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aaronj21's Reviews (912)
Invasive is probably the best horror comic I’ve read this year.
With its subject matter, part of which consists of crazy pseudo surgeons and people addicted to needless medical procedures just for the thrill of being operated on, it would have been very easy for this story to be one note and schlocky, leaning heavily on its premise and offering little else of value.
Invasive never veers into this pitfall however, and instead presents a compellingly original story with complex characters, stunningly rendered in beautiful line and color work. The result is a thoughtful tale and one I have no problem recommending to anyone with a reasonably strong stomach.
The plot, a lean and competent premise, is that a former detective and doctor team up to seek justice after the doctor’s daughter barely escapes the clutches of a mysterious group of murderous surgeons whose operations bring only mutilation and death to their unwilling patients. The daughter remains unresponsive in a comma and with no other leads detective and surgeon search for answers in support groups for people addicted to medical procedures and in back alley operating theaters headed by unscrupulous, partially trained doctors.
This story succeeds ably as a narrative and within its pages are stunning examples of gorgeous, if grotesque, artwork. The horror is definitely there, but it’s doled out with judicious restraint, making it all the more effective and shocking. This lesson is one many authors and especially creators of horror graphic novels, would do well to emulate, effective scares are often as brief as they are terrifying. The world Invasive creates is believable yet slightly askew, a shadowy, paranoid place that evokes nothing so much as an episode of the Twilight Zone written by Clive Barker.
If there isn’t more of this story in the works, then there certainly should be. Albeit, fans of a short, standalone tell won’t be dissatisfied in the least.
With its subject matter, part of which consists of crazy pseudo surgeons and people addicted to needless medical procedures just for the thrill of being operated on, it would have been very easy for this story to be one note and schlocky, leaning heavily on its premise and offering little else of value.
Invasive never veers into this pitfall however, and instead presents a compellingly original story with complex characters, stunningly rendered in beautiful line and color work. The result is a thoughtful tale and one I have no problem recommending to anyone with a reasonably strong stomach.
The plot, a lean and competent premise, is that a former detective and doctor team up to seek justice after the doctor’s daughter barely escapes the clutches of a mysterious group of murderous surgeons whose operations bring only mutilation and death to their unwilling patients. The daughter remains unresponsive in a comma and with no other leads detective and surgeon search for answers in support groups for people addicted to medical procedures and in back alley operating theaters headed by unscrupulous, partially trained doctors.
This story succeeds ably as a narrative and within its pages are stunning examples of gorgeous, if grotesque, artwork. The horror is definitely there, but it’s doled out with judicious restraint, making it all the more effective and shocking. This lesson is one many authors and especially creators of horror graphic novels, would do well to emulate, effective scares are often as brief as they are terrifying. The world Invasive creates is believable yet slightly askew, a shadowy, paranoid place that evokes nothing so much as an episode of the Twilight Zone written by Clive Barker.
If there isn’t more of this story in the works, then there certainly should be. Albeit, fans of a short, standalone tell won’t be dissatisfied in the least.
From my own limited experience and narrow vantage point it seems like the historical fiction genre has changed quite a lot in recent decades. Most recent historical fiction seems to follow a pattern, relatively short books, with a fairly surface level exploration of the time period they’re set in, and usually about more modern history (WWII! It’s WWII, it is ALWAYS WWII!).
However, the older historical fiction titles that come to mind, The Egyptian (1945), Shogun (1975), and Aztec (1980), are quite different from these more recent books, for all their differences, these novels share some crucial similarities. All are absolute bricks (The Egyptian is the shortest of these at 514 pages), all paint a vivid though sensationalized picture of the time they're set in, and all have, shall we say an…uncomfortable relationship with themes of sexuality (if you know you know, basically it’s glaringly obvious all of these books were written by straight men in the 70’s, that or authors back then thought historical fiction wouldn’t sell unless it also contained plenty of “adult content”).
The Assyrian (1987) exemplifies this type of older historical fiction perfectly. It’s a sweeping historical fiction novel of the Neo-Assyrian empire, following the life of the (fictitious) Tiglath-Ashur during the reign of his father (the non-fictional) Sennacherib. Tiglath grows up, learns to be a warrior, earns glory in battle, and generally gets up to shenanigans very near the arc of Assyrian history. In terms of immersion it was a fine book, you can tell the author did some research and the mores and values of the time feel authentic to the period. While it shouldn’t be taken as a full history lesson by any means, it does illustrate some important, real life historical points, (the ancient animosity between Assyria and Babylon, the tribute system in the empire, and the general workings of the army, etc.) The story itself is also well told and kept my interest. Most of the sexual story elements were not to my taste as they felt unnecessary and exploitative.
