Flaubert wrote Bibliomania when he was fourteen, right after the case of Don Vicente appeared in a French newspaper. Was it necessary to practically write the same story all over again? Maybe not, but the result is decent, so I don't mind. Another and the more interesting question is whether Flaubert would have wanted this published, something that he scribbled when he was very young. Anyway, I wouldn't necessarily consider this a must-read for all Flaubert fans, but it's always fun to read about book craziness à la The Ninth Gate (1999). Although I don't understand Giacomo's (or anyone's for that matter) obsession with books as solely physical possessions instead of sources of knowledge as well, I fully endorse the need to fondle beautiful book covers. I need the first edition of Dracula that I saw in an episode of one of the Anthony Bourdain shows. I NEED IT.

Based on the illustrations I've seen, Little Hands Clapping is very Edward Gorey-esque in spirit. Not particularly sick, just macabre and definitely not something that should be labelled as horror. Dark humour is a tricky thing, but for the most part Rhodes succeeds in making the museum a comical place without it seeming crass or tacky. The ridiculous reason the doctor had for doing what he did somehow made perfect sense in Rhodes's universe, where even the most respectable pillars of a small community can harbour dark secrets (the kind that are more than mere "I had an affair with the plumber" -sort). The premise reminded me of a couple of urban legends, like

Spoiler

the one where a butcher makes people into minced meat (although it's slightly more disgusting, because at least the doctor ate the meat himself instead of offering it to others)

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Some would say Rhodes pushed it a bit too far, some would probably need even more pushing, but I thought it was just enough for a surprisingly light-hearted feat like this. Then again, there were moments of seriousness that didn't exactly give a deadly blow to the story, but at least stunned it. It was like being at a wedding where someone tells you their cat died the day before. Awkard. There were hints that Rhodes wanted to say something profound about death, but the purpose of the novel just wasn't clear enough to say anything for sure.

Which brings me to the main problem I had. There are plenty of characters whose lives are saturated with death, but other than that the threads don't connect to the main story strongly enough, not to mention that the story about the Portuguese lovers is completely uninteresting. The narrative dashes to all kinds of directions and breaks the chronology, making the novel unfocused, bloated, and slightly ADHD. I would have been more than happy if there had been just the storyline with the curator and the doctor. The misinformed view on depression and suicide (cheer up, think happy thoughts, someone always has it worse than you) also bothered me a bit more than is perhaps necessary, because the story obviously relies more on fairy tale morality than reality.

That said, someone needs to make this into a stop-motion film, preferably something in the vein of Mary and Max (2009).

To make a zombie war realistic is commendable, and everything that comes with warfare is explored fairly satisfactorily by Brooks. People have varying degrees of survival skills and each handles the situation differently. Some find unexpected strength, some get disheartened, some act like complete asswipes etc.

As the outbreak starts in China and spreads all over the world, we see the success of governments depending on how seriously they take the threat and how well they have estimated their powers to stop it. Unfortunately for me, Brooks spends a lot of time explaining the political background of the war, the different strategies, and the general global effects.

The parts I found most interesting were the struggles of civilians. When the world looks like it's ending, not even rich celebrities are able to save themselves by splurging money on the newest security technology (that chapter was hilarious by the way).

It all boiled down to personal preference regarding the zombie experience. What I missed in World War Z, I've previously found in The Walking Dead (the tv-series) and Night of the Living Dead (1968). It's the individuals that interest me, although Brooks's characters seem to be the same old cliched stereotypes (the Japanese, wtf?), and therefore the whole book is lacking real cultural insight. The lack of tension was the biggest problem, though. The zombies themselves seemed to be mere background elements in order to take a stance on the modern world and its future. The execution of the interview format didn't help, what with all the infodumping and expositions happening in a supposedly oral history.

A big minus for the characters. I couldn't get to them very well but the stunning prose almost makes up for it. A great example of beautiful descriptions that make the story's world vivid and very close not to mention a magnificent social commentary.

