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Musings: In The Uncanny Valley: Oddity by Sarah Cannon and Small Spaces by Katherine Arden

The “uncanny valley” describes the effect of the almost-but-not-quite-human-seeming creature or object on certain people. It was first used to describe humans’ reactions to different kinds of robots, but it also suggests why clowns, masks, dolls, puppets, and even scarecrows show up so often in horror film and fiction. Two very different middle grade books that have come my way this summer take advantage of the uneasiness and ever fear caused by the inhabitants of the uncanny valley.

 

Oddity by Sarah Cannon

Feiwel & Friends, 2017

ISBN-13: 978-1250123282

Available: Hardcover, paperback, Kindle edition

 

In Oddity, Sarah Cannon describes a town of the same name in New Mexico,  where the bizarre and out-of-place have become commonplace. School safety drills include attack leopards, pizza explodes, and there are infestations of little aliens and zombie rabbits. Ada and her friend Raymond, have taken the new kid from Chicago, Cayden, under their wing.  They are Nopesers, participants in a secret wiki that shares information about Oddity’s dangers… except that instead of using it to avoid them, Ada uses them to plan expeditions, with a reluctant Raymond and nervous Cayden, to learn Oddity’s secrets.

Oddity is run by the Protection Committee, a literal puppet junta that consists of life-size, living puppets.  150 years ago, they battled the invisible Blurmonster,  and now the puppets protect the town to keep it from entering the city limits. A few people, like Cayden and his family, move in, but nobody leaves. Every year the puppets hold a sweepstakes, which all adults have to participate in, and the chosen winners disappear. Last year Ada’s twin sister Pearl was the first child to win a Sweepstakes, and Ada and her family haven’t seen her since. Only Cayden, who hasn’t grown up surrounded by menacing living puppets as town heroes and protectors, can sense something is off.

Oddity veers between absurdity, adventure, mystery, and terror. On one level, it’s a tale of family, friendship, acceptance, and the ways we deal with grief; on another, it sends a strong message about complicity and alternate world views; and on a third, it’s incredibly creepy. It’s also completely silly and off-the-wall– it’s incredible how much Cannon stuffs between the covers without shortchanging anything!  The puppets, with their awkward movements, sneering expressions, and silent puppeteers are situated right there in the uncanny valley, leaving many readers unsettled and uneasy even before they know things are more than just odd in Oddity, they are sinister, too. Recommended for ages 10+

 

Small Spaces by Katherine Arden

G.P. Putnam’s Sons Books for Young Readers, 2018

ISBN-13: 978-0525515029

Available: Hardcover, paperback, Kindle edition, audiobook

 

Small Spaces by Katherine Arden takes a deep dive into the uncanny valley from a different direction. Like Ada, Ollie is dealing with intense grief, in this case after the death of her mother, but instead of having a large family for support, Olivia just has her dad, who is a great dad, but has his own grieving to do. Instead of sustaining friendships, Olivia has become withdrawn, and just wants to spend her time alone. When she goes to her favorite hideout, a nearby swimming hole, she encounters a terrified woman about to throw a book in the water, and, appalled, grabs it away. The woman warns her that since she’s taken the book, she should remember to “keep to small spaces, or see what happens to you”.  Luckily, Olivia is an avid and curious reader, and immediately starts reading what appears to be a diary by one Cathy Webster titled Small Spaces, written 125 years ago for the author’s daughter, as a warning to stay away from her family home in order to avoid being caught in a deal her father made with the “smiling man”.  Intrigued, Ollie takes the book with her on a school field trip to a nearby farm. On the way, she learns that the farm her class will be visiting is the one described in the book she’s reading, that the story really happened, and that since then a schoolhouse on the farm property has burned to the ground, with no evidence of survivors.

When she arrives at the farm, Ollie discovers it is covered in scarecrows on stakes, with garden tools for hands, and that it is owned by the woman she met at the swimming hole. On the way home, the school bus breaks down and the bus driver mutters to the students that “they’ll come for the rest of you at nightfall”. Olivia is able to get the bus driver to tell her that they’ll all be taken by the servants of the “smiling man” to complete his bargain unless they leave the bus, run into the woods, and hide. The smiling man’s servants can only move at night, so during the daytime, she can travel safely. Looking out the window as the sky darkens, it seems to her that there are more scarecrows than there were, and that they are getting nearer.

Ollie decides to leave the bus, and when she tells the other students, only two others choose to go with her, running into the forest and looking for a small space to hide as they see the scarecrows descend on the school bus. Lost in the woods and cornfields in freezing October weather, running from scarecrows and ghosts, Ollie and her classmates Brian and Coco have to find their classmates and break the smiling man’s hold over them before they’re caught themselves. The next day, as the three try to figure out what to do, Coco and Brian conclude that the scarecrows are like robots or puppets, and the smiling man must be the puppet master. Malevolent scarecrows, especially in a bleak October cornfield, are actually more uncanny, in my opinion, than puppets are. The mental image of a crowd of scarecrows spearing the ground with their stakes, with garden forks for hands, grabbing at sixth graders crowded into a small space, or corralling an entire class silently across the forest, is creepy and dread-inducing.

