolf Man, but mostly it is Reuben himself who is attacked by his conscience. His brother, a priest, points out that by killing evil people, Reuben is taking away from them their chance at redemption. A strong thread of Catholicism runs through Wolf Gift — Reuben only tells his brother about his Gift under the seal of Catholic confession, some of the characters debate Gerald Manley Hopkins and a book by a Catholic theologian, and Reuben himself, while unmoved by his brother’s point about redemption, is highly philosophical about his Gift. His articles for the paper, while sympathetic towards his Wolf side, also caution the public that the Wolf Man isn’t a straight up hero — what right does any one have to be judge, jury and executioner? To be honest, I found myself missing Lestat’s utter amorality, or even Louis’ pathos. Reuben’s approach to his moral dilemma felt very cerebral, and I didn’t really feel that he was torn at all. At least until he commits a major mistake later on and feels truly, horribly guilty about it, then I could truly see how he might view his Gift as a Curse.

I do like the idea of werewolf as superhero. Most werewolf stories I read focus on the primitive, animal side of the werewolf, and the joy and freedom in giving in to pure animal instinct. I like how Rice turns that on its head and turns the animal instincts almost metaphysical — werewolves retain their human intellect, but can smell evil. They, quite literally, are compelled to destroy evil and protect the innocent. In one scene, Reuben observes how another werewolf, about to kill an innocent, felt compelled to confess to this innocent first, and practically beg forgiveness — almost at a biological level, they are unable to harm good people. It’s an interesting idea, and while I personally cringed at the possibility that werewolves are actually some creatures from heaven, I like the more scientific and historical explanation eventually provided.

Rice’s vampires always struck me as incredibly sensual, and I figured the more animalistic werewolf would be even more erotic. Rice’s depiction of the initial transformation:

There was a limitless reservoir of heat inside of him, and now it broke out on the surface of his skin as if every hair follicle on his body was expanding. He’d never felt such exquisite throbbing pleasure, such raw, divine pleasure.

“Yes!” he whispered… What mattered was the wave after wave of ecstasy passing through him.

Every particle of his body was defined in these waves, the skin covering his face, his head, his hands, the muscles of his arms and legs. With every particle of himself he was breathing, breathing as he’d never breathed in his life, his whole being expanding, hardening, growing stronger and stronger by the second…

Confession: I laughed. I felt like a thirteen year old schoolgirl giggling at this passage, but I really couldn’t help it. The rest of his transformations weren’t quite so graphic, mostly limited to it just happening, or him going off alone to induce it to come. There is a love story as well, where the woman is turned on by his wolf form. Yet other than a couple of sex scenes, the romance was surprisingly less erotic than I expected. She was mostly like Mary Jane watching her superhero man go off to fight evil.

Wolf Gift offers an interesting twist to the mythos, and provides an interesting origin story, but I wish Rice had gone deeper and darker with the characters. Reuben was somewhat afraid of scientists experimenting on him, but other than a couple of scenes, I didn’t really feel the urgency. Neither did I feel that there was an actual danger of society turning against the Wolf Man, nor did I really feel Reuben’s internal moral conflict over his dual nature. I like the character of Stuart, near the end, but I really dislike the nickname Reuben gave him. Wolf Gift is entertaining, and there are hints at a richer mythology than what is in the book, which I assume Rice may well explore in a future novel. Wolf Gift mostly struck me as a superhero story, with Catholicism and a bit of sex. Not bad, but not amazing either.

Review | Among Others, Jo Walton

Oh my gosh, wow. Just wow. Dan Wagstaff from Raincoast Books told me Jo Walton’s Among Others is “totally a novel for book nerds,” and wow, is it ever! If a book has ever changed your life, if you’ve ever felt at home in a new town because of the local library, if your favourite book has ever made a troubling experience easier to bear — read this book.

Among Others is a story about magic; it’s about boarding schools and dealing with grief; above all, it’s a love letter to books and libraries, and to the community created by book lovers finding each other. I haven’t underlined a book this much in a long time — now my copy is filled with passages underlined in green ink, and I can imagine it soon becoming dog-eared and tattered from much re-reading. It’s that good. Dear Dan Wagstaff: thank you!

Mori Phelps was raised in Wales by an insane mother who dabbled in magic. Mori finds refuge in science fiction novels and the fairies who live in nearby industrial ruins. When a magical battle against her mother kills Mori’s twin sister and leaves Mori crippled, she runs away to join her father in England. Her father sends her to boarding school, where she attempts some magic of her own to find friends, and eventually has to face her mother again.

