The Hollow Places, by T. Kingfisher (Horror REVIEW) -- On the other side of the wall, there lurks some seriously-scary stuff

Something that every good storyteller knows: a great story doesn’t need flash, sex, an exotic location, a hot hero, or any other element obviously thrown in to grab the audience’s attention… such things are far better used as a dash of pink Himalayan salt, rather than a heavy pour from the navy blue Morton’s canister. (Sure, they can be a lot of fun, but feel pretty one-note in a hurry, if relied upon to be the meat of any story.)

No, what a great story actually needs is something the audience can really relate to, on a personal level… and generally, that isn’t anything very fancy, at all.

So let’s just do the whole TL;DR bit right up front, and say that T. Kingfisher’s The Hollow Places absolutely NAILS some damn fine story-telling, okay?

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Kara—a thirtyish (give or take) gal—is as “regular” as they come: she’s been married for several years, but finds herself recently (surprise!) divorced (her ex-hubby’s decision)... out of home (she let him keep the house)... and struggling (self-employed as a graphic designer, but not attached to any big design firm, so… yeah, times are tough). 

So, when the uncle she’s incredibly fond of—Uncle Earl, proud proprietor of the fantastic “Glory to God Museum of Natural Wonders, Curiosities, and Taxidermy” (are you hooked right there? because, honestly, I sure was)—reaches out and offers a part-time job (helping him with his life’s work, that two-story-hotbed-of-oddities) with bed-and-board (because frankly, he hasn’t been doing so hot and could use some assistance), Kara jumps at the chance to flee. Even if, in this case, said fleeing leads her to "picturesque" Hog Chapel, North Carolina… a teeny-tiny podunk town blessed with a hilarious name.

Things are pretty good, for a spell. Kara (or “Carrot”, to Uncle Earl) spends her days monitoring the museum—mostly, selling t-shirts and other gewgaws to tourists, and cataloguing the (never-before-catalogued) oddities so that her uncle (and, probably, his insurance company) might finally, someday, know precisely what items have found a home under his roof.

When Uncle Earl’s bad knees finally give out (for good), though—necessitating his traveling to “the big city” (Charlotte) for surgery…and leaving the GtGMoNWCaT in Kara’s hands—well, that’s when things start happening.

It all kicks off innocuously enough, when she finds a big hole, one night, in the drywall (no doubt accidentally caved in by some careless tourist’s graceless stumble). Enlisting the aid of her new friend/next-door neighbor—Simon, the delightfully-flamboyant (also-escaping-reality-by-moving-to-podunk) barista, who provides her with gratis cups-of-joe every day—she endeavors to figure out how to cheaply repair the big gaping hole in one of the museum’s upstairs walls.

The thing is, once they take a closer look at it, there’s obviously something more to it than just a hole; this hole has… extra space, and seems to continue far beyond your everyday… well, literal hole-in-the-wall.

So, our intrepid duo investigate… as you do, when unexpected things suddenly appear. They step through the hole, and find themselves… okay, in a narrow, dark hallway, or sorts. (But, seriously, that in itself is weird enough; this is an upstairs room, not a basement, so there shouldn’t be any surprise hallways or caverns or whatnots.) 

And what they find… oooh, well, What. They. Find.(!!) It isn’t just joists and dust bunnies and insulation and a squirrel carcass or two, in there… no, it’s a full-on bunker… complete with the (stomach-clenching) words “Pray They Are Hungry”, etched on one of the walls.

You KNOW they can’t just leave it at that. I mean, pray who is hungry? And, hungry for what?? 

If any place on earth is gonna have cryptic messages from… well, someone… (from another world? reality? alternate universe?), it’s gonna be the Glory to God Museum, now, isn’t it? 

But the real question is… how do a couple of very normal (like, by otherworldly standards) humans, living in a podunk town, deal with such things? It’s only—you know—the Fate of the Entire Universe (as We Know It), at stake, here…
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T. Kingfisher (or Ursula Vernon, as she’s probably more-commonly known) is clearly a storyteller… because she reels off a heckuva fine tale in The Hollow Places. 

This one hits all the notes: Kara (or Carrot, lol) is a more-than-worthy heroine… an everywoman (or  “everyperson”) who's entirely relatable--and likable, to boot. Her compadre-in-terror, Simon (the barista, who, as a Floridian, has a history such that perhaps only other folks from Florida can possibly hope to boast—or deny) makes for a fine foil/partner-in-crime… the sort I really hope I find myself nearby if I’m ever faced with similar circumstances. Uncle Earl… well, if the religious side of my family also had a measure of crazy-fun, they might dream of being as delightful as him.

But let’s not forget the worlds—yes, plural—that Kingfisher creates, because there are definitely two, here. No, I’m not talking about the “regular”, mundane one that all of us—Kara, included—inhabit; rather, there’s the world inside the museum (and trust me, you need to read the book to get a handle on that ball o’ crazypants), as well as… well, the other world(s), just on the other side of that gaping hole in the wall. (Not-a-spoiler: You do NOT want to find yourself in that/those worlds.)

