Michelle

StN is a long, atmospheric historical fiction, mystery, novel. So many of the details that initially seem just part of that atmosphere contribute to the conclusion. You are never going to know what all matters or what detail will become significant.

Not recommended for people who want a fast pace or constant action. This story takes its time, lingers on details, contains long conversations.

Matthew and the magistrate, who is a father figure to Matthew, travel to the settlement of Fount Royal, the brain child of a man named Bidwell. The town is faltering due to the belief that one of the residents is a witch. Hence, the need for a magistrate.

Although McCammon writes horror, there is no real belief created in the reader that Rachel is a witch, nor is there meant to be. This detail works more on the level of hysteria, human bias and stupidity, and circumstantial evidence. To some extent, this is funny. To paraphrase any number of exchanges.

“So, magistrate, when will we get to burn the witch?”

“The accused needs to be tried.”

“Right, sure. We have to try her before we burn her – we believe in the law – but when do you think we can get to the burning part?”

And, unsurprisingly, anything that seems like evidence against her being a witch is written off as the devil being cunning.

But the book is about more than that. It's about Matthew coming of age and separating from his father figure as he definitively becomes a man in his own right. It's also about appearances being deceiving. Beyond an innocent woman being accused of doing the naughtiness with Satan, we have Matthew step into at least 3 homes that are not what they appear from the outside. We have multiple characters who are not what they seem. We have assumptions that prove to be false.

We also have this little ear worm:

Come out, come out, my dames and dandies. Come out, come out, and taste my candies.

I'm giving StN 5 stars because, after reading 800+ pages, I found myself not wanting to leave. A sense of melancholia set in at the last 10% because I knew the story was wrapping up, and I knew there would be some sadness both in the story and in me as a reader.

Genuinely creepy and quite readable, but also a bit derivative, and doesn't hold up to too much contemplation. (Contemplation makes it all so much sillier and absurd.) Also, the premise isn't fully explored. Weird vibe toward women. 

A happily childless man goes on a chocolate run in order to have a lazy, happy day on the couch with his equally-happy-to-be-childless girlfriend. He sees a harried woman with a screaming child. He makes himself known. Soon the woman is dead, and he's somehow the child's dad. 

The set-up is good, and it flows in the way horror stories tend to do – with an inevitable March toward “How am I doing? Not great!”

Sour Candy starts out very stylistically (Stephen) Kingesque. The main character even drops a “tough titty said the kitty” reference, which – trust – is a phrase King has used a lot. Where it bothered me is that this guy survives a car crash, the premise of the story lands on him, he does the rote denial very briefly, and then he becomes strangely omniscient in the midst of chaos. Like, he grasps too much, too fast, about a child who has said maybe 1 sentence to him, or 2. Essentially: If I do this, he'd do that, or make this character do this thing. 

Then, the story becomes more Lovecraftian in terms of an alternative world, a lot of red in an alien landscape, tentacles. 

The middle of the story is largely about the main character's testing the boundaries and paying the price, but the day-to-day is sketchy. Other than he is only allowed to eat hallucinatory (or revelatory) sour candy, which is wrecking him. In a novella, something has to give, but what gave was making this all as harrowing as it could be. 

His time with the boy – Adam – is glossed over. He takes him to normal places you take a child and sometimes the child screeches in these situations. That's clever for reasons I'm assuming most people get – kids are like that, and if you're the caregiver, you are now very much in the spotlight. 

It feels like there's more there, though. The people struggling to maintain their sanity as the children screams a store down still ultimately love that child. We know Adam is good at his masquerade and it feels like our main character being lured into caring would have fleshed out the story. His fighting the pull. When he was the other end of this, a witness to this child terrorizing his “mom,” he had sympathy, but he was also annoyed, judgemental. Now, it's his turn, and I'm not sure the story went there. 

There's another author I was reminded of. Richard Laymon. His books were written with very much the male gaze. This book wasn't fully like tat, but the women were written about in a (lightly) objectifying way in contrast to men.  “Attractive, probably used to be attractive, attractive-but-severe.” 

His girlfriend is all lingerie, sex, and innuendo. I get we're in a novella, and that this probably does read as paradise that is about to be lost through the lens of a straight man when he only has limited space to convey it.  But you lose something, too, in not making their relationship more, in not making her more. You lose something for at least some of your women readers. It's the difference between the main character losing a playmate and losing a soulmate. 

A couple of exchanges in the book also felt like they were mocking “wokeness.” The benefit of the doubt says it was just this guy digging himself deeper to the authorities, looking like a jerk to them by saying the wrong thing, but I don't know. 

