The Last Dance Of The Debutante

February 17, 2022 ~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

It’s no surprise, well at least it shouldn’t be, I have a fondness for British books. Or books with British settings. Historical British books. British etiquette and customs. So, Julia Kelly’s latest historical fiction novel The Last Dance of the Debutante was a must read.

Kelly’s last few novels focused on World War Two. With The Last Dance of the Debutante, it’s 1957 and the last London season with the debutantes being presented to the Queen (Elizabeth II) is fast approaching. Basically, it’s peak Claire Foy in The Crown time. True confession: The Crown isn’t my thing but oh well.

Quiet, bookish Lily Nicholls comes from an excellent family. She lives with her widowed mother in reduced circumstances, with Lily’s terrifying paternal grandmother paying for her school and expecting an iron grip on deciding her future. A bit first season Gilmore Girls with less coffee and a mother who rarely socializes and doesn’t sound like a Preston Sturges 1930s leading lady on Pixi Stix.

Then Grandmother Nicholls decides Lily is going to be one of these final debutantes, Lily’s education and her mother’s retreat from the world be damned.

Now since Lily is pretty, smart and can make her own clothes look like something from couture, I was never too worried about her future and was pretty sure she Would Prevail and Find Her Path and Her Tribe.

Does she?

Please read the book.

Of course, what truly grabbed my attention wasn’t the round of parties and just how exhausting being a debutante is. I’ve read my Nancy Mitford. Being a debutante is like being in beauty pageants only the stakes are a husband (preferably rich, titled and the right social class) versus a fur coat and a scholarship. There’s a lot of sacrifice behind the pretty dresses and wide smiles. There are secrets lurking in the Nicholls household and Lily’s Mummy aka Josephine is a tightly coiled bundle of nerves.

If you want to make Lily’s mummy Josephine jump faster than me at work deep in a project when a coworker comes over to my desk to ask a question? Say “Joanna” and a simmering rage plus terror comes to the surface.

Who is Joanna? Joanna, Lily’s much older sister has committed some grave social sin and her banishment from the family unit is complete right down to her name never being spoken. She’s the shadow haunting everything.

And bit of a side tangent on Mummy Josephine please? She is a such a bitter person she draws your attention. The bitter and coldness radiate off the page. I half want to smack Josephine while not wanting to incur her wrath. And I am talking about a book with a beautiful yet poisonous fellow debutante everyone half loves half fears, a found family tribe of debutantes who will never be Debutante of the Year but are The Girl Squad Who Has Your Back Bestie and a flock of potential suitors.

I try very hard not to reveal spoilers but there is a plot twist I had about 75% figured out before Lily was even presented at Court (Elizabeth II not “Oh crap I have jury duty” court) except for one person. And a second plot twist is quickly handled with much more good character of spirit than I could summon in that situation. I do admit I wish there had been more time devoted to that second plot twist because the ramifications could have been awesome in a glorious peak 1980s soap opera plot line. But Julia Kelly’s heroines are much better people than me even with their flaws. And unlike me, Julia Kelly can really write excellent historical fiction.

So TLDR. Did I enjoy The Last Dance of the Debutante? Yes. Will I ever watch The Crown, nope. And am I waiting not so patiently for Julia Kelly’s next book? Hard YES!

The Woman Beyond The Attic: The VC Andrews Story

February 15, 2022 ~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Let’s set the scene.

It’s the mid-1980s and I’m with my mother at Bradlees. She’s combing the clearance racks and I slip away to the book section and home straight in on the black paperbacks with covers opening onto ominous paintings of hyper beautiful people with darkness looming. I grab one and start reading as much as I can before my mother finds me and it’s back to the real world.

Now fast forward to very early 2022, I really shouldn’t be buying more books. I have so many unread books and I vowed to do a book buying ban to start the year right. But in passing I see something online about a biography on V.C. Andrews. And not just any V.C. Andrews biography but one done with the blessing of her family and by her chosen ghostwriter, the legendary author in his own right, Andrew Neiderman.

Did I pre-order this biography I’ve wanted for years, even though I haven’t read any of the latter V.C. Andrews ™ books since the mid-Culter series? Do I drink oceans of tea? And given the chance will eat a tuna cucumber sandwich at 5:45am while my work computer boots up?

