Review: Creep by Jennifer Hillier

Author: Jennifer Hillier
Title: Creep
Publisher: Gallery / Simon & Schuster
Date: 2011
Editions: Hardcover and eBook

Well-written contemporary thrillers come in more than one flavor.  RJ Ellory and Ryan David Jahn challenge and embrace readers with almost literary narrative.  Jeffrey Deaver and Brad Thor use pace and adrenaline to push through details and tightly packed prose.  Mary Higgins Clark and Dean Koontz use a light touch to allow the reader to glide along story effortlessly.  Over time, Kathy Reichs has picked up much  of that latter quality.  Right out of the gate, that's the kind of reading Jennifer Hillier displays: simple, clean writing that belies a complex and engrossing story so that the pages just slip on by.

That story is the tale of psychology professor Sheila Tao, her fiance, and the obsessive grad student who seems to want her all to himself.  It is a story of love, lust, and something that is neither  It is about revenge and control.  It is a psychological thriller that will pull you in on the first page and leave you licking your lips for more on the last.


Creep walks a fine line which is appropriate for, if surprising in a debut novel.  It is at times graphic, at other times shocking, and in some moments intimate enough that the reader might feel like apologizing for invading a character's personal space.  Yet, Creep does not feel gratuitous.  The reader does not feel manipulated by easy button-pushing, shock jock writing.   The characters never seem to wince at their exposure on the pages, nor to be paraded around and exploited.  They are simply told boldly and without reservation.

In large part, this is a testament to the greyness of the protagonists.  If you prefer your victims clean, your heroes in white, and protagonists on a pedestal, you might struggle with Creep.  The book in no way destroys ideas of good over evil; neither does it muddy the lines so much that a hero and a villain cannot be told apart.  But the victim is a real, fractured person.  The co-protagonist is a real, fractured person.  Neither of them make consistently good choices.  Each of them makes potentially destructive choices.

And yet they are clearly good.

I think this is one reason that Creep resonates so much with me as a reader.  While it is an entirely different book from Michelle Davidson Argyle's Cinders, and I would draw no more than this one comparison between two, I will, at least draw this one: I appreciate the emphasis on choices, mistakes, and consequences.  I appreciate the acknowledgment that good intentions and being a good person do not always lead to ideal actions, but that goodness itself is much deeper and more complicated.  That, in some ways, it eludes even the heroes.  To me, this suggests the promise that if it eludes the heroic, it might one day be attained by the villainous.

Creep is not a cops-and-robbers story.  Creep is not a roller coaster thrill ride.  Creep is not a subtle and poetic exploration of philosophical ideas.  Instead, the Creep that Jennifer Hillier has created is the dark story of Dr. Sheila Tao, her struggle up from rock bottom, and the forces that work to keep her there to their own devastating ends.  It is the sort of debut novel that has me looking for Hillier's back-catalog under another name.

.Nevets.

History by Immersion, Mystery through Craftsmanship

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Historical fiction often feels like a guided a tour of another world, with the author serving a friendly and well-informed guide who points (sometimes clumsily and sometimes deftly) toward the things that are interesting about this other place and time.  Traditional mysteries, in which the reader pieces together clues together with a professional investigator so that the story is about the case itself rather than the detective's personality or methods (apart from the detective's brilliant logic) have given way to procedurals, forensic procedurals, cosies, and thrillers.  A Razor Wrapped in Silk  by R. N. Morris transcends these trends.  It is a traditional mystery, told with literary craftsmanship, fully immersed in 19th century Russia.

The third in a series of books that began with A Gentle Axe and continued with A Vengeful Longing, Morris' A Razor Wrapped in Silk takes place in Czarist St. Petersburg and features Porfiry Petrovich, the investigating magistrate created by Dostoevsky for Crime and Punishment.  Lest you think this abusive or derivative, rest assured that Morris handles both  Petrovich and Dostoevsky's Russia with great respect.  If anything, this book stands as a great tribute to an intriguing character and an author whose ideas have influenced a great deal of literature.