I will probably not read any further in this series although I do not regret the time I’ve already spent.
However, the older historical fiction titles that come to mind, The Egyptian (1945), Shogun (1975), and Aztec (1980), are quite different from these more recent books, for all their differences, these novels share some crucial similarities. All are absolute bricks (The Egyptian is the shortest of these at 514 pages), all paint a vivid though sensationalized picture of the time they're set in, and all have, shall we say an…uncomfortable relationship with themes of sexuality (if you know you know, basically it’s glaringly obvious all of these books were written by straight men in the 70’s, that or authors back then thought historical fiction wouldn’t sell unless it also contained plenty of “adult content”).
The Assyrian (1987) exemplifies this type of older historical fiction perfectly. It’s a sweeping historical fiction novel of the Neo-Assyrian empire, following the life of the (fictitious) Tiglath-Ashur during the reign of his father (the non-fictional) Sennacherib. Tiglath grows up, learns to be a warrior, earns glory in battle, and generally gets up to shenanigans very near the arc of Assyrian history. In terms of immersion it was a fine book, you can tell the author did some research and the mores and values of the time feel authentic to the period. While it shouldn’t be taken as a full history lesson by any means, it does illustrate some important, real life historical points, (the ancient animosity between Assyria and Babylon, the tribute system in the empire, and the general workings of the army, etc.) The story itself is also well told and kept my interest. Most of the sexual story elements were not to my taste as they felt unnecessary and exploitative.
I will probably not read any further in this series although I do not regret the time I’ve already spent.
This book falls into the niche category I like to call “newer, popular, non-fiction, history that presents an often reviled ancient civilization in a less biased context”, other examples include Persians (2022) by Lloyd-Llewellyn Jones and Fifth Sun (2019) by Camilla Townsend.
If the general public know about the Assyrians at all they know them as the bad guys from the Bible. Cruel despots who seemed to have all the pitilessness of the Mongols, and the acquisitiveness of the Romans without any of their redeeming qualities. This couldn’t be farther from the truth. They were a brutal people in conquest but the bronze age near east was a brutal time and place. The Assyrian’s place in history and the legacy they left the world has been largely poisoned or over shadowed.
This book goes a fair way to correcting that misconception and sheds light on a fascinating period of history. I’d recommend this to anyone wanting to dip their toes in ancient near eastern history.
If the general public know about the Assyrians at all they know them as the bad guys from the Bible. Cruel despots who seemed to have all the pitilessness of the Mongols, and the acquisitiveness of the Romans without any of their redeeming qualities. This couldn’t be farther from the truth. They were a brutal people in conquest but the bronze age near east was a brutal time and place. The Assyrian’s place in history and the legacy they left the world has been largely poisoned or over shadowed.
This book goes a fair way to correcting that misconception and sheds light on a fascinating period of history. I’d recommend this to anyone wanting to dip their toes in ancient near eastern history.
Alas, Babylon reminds me a lot of Nevil Shute’s On the Beach, this fact has as much to do with my reading both books relatively close together as it does with the novels’ similarities. The books are comparable though, both were written in the 1950’s and both deal with the aftermath of a global nuclear war, focusing on a group of survivors trying to live as best they can in the post war fallout (pun intended, no, I’m not sorry and I’d do it again too).
However, these books are very interesting when read comparatively for the crucial differences they evince.
Pat Frank’s novel revolves largely around plucky, prepared, intelligent individuals coping with the crisis of nuclear war and being cut off from the rest of the country. The main character, Randy, has a brother in the air force who warns him of the coming Armageddon. Randy immediately leaps into action, buying supplies and stocking up before the bombs even fall. Afterwards as things fall apart, he steps up as the unofficial leader of a band of survivors in Fort Repose Florida, making the tough calls that need to be made and ultimately shepherding his people through the worst of the disaster. While the nuclear annihilation in the novel is no joke, something like 70% of the country is bombed and made uninhabitable, the overall tone is somewhat positive, at least in my reading. Yes, America suffered a terrible attack, but the government is mostly intact, the U.S. managed to bomb the enemy even worse, and our survivors adapt so well that by the end of the story they refuse the offer of an airlift out of town. The chapter detailing the devastation of the war seems more like a footnote and less like the point of the novel. The point of the novel is that clever, hardworking Americans can survive anything, even nuclear war by golly.