<sighs>

Okay, so I’m predictable and weak.

I’ve had The Woman Beyond The Attic: The V.C. Andrews Story for two weeks now and this has been one of my more challenging reviews to write. It’s not a difficult book, filled with high scholarship that even Helene Hanff’s beloved Arthur “Q” Quiller-Couch would have a hard time grasping. And it’s not the sugar-coated fluff biography cranked out in days and sold in mass market paperbacks in the airport newsstand/bookstore.

I was just expecting…more from The Woman Beyond The Attic: The V.C. Andrews Story. Perhaps I’m a greedy-guts wanting a deep dive into a favorite author, something meaty and 16 CDs to play on my commute to work. Think Barbara Seaman’s excellent Lovely Me on Jacqueline Susann, Ruth Franklin’s acclaimed Shirley Jackson: A Rather Haunted Life or Gerri Hirshey’s Not Pretty Enough: The Unlikely Triumph of Helen Gurley Brown.

It’s lovely to have a proper biography of V.C. Andrews and learn more about the woman behind the paperbacks. I never knew just how disabled she was and the lengths she went to disguise her infirmities and how narrow life must have been living with her mother until she found success and a new world opened to her. It’s easy to see how she could translate those parts of her life onto the page. And having some of her personal letters and an partial unpublished manuscript is something very rare. But I wanted more.

I wanted more on each book than a few paragraphs, especially the novels written by V.C. Andrews herself. And here’s the part where the biography failed my expectations. One might expect, given the author is the very person who took over the V.C. Andrews mantle and has produced more V.C. Andrews books than Lindt truffles I’ve eaten (and I might just be addicted to Lindt truffles) to have what happened after her death. What it was like to be chosen and have your legacy become tied to her eternally. Heck, even a bit more of the cultural impact of Andrews on pop culture and teenager reads would be nice. But these are pipe dreams.

Let’s be brutally honest, The Woman Beyond The Attic: The V.C. Andrews Story, is written for the people who remember reading her books as teenagers, watch the Lifetime movies with awe and reverence. And I am not That Person or That Reader. Does that make me A Monster? Perhaps?

I am not The Woman Beyond The Attic: The V.C. Andrews Story’s Ideal Reader but it’s Ideal Reader is out there and I’m glad I read it even if I found it lacking.

My Heart Is A Chainsaw

February 8, 2022 ~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Last year I read certain horror novels and wondered if I didn’t have a place as a modern horror reader. I could still easily dive into classic horror like Stoker, Machen, Le Fanu, Lovecraft and his literary godchildren but modern horror? Was I too old and cranky? Especially after my disappointment with Grady Hendrix and The Final Girl Support Group. Don’t get me wrong, Grady Hendrix is an interesting voice for modern horror, but he’s been moving closer to almost too precious for words, too all-knowing voice, veering into Horror’s Patton Oswalt for my tastes.

I can’t even with Patton Oswalt. Between this and knowing I don’t do Anne of Green Gables, if this is the final straw and you’ve decided I’m a complete monster and will never read another thing I write, it’s okay, I understand.

Also, it’s been how many months and I still can’t eat pasta or noodles. Damn you, Grady Hendrix.

Excuse me, you might interrupt, but are you going to babble about a book or your stupid food aversions and I’m too different thing?

Hold your horses, I am going to babble about a book, that of course, I found at my local library. Today’s book, My Heart Is A Chainsaw by one Stephen Graham Jones. Now I might be on the fringes of modern horror but even I recognize that name even if I never read one of his books until this month. I read A LOT and it’s possible I’ve read one of his short stories in the past.

My Heart Is A Chainsaw, which does this sound like a long-lost Nirvana album or is my age showing, is the story of one Jennifer “Jade” Daniels, an outsider in the tiny Idaho community of Proofrock. Jade looks like she should be best friends with Nancy from The Craft with her wild dyed hair, more black eyeliner than peek Siouxsie Sioux and battered clothes. She’s smart and obsessed to with horror movies to the point even I’m all “girl please”. Proofrock could be the ideal setting for a 1980s low budget horror movie with a spooky haunted lake legend and an abandoned summer camp with a tragic past. If My Heart Is A Chainsaw was a 1980s horror movie, Jade’s seen it all history teacher Mr. Holmes aka Sherlock or Bear, could only be played by David Warner or Donald Sutherland. But it’s not the 1980s and the modern world is creeping into Proofrock along with a new housing development called Terra Nova catering to the rich and famous.