The story itself weaves together two mysteries: one, the brutal slaying of a much-loved woman; the other, the disappearance of a young boy who worked in a factory and was attending an experimental new school.  With a similar feel to Conan Doyle's Holmes when international affairs got involved, and with a touch of Dostoevsky himself, the stories unfold at three levels: the intriguing work of discovering and interpreting clues; the emotional drama of those caught up in the crimes; all with an eye to the politics and ideological clash in the world around them.  Petrovich, as a detective, is a man of striking intellect and entertaining personality, but as much as he is the center-piece of the story, his character never overwhelms the rest of the narrative.

From the outset, the thing that is most impressive about A Razor Wrapped in Silk isn't the mystery (which is well-crafted), isn't the detective (of whom I can't wait to read more in the earlier books), isn't the prose (which is sharp and bleakly vivid), and isn't even the political intrigue (engagingly related but with a fair hand).  What is most impressive is the way that the story is told.  The reader is immediately immersed into the world, and the story reads as if 19th Century Russia is the most natural place for a book to place.  There is no sense of marvel or wonder.  There is no subtle suggestion that the reader should be entertained by the differences between the world of the book and the world in which they live.  There is no implication that the real point of the book is to show off Dostoevsky's St. Petersburg to readers.

Instead, A Razor Wrapped in Silk is drenched in authenticity.

It is difficult to completely scrub time and place from the English language, but apart from a few very brief moments in which a character's speech strikes an American "ear" as rather British, and a climactic sequence that feels a bit more modern, Morris has put together a book that feels very much as if it were simply published out-of-time.

A Razor Wrapped in Silk is available in UK paperback and also on Kindle in the US and internationally, as well as through various after-market resellers.

.Nevets.

Marilyn Meredith: The Invisible Path

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For about a year or so, I've been following the blog of author Marilyn Meredith.  I don't know Marilyn personally, but through her open, honest posts about both her writing career and her family, I sometimes feel as I must know her personally, at least a little.  Marilyn is a prolific author who has published with more than one small press and in more than one genre.    She somehow maintains two active, successful mystery series while still dabbling in other writing projects, managing a hectic promotional schedule, and maintaining a terrific relationship with her husband and family.  Through all that, she smiles because she loves what she does.  That's the reason I've been following Marilyn's blog: her attitude and approach are what I aspire for myself.

When offered the opportunity to review The Invisible Path as part of her promotional blog tour, I was excited at the opportunity to participate, but also nervous.  The only things I'd read from Marilyn were excerpts, and while I certainly enjoyed those excerpts I wasn't sure what to expect.  The Invisible Path is the latest Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery, a series which has won awards and garnered accolades, so I was confident that I wouldn't have to suffer the dilemma of reviewing a book I didn't care for written by an author I respect so much.  Yet, I was still nervous as I dove into the first page, not really knowing what to expect.

I was rewarded with a terrific contemporary cozy that I would happily recommend to anyone who reads Rita Mae Brown or M. C. Beaton (for instance).  While the lead character, Deputy Tempe Crabtree, is a police officer, there is little of the dry, technical procedural in Invisible Path.  Likewise, it's not a traditional mystery, inviting the reader to join the detective in piecing together clues in leaps of logic and insight.  Instead, The Invisible Path reads like a cozy.  The detective is not the lead investigator and she uses unorthodox methods to unravel a neat little mystery that is more rich in social drama than in inductive interpretation of clues.

It's this sense of social drama that most strongly characterizes Marilyn Meredith's book.  The dramatic tension in the story is that between reservation Indians and outsiders, whether they're white or Indian; and between militia fanatics and people from outside their area, and outside their white culture.  Nestled inside that tense tapestry, is the murder mystery of a young Indiana man out to make a name and a fortune -- a murder that everyone seems to want pinned on Jesus Running Bear, even without any clear evidence against him.

What makes the writing special the way in which Marilyn Meredith handles the characters.  This is no literary novel; her touch is light and gentle.  And, yet, there is a simple honesty in the way characters are portrayed without judgment of framing preconceptions that is almost shockingly matter-of-fact.  In one breath, we have characters spouting racist remarks, and that's just the way they are.  In the next, we have Indians following their traditional beliefs, and that's just they way they are.  In the next, we have Deputy Crabtree's husband, a Christian pastor, praying for her, and that's just the way he is.  The characters in Invisible Path may not have their psychological scars revealed and explored, but they are allowed to be themselves with no pretense and no restraint.  That's what I found remarkable about this entertaining novel.

