I think it’s fair to preface my review of this book by saying that I don’t have children and have never wanted them. I won’t go into the whys (there aI think it’s fair to preface my review of this book by saying that I don’t have children and have never wanted them. I won’t go into the whys (there are many), but it makes me predisposed to sympathize with the main character, a once ambitious artist turned stay-at-home mom, who gets almost no help and support from her husband in looking after their 2-year-old son, isolated in a suburb where she has no real friends. That is literally one of my worst nightmares. And that’s before the metamorphosis into a dog and the pyramid scheme pushing mommies!
The first thing I must comment on is the interesting, staccato style of the prose; there’s no frills and language acrobatics here, but a choppy and rhythmic narration of the narrator’s transformation, which works well with the subject matter. It reads quickly, and the prose is effective in making the reader (at least in my case) furious on behalf of Nightbitch. Her life, the things that she loved to do, that defined her identity and gave her a sense of purpose are out of her reach now, as her life is reduced to looking after her son, and walking that incredibly precarious tight rope of loving her child but hating the existence he has trapped her in. An existence which she is only too aware to have chosen…
Yoder has chosen the right time to publish this book, with the wave of literary fiction about female rage/madness of the last few years (I’m thinking of books like “Bunny”, “My Year of Rest and Relaxation” and “Big Swiss”, apparently known as ‘disaster girl’ novels – my lingo is not up to date). While I see this story being about post-partum depression, I also see it as an honest riff on how much of one’s identity one needs to put away to be the mother society expects them to be – paired with the realization that no matter what you do and how hard you work at it, it might still be judged for being the ‘wrong’ thing. The idea that Nightbitch is the only one who notices her physical changes, the hair growth, the sharpening of her teeth, is quite unnerving - as is the feeling that you are not what other people see when they look at you, and this slow transformation is really the strongest aspect of the novel. Having lived a few years in the strange environment that North American suburbia can be, I also really appreciated the way it is described here, as an artificial environment that keeps people in neat little boxes like animals in a zoo, for display. Where they get so bored they need to start like MLM cults to pass the time and entertain themselves.
I read some very valid criticism of “Nightbitch” as over-hyped and crafted to be pandering to audiences who delight is listening to middle-class women whine about how hard they have it, and that it would have been more effective as a short story. Sure, this book doesn’t do subtle, and it has a very specific kind of POV, and I agree that weird books are not necessarily smart or good. That said, I think the repetition and tedium has a point, because that’s what the character’s life has turned into. I am not the first to note the similarities to Kafka’s “Metamorphosis”, and I think that both book address what it’s like when you can’t seem to meet other people’s expectations. I also get exasperated by the whining of privileged women, but I have to (however reluctantly) also acknowledge that their suffering, annoying or not, is real and that those voices deserve a place just as much as anyone else’s. I do agree with one thing though: this book could have been shorter, say novella-length, and it would have been just as effective. I appreciate the way Yoder crafted the conclusion: I didn’t find it 100% satisfying, but it was an interesting way to bring a few strings together in a weird little bow.
I enjoyed this book more than I expected, but less that I wish I did. It is still a notable book, raw and transgressive, about an often-taboo subject that deserves to be talked about much more. I will also note that while I am chalking up my sensitivity to perimenopause, I am really unable to deal with animal violence (especially pets dying or even getting lost) in books recently, it really wrecks me, so if you share this problem, approach this book carefully. That poor kitty cat!
I bought my copy at the lovely The City and The City bookstore in Hamilton, Ontario: if you are in the neighborhood, go check it out! They have a new and used book section and their stock is clearly lovingly curated: I could have spent the whole day there!