Of course, being a horror novel, things…happen. Or do they? Jade has a history of instability and has spent time hospitalized after a suicide attempt. Is Jade an unreliable narrator, keeping secrets from herself or are the things happening just occurrences that might happen in any town undergoing a transformation after a tragic past.

Now if you’re curious and want me to spoil the rest of the plot, no. Get your hands on My Heart Is A Chainsaw and read it yourself.

I will say My Heart Is A Chainsaw kept me guessing and reading one handed while making dinner. I don’t suggest this unless you have the spare cash to replace a library book if it falls into the oven or a simmering pot. Note: I did not drop or damage my library copy but hey, it could happen especially when REDACTED SERIOUSLY REDACTED OH MY TULU REDACTED.

Long story short? My Heart Is A Chainsaw is what I hoped The Final Girl Support Group would be. I might not vibe with modern horror as I did years ago but there are still books out there for readers like me.

The Bookshop of Yesterdays

October 25, 2021 ~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

2021 might be the year I read All The Debut Novels. Some are okay, some are meh and some have me looking to see what other books the author might have written. And in the case of Amy Meyerson’s The Bookshop of Yesterdays, I’m planning on grabbing The Imperfects. And I have a huge stack of books from my latest Friends of the Library book sale adventure waiting to be read.

Our heroine Miranda is a well-liked teacher at a Quaker school with a boyfriend. One day she finds out her beloved Uncle Billy, long estranged from her family, has died. And he has left her his beloved bookstore Prospero Books along with clues to what caused his break with her and parents when she was twelve. Because there is a Big Secret. So instead of returning back to her regular life after the funeral, Miranda decides to stay.

Now for that big secret. I’m not going to reveal it here. If you want to know…read the dang book. What I do have to say is somehow I managed to figure out the big plot twist by chapter one. Now I’m not particularly smart, even the tiny companion knew Klara and the Sun took place in the US but not me. Maybe the stars are right because I sure as heck did not inherit my mother’s ability to figure out plot twists. However, this is not a discussion of my dimness.

A few key phrases during a heated encounter had me pausing while cocking my head like our Dalmatian when he realized how to open the pantry for treats. The other clues scattered in the book had me questioning if I was just reading too much into that heated discussion which made reading The Bookshop of Yesterdays much more interesting. This is not a diss on Amy Meyerson’s ability to craft a compelling plot. The first question in the Questions for Discussion section asks if the reader suspected the truth earlier or if they were surprised by the truth.

The Bookshop of Yesterdays still a solid book if you figure out The Big Secret right away or not and I’m very glad I took a gamble when I saw it at the library. Miranda’s journey is painful but there is hope and new chances in her future.

Yours Cheerfully

October 18, 2021 ~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

I might have read Dear Mrs. Bird in one huge binge, including having the book propped on the kitchen counter while making a can of medium green peas for the spouse’s dinner. And the next day once I was free of the office, hop in the car and make a beeline for my local library to pick the sequel Yours Cheerfully. Of I did! Did you expect me to pick up Crime and Punishment and write a scholarly tome? Nope not at all. I mean I have read Crime and Punishment but my days wandering around a lovely New England university campus are almost thirty years in the past.

Emmy and the Dear Mrs. Bird gang are back. Well, pretty much everyone except Mrs. Bird who I imagine is billeting evacuees on unsuspecting souls and driving the vicar’s wife into slipping into the butler’s pantry at the vicarage to guzzle a bottle of parsnip wine before the W.I. meeting. Yes, I might want to cut back on the Lady Grey tea and coming up with truly dreadful Nancy Mitford meets Angela Thirkell mashups. In my defense I have read a lot of British fiction from World War II. All those books must slip out of the brain pan somewhere.

But back to Emmy and friends. Mrs. Bird is gone. The Women’s Friend is still considered old fashioned by most people but it’s still there. And the advice page is thriving. The Ministry of Information wants to use the women’s press to promote women as war workers and of course Emmy has a plan. And shoots off her mouth.