How it all shakes out—because, I mean, you already know it does, somehow, right?—is where the real fun lies. Also, all the scaries, because yep, this one is chock-full o’ scary stuff (that feels hyper-real).

A Halloween treat, you ask? Why yes, there’s no trick here… but most definitely, quite a treat. Hope you enjoy The Hollow Places as much as I did. :)

~GlamKitty

Black Box (TV movie REVIEW) -- Chilling entry from the Blumhouse team

2020… welp, it’s a year like no other, innit?

Still, we do the best we can; we… adapt, certainly but also try to maintain as much of a sense of normalcy as possible. (Honestly, it’s that, or give up, and quitting is so not an option.)

Anyway, that's why I've been trying to do some of the “normal” October stuff. (I mean, trick-or-treating, or the adult version—getting costumed up and partying till the wee hours—is totally out of the equation, but the less-people-y stuff? Like, solo, or with my nearest-and-dearest? Still do-able.)

So, in a year that's all about surviving-from-the-safety-of-home? Reading and watching seasonally-chilling fare throughout the month is a no-brainer… which brings me to tonight's watch, Black Box, from the Blumhouse (streaming on Amazon).

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A young woman introduces her emotional husband to their newborn daughter… a tender family moment touchingly captured on video.

Fade out—then back in—to the same man (Nolan), several years later... seemingly sort of lost in the business of getting dressed in the morning. His daydreaming is interrupted by his young daughter (Ava), now seven or eight years old… who proceeds to remind him not only of the time, but also of his impending work appointment, the fact that she cannot be late for school, and the facial expressions he should make at his interview... all while she finishes tying the necktie he couldn't quite seem to navigate. 

(It's a sweet scene, but clearly, something not-quite-right is goin’ on here; we just don’t really know what, yet, or how bad things are.)

A scene or two later, though, we begin to understand: Nolan has some sort of brain issue (cancer? trauma? we still don't know), leaving him struggling to remember who he is (or much of anything, at all, frankly, if the post-it notes on cupboard doors are any indication), and his wife has died, leaving little Ava a sort of caretaker for her dad.

Making matters worse, Nolan is not only virtually unemployable, in his present condition, but his malfunctioning brain is causing him to act out--such as uncharacteristically yelling at and scaring Ava, apparently (in a scene referred to, but not shown)--leaving him wondering how he/they can survive.

[Cue ominous music...]

He finally goes to see one of the specialist brain doctors who’ve been beating down his door (well, jamming up his voicemail inbox) since he had a tragic accident, causing him to spend time in a coma (aha! so that explains the amnesia and confusion!)… because what else would anyone in his shoes do?

[More ominous music, duh.]

This is where I can’t really tell you more, since the whole point is that you do not know what’s gonna happen. (But stuff does happen… oh, yes, it most definitely does!)

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For me, the low-budget Blumhouse movies are a mixed bag; of the ones I’ve seen, most have fallen sort of middle-of-the-road… harmless ways to pass the time, but not necessarily things I’d recommend as “worth your while”. Black Box, on the other hand, is.

First, the casting is terrific. Mamadou Athie is fantastic as the tortured Nolan, portraying tenderness, confusion, frustration, and rage equally well. Amanda Christine is perfection as Ava, a smart and wise-beyond-her-years little girl, with way too much life heaped upon her narrow shoulders. And—unsurprisingly—Phylicia Rashad is, in turns, radiant, magnetic, intense, and scary as the brain specialist, Dr. Brooks.

The directing (by Emmanuel Osei-Kuffour) is likewise spot-on. He gets the most out of each of his actors, while skillfully ramping up the tension and general feeling of unease and uncertainty, in a pretty tight 100 minutes of runtime. 

There are some minor special effects which are just that: effective enough at furthering the story, because this movie works on mounting dread rather than being flashy. 

And finally, the resolution is satisfying, leaving you feeling fulfilled, and able to finally let out the breath you may or may not have realized you were holding. 

Black Box doesn't really do anything new, but what it does, it does with competence, making it an easy-to-recommend horror watch… whether you’re watching in October 2020, or any other month of a given year. 

~GlamKitty 

Still Life, by Val McDermid (REVIEW) -- Engrossing, female-led cold case tale from an absolute master of the genre

A waterlogged body, pulled from the ocean by an unsuspecting fisherman. A staid, middle-aged Scottish civil servant, missing for years, finally declared legally dead. The body of an unknown female, now little more than bones, found in a derelict camper van hidden in a recently-deceased woman’s garage. And, a flashy, louche, anti-establishment artist, who committed suicide a decade ago. 

There are a lot of dead people woven throughout Val McDermid’s latest crime thriller, Still Life… but, as always, the much-lauded Scottish mystery maven manages to fashion a terrific tapestry from all the pieces and parts.

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Detective Chief Inspector Karen Pirie takes her job as head of a cold cases squad very seriously—even more so, after losing her own life partner a few years earlier, and feeling firsthand how devastating the not knowing can be, until a loved one’s murder is resolved. Still, some cases are gonna be trickier than others, no matter how dedicated the team.

