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Book Review: The Institute by Stephen King (Dueling Review)

 Editor’s note: We previously published a review of The Institute written by Murray Samuelson. This review, by David Simms, takes a second look. 

 

The Institute by Stephen King.

Scribner, 2019

ISBN-13: 978-1982110567

Available: Hardcover, paperback, Kindle edition, audiobook, audio CD

 

Reviewing a Stephen King book is always a mixed bag. Love it and people think it’s favoritism, hate it and they believe you are being contrarian. Some of King’s books deserve a tepid review, but even when it’s just an okay book by him, it’s usually better than most other writers. There’s a reason why he’s had over 20 books on the bestseller lists. King knows how to draw people: he understands them, inside and outside their heads, and the minutiae that make up our everyday lives. The Institute is one of his good novels of recent times. While it’s no Salem’s Lot or The Stand, it immerses the reader in the characters’ lives in a story that is successful in everything it attempts.

The plot is relatively simple: Luke Ellis, a talented young boy, is abducted in the middle of the night. His parents murdered, he is shoved into a black SUV and driven to the titular institute where children with telepathy and telekinesis are studied. This may sound similar to Firestarter, but it isn’t: If readers must compare this to another King title, it’s closer to IT than anything else. Luke awakens in the Institute, where he meets a group of other kids who fill him in on what happens in the “front half.” Keep your head down, follow directions, and earn tokens for everything from television to candy to other treats. Mrs. Sigsby is the evil woman who runs the institute with an iron fist. She is quick to dole out punishment to the kids, a true caricature of evil, the only weakness of the novel. The supporting cast of the story is much grayer in nature as the staff within run the gamut from caring to apathetic to downright sadistic. The purpose of the place is nebulous which lends a deft touch to the story. What’s in the “back half?” Is it death or something better? Worse? Once children leave the front half, there is zero communication with them. Only the youngest, Avery, has the skills to sense anything about the others at a high level, and might signal a solution to their captivity. Even Luke, brilliant for his age, is still just a kid at heart. For all of his skills and ability to read people, he’s still a child, stuck in an adult’s psychopathic playground. King is a master at painting kids, and this might be his best effort yet. IT is a masterpiece, but the Losers’ Club was closer to teenagers than true children.

In a side story, a mysterious ex-cop leaves Florida and heads north, only to make a strange decision to divert into a small South Carolina town where he accepts a job as a “knocker.” His assimilation into that community is fascinating, and it is curious to see how the pieces come together.

The final product is both thrilling and touching, frightening and timely.

A welcome addition to the King canon.

Recommended.

 

Reviewed by David Simms

Book Review: Searching for Sycorax: Black Women’s Hauntings of Contemporary Horror by Kinitra D. Brooks

Searching for Sycorax: Black Women’s Hauntings of Contemporary Horror by Kinitra D. Brooks

Rutgers University Press, 2017

ISBN-13: 978-0813584614

Available: Hardcover, paperback

 

In Searching for Sycorax, Kinitra Brooks argues that horror has excluded black women except as an “absent presence” (such as the witch Sycorax from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, who has shaped the characters through her prior actions but does not appear in the play) and must allow black women a space that historically they have not been granted.  Brooks contends that black women characters in horror are constructed problematically to further the character development of other characters, especially white women, through an examination of the characters of Selena from 28 Days Later and Michonne from The Walking Dead. Brooks notes that much critical examination of horror is focused on the experiences of white men and their binaries (white women and black men). Black women, then, are unseen in a great deal of critical horror theory simply because they fall outside these binaries.

Brooks then examines how black feminist literary theorists, in their work to have black women writers included in the canon, have excluded genre fiction and authors (such as Octavia Butler) from critical examination, even though there are horror elements in many classic works of black women’s writing. While black feminist literary theorists have often chosen to examine black women’s writing through the lens of trauma theory or a magical realist framework, Brooks makes an argument for using a critical horror studies approach to black women’s literary works, carving out a place specifically for black women’s genre fiction which she calls “fluid fiction”, using it to explore the works of Nalo Hopkinson. Brooks defines fluid fiction as fiction by black women writers that blurs the boundaries of speculative genres and challenges mainstream genre limitations. It centers black women, reflects the intersections of their oppressions,  and is grounded in African religious practices and folkloric elements.