<sighs>

Yes, romance is there. But romance is just one part of the book. To be honest, I’m not here for the romance. I mean Mr. Guy Collins is very dishy and I’ve mentally cast Mr. Guy Collins as Colin Firth because why not? Also, Colin Firth looks lovely in period suits. And yes, the spouse is very aware of my crush on Colin Firth. But I prefer the let’s hunt for nylons and lipsticks vs let’s smooch Charles Collins.

The core of Yours Cheerfully for me is the very real plight of women on the home front. Emmy and her friends do their best to make changes, and yes I agree 100% with informative pamphlets but sitting on the couch in 2021 you realize not much has truly changed for women. A working mother is still pulled between providing financial security and nurturing her children. The world isn’t kind and childcare issues abound.

Please don’t read this and think Yours Cheerfully is a downer, going from a munitions factory to London and back again does give a different energy but even at the worst Emmy still has that unsinkable energy and makes the best changes she can in her power.

I might not adore Yours Cheerfully as much as Dear Mrs. Bird even if I’m thinking Mr. Guy Collins and Bunty will hook up, but several part of Yours Cheerfully did have me rummaging through my carefully stacked smaller books to find a treasure or two from the International War Museum and debating if I should get Make Do and Mend on Kindle since I can’t find my copy. And a book that can inspire further or related reading (hi there Henrietta’s War) is certain worth the read.

And if AJ Pearce writes another Emmy Lake Chronicles book? I’m putting it on a library hold once it hits the States even if Bunty doesn’t become Mrs. Guy Collins.

An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed

October 10, 2021 ~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Let’s set the stage.

It’s Saturday and the Plainville Public Library has just opened. And I’m murmuring “good morning” to the librarians as I’m making a beeline for the New Mystery books. My mission is snapping up Helene Tursten’s An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed, because Maud is back! At first, I thought someone else had checked it out because the online catalog might not have up to the second information but nope, it was there, a wee volume just a bit bigger than my hand tucked between two larger books.

Mission accomplished.

Fast forward and here I am, writing my thoughts on Maud’s return. I missed Maud. Yes, I know after a glance at the copyright page An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed was first published in 2020 but I’m a very dim American who doesn’t understand Swedish, so I had to wait for the lovely folks at Soho Press to release the English translation earlier this month. Once again, I’m very glad Maud isn’t my neighbor, but she is a very interesting lady indeed. When we meet Maud in An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed, it’s a few months after her An Elderly Lady Is Up To No Good adventures. The police are still hovering around in the background asking too many questions, but Maud is setting off on her African adventure. Do you think Maud is going to let the police get in the way of her plans? Please…

Now I’m not going to give away to the plot because the whole book is just over 250 pages. Be assured Maud gets involved in situations past and present but continues to find a way out that benefits her above all things. Anyone who thinks she is just a doddering old thing needing a stick to get about deserves a solid smack from that stick.

I can tell you there are two recipes included I would love to try if my stupid blood sugar wasn’t an issue. Genetics suck. And I can also tell you if you have an hour or so to spare, pick up An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed.

And make the cookies! They sound so good.

The Lost Village

September 27, 2021 ~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

I’m trying to expand my horizons and Camilla Sten’s acclaimed thriller The Lost Village (translated by Alexandra Fleming) has hit the American shores. And my right big toe because I managed to drop The Lost Village on my bare foot when putting library books away. Yes, I could wear shoes inside like the spouse suggests but I can’t stand wearing shoes or even slippers if I don’t have to inside. So, my toes are going to be casualties at times. Luckily The Lost Village isn’t a door stop of a book.

Now about The Lost Village as a book not a demonic toe smashing object. This is said with respect. The Lost Village recalls the scariest bits of John Saul. Yes, I know I’m confessing to being a John Saul reader and he doesn’t get tons of respect, but the man had a way with describing religious fervor that struck home. And dark lost places. The titular lost village of Silvertjarn is creepy ruin of a town filled with crumbling houses and dark secrets only you don’t need to wait roughly a hundred years, only about sixty for those dark secrets to be revealed. Tons of creepy stuff though. Creepy stuff good even if I managed to figure out a particular plot twist before our flashback narrator Elsa. But hey Elsa is going through A LOT, so she is forgiven.

