Can’t let the monster in.

Publisher: Two Roads (Hachette)
Pages: 370
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-444-79700-8
First Published: 4th March 2014
Date Reviewed: 8th May 2014
Rating: 4/5

On the day of the parade, at sixteen years old, Blythe was abducted by the school librarian. Locking her in an old missile silo with provisions for many years, Dobbs told her he was protecting her from the apocalypse that was soon to hit. Unable to escape, Blythe is forced to live with him and his madness, his passive aggressiveness, his abuse, and she watches as he often leaves to go Above, back to the world he tells her is falling apart. Throughout, Blythe’s hope, though faded, never dies – one day she will escape and get back to her family. And Dobb’s madness can be put to rest. Or can it?

Above is an epic story that spans a fair few decades, many themes, and culminates in a rather tidy ending. It is an interesting book, as it could be said that it isn’t sure what it wants to be – there are two parts to the story that, whilst sharing a general element vary greatly – yet the overarching idea of theme exploration does manage to keep the two plots together.

Whilst the first half of the story is inevitably dull on occasion, the second half transforms the book into the afore-mentioned epic. Above is a lot longer than the almost 400 pages suggest, partly because the time scale is convincing and partly because there are so many moral elements considered.

Beyond the dullness of a lot of the first half – the days spent with nothing to do, the literal dullness of a world without sunlight – there is of course the times in which abuse takes place. Dobbs tends to ere on the side of caution, that is to say that generally the horror of Blythe’s situation is the fact of imprisonment and Dobb’s removal of things that make her happy. However, as may be expected, there is some violence involved. It’s a creepy sort of violence – Dobb’s doesn’t beat Blythe up but he does enough, and he does it in a ‘careful’ way as to make it sobering. Morley affectively shows how a person can seem average, even good, and keep a certain façade or even belief around them, which can make others think they are okay. Even Blythe, though she is strong at heart, feels sorry for him despite what he does to her.

This abuse and manipulation is the biggest thought of the novel. Morley puts the reader, and Blythe too, in a particular situation. We hate Dobbs because he is a bad man. There are no two ways about that – he forces himself on Blythe and his kidnapping does not begin and end with her. The man is bad. However once you reach the second half of the book you are presented with confusion. Blythe’s confusion. The confusion of both the prisoner she was and the person she is right then in that moment. This confusion doesn’t change the fact that Dobb’s is a bad person, but in the context of the book, and in the context of science fiction, it asks its main character and the reader questions. Blythe makes you question.

(The rest of this review will contain references to the twist in the tale, by necessity.)

Because what Dobb’s had been saying all along turns out to be true. Blythe has been abused by Dobbs, but she has also been protected. This means that Dobbs, in some ways, occupies a grey area. Both the character and the author herself constantly refer back to Dobbs, and it is obvious that Morley wants you to really hone in on this question of right and wrong. She never suggests Dobbs should be pardoned, of course he can’t, but she opens up all the sorts of thoughts we as a society tend to push aside. What exactly is right? What exactly is wrong? Can wrong ever be right, just a little bit? Do we truly try to understand victims or do we pretend we do? More than the questions surrounding Dobbs, Morley urges us to relate to Blythe.

Once you’re ‘familiar’ with this line of questioning, the rest of Morley’s ideas become apparent. Above isn’t ‘simply’ a story of abuse, nor an apocalyptic book. It is much more than that. It’s a study, a constant questioning of morality, of race, of government, of the news, of disability. The last on that list becomes prevalent towards the end. Most everyone is disfigured, and Morley compares viewpoints. Blythe, born before the apocalypse and kept safe, notices the disfigurements. Adam, her son, having lived solely below ground, doesn’t notice any differences. Or if he does (because he has read books and seen films) it doesn’t bother him. With Morley telling the story from Blythe’s viewpoint, every new person or group of people is detailed, their scars, burns, and lack of features brought to the forefront. You could even say it’s too much, that Blythe sees too much even after she’s been Above for a good few days. It’s interesting to contrast this detail with Blythe’s unhealthy pallor but ultimately flawless (as far as radiation is concerned) person. Especially when she notes her pale, now freckle-less face, and notes that her old crush would likely not find her attractive now. It takes us, the reader, to remember that, saying her crush is still alive, he is likely disfigured beyond compare.

Included in this study of the view of disability is the way the medical group of people are trying to create a perfect baby (to recreate humanity as it was) and the group of average citizens who are saving the creations who haven’t turned out correctly. This is now a world that values difference. Difference is all there is.