(Apparently, there is a movie adaptation with Amy Adams coming out soon, and at the risk of voicing an unpopular opinion, I do not plan on checking it out: I find her acting wooden and awkward in everything and I do not understand the fuss at all. This is a story about someone letting their inner animal take over, and I can’t imagine this working with this casting.)...more
I have seen other reviewers mention this, and I can’t help but chime in: this cover art is very off-putting. I have no idea if that woman is in the thI have seen other reviewers mention this, and I can’t help but chime in: this cover art is very off-putting. I have no idea if that woman is in the throes of ecstasy, in shock, chocking or in pain (or all of the above!) but silly as that may sound, it was almost enough to make me not read the book. Yes, yes: I know what they say about books and their covers. I also know that we nevertheless CONSTANTLY judge books by their covers, and this one is weird. But I had gotten morbidly curious about “Big Swiss”, and that was the edition they had at Lift Bridge Book Store, so, yeah… here we are.
Following in the footsteps of the divisive Ottessa Moshfegh, this is a book about a woman losing her mind in a very bizarre way. Greta is a recently separated middle-aged woman who lives in her friend’s ramshackle and bee-infested farmhouse in the Hudson River valley and supports herself by transcribing an eccentric sex therapist’s sessions. She develops a crush on one of the patients’ whose sessions she had been listening to, a younger married woman she nicknames Big Swiss (her real name is Flavia) – and eventually meets her in real life, something that seems inevitable in such a small town. Greta recognizes her voice immediately and uses the info she has gathered listening to Big Swiss’ sessions to get closer and eventually start an affair with her. Big Swiss is, of course, unaware that Greta knows all these intimate details about her life and her past. Will she find out? Will Greta’s insanity ruin the relationship first?
So is this a book where the cover is its own warning? Is the content as off-putting as that cover portrait of female experiencing… something (I ended up looking it up, and the cover is from a painting called “Falling Woman” by Canadian artist Anna Weyant)? I think that my experience of reading this book was not all that different from how I felt reading “My Year of Rest and Relaxation”: I stayed out of curiosity but my enjoyment of the story and characters oscillated back and forth between laughing out loud and rolling my eyes enough to give myself a migraine. Om is not that far from Dr. Tuttle in the sense he is an absolute quack, and his session transcript are equal parts hilarious and horrific. Greta does not have Moshfegh’s nameless protagonist’s excuse of youth to explain her curious lack of introspection, but she is equally damaged and oblivious. Again, not unlike my experience with Moshfegh, I found myself wondering if that was a point to the cringe or if the cringe IS the point? Listen, I know that many of us do not have our shit together nearly as much as we would like, and that truth often has a way of being stranger than fiction – and sometimes, it’s refreshing to see that on the page, the weirdness and confusion we really have to deal with on a daily basis. But if there was a greater idea here, I'm afraid I missed it.
I noticed that the reviews for this book are mostly a love it or hate it situation, and I confess I am dismayed at falling into neither camp. It’s really just an OK book: it’s not badly written, but the prose isn’t especially remarkable, the story and characters are interesting and the ideas wild, but nowhere near as shocking as I was led to expect, and the end is very anti-climactic. So 3 stars it is, though I am tempted to bump it to 4 to credit Beagin with her frankly hysterical and accurate description of a wand vibrator. It IS like a cudgel that tries to beat your happy spot to death!
On a personal note, I came across a few reviews that were like ‘finally a book that’s not about a millennial complaining!’ and I just want to say that, for the record, the older millennials are now in their 40s, myself included. So, sure, Greta is a bit older than the average millennial, but not by that much... Millennials are no longer the young kids some people (Greta included: she really fucking hates them, despite being obsessed with one) still seem to think we are – the youngest ones are about to turn 30! Plenty of us have arthritis and are experiencing perimenopause – along with a wide range of other very adult problems; and I for one I’m looking forward to the day where my status as a grown-up will be accepted in spite of the generation I belong to because it’s getting old, pun intended. Thanks for listening to my geriatric millennial rant/nitpicking....more
Early this year, I got a nasty cold and spent a couple of days on the couch in a NyQuil haze. This seemed like a good time to my severely addled brainEarly this year, I got a nasty cold and spent a couple of days on the couch in a NyQuil haze. This seemed like a good time to my severely addled brain to watch "Elvis" and "Priscilla" back-to-back. Both are incredible, albeit wildly different works of art. The first is bombastic, loud, glittery, and borderline hallucinogenic (or maybe that was the cold medicine) and the second is quiet, subdued and elegant. I don’t have a favorite, in case you are wondering: I never thought of those movies as competing to tell the same story, that’s really not what’s going on here. But "Priscilla" made me very curious about the book it was based on, Priscilla Beaulieu Prestley’s memoirs of meeting, falling in love with and living with Elvis. I wanted to see what Sofia Coppola had not put on the screen.
