Welcome to Night Vale

Let's call this the "See Jane Listen" edition of the blog. Welcome to Night Vale is a podcast, but it's produced by a publishing house, so technically we're all in the clear here.

I'm only a few episodes in to the twice-monthly podcast that started in June, so if it jumps the shark 20 eps in or is revealed to be another weird Kanye marketing tie-in, don't hold this review against me. But so far - I'm into it.

It's presented as broadcasts from the local radio station a not-so-sleepy small town. The creators have described Night Vale as "a little desert town where all the conspiracy theories are true." It doesn't seem to phase the voice of the program, Cecil, who describes community bake sales & strange glowing gas clouds that rain dead animals with equal aplomb and bemusement. He only seems to get flustered when talking about the mysterious scientist, Carlos, who arrives in town with perfect hair, weird instruments, and a tendency to say things like "there's no time!" before running away. I think someone has a crush!

It has some Buffy-esque humor to it, so maybe Night Vale's secret is that it's on top of another Hellmouth. Sunnydale - Night Vale - Sunnydale - Night Vale...hmm. Throw another one on the conspiracy pile!

4 mysterious hooded figures out of 5. Do not look at the mysterious hooded figures.

UPDATE as of 10.01.2013: I stopped listening. So downgrading to 2.5/5. It was fun while it lasted. Listening < Reading. I am curious though, did Cecil ever snag Carlos?!

The Walking

I have a love/hate relationship with horror novels.  When a book is so unsettling that you change your movements in the physical world, that’s love:  when you have to jerk your foot up onto the bed so nothing grabs it, when you have to look over your shoulder, when you have to put the book in the freezer.  I feel like novelists who can produce those moments are some of our greatest talents – as opposed to the movies, when a jump scare is enough to get the blood pumping, readers need to be crept up on and slowly worked into unsettling paranoia. Sadly, a lot of horror novelists lean more toward the cheap thrills of B-list horror cinema than the sublime creepiness of a well-crafted spooky story. I hate feeling like I just waded through a schlocky soup of blood & guts – pages of gory, cartoonish description might put my off my lunch slightly, but they aren’t really scary.  

Bentley Little, according to this story of mysterious deaths ( and even more mysterious posthumous behavior), falls in the middle of the spectrum. There were some unsettling passages and creative visuals, but the cheesy gore seemed to drive the plot, instead of punctuate it. And, speaking of plot, it’s never a good sign when, in an effort to illuminate the twists & turns of the story, one of the characters has to say “sometimes there just isn’t an explanation.” NO. TRY AGAIN. That’s not even a Deus Ex Machina, that’s…a Deus Ex Quicquid. Stephen King, don't you ever betray me with a cover quote like that again. Throwing some side-eye at you too, ghost of Bram Stoker.

In sum: I did not put this book in the freezer. I kept it on my nightstand and slept soundly and restfully with my limbs splayed over the edge of the bed & the window wide open. Horror fail. 

2 overly-gratuitous Saw sequels out of 5 (I heard the first one is pretty good but I can’t see it – too scary!)