Of course, being me, the modern timeline with filmmaker Alice (Elsa’s great-granddaughter) and her tiny independent documentary crew had the harder time holding my interest then the flashbacks with Elsa and that might be because my brain kept trying to figure out how to pronounce Tone between bouts of wanting to smack Alice and Emmy. Gee, I really have a thing for wanting to smack characters, don’t I? Come on, Alice is so evasive and Emmy from Alice’s perspective in the beginning is not a great person.

I didn’t dislike everything about the modern timeline. I liked the details of producing the documentary right down to wanting to kick yourself for not filming certain things. I’ve had those thoughts about my Instagram and I’m not trying to solve a mystery involving an entire ghost town. And the former claims adjuster in me shrieked when a rented van went boom. You do not want to handle a damage claim with a rental vehicle. They are nightmares. Maybe not the nightmares of Silvertjarn but nightmares all the same.

As much as I was caught up with the town’s descent in the flashbacks partly because I was imaging a John Carpenter adaptation, The Lost Village almost lost me completely with the resolution to a mystery. I’m willing to stretch my disbelief and roll with things, including other books that could have benefited with radical slashing and an editor smacking the author’s hands with a ruler when the author goes on a tangent, hello beloved horror writer of my misguided youth, but one reveal had me lifting an eyebrow like a damn Aaron Spelling villainess and finding the reveal totally unbelievable under the circumstances. I’m sorry but really? With the time frame? I would love to know if Camilla Sten’s editors had similar thoughts. And I was just getting to not want to smack Alice anymore too. Pity.

But again, maybe I’m not understanding something in the plot or the translation to English left some key crucial detail not quite crystal clear. The Lost Village is an interesting book, and it would make a terrific Netflix or Hulu limited series. And I will always have the creepy bits even if they don’t quite emotionally scar me like a good solid Laird Barron tale. Camilla Sten is one to watch.

Band of Sisters

September 27, 2021October 3, 2021 ~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Ahhhh historical fiction. Not my favorite genre but I shove historical fiction titles in the library book bag on occasion. Now you think a person who studied history at university, has a BA in History, is a Phi Alpha Theta member and briefly considered graduate school, would love her some historical fiction. And also have a grasp of English grammar but I never claimed to be an English major now did I?

But back to historical fiction. A person would think I would be cramming all the historical fiction like setting a new world record for eating Lindt truffles. That person would be wrong.

I prefer actual history books and biographies and when I do read historical fiction it tends to be modern person finds documents/diaries of historical figure and then we get alternating chapters of modern person, historical person, modern person. And I end up getting bored to pieces by modern person and just wanting to read only the historical person unless it’s very well written.

And if your historical fiction is the secret life of very famous historical person, for example you’re the poor but gorgeous gal who has Prince Edward (later the Duke of Windsor)’s love child? Or you’re the noble but poor mistress of Henry VIII? I. AM. OUT.

I have opinions. Strong opinions. And my bar for historical fiction is set pretty damn high. Especially now as the vast age of fifty looms not too far in the horizon. Not even the brilliant Fay Weldon gets a pass. And Fay Weldon is a goddess who wrote the pilot episode of Upstairs, Downstairs.

Let’s jump to yesterday morning around 3 am. Normally I’m in a half-awake state, knowing I need to crawl from my warm bed and summon the strength to be functional enough to start my work day at 6 am. My life is most glamorous.

But it is a Saturday morning and I’ve just put Lauren Willig’s Band of Sisters down. Not to shove in the library return bag unfinished. And not to read after running errands. Down as in done and dusted. Finished. With thoughts. Perhaps barely literate but thoughts.

In a nutshell, Band of Sisters is the tale of gentle reared rich ladies going off to provide support and comfort in World War I France. Well, not everyone is rich (hi there working class Irish/Bohemian Kate) and they all attended Smith College.

Now for those unfamiliar, Smith College is one of the Seven Sisters, historically women’s colleges which are considered equivalent to the Ivy League. I was not clever enough for Smith College but that is a tale for another time.

Our heroines have left Smith College and are whipped into a fervor by a former professor who wants to send a unit of Smith women over to France to serve the French citizens. The plan is to provide aid, restoring villages and the inhabitants spirit without the burden of charity. Very lofty goals.

