Tag Archives: 50BookPledge2013

Review | Dial “M” for Morna, Evan Munday

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Full disclosure: I absolutely adored the first book in this series. So much so that as early as last year, at the Toronto Comic Arts Festival, I bugged the author to tell me when Book 2 would be published. Then, in May, I happened to meet his publicist at another author’s book launch, and again I bugged her for the release date of Book 2. She agreed to send me an ARC, and yes, I’m afraid I emailed her a week later to follow up and she admitted the ARCs weren’t even ready for mailing yet. So, to author Evan Munday and to his publicist: my apologies. I’m not a creepy stalker reader fan, I promise. But really, you publish a book about a Scooby gang of dead kids and a goth tween named October who is writing a book called Two Knives, One Thousand Demons, you do expect some rabid fangirling, don’t you?

Full disclosure number two: I already want to read Book 3.

9781770410732Dial “M” for Morna picks up about a few weeks after the events in Dead Kid Detective Agency. The next full moon is coming up and October is no closer to fulfilling her promise of solving the mystery behind Morna’s death. And as if solving a 100-year-old murder mystery weren’t challenging enough, October’s friend Yumi finds herself the target of anti-Asian harassment at school.

In my review of Dead Kid, I said that the mystery was more Scooby Doo than Agatha Christie — not much of a puzzle, but still an awesome ride. Munday sharpens his mystery writing skills with this volume, which is much more atmospheric than the last one. With the help of an awesome young history teacher (a Battlestar Galactica fan who wears Buddy Holly glasses), October uses a microfilm station to research Morna’s life. Yes, a microfilm. I’ve never used one (librarians, please tell me they still exist!), but the reference did take me back to Sweet Valley and Elizabeth Wakefield. I loved the historical research — October finds an old diary, a war memento, and other items that just thrill my geeky little heart. Seriously, that’s my type of mystery. Even the contemporary mystery about racial harassment has more of a Nancy Drew feel than the last book, and what Munday gives up in terms of madcap hilarity, he more than makes up for in a deeper, more complex mystery.

Dial “M” also features a mysterious, pre-rotary dial phone in the abandoned boarding house where Morna used to live. For some reason, it only works for October, and a voice on the other end provides her with cryptic clues along the way. I’ll be honest: this supernatural Deep Throat completely freaked me out. And when you’re a thirty year old woman huddling under the covers, terrified of having nightmares from a book written for 9-12 year olds, well, it’s rather tough on the ol’ ego. According to the author, “That phone was inspired by one of the more terrifying episodes of The Twilight Zone I remember from my youth.” Munday does manage to capture that Twilight Zone feel, at least for this reader, and I was never more glad to see the jokey narrator come in and break the mood.

There were some things I didn’t quite like in this book. First: the big reveal about Stacey Whatshisname’s last name. From October’s utter inability to remember it for over a book and a half, I was expecting something like Spock’s last name, so Stacey’s last name turned out to be a letdown. I do see the point in concealing it, plot-wise, but I still didn’t think it was necessary. The other point didn’t bother me so much as puzzle me, and I know it was the same with the first book, but for some reason, I wondered more about it with this one: why split the narration between October and the unnamed narrator? I like both narrative voices, but the assigning of narrative to one or the other seems mostly arbitrary.

Ultimately though, there are two things that make the Dead Kid series so awesome: Munday’s wit and unexpected moments of tenderness. I love the bit about Morna’s crush, and the scene where she asks for a vest almost made me tear up. I love the scene where October, who doesn’t approve of her father’s current girlfriend, asks him if he’s happy. I especially love the romance I sense (or perhaps wish for) beginning to develop between Yumi and Stacey (go, Stacey, go!). Surrounded as they are by creepy telephones and throwaway wisecracks, these moments stand out, and the story is richer for them. And as for the wit, well, here’s something to take with you next winter: “the snow was fiercer than Tyra Banks’s stare.” [p. 241]

As the two mysteries begin to wrap up, a larger mystery begins to emerge, one that seems like it will span the rest of the series. In true Evan Munday style, this larger mystery promises to end up Buffy the Vampire Slayer type epic. That’s awesome enough to make me almost forgive having to wait several more books before seeing it resolved. Almost. Finally, Munday ends on a hell of a cliffhanger, which means that once again, I’m ridiculously excited to read Book 3. When I tweeted him about the ending, he responded: “I’m the worst, right?” Well yes, yes you are, Mr. Munday, and as a fan of the series, all I can say it, thank god for that.

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Thank you to ECW Press for an advance reading copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Review | A Tap on the Window, Linwood Barclay

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coverLinwood Barclay has been called “a suspense master” by no less than Stephen King himself, and much of that may be credited to the sense of intimacy he cultivates despite rather outlandish hooks. A girl wakes up to find her entire family gone, a man witnesses a murder on a Google Earth-type program, yet even with some action movie-worthy scenes, we are still caught up in the urgency of their situations. More than that, we can actually believe that these are happening to people we know. Barclay’s gift is in highlighting the ordinary in the face of rather extraordinary circumstances; his background in journalism serves him well, and there’s an almost voyeuristic feel to reading about such personal traumas in his characters’ lives.