There's a thing that happens at the end that tends to paint this child as karmic, a punishment, as opposed to completely random, which makes me wonder what's our guy's crime when the next guy is a cop who clearly abuses his daughter and has rage issues. Or maybe in fleshing out that one character it created an unintentional correlation and it all IS random. 

Now that I'm thinking about it, I wish the main character were either more admirable or more villainous. A scenario where he was more sexist and more contemptuous of “PC run amuck and parents who let their kids run wild” might have hit. A version where he was a better guy and fully in love with his girlfriend would have hit in a different way. 

I really enjoyed reading it. The only thing that bugged me as I read was his omniscience and the male gaze thing, and this wasn't bothering me too much. It's only upon ruminating on it in my sleep – I do that – and typing this out that it ages a little more poorly. It's still a pretty good tale, but I'd also not think about it too hard. 

My mind is a-whir with all the points I want to make here, and all the disclaimers I have as well. Ultimately, this book is dated, which means some of the issues I have are a result of societal evolution. Still, my making allowances for this, as I routinely do, did not help me to enjoy this book more. Before I get into the main focus of my issues – but the image above is a preview – I'd like to say almost nothing worked for me in the story. I found all the characters either creepy or strange in their reactions, down to choices and to dialogue. There is a character that is supposed to be a creepy relative, and he was only slightly more off than anyone else. The good guys and the bad guy seemed to be a bit similar. The Kindle edition I read is also very poorly done, filled with formatting issues. Anyhow, there are 2 POV characters, one a 16-year-old girl with a sexually predatory murderer on her trail, and the other is the sexually predatory murderer. Fair enough when stated that way. Jody, the girl, spends the majority of the book in night shirts or missing her pants. She has a short night shirt, she has a short and tight night shirt, and she has a loose night shirt that – oopsies – falls off her shoulders and allows people to see down it. Her narration is obsessed with what her night shirts are doing at any given moment, what the hem line is doing, what parts of her body are being revealed. The thinness of the material. Even when she is being chased, she is conscious of these details. At one point, she is wearing shorts, but sustains an injury high on the thigh, and so off with the shorts. She also takes a really long shower at one point in which she thinks of the boy she likes. It doesn't completely go masturbatory on her part, but the whole thing seems designed with the intent of the rest of her narration – to remind us she is an attractive (but in many ways innocent and untouched) 16 year old. I don't think Laymon is trying to say this girl is obsessed with her own body, but I think he is obsessed with her body, and doing the thing some male authors do of thinking women are constantly in thought and deed catering to the male libido. He isn't in her head so much as watching her and making his fixations her thoughts. Which the other POV character – the sexually predatory murderer – is going to cover just fine. He has a purpose in being obsessed with her body and her, er, sexy innocence. Her POV should be a reprieve from that, even a rebuke of that as we know her as a full human being. In that way, authors get their cake and etcetera, etcetera. They can be creepy and empathetic, and you can't extrapolate what messed up thoughts they share with the bad guy. But everyone is obsessed all the time with the female body. There's a 12 year old boy who has his whole family slaughtered – first couple chapters – but never loses his fascination with copping a feel or catching a glimpse of Jody or a female cop character. I'll return to the female cop character.This kid is just creepy, and combined with everything and everyone else, seems to imply all men are capable of assaults on women they deem attractive. Or people? There are a couple sexually predatory murderers mentioned who like boys. The kid's erection becomes a plot point. There are moments when Jody also seems to give in a little to his advances. She says he's like a creepy little brother, but she also lets him stick his nose in her crotch for comfort – not making that up – or kisses him on the mouth since he's upset. She's worried her father might come in and get the wrong idea. Jody packs at one point to leave to evade the bad guy, and she thinks her father will be upset that she didn't pack a skirt or dress, not that there are any plans to go anywhere that would specifically need those items, just that it's somehow wrong for her not to have access to these items. The bad guy on more than one occasion wonders why women don't wear skirts and dresses anymore since pants and culottes impede access to ... stuff. With the exception of an old woman, I do believe every other female given a name is sexualized to some extent. The only other female character of any note, other than victims of the central gang, is a female police officer. Upon meeting Jody, she helps bandage her upper thigh injury – the one that forces Jody to remove her shorts – and Jody makes note of seeing down the woman's blouse, and reveals the cop has a thing for black sexy lingerie. God, what's her name? Bonnie, I think. We'll roll with it. Like Jody, Bonnie's character is mostly a hot body in revealing clothes, with just a subtle whiff of actual characterization