Contrastingly, On the Beach has no such hopeful reading, it’s a major downer from beginning to end. To begin with, the nuclear war in Shutes’ novel is far more mysterious and pointless (as if nuclear war could ever have a point) than the attack in Alas, Babylon. In this novel full scale war comes about due to a misunderstanding, human error, and no matter who got the most bombs off in the end, the whole world loses. Indeed, the Australians in Shutes novel had nothing at all to do with the war, and yet they’re going to pay the price like every other country on earth as the radioactive fallout inevitably makes its way towards their island continent. It hardly matters how resourceful or intelligent the survivors are, there is simply nothing they can do in the face of such a devastating and global catastrophe.
I found Shute’s point both far more persuasive and more closely aligned to reality. If a nuclear war were to break out there’s precious little people could do to protect themselves, let alone survive or thrive like Randy’s band of survivors in Florida. On the Beach reads like a scathing and thoughtful indictment of the very existence of nuclear weapons. Alas, Babylon, for all that it’s a well written action story, reads like fanfiction a character from GI Joe would write.
However, these books are very interesting when read comparatively for the crucial differences they evince.
Pat Frank’s novel revolves largely around plucky, prepared, intelligent individuals coping with the crisis of nuclear war and being cut off from the rest of the country. The main character, Randy, has a brother in the air force who warns him of the coming Armageddon. Randy immediately leaps into action, buying supplies and stocking up before the bombs even fall. Afterwards as things fall apart, he steps up as the unofficial leader of a band of survivors in Fort Repose Florida, making the tough calls that need to be made and ultimately shepherding his people through the worst of the disaster. While the nuclear annihilation in the novel is no joke, something like 70% of the country is bombed and made uninhabitable, the overall tone is somewhat positive, at least in my reading. Yes, America suffered a terrible attack, but the government is mostly intact, the U.S. managed to bomb the enemy even worse, and our survivors adapt so well that by the end of the story they refuse the offer of an airlift out of town. The chapter detailing the devastation of the war seems more like a footnote and less like the point of the novel. The point of the novel is that clever, hardworking Americans can survive anything, even nuclear war by golly.
Contrastingly, On the Beach has no such hopeful reading, it’s a major downer from beginning to end. To begin with, the nuclear war in Shutes’ novel is far more mysterious and pointless (as if nuclear war could ever have a point) than the attack in Alas, Babylon. In this novel full scale war comes about due to a misunderstanding, human error, and no matter who got the most bombs off in the end, the whole world loses. Indeed, the Australians in Shutes novel had nothing at all to do with the war, and yet they’re going to pay the price like every other country on earth as the radioactive fallout inevitably makes its way towards their island continent. It hardly matters how resourceful or intelligent the survivors are, there is simply nothing they can do in the face of such a devastating and global catastrophe.
I found Shute’s point both far more persuasive and more closely aligned to reality. If a nuclear war were to break out there’s precious little people could do to protect themselves, let alone survive or thrive like Randy’s band of survivors in Florida. On the Beach reads like a scathing and thoughtful indictment of the very existence of nuclear weapons. Alas, Babylon, for all that it’s a well written action story, reads like fanfiction a character from GI Joe would write.
This book has been such a big deal for such a long time that it’s almost impossible to come to it without some preconceptions.
When I first started reading I knew it was long, generally well regarded, and that I had tried and failed to read it (i.e. gave up after the first two pages while I was in a reading rut) many years ago. I listened to the new audiobook version and read the physical book in about a 70 /30 ratio (I listened to most of it).
This is one of those books that definitely earns the hype surrounding it. The world it creates is at once utterly unique and yet completely believable. The story, once it gets going, is a true delight and the fantasy within these pages rivals almost anything else in the genre. The author has a clear talent for writing compelling characters as well, particularly ones that aren’t really very good people at all (except for you Stephen Black, you’re perfect and we’re glad you’re here).
This book is a tome, a cinderblock, a potential weapon given its size and weight, but despite that I found myself wishing it were even longer, it was just that good.
When I first started reading I knew it was long, generally well regarded, and that I had tried and failed to read it (i.e. gave up after the first two pages while I was in a reading rut) many years ago. I listened to the new audiobook version and read the physical book in about a 70 /30 ratio (I listened to most of it).
This is one of those books that definitely earns the hype surrounding it. The world it creates is at once utterly unique and yet completely believable. The story, once it gets going, is a true delight and the fantasy within these pages rivals almost anything else in the genre. The author has a clear talent for writing compelling characters as well, particularly ones that aren’t really very good people at all (except for you Stephen Black, you’re perfect and we’re glad you’re here).
This book is a tome, a cinderblock, a potential weapon given its size and weight, but despite that I found myself wishing it were even longer, it was just that good.
Yes I re-read this, yes it was because I was re-watching the mini series, no I'm not okay. I learned you can buy a humidifier shaped like reactor number four on Etsy.
I’ve rarely read a more immediately captivating novella.