Ollie, Brian, and Coco are not friends when the story begins. Coco is a clumsy city kid with pink hair who is ignored and bullied, Brian is a popular hockey player, and Olivia has no interest in learning more about them. Her only connection with them is that she threw a rock at Brian for picking on Coco the previous day.  For Ollie, both turn out to have unexpected depths: Brian isn’t a dumb jock– he’s an avid reader (namechecking Narnia and Alice in Wonderland) with a strong imagination who feels real anguish over what has happened to his friends. Coco is a klutz on the ground, but graceful and fearless as a climber, and fascinated by chess. I really liked the depiction of these two characters, especially Brian’s, as it’s rare to see a “popular jock” character with any more dimensionality to it, especially a boy. Ollie’s father was also an enjoyable change from father stereotypes that often appear in fiction, and even though Ollie’s mother is no longer alive during the time the book takes place, she is a vivid presence in the book. It’s easy to see how deeply Ollie feels her grief and the effect it has had on her: her confrontation with the smiling man and the choice she has to make at the end of the book, while somewhat predictable, is wrenching. Recommended for ages 10+

Both Small Spaces and Oddity have well-developed settings that are almost characters themselves, stories from the past that have strongly influenced the present, and uncanny creatures that create a sense of unease, dread, or even fear. Ghost stories are popular with middle-grade and middle school readers, and while they are enjoyable, these two books are a refreshing change.

 

Book Review: Sawkill Girls by Claire Legrand

Sawkill Girls by Claire Legrand

Katherine Tegen Books, 2018

ISBN-13: 978-0062696601

Available: Hardcover, paperback, Kindle edition, audiobook, MP3 CD

 

My previous experience with Claire Legrand’s work was with her extremely creepy middle-grade book The Cavendish Home for Boys and Girls. I could see just from the cover and inside flap of this book that her YA work would be completely different, so I started it without any expectations except for great writing (it is, after all, on the final ballot for the 2018 Stoker Award). The story’s bones quickly took on a predictable shape: strangers move to an isolated community where someone (usually a woman) has made a deal with an evil supernatural creature to provide human sacrifices in exchange for power, beauty, and prosperity.  The three primary characters are described on the inside cover flap in stereotypical phrases: Marion is the “new girl; Zoey is the “pariah”; and Val is the “queen bee”.  The girls as portrayed by Legrand, however, can’t be summed up so easily.

Marion’s family is moving to Sawkill Island, an exclusive community of wealthy people uninterested in anything that doesn’t directly affect them, and where her mother has taken a job as full-time housekeeper to the prominent Mortimer family. She has put her grief for her father’s sudden death on hold so she can protect her risk-taking older sister Charlotte and her suicidally depressed mother.  I must say I was impressed with how, in a few brief pages, Legrand distills the essence of what it’s like to wade through that first year after the death of a loved one. Legrand describes her as plain and awkward, in contrast to her sister, who is extroverted and social.

Shortly after she arrives, Marion starts feeling strange. She is thrown from a skittish horse and hurt badly enough that she ends up in the hospital (I was really unhappy with this part of the book, because her behavior afterwards is characterized as a “freakish” seizure, and the police chief reacts by pushing her down, straddling her, and pinning her hands to the ground. He should know better. DON’T DO THIS. Overall, I was not happy with the portrayal of seizures in this story, but this actually has the possibility of leading to real physical harm). Zoey, the police chief’s daughter, our “pariah”, is first on the scene. She’s biracial, geeky, a lower socioeconomic bracket than most of the other kids at her school, and her recent breakup with her boyfriend Grayson is the cause of much rumor and speculation (It’s an interesting reversal to have an African-American police chief, even if he is characterized by some members of the community as lazy and incompetent). Zoey is grieving the loss of her best friend, Thora, the most recent in a long string of girls who have mysteriously disappeared on Sawkill Island. The disappearances area are attributed to a local legend, a supernatural monster called the Collector. Zoey suspects that Val Mortimer, the island’s “queen bee” is behind the disappearances, but can’t prove it. We as readers know pretty quickly, though, because Val shows up at the scene after the monster that pulls her strings pushes her to make  Charlotte the next victim. Val, beautiful and charismatic, quickly claims Charlotte as a friend. I thought that Zoey and Marion would end up teaming up to protect Charlotte and take down Val and the Collector, but that’s not what happens at all.  Instead, the gruesome “deal with the devil” plot takes a left turn, and the story becomes more about relationships than fighting a “big bad”.