that is not about her hot body. Jody and Bonnie are both good with guns and fighters, which I still think is presented as being hot. Jody's father makes clear he is attracted to Bonnie, and Jody understands it since Bonnie has big breasts that bounce when she shoots a gun. Dad wasn???t watching the target. His eyes were on Sharon. Jody checked; that???s where Andy was staring, too. Watching her there, NRA cap turned backward so its bill stuck out behind her, the rifle jumping with each shot and throwing out flashes of brass as its muzzle spat fire and white smoke, her whole body absorbing the recoils that hit her with quick hard jolts and shook her shirt and made her thighs vibrate even though Jody knew her legs must be almost as solid as wood. She does look great, Jody thought. No wonder the guys are staring like a couple of nuts. They???re probably wishing they were on the other side so they could watch what the recoils are doing to her boobs.Oh, Sharon. Bonnie is Sharon. Sharbonnie has packed – for the trip that is off-duty, but not unrelated to her job – a flimsy robe. In case anyone is wondering, she shares with the 12-year-old erection and Jody's dad (and Jody) she is naked under the robe, and let's head to the vending machine. She also shares over lunch that she has a tattoo in a mystery location. Because ever and always, the author wants to make sure the reader has something about the bodies of his female caricatures, er, characters, to imagine. Jody's father, btw, has “had kept his chivalry in spite of feminism,” and specifically worries that the condom will fall off inside Jody if she sleeps with a boy. Not just general failure rate of condoms so much as wanting to mention specifically what might happen if someone is INSIDE his daughter. His daughter who should wear dresses and skirts more. He slapped her on the rear once, which is not in isolation a problem for me. It just happens to be partnered with everything else. A whole lot of night shirts and testosterone. Which reminds me that Jody has no connection to any other female character, other than the big-boobed cop. She starts the book with a friend who doesn't make it to page 10, I don't think. No other friends that I recall are mentioned, or call her to see how she's doing. No friend she wishes to call and talk about the friend they just lost. Her mother is dead. Her world is entirely males who objectify females or one female written to be objectified. There is a love interest who has no substance, maybe because Laymon realized the limits to how many people Jody actually seemed to know. I like good, twisted villains. I do. But I'm wired to care about Jody, maybe even more in this case than the author cares about Jody. And I'm of an age where it irritates me that she is spends the book as T and A. That even that strong, capable part of her – or Sharbonnie's – nature seems to be given as just another reason she is sexy and pursued by the bad guy. I read this, and I feel both like Jody and Jody's mom, which makes me feel so sad to see her portrayal. And I realize how spoiled I've become as women authors get a voice, and many male authors are writing women with more empathy and complexity. Endless Night is the book version of slasher films. Jody is a final girl. 1980s me, coming of age, wouldn't know to be sad or offended. The author clearly wasn't aiming to be a sexist. Jody is scrappy, after all, which is why the bad guy – Simon – can't leave her alone. It???s more than just how she looks. She has ... a quality. A freshness. Maybe it also has to do partly with how spunky she was when we were after her.Anyhow, Simon's POV is super gross, but I think it should be. The author really pushes the envelope with describing Simon and his cohorts raping and torturing people. And I get it – horror novel, not Sunday brunch – but my issues with the Jody POV make me unable to go along. Because there are similarities, right? Everybody objectifies women, even the good guys. Simon, hand to God, even objectifies himself as he spends a lot of the novel disguised as a woman. I can't even untangle this plot point. Is the author saying Simon's enjoyment of dressing this way cements him as a sick puppy? Is (was, sorry) the author incapable of writing someone dressed this way, and describing one's self, without making it about level of attractiveness? Oh, look, the male villain put on a dress and now he's breasting boobily too. I mean, how could one not? ;)Anyhow, there were moments of horror and suspense. Those happened. This is why I upgraded to 2 stars. But I never want to read a Laymon book again. I have better choices in horror, in authors, in life, than to read books that gross me out in a bad way. And I know you know there are good gross outs and bad ones. It's not Laymon's fault that time has moved on. That's what time does. It's not his fault that we live in a time with increasing book options. It's not his fault that many female readers expect a different portrayal of female characters that aren't about how many boners they cause, and even when they are cognizant of that, they're also quite possibly addressing and critiquing that. Anyhow, a recent horror novel I really enjoyed was: [bc:Violets are Red 40530821 Violets are Red Mylo Carbia https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1529021360s/40530821.jpg 62918160]But if you think you'll enjoy Endless Night, have at it. I just couldn't stop thinking, “Oh, THIS is what people mean when they say torture porn.”

I liked this book just fine, but I should have loved it. I guess I didn't vibe with the writing. This is satirical, but I think I might have needed that amped up a notch. 