A group of five semi nocturnal smokers habitually meet in a disused cemetery in a sleepy college town. One night they’re shocked to find a newly opened grave in their usual haunt. This minor mystery leads to the group spending one fraught night of searching for answers and unravelling a complicated web of deception.
Told from the perspective of its five characters, this novella shines in the interplay between them as well as it’s compelling, finely honed plot. Studded with gorgeous writing and unforgettable metaphors, this book was a finish it in one evening kind of tale.
A group of five semi nocturnal smokers habitually meet in a disused cemetery in a sleepy college town. One night they’re shocked to find a newly opened grave in their usual haunt. This minor mystery leads to the group spending one fraught night of searching for answers and unravelling a complicated web of deception.
Told from the perspective of its five characters, this novella shines in the interplay between them as well as it’s compelling, finely honed plot. Studded with gorgeous writing and unforgettable metaphors, this book was a finish it in one evening kind of tale.
A perfectly serviceable book for what it is, it contained more non-samurai specific Japanese history than I was expecting but that’s not really a bad thing.
My sincere thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for an ARC of this title.
And wow, what a title!
From start to finish, compelling, twisted, and utterly captivating; Creep:A Love Story adds something new and refreshing to the genre of twisted / psychopathic protagonist à la You by Caroline Kepnes.
Alice, a London paralegal and part time cleaner, has a deeply complicated, fraught relationship with her family, her body, and well…reality in general. She just knows that Tom, a man who’s flat she cleans once a week, is her soulmate and she is determined to make him understand that by any means necessary. Small incidentals like the fact that she and Tom have never actually met and have no real relationship are just minor inconveniences to be overcome.
It’s a difficult thing, being in the shoes of a character we would consider monstrous. It takes a lot out of the reader and requires a high degree of skill from the storyteller, skill that is readily apparent in this book. This story is told solely from Alice’s perspective so we are placed snugly inside the mind of a deeply unwell person and see the world through her eyes. Time and again you’re lulled into forgetting who you’re dealing with, only to discover some fresh new depravity as you turn the page. But more surprisingly, the author managed to create small (minute, miniscule, infinitesimal) footholds of common ground and (shudder) relatability within the maelstrom of extremely upsetting thoughts and shocking behavior that make up this character’s world. While reading I found myself being alternately horrified by what Alice was doing and also desperately wanting her to make better, healthier, less insane choices. This push and pull, back and forth, left me amazed that I could find small things to relate to while also being horrified at the depths of depravity and personal violation people are capable of.
This was an impressive, immersive book. The literary landscape isn’t what it used to be, a book can’t bank on creating a splash simply by telling a story through the lens of a morally bad, mentally compromised narrator any more. We’ve all read American Psycho and A Clockwork Orange by this point. The real success of Creep: A Love Story is that it makes you identify, however briefly, with its outlandishly reprehensible protagonist, even as you’re terrified to see what she’ll do next.
And wow, what a title!
From start to finish, compelling, twisted, and utterly captivating; Creep:A Love Story adds something new and refreshing to the genre of twisted / psychopathic protagonist à la You by Caroline Kepnes.
Alice, a London paralegal and part time cleaner, has a deeply complicated, fraught relationship with her family, her body, and well…reality in general. She just knows that Tom, a man who’s flat she cleans once a week, is her soulmate and she is determined to make him understand that by any means necessary. Small incidentals like the fact that she and Tom have never actually met and have no real relationship are just minor inconveniences to be overcome.
It’s a difficult thing, being in the shoes of a character we would consider monstrous. It takes a lot out of the reader and requires a high degree of skill from the storyteller, skill that is readily apparent in this book. This story is told solely from Alice’s perspective so we are placed snugly inside the mind of a deeply unwell person and see the world through her eyes. Time and again you’re lulled into forgetting who you’re dealing with, only to discover some fresh new depravity as you turn the page. But more surprisingly, the author managed to create small (minute, miniscule, infinitesimal) footholds of common ground and (shudder) relatability within the maelstrom of extremely upsetting thoughts and shocking behavior that make up this character’s world. While reading I found myself being alternately horrified by what Alice was doing and also desperately wanting her to make better, healthier, less insane choices. This push and pull, back and forth, left me amazed that I could find small things to relate to while also being horrified at the depths of depravity and personal violation people are capable of.
This was an impressive, immersive book. The literary landscape isn’t what it used to be, a book can’t bank on creating a splash simply by telling a story through the lens of a morally bad, mentally compromised narrator any more. We’ve all read American Psycho and A Clockwork Orange by this point. The real success of Creep: A Love Story is that it makes you identify, however briefly, with its outlandishly reprehensible protagonist, even as you’re terrified to see what she’ll do next.