There are other things to consider, such as Blythe’s naming her son Adam – a stated plot device that infers who Adam may end up to be – and the experience, though only a minor part of the story, of a black albino woman. There is the effect that sudden freedom can have on a person, the effect of a difference that wasn’t expected (of course this particular difference wasn’t expected, but you know that Blythe would never be returning to life as it was when she was sixteen, the world moves on, and this is what she hasn’t really thought about), the struggle to regain what’s loss, and control, possession. In Adam you see the world in a new light, literally and metaphorically, in Blythe you may end up appreciating what we have now just that little bit more.

Above isn’t a masterpiece. There is a disjointedness to the duel plot-line that is likely only to be healed with prior knowledge of the duality, the writing is average, and once Blythe has escaped she’s not quite the person you may expect or even like, and not simply because of her displacement and longing for the past. The epic nature also makes it seem a little too long and there are reports from people familiar with Kansas that the numbers aren’t correct. But the morality and the way Morley uses a society harmed in order to make her point clearer is good to read and, as the length of this review suggests, leaves you with plenty to think about.

Combining ideas and repeating details, Above may not be the book you were expecting it to be, but judged on contents alone it is very much worth the read and the time it takes to reach the end.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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Speaking to Isla Morley about Come Sunday, Above, and The Last Blue) (spoilers included)

Charlie and Isla Morley discuss growing up and travelling back to South Africa, creating a negative heroine, the 1800s medical phenomenon wherein people were literally blue, and what it’s like owning five tortoises.

If you’re unable to use the media player above, this page has various other options for listening.

Leave him.

Publisher: (self-published)
Pages: 11
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-301-14107-4
First Published: 23rd July 2013
Date Reviewed: 9th April 2014
Rating: 3.5/5

In 1984, a woman whose husband is unfaithful and won’t attend marriage counselling considers finally taking advice to think through her choices. But first she must leave with her father for the Olympics.

Hannah Strong is a short piece that is a fair opening to what will be a full-length novel, but is a little too brief in itself.

There are a couple of abrupt changes in time but other than this the writing is fair. Hannah’s problems are written well enough, the character herself also, to make you interested in what will happen next. Matthews has packed many issues into a small number of pages but in a way that isn’t rushed – everything is here but she hasn’t tackled each for too long. Nor is there much unnecessary information.

The only major issue with the story is that it’s unfinished. It’s a case that the piece is more of an introduction to a full-length novel rather than your average short story.

By itself, Hannah Strong is difficult to recommend, but as part of a novel or as an add-on, it’s a fair work.

I received this book for review from the author.

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Three’s a crowd.

Publisher: Bantam Press (Random House)
Pages: 372
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-593-07021-5
First Published: 2012
Date Reviewed: 8th April 2014
Rating: 4.5/5

Ellen drowned and Hannah has never got over it. The event haunts her still, twenty years later. When she starts to see Ellen in places that reference their past together as friends, as well as at her work place, Hannah wonders if it’s time to go back for therapy. But there’s something nagging at her, and, illusion or not, she feels it’s time to finally discover what happened whilst she herself was in Chile.

In Her Shadow is Douglas’s beautifully written fourth book. It’s a lot slower in pace than the author’s previous work, The Secrets Between Us, but the pace is warranted and it gives Douglas a lot of time in which to explore the themes she chose to include. Likewise the plot is fairly predictable, and this appears to be intended so that you focus on the ‘right’ things.

The book sports an unreliable narrator who presents a fantastic opportunity for the reader to really delve into what’s going on. Hannah is quite obviously unreliable from the very start and with good reason – during the chapters where the adult Hannah looks back on her childhood you’re inevitably presented with a child’s view of life. Where Hannah says that Ellen is a drama queen, where she says that Ellen is too lucky, beyond a couple of choice quotations (that of course could be coloured by jealously themselves), it is apparent that Hannah isn’t seeing reality. Hannah, once good friends with a boy called Jago, becomes the third-wheel when she introduces Ellen to the ‘circle’. That she is, in a way, third wheel, is true, but she is very wrong about the friendship in general.

What is most interesting, as the reader reads on and learns just how wrong Hannah’s thoughts of Ellen are, is that it’s Hannah who is better off. Due to Hannah’s unreliability, the reader can see for themselves not only the truth, easily, but also explore the way jealously affects people, and the extent to which it can destroy a person. And it is exactly because Hannah is too young to know what’s she’s doing that she enables you to see what’s really going on. Because she does not understand what she sees, she ends up telling you the reality just as much as her erroneous thoughts. Indeed it’s intriguing to think that whilst the first-person generally means less knowledge of others, usage of the third-person in this book would ironically have led to less knowledge of Ellen.

And so Douglas shows us just how much perception can play in the construction of opinions. Of course we all know this, but by using a child and making what’s actually going on a horrendous abuse, the author really hones in on it. And it shows how children will latch on to what works for them – a father who hugs his child when their own parent doesn’t, means he must be a good person and that his daughter is lying. Hannah isn’t mature enough to recognise dangerous obsession and abuse; she sees what’s on the surface.

