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Book Review: The Grace Year by Kim Liggett

 

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cover art for The Grace Year by Kim Liggett

The Grace Year by Kim Liggett (   Bookshop.org  | Amazon.com  )

Wednesday Books, 2019

ISBN-13 : 978-1250145444

Available: Hardcover, Kindle edition, audiobook

 

 

At first glance, The Grace Year seems like a YA take on The Handmaid’s Tale crossed with The Lord of the Flies. It takes place in an alternate society where women and girls are divided into groups by the colors of their hair ribbons: white for girls, black for wives, and red for grace year girls. Grace year girls are sent to an isolated camp as a group when they turn sixteen, after boys and men their age and older have an opportunity to choose one to marry from among them. Some girls are “veiled” and the rest know they will be assigned to manual labor tasks. The younger sisters of the girls who don’t return run the risk of being sent to the outskirts, where they will struggle to survive and are expected eventually to sexually service men no longer satisfied with their wives.

Protagonist Tierney is about to begin her grace year. She does not aspire to be veiled, but would rather labor outside when her grace year is done, as wives’ movements and speech are very restricted and she has always enjoyed spending time outdoors, learning useful skills from her father and spending her time alone and with her friend Michael, whose family is very high status. Rather than choosing Kiersten, the girl his family has picked out for him, though, Michael chooses Tierney to keep her safe, not realizing that he has actually made her a target during the grace year.

The supposed purpose of the grace year is for girls to come into their magic and work it out of themselves without risking the men, so the girls are “safe” to be around, but girls know that things too terrible to talk about must happen, because of each group of girls that leaves, fewer come back, and the ones who do are traumatized and refuse to speak about it. In addition to their isolation, the girls must stay within a fence, because they are being hunted by “poachers” who will skin them alive, dissect them, bottle the parts, and sell them back to the men in town as aphrodisiacs. There is the obligatory section of a YA speculative survival novel where a character whose job it is to exterminate a girl actually saves her and heals her and they fall in love, but it is particularly gruesome because there is no hiding the fact that he’s there to skin, dissect, and bottle her for consumption– he even has diagrams. The body horror is strong in this book, although most of the actual damage is done offscreen.

It is difficult to write about the characters and society in this book, both women and men, because from best to worst every one of them is so poisoned by patriarchy. The gaslighting of women and girls is so extensive and ingrained that it can’t really be separated out. Would Kiersten be so cruel if she hadn’t been trapped by society’s constraints since she was a child? Would so many of the girls have been so eager to believe in their magic if they hadn’t been powerless their entire lives? Even “good” men like Michael, with the best of intentions, can’t undo the damage. In 800+ pages (Amazon says there are 416, my Kindle says 815) there was not a single character in this book whose decisions could be trusted, including Tierney’s. The ending was absolutely crushing to me. I have to hope that YA readers who get all the way through to the end will develop a strong desire to examine their decisions and choices in light of the damage patriarchy does to all of them in the present, rather than waiting for the next generation. Whether they do or not, given the number of comparisons to The Hunger Games, I am sure many will find it a compelling read. Recommended.

 

 

Posted on November 21, 2020 by , Reply

Book Review: Bloody Kids by Andrew Holmes

Bloody Kids by Andrew Holmes

Sasquatch Books, 2017

ASIN: B078437KK2

Available: Kindle edition

 

Bloody Kids by Andrew Holmes is a gory thriller about a rural English town that is rotten to its core.  A rich farmer controls the town and most of its inhabitants, including the police, much as lords of the manor did in medieval England.  He entertains and controls many of the village men with annual hunting bacchanals and a clandestine brothel at the Lizard Farm.  A sadistic widow runs the Farm and is the madam for comely ‘cleaning women’.  She physically and psychologically abuses her orphaned or abandoned ‘foster children’, who work the Farm.

 

Things begin to go awry when the widow becomes demented, and loses control over the once-cowed children.  As they take control of the Farm, their base instincts come to the fore.  Think of William Golding’s Lord of the Flies.  The children begin to abuse and torture the prostitutes.

