Number 40- BRZRKR vol 2- Keanu Reeves et al

 

More of Keanu Reeves imagining himself as an eternal assassin with more blood lust than the entire Mongol hordes.

The artwork is pretty damned good and suits the megaviolence of the story.

Everything I said about volume one still applies here.  From reading China Mieville's novelisation of this series, I have a good idea where it's headed and I'm looking forward to continuing.

Number 39- A Song for Quiet- Cassandra Khaw

 

This is the follow up to Hammers On Bone which I read last year and greatly enjoyed.

This one is even better. 

Deacon James is a blues musician travelling across America in search of gigs. He also has something inside him that could be very dangerous indeed.  He produces music that can change the world around him and not for the better, music that produces visions of empty and melting faces, gaping mouths and grasping tendrils rising from the pits of some hell dimension.

He's being followed by an apparent madman called Jim Persons- who we the reader will recognise as the narrator of Hammers and Bone.

Will Jim be able to help Deacon and maybe even save the world as we know it?

The way Khaw writes about his music is almost physical.  I could almost hear the discordant melodies Deacon was playing. His visions were equally evocative and nightmarish.

I raced through this book in one day, partly because it's short, but mainly because Khaw's prose grabs you by the throat and rags you at breakneck pace through to the end of the story. This is almost a flawless novella.  I am in the process of gathering all her back catalogue into my collection, and enjoying every minute of it.  I might give Nothing but Blackened Teeth a reread to see if I enjoy it more now I'm more used to Khaw's writing style.

Number 38- Miss Benson's Beetle- Rachel Joyce

 

Talk about a change of pace.  From the dark gritty historical horror of Otessa Moshfegh, to the whimsical ramblings of Rachel Joyce

When my book group suggested this book I was convinced I was going to hate it. The reviews on the back cover using all the phrases that make my stomach churn in entirely the wrong way.  this sounded like the literary equivalent of a diabetic coma.

However, once I started reading it, I found it an object lesson in not judging a book by its cover.

Miss Benson is a teacher in 1950s England.  When she catches her class passing around a distinctly uncomplimentary picture of her, she experiences a moment of clarity about how much she hates her job and her life, and she walks out on it all to try to fulfil a childhood ambition- to find an almost legendary golden beetle in the remotest part of the remote land of New Caledonia on the opposite end of the world. 

She advertises for a companion to come with her on the journey, but due to circumstances, takes the distinctly unpromising Enid Pretty with her.  Enid is everything Marjorie Benson isn't. At first they clash, but as is the way in these things, they find unexpected depths of friendship on their voyage of mutual self discovery.

Normally this is the type of thing to make my eyes roll far enough to see the back of my own skull and dislocate the optic nerve into the bargain. But Joyce's writing is sublime.  She has a lovely turn of phrase and I can only describe this book as delightful.  I've never used that word to describe a book before, but it's easily the best I can think of for this one.

There is a dark(ish) heart to the story.  Miss Benson has sad reasons for being so obsessed with beetles, while Miss Pretty has a dark secret of her own. Also, Miss Benson is being followed by an ex-soldier with PTSD and a dangerous obsession of his own after Marjorie refused his application for the role of her companion. The ending of the book is a genuine emotional rollercoaster.

This is an easy contender for the best book of the year so far.  I never expected that when I picked it up and read the reviews on the back cover. I am now going to have to add her back catalogue to my ever expanding TBR pile.

Number 37- McGlue - Otessa Moshfegh

It's 1851 and McGlue wakes up from an alcoholic bender in the brig of a cargo ship.  He's told he murdered his friend and colleague (and possibly much more) Johnson.  He has no recollection of having done so because of his drinking problem.

With enforced sobriety, McGlue finds himself reliving the worst parts of his history. He needs a drink more than anything to stop the stream of memory.

This is another historical almost horror novel from the author of Lapvona which so impressed me last year. I'm not sure this one is quite as successful.  It didn't have the same visceral impact on me that Lapvona did.

It's still an excellent read and I fully understand how it was shortlisted for the Booker in 2016. Moshfegh is an unusual writer and she very successfully manages to portray all McGlue's internal conflicts through the fractured nature of the writing.

She makes no attempt to sanitise 19th century attitudes for a 21st century audience, so some readers will take offence to some content in this book.  However, it would be a much lesser book if she  had tried to do so, and the character would have felt much less realised.

It's not her masterpiece- so far I think that's Lapvona- but an excellent character study of a deeply flawed person in a convincing historical context. A strong stomach is required at times, so don't say I didn't warn you.