I've read reviews that say there's only one (intentionally) likeable character, but I suppose I didn't feel that way. These characters are flawed and disingenuous, but I didn't really dislike them, other than Jeremy, AKA The Catch. I think these are women we're supposed to write off as vapid, but they're also all women with plans and agency. 

The contestants seem pretty “redeemable,” if redemption is needed – but without spoiling, we all know there's no time for all that. Still, in a book where the tone and length prohibits too much depth and growth, there are moments that still hint at more nuance and complexity.  

The flaws are very human flaws exacerbated by the reality show environment and reality show culture, and by a society that rewards certain behaviors. 

There's a love story woven through out this that we know ends in loss, and that's extremely poignant. This operates on it's own level outside of the satire. Whatever other antics, the author takes seriously the concept of sapphic women having place to belong.

I watch reality shows, but more Housewives than dating competitions, but I'm still familiar with the culture, and the way shows are discussed. It's shocking how well Samantha Allen channels those discussions, the usual suspects, the low-key combativeness and air of superiority. Unnerving. 

Our story becomes very gory toward the end, but due to the tone it's more of a detached grossness. Viscera without being visceral. The tone kept the scary at a distance, too, but that's okay. I don't presume to know what scares other people, but I think I can confidently say not too many people will be checking the locks and trembling under their covers/.

I think “Patricia” might grow on me more over time, since I dreamed about it, and that usually denotes staying power. 

 I enjoyed Delicate Condition from conception to birth, but the last portion – the epidural most have kicked in – took it from like to love. (I don't even know what I'm saying here.) I am giving it 5 stars, but I know this is extra subjective. It had themes I'm into, and it's the kind of horror I enjoy, but I know this is niche.

This is presented as a modern day version of Rosemary's Baby. I not only love Rosemary's Baby but recently buddy read it again with my husband. I'm glad of the timing, with RB fresh in my mind as I read DC.

The comparison is apt and I'm sure RB was in Danielle Valentine's mind as she wrote. Ira Levin seemed to have an understanding of how sexism plays a role in Rosemary's isolation, in her sense of powerlessness. Danielle Valentine, understandably, has an even better grasp of all the many wants misogyny manifests.

Anna, our main character, is a wealthy and privileged white woman. Rosemary, to a slightly lesser extent, is the same. Danielle Valentine, however, acknowledges something that probably didn't occur to Ira Levin – that childbirth is more perilous for women of color, even wealthy women of color. These women are acknowledged and woven into the narrative.

The author can't fully speak for those women, but she can acknowledge them. Our sisters. Now, publishers have to step up to allow all women to be able to tell their stories, to allow women of color to be in the spotlight, to be the main characters. And obviously society and the medical field also need to step up. For all the people who give birth, or struggle to conceive.

(As an aside, I'm also reading Femina, a book about the forgotten women of the middle ages, all the lost voices.)

To an extent, THAT'S the central question of the book. Who looks out for the women that the patriarchy has failed? Especially women at their most vulnerable. Who helps those most in need?

In terms of horror, it's there and there are some scenes that are impactful – gross or anxiety inducing – but the author pulls some punches. There are some additional scenes in the back of my copy that had been removed that didn't pull those punches. Essentially, the book is big on it was just a dream/hallucination. Objectively, this feels like a cop-out, but given my own sensitivities, I'm also relieved. Heh, if you read you'll know.

I'd also like to say the editing isn't as tight as it could be, with some inconsistencies and some line editing issues. 

But there's a lot of genuine horror moments, many just legitimate pregnancy symptoms and side effects turned up to 11. 

I'm childless by choice, but this didn't stop me from rooting for Anna, for rooting for everyone who wants to have children, who has complications on the way, who has been dismissed by medical professionals. (I've experienced the latter, just not in this circumstance.)

Anna's husband is, by the way, the worst. It was interesting to read that a lot of people thought the author was too harsh. I personally laughed. Like, do it again! But spoilers, Darlings. 

The explanations for what all had been happening tied together surprisingly nicely. I think it's debatable if, um, well – you might have your own take on if everyone's choices and actions were justified. The story created a feeling of absolute paranoia very well. I trusted literally no one. I think again without spoiling, we find out that the paranoia is justified, but that there are also forces working in Anna's favor. 

This was a library borrow for me, which is about due, and I also see it's available on KU. (And the subject of this season of American Horror Story.) I'm going to return the book to the library as soon as I post this – there's a waiting line. However, I plan on purchasing my own copy. So, while I know this story won't be everyone's cup of tea, this is my highest praise.