 

The rich farmer’s son-in-law takes his young son on a winter picnic in a field near the Farm, and the boy disappears.  An intensive search leads nowhere, and a local veteran Detective Inspector is ordered to investigate.

 

It’s a tangled web.  The DI has had a midlife crisis and an affair with a hostess-prostitute at the bacchanals, who is also the nanny/cleaning woman for the children.  Although she ends the affair, she still communicates with the DI by cell phone, until the boy disappears.

 

A boy’s body is found in a gravel pit.  It seems that no one is innocent.  Mutilations (yes, even with a chainsaw), torture, and murder, crescendo to a gory, blazing denouement on a bone-chilling, snowy night.  As in a morality play, most of the malefactors get their just deserts.

 

The story is fast-paced, and keeps the reader engaged.  Setting his story in England, Holmes treats the reader to many English colloquialisms, such as “twee” (quaint), “gutted” (upset) and “gob” (spit, mouth).  Holmes has written many other action/adventure/fantasy/horror novels under the pseudonyms Oliver Bowden and A. E. Moorat.

 

Recommended for teens and adults

 

Contains: violence, gore and sex

Reviewed by Robert D. Yee

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted on November 29, 2017 by , Reply

Charlie Higson Guest Post: The Cosy Apocalypse

Charlie Higson is the author of the YA zombie novel The Enemy and its just-released prequel The Dead, which was released on June 14 in hardcover here in the United States (if you live in the UK, it’s been out there for many months already). Here at MonsterLibrarian.com we are lucky enough to be part of a blog tour for The Dead, and I’d like to share with you what Charlie Higson wrote for us in a guest post on the “cosy apocalypse” and YA fiction. The part I really enjoyed is this:

As the father of three boys I try to encourage my children’s wild urges (within reason of course), and help them find harmless outlets for their fascination with violence. Boys want to grab spears and paint their faces and run around shouting. We all stifle those urges as we grow older, we repress ourselves, so is it any wonder we fantasise about things blowing up and falling apart?

Why would anyone read horror fiction, dystopian fiction, fiction about the end of the world? These are questions I’m asked all the time (frequently by relatives), and it’s great to see a writer as talented as Charlie Higson put it right out there on the page.  And now I’ll stop writing, and you can read it all for yourself below. It is absolutely worth it to take the time.

Charlie Higson Guest Post: The ‘Cosy Apocalypse’

 

I’m always getting very erudite e-mails from kids in America talking about ‘dystopian fiction’. It used to make me think that, to be bandying around such highfaluting phrases, American kids must somehow be a lot more intellectual than British kids, but then I found out that ‘dystopian fiction’ is being taught in many US schools.

And there is no shortage of dystopian fiction on the bookshelves, from The Hunger Games, to Maze Runner, Gone, Matched… and of course my own Enemy series. The description ‘Dystopian Fiction’ makes it all sound terribly heavy and gloomy and pessimistic, and I prefer another phrase that has also been bandied around a great deal recently – ‘The Cosy Apocalypse’. Because, let’s face it, the appeal of dystopian fiction is not that we‘re all terrified of the Apocalypse, it’s not that we’re dreading the subsequent process of running around some barren wasteland filled with the remnants and relics of our society, picking up weapons and blasting away at each other. The appeal is that we would all secretly love it to happen. Come on, it’d be FUN!

It’s like all those American survivalists hiding out in the wilderness, armed to the teeth and priming their mantraps. They claim they’re merely getting ready in case the worst happens and society falls apart. But we all know that every night they pray that it will happen. They would like nothing better. They want society to fall apart, so that they can go out and shoot people just like in the wild west, or Mad Max, or all those violent computer games. The Worst? No, it’d be THE BEST!

We love the idea of the apocalypse. People wondered recently why so many idiots followed that crackpot American preacher who predicted the end of the world. It’s simple. They really, really wanted it to happen. Apocalypse stories are at the heart of every major religion. The Greeks had a series of golden ages that all ended badly, Vikings had Ragnarok, the Bible is full of them, from the flood, to the plagues to Revelations. Our endless appetite for movies like 2012 and The Day After Tomorrow show that we like nothing more than a good old-fashioned apocalypse.