To be honest, the book description made me wary — I expected a fantasy world with characters casting spells and attacking each other with magical lightning bolts. While I love Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings, I haven’t read much of that genre in years, and I couldn’t see how a book about magical beings could be “totally a novel for book nerds.”

Here’s the thing — the magic in Among Others is completely different from what I expected, and I love, absolutely love, this concept of magic. Mori wants magic “to work in a magical way… like it did in the books,” yet

You can almost always find chains of coincidence to disprove magic. That’s because it doesn’t happen the way it does in books. It makes those chains of coincidence. That’s what it is. It’s like if you snapped your fingers and produced a rose but it was because someone on an aeroplane had dropped a rose at just the right time for it to land in your hand. There was a real person and a real aeroplane and a real rose, but that doesn’t mean the reason you have the rose in your hand isn’t because you did the magic.

I love that. I love the ambiguity about the idea of magic. I love how you can never be sure if something magical really was going on, or if it was Mori’s science fiction-fuelled imagination casting events in a magical light. Even the magical battle against her mother is never fully explained, and the sister’s death could very well have been the result of an accident. Yet, as with the rose and the aeroplane, just because there was a real accident didn’t mean it wasn’t magic. I love this ambiguity because Among Others refuses to be about actual, fantasy world magic or about finding magic in the ordinary. Rather, Among Others remains firmly within the possibility of magic, and, as any reader can attest, potential can be so much more potent than the actual. Take for example a scene when Mori is asked whether her fairies could be ghosts and she replies she doesn’t know.

“Don’t you want to find out?” he asked, his eyes gleaming. That’s the spirit of science fiction.

“Yes,” I said, but I didn’t really mean it. They are what they are, that’s all.

Like Mori, I too didn’t want her magic to be tied down to a single explanation. As such, I found it really jarring when Mori says, “Does this mean that it doesn’t matter if it’s magic or not, anything you do has power and consequences and affects other people?” No, I wanted to shout. No shift into self-awareness and definitely no tying down into moral lessons. Fortunately, Mori concludes that “magic is different,” and I try to forget that that all too preachy line was ever written.

I want to say that at its heart, Among Others is really just about a lonely young girl grieving over her sister’s death and trying to belong to a new school. There’s a particularly beautiful passage where Mori realizes she’s fifteen and her twin “is still and always fourteen.” Yet the book defies such reductionism. The book is eloquent in its simplicity, yet it also feels expansive in scope. “Sometimes I’m not sure whether I’m entirely human,” Mori confesses.

I mean, I know I am… What I mean is, when I look at other people, other girls in school, and see what they like and what they’re happy with and what they want, I don’t feel as if I’m part of their species.

Something about the way Mori speaks takes the very personal emotion of loneliness and makes it seem like an intergalactic issue. I love her narrative voice, possibly because I’m a major nerd, and such metaphors resonate with me.

At one point, Mori considers joining her sister — again, described in such a way that it’s not about suicide, but about following her sister and some fairies into a portal, much like the one elves go to in Lord of the Rings when they die. Mori decides against it because she still hasn’t finished Babel 17. “I’m sure that isn’t normal,” she admits. Still, “there may be stranger reasons for being alive.” I love Mori’s detached, almost clinical tone about such an emotionally charged scene; you can just feel her disengaging from the pain and trying to find refuge through words.

The ambiguity over magic has its own consequences for Mori. She casts a spell to find herself a karass, and it works. If, like me, you haven’t read Cat’s Cradle by Vonnegut, Mori describes a karass as “a group of people who are generally connected together.” Essentially, she uses magic to find herself a group of friends, and the next day, she hears about a science fiction book club at the local library. Coincidence or magic? The difference matters to Mori — do her  new friends like her for herself, or is it the magic that made them like her? Her confusion and fear that perhaps without her spell, her newfound friends wouldn’t have liked her are very real. That’s another thing I love about Among Others. Even when phrased in magical terms, or described in a fantastical way, Mori’s emotions feel very real and keep the story firmly grounded.

I’ve mentioned that Among Others is a love letter to libraries and a novel for book nerds. Mori feels she can handle her new life with her father because of his library: “I have books, new books, and I can bear anything as long as there are books.” She also finds refuge in the local library: “Libraries really are wonderful… I mean bookshops make a profit on selling you books, but libraries just sit there lending you books quietly out of the goodness of their hearts.” Isn’t that a lovely thought?