Take this latest one. When an avenue of investigation leads to a case she worked on previously—one which as yet remains unsolved—it feels almost like a personal affront to Karen, a reminder of her own failure… which, to someone as driven as she, is also all the impetus she needs to go full-on gangbusters.

So, armed with her trusty cadre of underlings and colleagues in complementary fields (forensic pathologists, computer techs, and the like)—while feeling intense pressure from a superior who detests her (and everyone else)—Karen sets out to get this one right… or else.

Little does she know that the various investigative avenues will involve travel to a half-dozen other countries, taking her from the upper echelons of government to jazz clubs to a secluded commune, with lessons in art history and fraud, along the way. 

And, since regular life doesn’t stop (for anyone) just because work gets busy, there’s also a personal bump in the road to deal with: the man responsible for her partner’s death is being released from prison… much, much sooner than Karen is prepared to handle. 

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I’ve been a fan of McDermid’s for a looooong time, now… meaning there’s a pretty high bar to meet (or top) with each successive story, but—particularly with both her Karen Pirie and Tony Hill series—she always delivers a winner.

From vivid descriptions of place to crystal-clear depictions of her characters (appearances, motivations, foibles, moods, etc.), McDermid is a master at creating a setting and atmosphere that’s practically tangible… which never fails to draw me fully into the story, as it does, once more, in Still Life. This is a cracking-good yarn—smart as hell, cultured but edgy, and populated by a group of people who come across as very real. I enjoyed it immensely.

One final note: Still Life is the first book I’ve read which mentions COVID-19 (in a small way, since the majority of the story takes place right on the cusp of the worldwide pandemic, but still), and I’ve gotta say, living through it for the past 7+ months, now? McDermid’s inclusion of something so monumental—this unknowable entity that’s about to take over the fictional world, too—just feels right. 

~GlamKitty 

The Nesting, by C. J. Cooke (REVIEW) -- Suspenseful, horrific, and thrilling, with a face in the fjord, and spirits in the snow

A troubled young woman—fresh from trying (and failing) to end it all—finds new life with a grieving family that’s still trying to come to terms with their own sorrow after the loss of their young matriarch, in the picturesque wilds of rural Norway… that’s the bare-bones premise of C.J. Cooke’s latest thriller, The Nesting. 

Better, though, to add that it’s a gothic horror, eco-thriller, psychological suspense, and supernatural fairy tale, by turns… lest you’re tempted to write it off as a sappy romance (which it most definitely is not).

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Lexi Ellis hasn’t had what you’d call a great life, but things have gotten progressively worse, of late, and—on the heels of a botched suicide attempt—having her boyfriend of several years suddenly decide to end things is one more straw than she can handle.

No, make that almost one more straw; the last straw is that he also expects her—now jobless and still recovering mentally and physically—to also move out of his apartment… within the week. 

It can only be serendipity that finds her penniless, lugging a knapsack with her meager belongings around London, riding aimlessly on the train… and eavesdropping on a pair of posh contemporaries sitting in front of her, as they discuss a job opportunity one of them has applied for—a nanny position for a widowed architect, who’s in the process of building a show-stopping summer house for himself and his two young daughters in rural Norway.

Unbeknownst to either of the women, Lexi is paying rapt attention to every word… and covertly snapping screen shots of the filled-out application the woman is showing her friend.

With a little luck—and no small amount of subterfuge—Lexi lands the job… as “Sophie” (the girl on the train). And, in short order, she’s leaving her troubles behind… jetting off to beautiful Norway, and being driven to the remote north, where the land is rugged, fjords are many, and other people are few.

Once she arrives, though, she quickly realizes she’s in way over her head, in a household that expects her to teach a six-year-old and an infant in the Montessori style, and follow a learning-and-activities chart for every waking hour of their day.

Still, she’s made her bed… and gradually, she not only gets a handle on what she’s doing, but she starts to enjoy it. She plays outside in a veritable winter wonderland with the children, discovers how to educate them inside… and finds herself falling in love with them a little more every day.

When she learns why her job exists—the little girls’ mother killed herself, throwing herself off a cliff into the icy fjord—and strange, even dangerous, things start happening—hallucinations? evil spirits?—Lexi realizes the frozen land that has been her savior might also be her downfall, for there’s something very dark going on in that mystical land of white.

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The Nesting, as I said earlier, has many notes. There are classic gothic overtones, with the suicide and the moody, dramatic locale. It’s an eco-thriller, espousing the need to be environmentally aware and to respect the earth around us… with obvious repercussions when we fall short. (Set in Norway—a country that perhaps more than any other embraces the concept of being one with the environment—such messages have an added gravitas, which rings true.)

Psychological suspense? Absolutely. And, the lovely Norse lore which is woven throughout brings in a surprising supernatural element.

With a POV that alternates between Lexi’s and the dead mother’s, The Nesting is a lyrical story that takes its time in the telling (and the unraveling). Like the best fairy tales, it eventually reaches a most-satisfying ending… but only after thoroughly putting its protagonists through the ringer. And who, really, doesn’t want that?

~GlamKitty