It’s not a spoiler to say that abuse and mental illness is at the heart of this novel. Throughout the reader is presented with the questions – is this man violent? Is this man interested in young girls? Is he mad? There is also Hannah’s mental stability to consider. Jealousy is of course an issue in itself but in her case it’s intertwined with anxiety, fear, and regret. Perhaps it makes Hannah feel better to confine her feelings of guilt to the same box as her jealousy – it’s easier to push bad memories away if you believe the person was awful.

Hannah also has an issue with identity – the boy who kissed her becomes her brother, Hannah isn’t happy in her career, and her parents, though supportive, are not the affectionate kind.

This is where the slow-pacing makes the most sense – in that at first you might find it slow without reason, but as the book continues you see why Douglas has opted to use it. There is just so much to consider. Douglas wants you to really understand Hannah, to see what she thinks and how she got it wrong, to see what her life is really like, and as the book progresses you realise that perhaps it’s not ‘just’ that Hannah was wrong about Ellen, maybe Hannah isn’t as good a person as you thought. Is she misguided, is she led by her lack of information? And what on earth will she do to make things right? There are no huge shocks in this book, no big climax. There isn’t supposed to be.

In Her Shadow is a book with a main character you may not completely like but who you can relate to; you will find yourself rooting for her to learn the truth. There are many injustices and misunderstandings here and it is not a simple case of age making someone wiser. The book does end relatively quickly, and one plot thread in particular is wrapped up in a couple of pages and not particularly satisfactorily, but there are no threads left hanging.

In Her Shadow is a wonderful study of personality, mentality, and its extremes. It may make you want to praise it to the hills or it may not – either way it’s likely you’ll find it difficult to put down.

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Less is more.

Publisher: Crown Business (Random House)
Pages: 246
Type: Non-Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-804-13738-6
First Published: 15th April 2014
Date Reviewed: 16th April 2014
Rating: 4/5

McKeown discusses the essentialist way of being (choosing only those options in life and work that will get you closer to your goal and forgetting those that distract you and use up time).

Essentialism is a relatively short and informative book, which whilst a little repetitive and high in case studies, succeeds in suggesting why McKeown’s thoughts are of use.

The author urges us to do the opposite of common working practises. He says to take on only a few tasks and excel in them, rather than to try and do everything. He notes a good night’s sleep as essential, in happy contradiction to the idea that a sleepless worker is a hero. And he recommends actively saying ‘no’ when we want, instead of saying ‘yes’ to what we actually don’t want – those things that will ultimately waste our time. He includes tales from his own life in a way that simply teaches, never preaches.

(It is an interesting concept when you think about how bloggers initially feel they should say ‘yes’ to every request, and how they can become better bloggers by being more in control of what they want to read and discuss, when they are more selective.)

McKeown recounts a conversation he had with a person who remarked that we are no longer bored. We have phones that text and can access the Internet whilst we’re in a queue, for example. No longer being bored is of course good, but McKeown notes the fact that it means we have less, even no, time for thinking.

It is interesting to consider McKeown’s values, what he hopes we’ll adopt. To view it as a list it reads as a holiday plan – time to think; less to do; more sleep; not being so busy; time for play and leisure; done is better than perfect. McKeown’s focus on quality is key to his argument. Discuss with your boss if a task given to you won’t get done, make time for your family. It’s intriguing to note that the author’s method of working means spending more time thinking about options than you would, but he discusses how planning saves time in the long run.

Overall the book is a good read and full of value, but there does come a point where you feel he could have applied ‘less is more’ to his content. He starts to repeat information, which may fit his thoughts on routines helping memory but isn’t necessary in a short book. There are a few too many stories where it would’ve been better to simply carry on discussing strategies. The book isn’t particularly well-written but that’s not important in regards to its purpose. This said, fewer instances of non-classic media being called classic, fewer uses of the word ‘classic’ in general, would have rid the book of its slight ‘name-drop’ atmosphere.

Essentialism provides a thorough grounding in a better way to live and work. It will best suit those who already have thoughts in mind to change, though almost everyone will find it of use in some way.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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When one marriage leads to another.

Publisher: Tinder Press (Hachette)
Pages: 324
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-755-39436-4
First Published: 1st March 2013
Date Reviewed: 7th April 2014
Rating: 3/5

When the fire started burning down her polygamist community, Amaranth took her two daughters and escaped. Happy to marry and comfortable with her growing family, if uneasy about the ceremonies, Amaranth was glad to defend her people as women left and those living nearby took an interest in what was going on. But after her good friends leave and her husband draws their daughter too close, the first wife knows she and her daughters must leave, too.

