While I don't have much of an explanation for leaving these blogs bereft of recent content I can say that I've been reading a lot of books recently. In the past months I've knocked out Crown of Flowers by Joel Kurtzman (sustained alchemical daydreaming by lost adult children), Steps by Jerzy Kosinski (elegantly chilling), Silk by Alessandro Baricco (much better than I was expecting), The Feverhead by Wolfgang Bauer (one of the funniest books I've ever read), Exegesis by Astro Teller (excellent philosophical sci-fi), Sweet Days of Discipline by Fleur Jaeggy (like brushing a thistle across your cheek), Catholics by Brian Moore (absolutely terrible), The Flower Beneath the Foot by Ronald Firbank (unmatchable fantasist sitcom) The Victorian Chaise-Longue by Marghanita Laski (an extended nightmare with an ass-flattening twist), A Visit to Yazoo by Charles Neider (I just...wha?), Black Water by Joyce Carol Oates (a riveting stream-of-consciousness retelling of the Chappaquiddick incident) and Train Dreams by Denis Johnson (brilliantly concentrated life epic) among others. I recently turned a change jar in my room into an Amazon gift certificate via Coinstar, comparable to a mini Christmas in Whenever for penny-gleaners like myself, and as such some thinner-than-dime delights have made their way to my fold, including this dark beauty. Australian novelist Julia Leigh hasn't written much since her 1999 debut novel The Hunter (turned into a pretty dang good 2011 film starring Willem Dafoe) and while I've yet to muster the patience to watch her sole writer-director effort Sleeping Beauty (a 2011 film critics tried desperately not to call "sleep-inducing") I can enthusiastically proclaim her sophomore novella, Disquiet, is a silvery black hole of subtle horror, weaving familial madness into an enthralling canopy of suspense (if my mixed metaphors don't fail me).
Unfolding at a vast estate in rural France, Disquiet follows Olivia and her children Andrew and Lucy as they drop in on Grandmother, having left their Australian home under mysterious, abrupt circumstances. While doing a good job of not talking about what happened they are joined by Olivia's brother Marcus and her wife Sophie - toting the body of their stillborn daughter in a pink blanket. Their secrets fester and surface in strange ways, mostly crystallizing in strangled socializing and facade ruptures, such as the continual disturbance by the staff at the fact that the body of the baby is being kept in the kitchen freezer. Themes dovetail and intertwine, and while a climax occurs the uneasiness is left undisturbed, the reader shaken in a sustained imperceptibility.
Eschewing traditional monsters and suspense tropes entirely, Leigh relies on a small but potent toolbox of ideas in the hopes of plucking strings deep within the psyche, and dear lord does it work. Leigh is a master of concision, reducing her language so deftly that the reader feels each scene as if watching a film. The characters, while sometimes acting strangely, are all strikingly realistic in the off-kilter house they inhabit, their pained reactions to metaphoric horrors in the spirit of keeping the most socially acceptable face for the good of the upper class, and it's always much more affecting to witness distressed people try their hardest to pretend nothing is wrong than to embrace maudlin fluff. In many ways Disquiet mirrors the cracked, damp mirrors of José Ramón Larraz's nearly lost horror gem Symptoms, a wonderful piece of Psycho-Aestheticism I wrote about many moons ago at View from the Paperhouse. Both works hinged on psychological burps reshaping perception in a mansion but Disquiet plumbs even deeper into corners we wished weren't revealed. While not Leigh's doing I can't let this article go by without mentioning the exquisite design of Penguin's paperback edition (by the cartoonist Jen Wang), a minor masterpiece of thin lines, elegant combinations, color transitions and glowing negative space. The blue is metallic, alluding to a reflection too dull to be truly clear.
You might have guessed that you'll have to read the thing to really understand what I'm talking about, and the good news is that not only can you get it for a penny but it's only a scant 121 pages with semi-large print, giving you just enough time to track it down and read it before Halloween. It's one of my favorite recent reads and in a sane world every library would have it in stock for those curious of the heart's macabre foliage.
~PNK
Unfolding at a vast estate in rural France, Disquiet follows Olivia and her children Andrew and Lucy as they drop in on Grandmother, having left their Australian home under mysterious, abrupt circumstances. While doing a good job of not talking about what happened they are joined by Olivia's brother Marcus and her wife Sophie - toting the body of their stillborn daughter in a pink blanket. Their secrets fester and surface in strange ways, mostly crystallizing in strangled socializing and facade ruptures, such as the continual disturbance by the staff at the fact that the body of the baby is being kept in the kitchen freezer. Themes dovetail and intertwine, and while a climax occurs the uneasiness is left undisturbed, the reader shaken in a sustained imperceptibility.
Eschewing traditional monsters and suspense tropes entirely, Leigh relies on a small but potent toolbox of ideas in the hopes of plucking strings deep within the psyche, and dear lord does it work. Leigh is a master of concision, reducing her language so deftly that the reader feels each scene as if watching a film. The characters, while sometimes acting strangely, are all strikingly realistic in the off-kilter house they inhabit, their pained reactions to metaphoric horrors in the spirit of keeping the most socially acceptable face for the good of the upper class, and it's always much more affecting to witness distressed people try their hardest to pretend nothing is wrong than to embrace maudlin fluff. In many ways Disquiet mirrors the cracked, damp mirrors of José Ramón Larraz's nearly lost horror gem Symptoms, a wonderful piece of Psycho-Aestheticism I wrote about many moons ago at View from the Paperhouse. Both works hinged on psychological burps reshaping perception in a mansion but Disquiet plumbs even deeper into corners we wished weren't revealed. While not Leigh's doing I can't let this article go by without mentioning the exquisite design of Penguin's paperback edition (by the cartoonist Jen Wang), a minor masterpiece of thin lines, elegant combinations, color transitions and glowing negative space. The blue is metallic, alluding to a reflection too dull to be truly clear.
You might have guessed that you'll have to read the thing to really understand what I'm talking about, and the good news is that not only can you get it for a penny but it's only a scant 121 pages with semi-large print, giving you just enough time to track it down and read it before Halloween. It's one of my favorite recent reads and in a sane world every library would have it in stock for those curious of the heart's macabre foliage.
(Early cover concept)
~PNK
