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Book Review: I Am Margaret Moore by Hannah Capin

I Am Margaret Moore by Hannah Capin

Wednesday Books, 2022

ISBN-13: 9781250239570

Available: Hardcover, Kindle edition ( Bookshop.org  )

 

 

In comparison to the other two books I’ve read by Capin (Foul is Fair, retitled Golden Boys Beware, and The Dead Queens Club) I Am Margaret Moore is more experimental, slower- moving, and more pessimistic. Margaret Moore has attended the same naval-themed summer camp with her friends Flor, Nisreen, and Rose for nine years, and what happens at camp is supposed to stay at camp. Margaret breaks that rule when she falls in love with a boy from a wealthy family, resulting in an inconvenient pregnancy. Now there are stories that she drowned in the lake from heartbreak.

 

Her friends have uncovered most of the story, including the name of the boy responsible, who has faced no consequences and is admired in the camp. They decide to tell what they know but it backfires on them. Flor and Nasreen, who are in love, are separated, and the names of all four girls are stricken from the camp records.

 

Margaret’s ghost narrates most of the story and isn’t great at keeping track of time or stringing events together coherently. It is unclear through most of the book how much time is passing until the end (62 years). Figuring out what actually happened is complicated by the changing stories about Margaret the campers tell as time passes as well as the jumping around in time and Margaret’s unreliable memories and interpretations of events.

 

This was not an easy book to read, not just because the characters felt ephemeral, the stream-of-consciousness style of writing or because the topic was difficult and heartbreaking but because it took time to piece together what actually happened and how. In many ways this book is as much about the way we tell stories and how they change as anything. Those readers looking for a fast-paced, straightforward narrative aren’t going to find it here.

 

Margaret and her friends are made to feel small, worthless, erased for the convenience of the entitled white guys in this timely book. The story at the center of the book takes place in 1957. That abortion wasn’t an option for Margaret Moore leads to tragedy. It could not be more timely, with today’s Supreme Court decision at hand.

 

Recommended, for readers willing to take their time.

 

 

 

Book Review: Don’t Turn Out the Lights: A Tribute to Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark edited by Jonathan Maberry

cover art for Don't Turn Out The Lights: A Tribute to Alvin Schwartz's Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark edited by Jonathan Maberry  ( Bookshop.org  |  Amazon.com )

Don’t Turn Out the Lights: A Tribute to Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark edited by Jonathan Maberry

HarperCollins, 2020

ISBN-13 : 978-0062877673

Available: Hardcover, paperback, Kindle edition, audiobook

 

Don’t Turn Out the Lights is an anthology of stories by a variety of diverse horror writers, mostly of YA horror, inspired mainly by their nostalgia over Alvin Schwartz’s notable collections of urban legends and folktales, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (writers include Linda Addison, Amy Lukavics, Courtney Alameda, Tannarive Due, Kami Garcia, and R.L. Stine). Schwartz’s writing was spare, providing just the bare bones of the stories he shared, and Stephen Gammell provided terrifying black-and-white pen and pencil drawings to accompany each one It is unfortunate that the artist for the book is not credited, so far as I can tell. Nobody can be Stephen Gammell, but the interior illustrations suggest the artist studied his style. The artwork is outstanding and integrates well into the design of the book and the storytelling.

Unlike Schwartz’s collections, there aren’t a lot of jump-scares or gruesome rhymes: these are tribute stories rather than an attempt to recreate his work. As expected in a collection of 35 stories, each by a different author, some are better than others. Some stories stick closer to Schwartz’s style and choice of subject, with the feeling of a folktale, such as T.J. Wooldridge’s “The Skelly-Horse”, or “Jingle Jangle”, while others, like “The Funeral Portrait” were more reminiscent of Poe. A few manage to stick to the urban legend feel of the original while updating it for tweens today, like “Tag, You’re It,” by N.R. Lambert, which plays on social media anxieties, and “The House on the Hill”, which brings mystery emails and cell phones into play in a tale of peer pressure and surveillance in a haunted house. “The Neighbor” managed the fine line of evoking Schwartz’s tales in a contemporary context beautifully. Editor Jonathan Maberry’s introductory essay was very interesting, as he did not grow up with the stories but read them as an adult.