I was lucky enough to receive a promotional copy of the book for review, though I assure you my words are my own and I received no pressure to deliver any particular message about the book or even to give it a thumbs-up (though I do!).  You can buy your own copy on Amazon.com or on the author's website, where it is available in print copy, eBook, or Kindle formats.

.Nevets.

Read It for the POV's, Stay for the Thinking Afterwards Stuff

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I'm going to address my review of Ryan David Jahn's Acts of Violence primarily to writers.  Not only is that who most of blog's readers are, but I think it gives me a chance to talk about it a certain way.  Readers, rest assured it's a great thriller with a lot of action, a lot of suspenseful drama, some emotional ups and downs and downs and downs and downs and downs and maybe ups.  It's brutal.  It's oppressive at times.  It's full of sex, violence, gore, depravity, a lot of action, and a lot of drama.  The amp is set to 11, without a doubt.  Get it, read it.

Writers: I know that not everyone can handle violence or being immersed in the dark.  This book is packed with violence and it pulls you into the dark so quickly you're not sure what's going on, but you can't remember when you last saw the light.  If you can at all handle it, I would highly encourage you to read it.  If you're not into thrillers or crime novels, but are still okay with the violence, please do yourself a favor and read it anyway.

Why?

Because Jahn does two things masterfully, and I think we could all stand to learn from them.

First, Jahn takes a large ensemble cast and gives them almost every one a chance to be at the center of a tight, intimate third-person POV that is exquisitely voiced.  I take some pride in the richness of my first person narrative voices.  I've taken some pride in the developing voicing of my two first person narrators in my current book.  Jahn hits the high mark in voicing each one of the ensemble.  Each voice is strong enough to carry the momentum of the high-adrenaline story, unique enough to be identifiable, and rich enough to bring character backstory and foreshadowing along for the ride in an otherwise tight, punctiliar story.

Second, there's a lot to think about when you're done reading.  I'll be honest.  At times, I found the darkness oppressive and I felt I need a breath of even false hope at some point to pull me out for air. Even when I was immediately done, I was left with a very nihilistic feeling.  Even now, I think that's a reasonable takeaway.  I think it's important to note, however, that I am still thinking and pondering this book in the back mind, a few days later and after having written and read other things.

At the end of the book, I thought one character had a glimmer of hope, and that it was a pretty thin glimmer.  As the book has gnawed away at the back of my mind, however, I've realized there's more to it than that.    Every character in the book face some kind of violence.  Some physical, some social, some emotional, some psychological.  The more I think about it, the more ways I see violence acting on these characters.  And every character had a response to that violence.  Sometimes it was more violence.  Sometimes, it was choosing an alternative.  And sometimes it was paralysis or defeatism.  We're left to consider those responses and their effectiveness.

What were Jahn's intentions?  I'm not sure it matters.  He gave us the story and the characters, and I'm delighted to have them to think about.

So, writers, here are your lessons for the day:

• Voice is great.
• It's more important to leave your leaders thinking than it is to give them a thought.
• It is possible to write a book that works amazingly well for readers as diverse as pulp fiction monkey and literary snobs and genre hacks.
• Your prose doesn't need to be deep or poetic to stir thought and reach readers' cores.

Looking forward to reading Low Life in the not-too-distant future.

.Nevets.

I Wish My Fantasy Fiction Turned Out Like This

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Tim Stretton's The Dog of the North is, in many ways, a fantasy novel I wish I had written. It is the story of two men, Arren and Beauceron, and their struggle as individuals trying to carve out their own places in a world whose personal intrigues and political statecraft entangle and threaten to choke them.  The book takes place in the world of Mondia whose geography and cultures are quite foreign to ours but which is described with such clarity and sympathy that it feels as comfortable and familiar as any story of Arthurian England or Medieval Germany.