Mori also references a lot of books. At times, I felt like the school librarian who took Mori to a book club meeting on Le Guin and, having read only Wizard of Earthsea, felt intimidated by the pile of books on the table. Mori uses terms like karass without bothering to explain them and mentions characters from science fiction novels without bothering to explain their stories, because to her, these words and names are familiar. Context usually made it fairly easy to guess the meaning of unfamiliar words, and I admit feeling a thrill of recognition at the ones I did recognize. When Mori compares Marx’s Communist Manifesto to Anarres, I love the way it made me suddenly think of communism in a new way. When a Wikipedia search showed me that the name for Mori’s fairy friend Glorfindel actually comes from Lord of the Rings, I thought that was just geeky cool.

The best part is that all the references to science fiction in Among Others gave me a full list of books I now want to check out. Mori’s love for these books is irresistibly infectious. “The thing about Tolkien,” Mori says, “about The Lord of the Rings, is that it’s perfect.” Yes! Oh my god, yes! She talks a lot about Samuel Delany’s Triton, and at one point compares it to one of my favourite novels, Ursula Le Guin’s The Dispossessed. Literally, while I was still reading Among Others, I checked to see if Triton is available at my local library. It isn’t, but I did find it at a nearby indie used bookstore. I just bought it this weekend, and can’t wait to begin it. Seriously, Among Others is just that kind of book. You finish it and want to keep reading more. You want to read all the books Mori mentions and understand exactly who Glorfindel is. You want to cast your own spell and find a club at your local library that loves reading as much as you do. Mori’s passion for books and desire to find fellow book lovers with whom to share that passion invites us to join in her karass.

Trust me: read this book. If you do, I’d love to know what you think! I discovered Among Others myself from a Twitter conversation where the tweeters were so enamoured of the book that I just had to read it to see what the fuss was all about. I’m so happy I did. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to read my brand new (used) copy of Triton.

Review | Hanging Hill, Mo Hayder

The only other Mo Hayder book I’ve read was Pig Island, and it really creeped me out. I also found it gross, though I can’t remember exactly why (and to be honest, I don’t want to remember either). So I approached Hanging Hill with interest, but also a bit of trepidation.

There was a mystery in Hanging Hill — a teenaged girl was murdered — but the story really revolved around the lives of two sisters: Zoe, one of the detectives investigating the murder, and Sally, a divorcee whose daughter is the victim’s classmate.

From my experience with Pig Island, I was expecting a horrifying tale. Instead I got a very touching one, horrifying not in the gross, almost supernaturally creepy way of Pig Island, but in a much more basic, emotional way of seeing the lives of characters you care for turn out horribly. I felt bad for Sally, who was doing her best to take care of her daughter Millie. All Millie wants is to fit in with her wealthier classmates, and this leads to her making some bad decisions, which in turn forces Sally to take a job as housekeeper for a man with shady connections. It’s a difficult situation, and at times it felt like a horror movie, where you know Sally’s decisions will only lead to more trouble, and yet feel as helpless as she does in finding another way out.

Zoe is almost as sympathetic a character — strong-willed and hot-tempered, she sometimes came off as too defensive and jealous of the beautiful psychological profiler. She gets very involved in her cases, and Hayder shows how Zoe almost literally tries to identify with the victims. For example, the victim in this case was gagged with a tennis ball, so Zoe puts a tennis ball in her own mouth and forces herself to keep it in for as long as she can, to imagine how the victim must have felt in her final moments. Zoe also has some skeletons in her closet, and when the skeletons in her past somehow connect with the problems of Sally’s present, the momentum picks up and you can just see both sisters’ lives going out of control. The siblings are estranged, because of an incident in their childhood, and at times, I just wanted to yell at them to make up and get back together already, because it would help solve both their problems.

I especially love the Millie storyline. On one hand, I was annoyed by her for getting into such deep financial trouble just so she can join a school trip. On the other hand, I can only begin to imagine what a terrifying situation she was in, especially for a teenager, and I was more annoyed at the father (Sally’s ex) for not bailing her and Sally out. I loved the storyline of Millie being in love with the hot guy (who of course was in love with someone else), when Millie actually had a nerdy friend already in love with her. Sally promised the nerdy friend that someday, when Millie grew up, she’d see him in a new light. I thought that was sweet.

The mystery itself was pretty difficult to solve, and the ending took me completely by surprise. I thought the final scene was a particularly gutsy way to end the book. I actually checked if there were additional pages I’d missed — surely Hayder wouldn’t end it with that! — then, finding none, thought, “Good for you, Mo Hayder.” Hanging Hill takes a while to build up — it focuses so much more on character development than mystery solving — but once it gets going, the momentum just keeps building, and it ends with a bang.