After all, anyone can join the Red Cross efforts, handing out donuts and cigarettes to Our Brave Boys. But it takes a strong person, A Smith College Girl, to be boots on the ground, down in the trenches, getting things done. Not afraid to muss her hair or get dirty. Nails will be broken.

Hmm…I’m sounding very gung ho and like I’ve meet that professor. Interesting.

Will the Smith College alumnae respond to the former professor’s siren call and find themselves in France? Yes because that’s the plot of the book.

Of course, there are tensions, secrets and deprivation galore. It’s World War I France once the Americans joined. Unlike many historical fiction books, Band of Sisters isn’t all dances with Our Brave Boys, Finding True Love While The Battle Rages Off Screen.

Frankly? I loathe those historical fiction books. If you like those books. Glad you found something to read that brings you joy but I prefer a much heartier fare.

Band of Sisters is that heartier fare. There is some romance, but you never forget the trenches are mere miles away and the treat of Germans/the Boche is very nearby. The French countryside is both beautiful and destroyed right down to the people. Still alive but shells of themselves. And the Smith Girls aren’t immune. They are so very innocent in their mostly privileged bubbles it hurts yet shells of themselves. One character has such an obsidian hard shell you think she is just a snotty bitch but nope. Oh golly nope. Another character needs to have the very concept of a “Boche baby” explained.

At that point, yes, I gave a deep sigh, because honestly how did she think a very young French girl was impregnated with said baby. Thank heavens she learns a thing or two before the book ends because the last quarter of the book is brutal and merciless. The devastation, terror and exhaustion are so truthfully and beautifully written you are in the horde, barely awake and still pressing on because you can’t succumb.

After devouring Band of Sisters, I can say it’s a gripping read and even if you want to shake perhaps Maud until her teeth rattle (I will help you with that! Maud does my head in something awful), have one character teach a class on self-defense before sitting Emmie down for a reality check, it’s hard to put down. And read everything. Don’t skip the stuff everyone does.

Seriously, READ THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS! Lauren Willig based her book on real Smith College women who were in the Somme. How could I not love a book by an author who stumbles and gobbles books like myself? Her fictional band of sisters Smith College alumnae are just as real and a force of nature as the Smith College alumnae I encountered as in my youth.

Would I recommend Band of Sisters? Most certainly!

Your Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark

September 27, 2021September 28, 2021 ~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

So I’m putting away my library books and while the spouse putters around drinking an iced coffee.

“Boobs!”

“What?”

“Boobs!” the spouse repeats, gesturing at a book with his iced coffee.

And I give a deep sigh, the sort of deep sigh that goes straight down to your toes because if you’re a publisher with a memoir of Cassandra “Elvira” Peterson of course the cover is going to be stark black with an expanse of creamy white cleavage so deep the Mariana Trench looks like a shallow puddle. I’m in possession of a generous bosom myself but honestly feel flat chested compared to Ms. Peterson. However, this is not a review of Cassandra Peterson’s impressive physique but her brand spanking new memoir, Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark.

I’m of several minds about Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark. It’s such a slender volume for someone who has lived her Most Interesting Life. The greedy part of me wants more details about events but the reasonable part of me says that is rude and Cassandra Peterson can share exactly what and how much she wants about her life. She could have easily hidden many painful and surprising things and just presented the best bits of her journey. How many people who aren’t huge fans even know she has a child? She does and protects that child’s right for privacy and not to be thrust into a spotlight they might not want. I respect the hell out of her for that.

A caveat, Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark is not focused solely on the Elvira character. Sure, there is the creation of Elvira and of course the Elvira vs Vampira lawsuit plus some behind the scenes details of the TV show and movies. And boy does Cassandra Peterson have rotten luck when it comes to really getting full credit or value from her creation. Granted Elvira isn’t the most original character concept, anyone can inch into a plunging cut to Nebraska gown and rock a big flowing black wig a la the Charles Addams cartoon character but Cassandra Peterson gave her the twists and quirks that made her stand out from the pack.

But ultimately Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark is the story of survival. It doesn’t matter if survival is a literally life changing accident, an abusive loved ones, the Hollywood grinder or being able to do what you love and receive love. And that is impressive.