Brooks then suggests that the flowing nature of black women’s fiction, music, and art, can be used to redefine the horror genre using the framework of “folkloric horror”. Folkloric horror highlights and centers traditional African religions, such as Vodou and Santeria, treating them with respect; includes an acceptance of spirit possession; focuses on a young woman’s spiritual journey and discovery of the self, under the guidance of elders; and celebrates the black spiritual feminine. Many works by black women writers (such as Toni Morrison’s Beloved and Gloria Naylor’s Mama Day) explore horror tropes such as ghosts and curses in the context of the folkloric horror framework.

I have seen a lot of people recently saying that anybody should be able to write from any point of view. Searching for Sycorax argues that black women have a unique view that until recently has not only been unappreciated but has actually been unseen, despite its influence on genre writing. As I’m currently reading a companion collection of short stories I will say that I am finding the stories of black women writers of horror that I have read overall are fresh, genuine, and original in a genre that often depends on tired tropes without challenging them. It is difficult for me to imagine someone else writing them. Since Brooks’ book was initially published there has been work done to make the horror genre more inclusive, but it’s necessary to move beyond the argument that quality work will naturally rise to the top, and make a specific effort to seek out and promote quality work by black women to both widen the audience for horror and bring it to the attention of members of the horror community who may not be aware of it.

This is an academic book and the writing reflects that. Also, because Brooks is wide-ranging in the texts she covers, including some titles that may be more familiar to people in the horror community and some that may be more familiar to black feminist literary critics and readers, it requires some patience and work to read it through and understand (it is not easy to read literary criticism even if you are familiar with the texts being discussed). It is worth the effort to read this, as a continued effort is made for the horror community to grow as an inclusive space. This is an original and thoughtful exploration of a topic that has received little attention; it is the only book I have been able to find that focuses critically on the work of black women writers of horror fiction, and belongs in the collection of any academic library, although I hope it will find a much wider audience. Very much recommended.

Book Review: The Tenth Girl by Sara Faring

The Tenth Girl by Sara Faring

Imprint, 2019

ISBN-13: 978-1250304506

Available: Hardcover, paperback, Kindle edition, audiobook, audio CD

 

Teenage Mavi, living in Argentina under the military dictatiorship of Jorge Videla in 1978, is barely scraping by in the streets of Buenos Aires after her parents have “disappeared”.  Desperate to evade the police herself, Mavi uses forged credentials to get a job as an English teacher at the Vaccaro School, an exclusive boarding school in a huge Gothic mansion located in isolated Patagonia. Angel is a disembodied visitant from 2020 to Mavi’s time and place.

The Vaccaro School was built by the wealthy De Vaccaro family in the nineteenth century on land seized by the fictional indigenous Zapuche tribe. Mavi’s uncle explains that the Zapuche enacted bloody rituals when their land was seized. Sixty years ago, a mysterious illness reputed to have sprung from a Zapuche curse killed nearly all the residents of the Vaccaro School, and a girl had to be sacrificed to stop it. It is just now reopening. I think the author was trying to make a commentary on the damage colonialism has done to Argentina and its indigenous people, but the “Indian curse” and “savage bloody sacrifice” tropes really need to be set aside. The Zapuche being a fictional tribe means that the author lost an opportunity to bring attention to the existing problems of Argentina’s indigenous peoples.

The Tenth Girl was promoted as a Gothic psychological thriller with a twist, and for about 350 pages it hits pretty much every trope in the toolbox for a Gothic thriller, without actually having a story that goes much of anywhere. One thing that I did find interesting was the way the house seemed impossibly larger and space more disorganized on the inside than on the outside,  reminding me of the Winchester Mansion or Hill House. Sara Faring is an Argentine-American, so maybe that’s why she set the book in a remote part of Argentina, but the majority of this could have taken place in any isolated location. Faring’s descriptions of Patagonia are lovingly written, but there are too few of them, as for the majority of the book, the school’s inhabitants are trapped inside by the terrible weather. The sudden twist turned the events and characters in a completely different direction, leading to the raising of some interesting philosophical questions. However, I also felt that it cheapened the historical events chronicled in the book. I felt that the twist ending undercut the harsh realities of  Argentina’s “desaparecidos”. The twist also explained in part why the depiction of indigenous people is so problematic, but I think it was just unneccessary in the first place.  I’d love to say more about why, but that would spoil the book for potential readers.

I picked this up because it made the preliminary ballot for the 2020 Stokers in the YA category. It was a real struggle for me to stick with the book for the first 350 pages, but I’m glad I persisted. Faring’s twist ending really changed my perspective on the events and characters. I have trouble imagining many teens picking up this doorstopper and working their way through the whole thing, though.

Contains: pedophilia, self-harm, mentions of suicide, violence, gore.