It has taken me forever to think about the rating and I still haven't decided, so I'll just mark this as read for now and move on.



Don't worry, I'll write the review at some point. Promise.

An interesting scientific approach that reminds me of Ghost Hunters and other modern day investigators, but there's a lot of referring to things that are never explained further, and the stories have very little variety case-wise. Carnacki goes to investigate, constructs a system of defence against the supernatural forces, and then either the supernatural force is vanquished or the whole thing is revealed to be a hoax.

It's all so formulaic that it makes me think whether Carnacki (who's an exceptionally one-dimensional character) is eventually going to die of boredom because of his job. In The House Among the Laurels the atmosphere is briefly intense when the manifestation starts to come to life, but only briefly. The writing itself reminds me of Lovecraft, and that ain't a compliment when it comes from me. Frustratingly vague and flat.

On the outside, the Radleys are a normal middle-class family. Parents Peter and Helen struggle with their marriage that has started to taste like cardboard, and their children Rowan and Clara struggle with teenage problems in a small town community. The kind of small town I personally have experience from: growing older, you start to escape from it in different ways, until you realize buses and internet connections are in danger of diluting your life into a half existence. You can never come and go as you please, because the bus connections are scarce, but you can't spend the rest of your life lying in bed reading books either, and certainly not spending time in town events (if there are any, usually there aren't) with small-minded and gossipy people.

"Drinking wine is just another thing designed to make them feel like normal human beings, when really it only proves the opposite. Helen insists they drink it for the taste, but he’s not even sure he likes the taste."

Behind the ordinary facade, however, Peter and Helen are harbouring a secret. They are vampires, but the children don't know yet. Until a tragedy occurs. The bland existence of the Radleys can never be the same again. Blood is passion, truth, temptation, excitement, and everything what the Radleys are trying to suffocate in themselves. When the urges begin to surface, Peter remembers the old days with Helen and his brother Will. The wild blood red days of night club lights and recklessness. As a contrast, the scene where Peter and Helen dine with their neighbours appears as hilarious. Mark rambles on and on about his job, Lorna's playing footsie with Peter, and Helen is completely off planet Earth. None of them truly happy.

The demented Will is of course a bad influence, but he does manage to break the bubble the Radleys have built for themselves. The masks of quiet respectability have only managed to hide the ripples, and Haig's subtle approach to violence only emphasizes the problems that the characters are facing. I wasn't particularly interested in what was happening with the kids, nor was I that enthusiastic about the love thingy, but the way blood and vampirism were mixed with family life was intriguing and satisfying. For me, the excitement was whether the Radleys would find the balance between living in hiding and being true to themselves. After all, loosening up a bit never hurt anyone, but suppression only makes way for an explosion.

Very different than the gritty vampires I usually prefer, but I'm glad I gave this a chance. Despite being a fairly light read (at least for me), Haig packs a lot of hefty stuff between the lines and never underestimates his readers. If you want to know why I hate self-help books, read The Radleys.

"Confine your imagination. Do not lose yourself to dangerous daydreams. Do not sit and ponder and dwell on a life you are not living. Do something active. Exercise. Work harder. Answer your emails. Fill your diary with harmless social activities. By doing, we stop ourselves imagining. And imagining for us is a fast-moving car heading towards a cliff.

The Abstainer’s Handbook (second edition), p.83"

Mouth-wateringly beautiful (as are the illustrations by Arthur Rackham), the verses aren't drowned in overly obscure metaphors, but they form a crisp narrative allegory about temptation and whatnot. Magical and subtle enough that it's suitable for children, but no adult can ignore the sensuality (juice sucking and so on). Laura is taken advantage of, and the hideous goblins are not interested in already spoiled maidens (and when their advances are rebuffed, they become furious and abusive), but luckily there is a chance to get redeemed. Or not, depends how you interpret the whole thing, since there seems to be as much different themes as there are readers. Sex, drug addiction, social redemption, incest, sisterhood etc.

"Pricking up her golden head:
'We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?'"

Yeah, you never know where those goblins have dipped their fruits in.