There is a strong self-destructive (or even just destructive streak) in human beings. The more we are forced into cities and complex societies, rubbing up against each other, having to obey a complex set of written and unwritten rules and laws, having to pay our taxes, and keep up with the latest trends, and get our kids through school and negotiate dinner parties, moody partners, tricky relatives and troublesome neighbours, the more we have to worry about the environment, the global financial crisis, how computers and technology are taking over our lives… the more we want to throw all our clothes off and run down the street dressed only in a leather loin cloth, screaming. We just want things to be SIMPLER. If only a nice cosy apocalypse would come along and sort everything out, wipe the slate clean, we could start again.

I saw a fantastic production of Lord Of The Flies in London last week at the beautiful open-air theatre in Regents Park. With its tall trees and dense shrubbery surrounding the stage area it was a magical and very apt setting for the play, enhanced by a set that included half a wrecked aeroplane. It was interesting to watch William Golding’s story unfold. His original version of the book started with a nuclear explosion and was about the end of the world, and the message that we are teetering on the brink of disaster comes across very strongly. We human beings are messing everything up. The theme of the book/play is the split between sensible Ralph and Piggy and their friends trying to impose some sense of law and order, and Jack and his choirboys descending into savagery. I know whose side we’re supposed to be on, nice Ralph and gentle Piggy, but I must say Jack’s lot looked like they were having a lot more fun. I think William Golding hated children. He was fairly uninterested in his own and as a teacher in a boy’s school he was much more interested in being a writer than teaching his pupils, who I reckon intimidated him. He was freaked out by the boys’ wild urges. As the father of three boys I try to encourage my children’s wild urges (within reason of course), and help them find harmless outlets for their fascination with violence. Boys want to grab spears and paint their faces and run around shouting. We all stifle those urges as we grow older, we repress ourselves, so is it any wonder we fantasise about things blowing up and falling apart?

That is the appeal of dystopian fiction. A simpler life in a nice blasted wasteland somewhere. In all these cosy apocalypse stories 99% of the world’s population is wiped out, thus giving a lot more room and freedom to the 1% who survive, and in our fantasies we are part of that 1%, not part of the 99% who have been turned into compost. We will make it through and find ourselves a bazooka and we will be all right. That’s the cosy part. We won’t all die, and those of us who survive can rebuild a better world.

My Enemy series started with a fantasy that I had when I was a kid – wouldn’t it be fantastic if all the adults in the world simply disappeared? I wrote a couple of stories along those lines when I was younger and even wrote a long experimental (unreadable) science fiction book in which characters end up living in the Natural History Museum in London (just as they do in my new series). It’s always been a fantasy of mine to be allowed to go into all those places that are closed off to us and play. To go into the museums and dress up in the clothes, and use the weapons, and drive the vehicles. To live in Buckingham Palace, or the Tower of London. I figured it was a good background for a kids’ series. All I had to do was work out how to get rid of the pesky adult in such a way that I would leave the structures intact (a quandary that weapons designers have been working on for some time now!) A disease that only affects people over a certain age was the obvious solution.

My series is only superficially grim and pessimistic; at its heart it is a fantasy, a glorious optimistic piece of escapism (in which, admittedly, a lot of nice kids do get killed and eaten). I think kids like to read about coping in a world without adults (which is surely the appeal of boarding school books like Harry Potter). My books have been compared to Lord of the Flies but I think in the end my message is very different. Unlike Golding, I happen to like kids. I like teenagers. I like their wildness and sense of life and I feel that deep down most of them are fundamentally decent. I believe that, left to cope for themselves (and we’ve seen this happen with street kids in the Third World) children are actually pretty good at looking after themselves and don’t revert to mindless savagery. That’s what I want to get across in my books. I want to empower kids.

That was the starting point for the series, but I then decided I wanted to liven things up a little. So I didn’t kill off all the adults. I kept some as basic cannibal zombies. I seem to have caught a wave of the undead, and added my germs to the zombie plague that is taking over Western culture and the minds of our young people. In my next blog I will look at the appeal of zombies and try and figure out why they are everywhere at the moment.

Posted on June 25, 2011 by , 1 comment