One of this book’s greatest faults is its length. The original Scary Stories books were relatively short in length, with plenty of white space and relatively large print on each page. Stories were usually very short and heavily illustrated. Don’t Turn Out the Lights is over 400 pages long, with most stories obviously intended to be read on the page instead of told at a campfire.  While the Scary Stories books are read by kids as young as third grade, the length of the book and of the stories suggests to me that Don’t Turn Out the Lights is aimed at a slightly older audience of tweens and middle-schoolers, and also the adult audience feeling the same kind of nostalgia for the Scary Stories books that the authors did. Recommended for grades 4+.

Contains: gore, violence, body horror, murder

 

NetGalley temporarily provided a review copy of this book.

 

Book Review: The Remaking by Clay McLeod Chapman

The Remaking by Clay McLeod Chapman

Quirk Books, 2019

ISBN-13: 978-1683691532

Available: Hardcover, Kindle

 

The Remaking is a meta-supernatural thriller that follows a true crime paranormal case revived by various means every twenty years. The book starts in 1951, with the telling of a campfire tale, “Witch Girl of Pilot’s Creek”, that occurred in the 1930s. For ten years, Jessica and her mother, Ella Louise, lived in the woods surrounding Pilot’s Creek, Virginia. They did not live within the town itself, since they were ostracized by the citizens of the town, as well as by their own family: Ella had no use for the societal game, and Jessica was born out of wedlock. Ella ran an apothecary from her cabin, and while the townspeople avoided the family in public, they were not above patronizing Ella when in need of a cure. But when a well-known customer died, Ella was immediately accused of witchcraft and both mother and daughter were burned at the stake. Because of the superstitions and paranoia of the townspeople, Jessica, thought to have magical abilities, was entombed in a steel-reinforced coffin surrounded by a fence of white crosses.  Ella was buried in an unknown location.

In 1971, someone who was present at the telling of the campfire story has grown up to become a film director. He casts Amber Pendleton as Jessica in his horror movie. Amber’s overbearing mother thinks this will be a great opportunity for her, and make her a star. The tensions and stress on set drive Amber to run into the woods, where she comes face to face with something nobody believes happened. Fast forward to 1995, and Amber is trying to make ends meet by doing the horror convention circuit. A young, up-and-coming director with money approaches Amber to play the part of Ella in his remake of the film that cost her an early career. She reluctantly agrees. She becomes the star of her own witch hunt after something happens to the new Jessica actress on this set.

The book then switches to 2016, with a popular form of media, the true crime podcast. An enthusiastic, greedy, journalist hunts down Amber (who has, strangely enough, moved to Pilot’s Creek), to get her side of the story. Amber thinks telling her story might just be her best bet to redeem herself. Of course, there’s also a chance that it will just add to the neverending cycle of the nightmare of Jessica and Ella.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. An interesting aspect of the book for me was that it was always ambitious, heartless men at the core of each of the retellings of Jessica and Ella’s story. There was no heart in the development of the original film, nor the remake, only prestige and greed. Both directors were convinced that Jessica was demanding that her story be told, only to become so firm in their own vision that they missed the point. Amber immersed herself in both roles, and was chastised and abused for her intuitive reactions to her characters, first as the young Jessica, and in the remake as Ella Louise. She is blamed for creating her own drama and trauma, and ultimately put on actual trial for an incident that occurred during the filming of the remake. Then the podcaster aims to debunk the sightings of Jessica and Ella, as well as dig as much information out of Amber as he can to debunk that, too. Chapman’s characters and layout of the story are great. The Remaking is a fast and engaging read. I would recommend this for those who like true crime (it was based on the true story of a mother and daughter who were burned for being witches) and unique storytelling experiences. Highly recommended.

 

Reviewed by Lizzy Walker