Amity & Sorrow is the story of the plight of a mother who has become too used to her life. Interestingly, it is not so much about the plight of her daughters, which is the reason for some of the issues.

There is just something ‘off’ about the book. The cult is presented fairly well, but the writing style doesn’t fit the subject. Even though the reader knows the cult is bad, and has the details to imagine the situation, the literary style of writing distances you from it. The story may include the information, but it doesn’t truly try convince you of it, even if you are convinced.

It’s interesting to look at the choice the author made as to where the mother and daughters would end up. On the one hand you have them crashing the car into what many would see as a backwards place – a farm worked by only a couple of people; an ancient television set; a rarely-used petrol station; a lack of modern technology despite its day. What this choice means is that the family have little opportunity to see what life is like for the vast majority, to get used to the ‘new’, and to rehabilitate. This in turn means that the book lacks any big moments in the plot besides those in the flashbacks and at the end, and that whilst they escaped you might not feel as though the women will truly live life to the full, especially as Amaranth seems happy to remain in the first place they find.

But on the other hand, this lack of modernity, this lack of computers (other than one instance in a town) and so forth, mean that the family are eased into the world. It means that the changes in Amaranth especially (the girls will be discussed in due course) are slow and she has time to get back to life as it was when she was a member of society. You see more of her adjustment than you would if she’d found herself in Silicon Valley, or the like, where the change would have been immediate but only on the surface for its suddenness. Beginning in the middle of nowhere in a place more familiar in lifestyle, there is perhaps less of a chance she’ll return to the husband who brainwashed their daughter.

The sisters, Amaranth’s daughters, Amity and Sorrow, were born on their father’s land and therefore their reaction to their mother’s escape is, if not in words, that she has kidnapped them. Sorrow especially wants to return; she is the sister most brainwashed by her father, the cult’s leader. It is in Amity, the less extreme of the two, that the reader gets to see the most progression. Amity is more open to change, and whilst it may seem a little too fast a progression at times, Amity’s growth makes up for the little growth otherwise.

It is in Sorrow’s experience, specifically, that the story lies, and it’s also in her life that the potential dissatisfaction with the ending is to be found. She is not as developed a character as the others, in fact it could be said that she is a plot device; yet without her Riley wouldn’t have been able to explain her points. Sorrow was impregnated by her father, who had sex with her, having brainwashed her so much that she believed it was important and right that she and her father ‘make Jesus’. Whilst not commented on in the text itself, there is the obvious theme of consent running throughout the book. Incest itself is discussed.

And because it is this event that wakes Amaranth to the reality, finally, (if even then late in the day), the story continues on with Sorrow’s extremist beliefs taking what amounts to the biggest element of the book. Sorrow is always looking for a way back, because she doesn’t know any different and she is at an age where she won’t listen to her mother, especially not a mother who has left her, Sorrow’s, glorious father. The issue here is that whilst Sorrow’s extremism is believable, the extent to which she is, to all intents and purposes, encouraged, is not. Amaranth spends very little time with her daughters, even though, as the one person in the three who knows about the real world, she should have been helping them. Instead she starts to make a life for herself by herself.

A warning here to anyone who doesn’t want to read too many details: the ending of the book needs to be discussed because of what it effectively does, and will be in this paragraph. Amaranth, though obviously scared and still suffering from the manipulation and abuse under her husband, shows, in leaving the cult, that she still has her wits about her. She knows what is right and wrong both in regards to her own beliefs and the world at large, and she takes her daughters away from their father. Due to this escape, it is hard to believe that in the real world, such a woman would ultimately leave her daughter back at the cult’s land together with the father, after having tried and failed to convince the daughter to return with her to their new home. Maybe she would leave her temporarily while she went to the police for help, but leave her there for good? You can’t say that due to the possibility for danger, as the daughter is very unstable, it is best she stay away from Amaranth and Amity – the girl has had no chance to change and the handful of days during which there was space to influence her were not enough. At worst there are places she could be sent away for care. Perhaps Riley is showing us just how brainwashed and scared someone can become, but given everything that Amaranth does and thinks beforehand, the conclusion is not at all sufficient.

Where Amity & Sorrow gets it right is in the small things – the wondering about the changes to the world since Amaranth left it; the comparisons of dress and its relation to sexuality; the overall consideration of religious cults; to some extent, Amity. But with its poor choice of voice, underdeveloped characters, and the knowledge the reader will be left with when it’s over – the knowledge that what you’ve read is very wrong on a completely different level to the basic wrongness of the cult – one would be hard-pressed to recommend it for its story. You could try to come up with an explanation for the ending, but this is one book for which the ending is impossible to make right.

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