In an interview, Claire Legrand described Sawkill Girls as her “angry, queer, feminist novel”, and a response to slasher movie tropes like the “final girl”. I think that summary doesn’t really do the book justice. One thing that’s really great about this book is how smoothly it integrates relationships and examines the way teens navigate identities that aren’t often represented. Both Val and Marion have either had relationships or fantasies with people of both sexes, and Legrand writes them into a beautiful lesbian love story(I loathed the fact that Val and Marion specifically were in a relationship, but it was very well done). Zoey is trying to deal with the discover that she is asexual, and what that means about her relationship with her former boyfriend/best friend, Grayson, a great example of healthy masculinity.  Legrand blows up the stereotypes she assigned her primary characters by making them into prickly, angry, grieving, loving, lonely, confused girls determined to keep each other alive and save the world.  They fight, they say and do terrible and sometimes unforgivable things, but when it comes down to it they do not allow themselves to be turned against one another. This is especially clear with Zoey and Val, who have a long and difficult history. It’s a really complicated, messy way to look at girls’ relationships, and I think the horror genre gave Legrand space to work with some of these difficult and intense feelings at a heightened level.

Legrand’s challenge to the “final girls” trope is less obvious, because the initial plot doesn’t follow the pattern of a typical slasher film. The characters are better developed, and the killer isn’t a maniac in a mask. Among the three girls, none of them fits the type exactly– Zoey probably comes closest, but she isn’t conventionally attractive– and none of them dies. The plot of the book is a mess, and the relatively simple plot structure of a slasher film gets buried with the addition of patriarchal cults, tessering (a la A Wrinkle in Time), doppelgangers, a sentient island, and nightmare alternate worlds. While Legrand does a great job establishing setting and atmosphere and creating her primary characters, she has simply too much going on. There is no doubt that she can write creepy, compelling, and horrific scenes, but the pieces don’t all hang together.

While Sawkill Girls is being marketed as a YA book, and is under consideration for the Stoker Award in the Young Adult category,  I’m not sure if the audience that will appreciate it is actually a teen audience, although there are few well-written asexual or bisexual characters in the YA genre, so it’s worth reading. “New adult” readers, with enough experience to recognize and critique the tropes, will really enjoy the characters and the challenge to genre norms about girls and women. I found many parts compelling or enjoyable, but in the end, I was frustrated because the story failed to hold together. However, despite its flaws, there is much to like, or even love, in Sawkill Girls. Recommended.

Contains: body horror, murder, gore, violent and abusive behavior, gaslighting, sexual situations.

Editor’s note: Sawkill Girls is on the final ballot for the 2018 Stoker Awards in the category of Superior Achievement in a Young Adult Novel. 

Musings: A Ghost Story That Isn’t A Ghost Story: Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds

Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds

Atheneum, 2017

ISBN-13: 978-1481438254

Available: Hardcover, paperback, Kindle edition, audiobook

 

Fifteen-year-old Will’s brother Shawn has just been shot and killed by a member of a local gang. Will knows the rules: don’t cry, don’t snitch, and if someone you love gets killed, find the person who killed them and kill that person. Grieving and angry, he pries open a stuck drawer in his brother’s dresser and takes the loaded gun hidden inside so he can take his revenge. Will lives on the top floor of his apartment building, though, and he has to take the elevator down… and it’s a long way down, because on every floor, Will is forced to face the consequences of living with the rules, and of shooting to kill.

There is absolutely nothing about this book’s front, back, or inside cover that suggests that it is a ghost story.  It is dedicated to teens in detention centers. I didn’t have a clue what it was about when I initially picked it up, I just had read good things about Jason Reynolds and knew the book had won a number of awards, including the Newbery Honor (not sure how I feel about that– the audience for the Newbery is children up to age 14, and Will is 15– this is really YA). But in describing it to my mom, who has an interest in teens and gun violence, I had to explain to her that Will is confronted by ghosts while he is trapped in the elevator(ghosts are a turnoff for her).  Will’s “ghosts” aren’t very ghostly, though, which is one of the things that makes them so disorienting– Will is never quite sure whether they are alive or dead at first.

Long Way Down is a verse novel. There are frequent line breaks and plenty of white space on the page. The language is spare and powerful. Reynolds strips down feelings like grief, shame, anger, and sadness to the essentials by limiting how he puts words down on each page. Despite the pared-down text, Reynolds manages to draw the characters of Will’s ghosts with enough detail and emotional impact that readers will invest in discovering their relationships. Reynolds hasn’t written a horror story here, but it is a gripping and horrific story illustrating how this vicious cycle repeats, and the ambiguous ending is dread-inducing and heart-stopping. Highly recommended for middle, high school, and public libraries, and for readers 14-adult.

Note: Long Way Down has won a Newbery Honor Award, Coretta Scott King Honor Award, a Printz Honor Award, and is a National Book Award finalist.