Barclay’s latest book, A Tap on the Window, may be his most intimate book yet. From the very beginning of the story, we are introduced to a protagonist haunted by personal tragedy – private investigator Cal Weaver is still mourning the death of his teenage son Scott, a tragic accident allegedly caused by drugs. Scott’s death has put a strain on Cal’s marriage – his wife continues to sketch Scott over and over, never quite satisfied that she has gotten it right, and Cal is having too difficult a time himself coping with the death to help her. As the story progresses, we learn that Cal’s grief and desperation to find answers have pushed him into a much darker place than we’d originally realized, and that he too is guilty of having committed some morally questionable acts.

The main mystery however, while teasing the readers every now and then with potential connections to Scott’s death, remains separate. It’s probably the most mundane of Barclay’s hooks, the one most likely to happen to the man on the street, and quite frankly, one that probably worked only because the story was set in a small town. While driving one night, Cal agrees to give a hitchhiking teenage girl a lift. He hesitates, thinking of the potential dangers of picking up a teenage girl, but gives in when the girl says she knew Scott. To be honest, as a woman, I’d always known the dangers of accepting rides from strangers, particularly men, but until this book, I’d never thought of the potential dangers on the flip side – that some men may be wary of giving rides to strange women. Unfortunately for Cal, his initial instincts are right — the girl ends up missing, her friend, whom Cal was tricked into giving a ride as well, ends up dead, and Cal becomes the main suspect. If it seems a stretch that a random hitchhiker knew Cal’s son, and that Cal was almost immediately identified as the man who picked her up, Barclay makes it work by setting the story in a small town. We see how intertwined the lives in the community are, and how much each person knows about their neighbours.

Despite Cal being the prime suspect, this mystery didn’t really feel urgent to me except for its links to Scott’s death. What I did find interesting was Barclay’s depiction of corruption in the small town police force. Police officers would use excessive force, and the town would turn a blind eye and, worse, be bullied into supporting the police in public. I could imagine how trapped Cal felt, knowing how much power the police force wielded. More significantly, I could imagine how trapped Scott must have felt – even when we don’t know the circumstances behind his death, we get a picture of a teenage boy with a strict sense of right and wrong, and we can only imagine how he must have felt in such a town.

I’ve always found the endings the weakest part of Barclay’s books, but I actually like the ending in this one. There’s definitely still the unexpected twists, but Barclay set them up better than in his other books, and so they didn’t feel as contrived. There is a rather senseless act of violence near the end that really got to me as well. As I mentioned, Barclay’s gift is in detailing the relationships between the characters, such that you feel you know them, and you care for them. So that particular twist touched me, on an emotional level.

Overall, a really good Barclay book. Not the faster page turner I’ve read by him, nor necessarily the most emotional one. But it’s probably the one that’s felt the most real, primarily because of the attention to detail Barclay gave not just his characters but their society. I love the glimpse into small town politics, and I love how it expanded the story beyond a mystery centred around individuals.

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Thank you to Random House of Canada for an advance reading copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Review | Blue is the Warmest Colour, Julie Maroh

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9781551525143_BlueIsTheWarmestColorJulie Maroh’s Blue is the Warmest Colour is a sensitive, beautifully illustrated lesbian coming out story set in France in the 1990s. High school junior Clementine falls in love with Emma, a punkish, confident girl with blue hair. We know from the first page that the story won’t end well — the novel begins with Emma visiting Clementine’s parents after Clementine’s death. As we later then view their relationship unfold through Clementine’s journals, there is a bittersweet tinge throughout. We see Clementine’s first, confused, feelings of sexual attraction, and we see Emma’s reading and responding to these words.

Their romance is itself rather bittersweet. Emma has a jealous girlfriend at the time, and Clementine has been drilled to believe that homosexuality is wrong. And even when Clementine feels ready to take the plunge, Emma is hesitant to risk it. The conservatism of Clementine’s family takes a disheartening turn, and the story leaps forward several years, presenting a rather bleak picture that sadly feels realistic. The ending felt rather unnecessarily dramatic, but the rest of the story is told with such subtlety and grace that the novel as a whole is still really strong.

Maroh’s storytelling is subtle and her illustrations graceful and lovingly rendered. Even her sexually explicit scenes are more about making love than having sex. Her decision to render everything in shades of gray with accents of blue gives the story a dreamy feel; the treatment almost feels like music.

In a Q&A with the publisher, Maroh points out that even though the book is first set in 1994, the climate for queer youth in France still hasn’t improved much. She says, “The best thing this book could do is help queer youth, somewhere, somehow.” Indeed.

The live-action French film version of this novel was the winner of the Palme D’or at Cannes 2013. It will be released in North America in Fall 2013 through Sundance Selects/IFC Films (USA) and Mongrel Media (Canada). Given how musical the story felt even on the page, I can’t wait to see it translated on the screen.

International trailer with English subtitles below:

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Thank you to Arsenal Pulp Press for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.