Review | A Tap on the Window, Linwood Barclay

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

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.

Review | Half Lives, Sara Grant

Imagine a lethal virus decimating most of the world’s population. Then imagine  that all that has survived for future generations are the words of a teenager. Not just any teenager, but one with a penchant for combining words just because she thinks they sound cool (e.g. freaking + idiot = fridiot, freaking + creepy = freepy). Now imagine a world where Facebook is the guide to living right, “crupid” is part of the vocabulary, and “whatever” is a form of prayer.

16131051On one hand, Sara Grant’s Half Lives could be seen as a sobering commentary on the devastating effects of nuclear waste. The story touches on terrorism and biowarfare, and makes a convincing argument about the horrors we humans inflict upon each other. On the other hand, the novel can also be seen as social satire — words and symbols that mean nothing to us can easily take on sacred meaning when taken out of context. Could the worship of the Great I AM, founded upon the group leader’s infinity symbol birthmark and based upon the teachings of Facebook, be a rather pointed dig at blind obedience to religious institutions? The problem is, as a reader well-familiar with the original context for these cultural icons and rather grouchily unimpressed by words like “freepy,” I was just annoyed.

The story switches between time periods and points of view. In the present day, seventeen year old Icie escapes the virus along with three other teenagers by hiding in an abandoned nuclear facility hidden inside a mountain near Las Vegas. The teens with her — spoiled rich boy, head cheerleader, and mysterious hot boy — aren’t particularly memorable, though I found Grant’s portrayal of one of the teens’ descent into madness interesting and I wish Grant had explored that character more. Random pieces of literature — To Kill a Mockingbird and Waiting for Godot — are conveniently brought into the story when the author wants to make a point, but neither is used enough to create a potent metaphor.

Generations in the future, Becket is a leader of a group of young people who live in the mountain. They have their own rules, based upon aphorisms paired with smiley faces. Again, on one hand, it’s somewhat believable and realistic; on the other hand, it’s simply annoying. Makes me wonder if some of the writers of religious texts may have included their own language’s version of “whatever” and we just have no idea. Becket’s group refuses to leave the mountain, because they believe crossing a border means instant death, as well because they fear running into Terrorists, whom they imagine as hulking beasts. This storyline had potential, and I really liked the character of Harper, Becket’s best friend and on the losing end of a love triangle. I also liked the storyline about the power struggle Becket has to face.

There are a few scenes in the book that pack an emotional punch, and the themes it raises certainly need contemplating. Unfortunately, much like the Facebook aphorisms of the Great I AM, the story remains comfortably on the surface and never quite brings the edge it promises. I wonder what an author like Margaret Atwood or Suzanne Collins would have brought to this concept.

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Thank you to Hachette Book Group Canada for an advance reading copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.