This is a difficult book to talk about without spoilers, but I will do my best, because while the action moves quickly and the dialogue pulls the reader along, the story is intricate enough to lend itself to a close reading, savoring the minutiae of the many compelling mysteries which are told or implied.  The two primary story lines revolve around Arren and Beauceron.  The former, a young man growing up in a world he never quite understands. The latter, a man trying to punish the world for not being what he thought it should be.  It is a story of individuals searching for moral justice, social equanimity, and individual contentment.  More than anything, it is the story of transformation, growth, and corruption.  Every single person in The Dog of North has a vision of how the world should be, and how they should fit into that world.  The book chronicles their ploys to  make that happen, focusing most intimately on Arren and Beauceron.

It is, in those respects, very like much like the type of fiction I like to write.  Unfortunately for me and fortunately for the reader, Stretton is able to pull of several things I have never been able to when crafting my own fantasy.  His world of Mondia is at least as well if not better developed than any fantasy world I ever created, but rather than setting his story within the world, Stretton manages to use to the story to deliver the world.  No lengthy, digressionary passages describe the land, the politics, the religion . . . But Mondia is vivid in my mind, because  its richness is conveyed through crackling prose that integrates description and context deftly with action and character.

Likewise, Stretton's characters, while not unidimensional, are clearly understood by readers the moment they walk on stage.  First impressions, so important in life, are difficult to communicate in fantasy fiction, where so often personality and psychology are lost in the trappings and flourishes of a far away place.  In The Dog North, personality and psychology are readily apparent through the dialogue and behaviour of the individuals.

In short, The Dog of the North not just a good fantasy book.  It's just a good book.  Just the kind of fantasy that I've never been able to pull off.  Good there's more Stretton to read and more on the way!

.Nevets.

Cinders: A Review

Cinders
A novella by Michelle Davidson Argyle
Create Space, 2010
ISBN 1453629955

“Sometimes she forgot about the other man, the stranger she'd met long ago, long before she was given fur shoes and knew there were such things as magic and spells.”

The great strength of Cinders is that it does not dwell. It does not need to. Argyle's prose is tight and the reading space between the lines is packed with layers. In a single sentence, such as the above, Argyle is able to connect the reader to her main character's past, present, and future, and to the emotional relationship Cinderella has with each.

In Cinders, Argyle demonstrates a rare sense of restraint. The temptations for digression, exposition, and exploration in a work like this abound. An author could be forgiven for reveling in the historical fiction aspect of restoring to a popular fairy tale the trappings of real life. An author could be forgiven for ruminating about in the philosophical and social contradictions between the circumstances of a popular fairy tale and the reality of human experience. An author could even be forgiven for relishing the opportunity to make a popular legend her own.

Argyle does each of these things, but she does not obsess over any of them. Instead, her obsession is her character. Her Cinderella is a woman like any other. A woman with passions, frustrations, desires, and plenty of questions. She does not quite understand where she is, how she got there, or where she's going. This, to me, felt like the heart of Argyle's story. Cinders is not a re-telling of the Cinderella story or a turning-on-its-head of the fairy tale as a form. It is the story of a young woman who got what she thought she wanted and then realized she didn't really know what she wanted – or what she got.

Because Argyle does not dwell on any topic, theme, or passage, Cinders moves at a brisk pace that only slows down during a few moments of nostalgia and during the denouement. This style also means that the reader is given both the responsibility and the liberty to connect the dots. While told in third person, the narrative voice of the story is essentially Cinderella's, and yet because of the tight style and the fairy tale form there is little exposition or externalization of the main character's psychology.

The one limitation of this novella, if there is one, is that many readers will likely not know what to expect or, therefore, how to approach it. Cinders should not be read at a quick, surface level as if it were a YA fantasy romance. It is literary fiction, told in the form and tradition of the fairy tale. As such, a patient and thoughtful reader will be rewarded with a reach and intricate experience. A more casual reader will likely enjoy the story, but may find it difficult to relate to Cinderella at times, and may not be satisfied by the ending. Argyle does not serve the entire story on a platter, but she serves it well, to anyone willing to take their time and enjoy it.