My Best Friend’s Exorcism

September 25, 2021 ~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

My local library is a city library. Sometimes a book is on their site, but the actual book is away with the fairies. Example? Grady Hendrix’s My Best Friend’s Exorcism, in the catalog but AWOL since 2020, which meant a trip to library a half hour away. In my Big Book of Whiskey Tango? This a great way to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon.

For those of you who might not be familiar with Grady Hendrix. Short answer for folks like my Dad or spouse. You know all those weird paperbacks I read in the 1980s, the ones with the black covers and lurid paintings? So did Grady Hendrix. Only unlike my corporate cubicle dwelling self, Grady Hendrix has turned his love of those battered paperbacks into a fine living.

I am a huge fan of Grady Hendrix’s Horrorstör and I’ve heard great things about his other books too. My Best Friend’s Exorcism should be perfect Wendy-Marie reading. Horror, 1980s, references to Duran Duran and an author who really can bring the ickkk.

***SPOILER***

This should not be a surprise if you’ve read any review or summary of My Best Friend’s Exorcism but just in case you are new to this book?

Spoilers ahead.

***You have been officially warned***

Okay…so you are still reading.

Great!

Was I the only person who thought Gretchen got her demon friend that night in the woods? Not her period. The actual demon possessing her.

Or did you figure out she got possessed at summer camp?

Because I sure didn’t.

Not sure if I’m feeling ultra-dumb or grabbing my pink FBI baseball cap from Hunter Dog in order to doff it at Mr. G. Hendrix, Esquire.

Yeah…I’m dumb right? I mean I know I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

I don’t hate My Best Friend’s Exorcism. There are truly great parts. The friendship before things go downhill between Abby and Gretchen has wonderful notes I really related to. When dinosaurs, moussed hair and the United Colors of Benetton ruled the Earth, I was the poor friend. It is not fun and it’s a bit challenging to not feel out of sorts when the world smiles on your peers.

And I wonder about Gretchen. Is she chafing against her parents because of their religion, normal teenage growing pains or something darker? Because I always suspect something darker lurking in the corners of life.

Also, I want to smack Glee so hard, enough to leave a little undead raccoon paw print on her cheek-she captures the perfection annoyance of several rich girls I knew in my part of small town Connecticut. I can’t remember Grady Hendrix describes her because my brain can only hold so much information and Bill Paxton’s filmography is more important. Even if I can’t watch more than five minutes of Mortuary or The Colony.

In my head? Glee has thick golden hair and a dainty facial structure. I do not possess a dainty facial structure. Remember when everyone was using Google Arts & Culture app to find their fine art double? Mine was Charles the Bewitched. So, my long-lost Habsburg self can picture Glee’s Benetton outfits, the very precisely flipped up polo collars and the matching Tiffany bean earrings and necklace. I hate Glee.

Now what is stuck in my poor head after putting down My Best Friend’s Exorcism?

One word.

Margaret.

***HI SPOILER AHEAD***

Thanks to consuming enough true crime media the spouse has declared Harold Schechter “my true crime boyfriend”, I suspected arsenic poisoning versus the true body horror. Which is so gross, especially if you know anything about the body horror and well, I might end up a more than a pants size smaller after if I continue reading more Grady Hendrix books. What happens to Margaret has me squirming, unwilling to drink anything I cannot see through. I also can’t eat any noodles or ice cream. Seriously I had enough food aversions and issues before reading My Best Friend’s Exorcism. If I finally sign up for the therapy I most likely desperately need, can I send Grady Hendrix my co-pay bills?

But I don’t love My Best Friend’s Exorcism. I should love it. The main fault is not the book itself. Grady Hendrix came up with an interesting plot and the design team at Quirk Books captures the quintessential 1980s high school yearbook right down to the signed yearbook flysheet/endpapers or whatever you call those pages in a book. The problem is me.

I am not the reader My Best Friend’s Exorcism needs for maximum enjoyment.

2016 Me still deep in my love affair with weird fiction/horror would have loved My Best Friend’s Exorcism. The hopeful me. 2021 Me is not in that same headspace and ultimately My Best Friend’s Exorcism did not hit the sweet spot I need in fiction. Not every book is meant for every stage of life. And there are plenty of readers who will find My Best Friend’s Exorcism their perfect book.