Slade House

Slade House
by David Mitchell


Blurb:

Down the road from a working-class British pub, along the brick wall of a narrow alley, if the conditions are exactly right, you’ll find the entrance to Slade House. A stranger will greet you by name and invite you inside. At first, you won’t want to leave. Later, you’ll find that you can’t. Every nine years, the house’s residents—an odd brother and sister—extend a unique invitation to someone who’s different or lonely: a precocious teenager, a recently divorced policeman, a shy college student. But what really goes on inside Slade House? For those who find out, it’s already too late... 

Spanning five decades, from the last days of the 1970s to the present, leaping genres, and barreling toward an astonishing conclusion, this intricately woven novel will pull you into a reality-warping new vision of the haunted house story—as only David Mitchell could imagine it.

My Reaction:
I'm not sure why, but somehow I had the impression that this short novel included some seriously gruesome horror. I was almost a little worried that it might be too much for me. (I like atmospheric and psychological horror, but my tolerance for body horror is low.) That worry was needless, as Slade House is less horror than it is paranormal science fiction.

The novel starts off promisingly. The shifting points of view add a layer of interest, and characters are quite distinctive and well-drawn, considering how briefly we meet each one. I was intrigued and enjoyed following the trail of breadcrumbs and putting the pieces together.

However, at some point, my interest began to wane. For one thing, it became a bit too repetitive. (By the very nature of the story, there has to be some repetition, I suppose, but it could've been handled more skillfully.) It stopped being spooky, then the ending had a definite flavor of deus ex machina. It was a little too "been there, done that" in the last paragraph or two, as well.

To be honest, I also have a bad taste in my mouth from two or three things that felt out of place in the context of the novel. I've forgotten the one(s) from earlier in the book, but the last one came just a few pages from the end-- a reference to "neocons" in a list of "vultures" that also includes "feudal lords", "slave traders", "oligarchs" and "predators". I just... Why? (I'm curious how the author would even define "neocon", since it seems to be a chameleon term that means something different to each person who uses it.)

Meh, whatever.

I enjoyed much of the first half (or more), but sadly, it eventually fizzled. It's a quick read, though, so it doesn't take much of an investment of time and energy to give it a try.

Armada

Armada 
by Ernest Cline


Blurb:

Zack Lightman has spent his life dreaming. Dreaming that the real world could be a little more like the countless science-fiction books, movies, and videogames he’s spent his life consuming. Dreaming that one day, some fantastic, world-altering event will shatter the monotony of his humdrum existence and whisk him off on some grand space-faring adventure.

My Reaction:
(This was a shared read-aloud with Donald.)

This really isn't good (in my ever-so-humble opinion).

The only reason I was willing to read Armada at all (at Donald's suggestion) was so we could continue with the "podcast book club" we listened to as we read our way through Ready Player One. It was one of those weird situations where you start a book knowing you probably won't like it, simply for the perverse "pleasure" of marveling over just how bad and ridiculous it is.

I could go into the details of what makes it bad, but there are plenty of reviews that have already done so (and I didn't take notes). A short, generalized list? It copies too freely from other movies/books that did the story better. The characters aren't believable. It's largely predictable. The action scenes put me to sleep. Implausible, ludicrous things happen and are said and done for no apparent reason. Bottom line? It's not very good.

However, I will say that I don't think this novel is particularly worse than Ready Player One, so I don't understand why RPO (currently, at least) has such a higher rating than Armada. Neither book seems especially original to me, neither has much literary value-- and at least Armada didn't subject me to detailed descriptions of characters playing crappy old video games.  (Apologies if you love those old video games. To a non-gamer like myself, they are so incredibly boring to read about. Gameplay descriptions don't belong in a novel, no matter how much the author enjoys actually playing the game.) If you're going to like one, why not the other? Apparently people were willing to overlook the same shortcomings in RPO, for some reason.

If you're of a certain temperament and sense of humor, you might enjoy reading Armada specifically to goggle and guffaw.  Consider the 372 Pages We'll Never Get Back podcast for a guided tour of the absurdities; it may help motivate you to read through the rough patches. There are some true gems in there, but you will struggle through the action sequences. (Honestly, you can probably just skip 99% of those and not miss a thing.)

While skimming a few Armada reviews before writing my own, I saw someone mention that a sequel to RPO is in the works. If that ever comes to fruition-- and if the "372 Pages" podcast tackles it-- I suppose we might end up reading that one too... (Not sure if I should hope for or against it, at this point.)

On a related note, we've yet to see the Ready Player One film adaptation. We're waiting for the Rifftrax treatment to be released, to make it more palatable.

The Little Stranger

The Little Stranger
by Sarah Waters


(Edited) Blurb:

One postwar summer in rural Warwickshire, Dr. Faraday, who has built a life of quiet respectability as a country physician, is called to a patient at lonely Hundreds Hall. Home to the Ayres family for over two centuries, the Georgian house, once impressive and handsome, is now in decline, its masonry crumbling, its gardens choked with weeds, the clock in its stable yard permanently fixed at twenty to nine. Its owners—mother, son, and daughter—are struggling to keep pace with a changing society, as well as with conflicts of their own. But are the Ayreses haunted by something more sinister than a dying way of life? Little does Dr. Faraday know how closely, and how terrifyingly, their story is about to become intimately entwined with his.

My Reaction (with some mild SPOILERS toward the end):
This is my first experience with this author, so I had no preconceptions based on her other novels, a fact that may have actually been in the book's favor, if the bulk of the reviews I've skimmed are any indication.  I enjoyed it, on the whole-- and while that would normally inspire me to add the author's other novels to my mental "books to read" list, reviews by Waters fans disappointed by The Little Stranger have made me hesitant. (That may sound counterintuitive, but the reasons fans mentioned for not liking this book as much as her others gave me the impression that this one is actually better suited to my own tastes, compared to her other works.)


Positives:  
While the pacing was slow at times, it held my interest through 500+ pages.
The setting is perfect for those of us who love a good gothic thriller.
The novel is populated with distinct, interesting characters.
There are some chill-bump-inducing moments.

Negatives:
It really could have been tightened up a little.
The "romance" was frustrating and disappointing (on all levels)-- intentionally so?
If you're reading for the horror, there's probably less than you'd like.
There's a lack of momentum and crescendo as scary moments are frequently weakened and undermined by the juxtaposition of too many non-scary ones.


Overall, while I enjoyed reading it and found it well-written, this is a darker, sadder tale than the first section of the novel led me to expect.  I'd even go so far as to say that it's depressing.  I don't usually think of myself as an incurable optimist, but I persisted in believing we were headed to a relatively happy ending and was rather dismayed as tragic events followed one after another.  No, there is no happy ending for these characters.  That sense of depression is probably more enduring and memorable than the fleeting moments of supernatural terror.

Speaking of endings, The Little Stranger is fairly open to interpretation (madness, a variety of possible supernatural culprits, unreliable narrator, etc.).  I think I know what the author intends us to believe (the reflection in the window is the closest thing we get to an outright answer, I'd say), but she leaves room for us to draw our own conclusions.

I can tell I'll be thinking about this one for a while, even now that I've finished it.  I wouldn't want to read it again, but I "enjoyed" it this time, even with its numbing series of disappointments and descending cloud of depression.  I'm looking forward to seeing the film adaption, at some point.  I hadn't realized there was a film adaptation until after I'd started reading, but it was a welcome surprise.