I want to clarify that while I really enjoy a lot of his music, I am a very moderate Elvis fan. His musical legacy is massive, but it’s also complicated, so I enjoy his work, but I never really idolized him.
While I read this book, I kept thinking: "poor, sweet little Cilla…"
The term ‘grooming’ is kind of weird, isn’t it? English is not my first language, and the first time I heard it, I thought of the lovely lady who used to trim my long-haired cat’s fur into a lion cut every summer. That’s not what it means, of course: it means to subtly (or overtly, in some cases) manipulate a generally young and inexperienced person into an idealized partner, the implication being that they don’t know any better, which puts them in a position where they are almost always being taken advantage of, if not simply abused. I thought about that term a lot while reading this, because dang! What Elvis did here is kind of textbook…
Priscilla was 14 years old when she first met Elvis. I tried to remember what I was like at 14, and I admit that’s far enough to be quite fuzzy now. I know I would have loved the attention, especially if it came from the biggest heartthrob of my generation. But even at that age, a ten-year difference would have felt like a lot… And while she insists, repeatedly, that Elvis was always nothing but a gentleman to her, that nothing he ever did was weird or perverted and that they didn’t have penetrative sex until they were married… she also often says that he taught her how to dress, how to do her hair and make up, how to keep house, and shared his drugs with her very liberally. I believe her when she says that he would never have hurt her or let anything bad happen to her, but at the same time, what he did was still manipulative and controlling. He didn’t like it when she talked back, when she behaved (in his words) like a man, by being strong and fighting back, he didn’t want her to go to college or get a job. Poor Cilla basically had to divorce him to have the space and the freedom to discover who she was, and I can’t help but find that tragic.
The book is strangely paced: they only get married in the second half of the book, and while they weren’t married very long, it still feels uneven. Priscilla loved Elvis with her whole heart (and probably still does) and she clearly wants to keep all her memories of him good, and that’s the way she spins – consciously or not. I don’t not get it; it must be difficult to think of such a major part of your life having been abusive. But from an outsider’s perspective, there is something off about what she thinks of as a great love story.
That said, her writing is sweet, if not terribly sophisticated, and while I often felt sad for how isolated she was during her years in Graceland, I also enjoyed learning what it was like living at the heart of this almost legendary place. It’s a shame that Elvis kept her so sheltered, because I think he might have been impressed with the woman she became....more
I’m not sure how this novella by Kealan Patrick Burke slipped under my radar, but ‘better late than never’ will be my epitaph, as I am constantly catcI’m not sure how this novella by Kealan Patrick Burke slipped under my radar, but ‘better late than never’ will be my epitaph, as I am constantly catching up! I have been a fan of Burke’s work for a long time; he is an amazing storyteller, he really knows how to find the horror in the mundane and grief is a theme he has explored often, with chilling results.
Mark’s grandmother passed away, and between this lost and the realization that the girl he loves will never love him back, he decides he is done with this small town and needs to move on. He decides that spending the evening alone at home after his grandmother’s funeral is a bad call, so he decides to go into work, as a bartender at a seaside resort past his prime. An epic snowstorm rolls into town, and while the guests and staff start going home, those who stay behind are surprised to welcome a last-minute group reservation…
Sure, Burke spends some time setting up the story, and maybe a few details could have been dropped, but once it gets going… If you’ve read other works by Burke before, you know he cranks up tension and horror elements very skillfully. I think he is also especially good a shorter form stories, and this novella is perfectly sized for an evening – though I would recommend reading it in summer…
As is often the case with him, Burke wraps up his story with a strange and unsettling twist. While this novella may not be his best work, it would be a wonderful introduction if you’ve never read his stories before, and if you have enjoyed his twisted imagination in the past, don’t miss this one!...more
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