Have any of you read this one? It’s a short (183 page) little horror novel, translated from Spanish by Megan McDowell. I had never heard of it before today, when I grabbed it at my local library because it was on a little display they’d set up of horse-themed novels. “HORSES,” read the little laminated sign, and immediately my inner horse girl was awoken like a sleeper agent, and I made a beeline to the shelf and was tempted to scoop up all six or eight novels there, but I was holding my baby on one arm and a giant sack of kid’s books on the other, and my three little kids were scrambling around making trouble as usual, so I had to just quickly grab the first one that caught my interest. And here it is:
I was really hopeful for this one because in addition to horses, I also love a good psychological horror story — and this one was shortlisted for the Booker prize, so it was sure to be good!
Thing is though, as fun as it was (because yes indeed, I did manage to read it in one day, in stolen moments, and if I hadn’t had work to do, could have read it in a single sitting; it really does go that fast)… I’m a bit disappointed.
First of all, and this is nothing wrong with the story, but rather my library’s fault: it’s kind of a stretch to call this one “horse-themed.” Yes there are horses in it, but they don’t do much. They’re just kind of mentioned a few times.
Second of all, and more importantly: the ending just kinda fell flat for me. It felt pretty anticlimactic. Probably I’m just too dumb for the book. After finishing it, I was like: “that was it? Did I miss something? Where was the big creepy reveal?” So I looked up some reviews and discussions online, and apparently I didn’t miss anything, it’s just a very straightforward little story.
There’s nothing even slightly supernatural — and I don’t even need supernatural elements tbh, like for me most mainstream supernatural horror is way over the top; but when I’m promised a “ghost story,” I do hope to have at least something unexplainable or spooky or left up to the imagination! This story was entirely natural and explainable (well, to be fair, I guess it’s left up to us to wonder whether what the green house lady did was real or if it was just the lasting effects of the boy’s illness).
The only thing that made this feel like a “ghost story” was the hallucinatory, fever dream style of the narration. Which was very effective. But I dunno, I kept hoping for something that would make me gasp and go “Oh, shit! It all makes sense now!” but that just never came. The story just kind of rolled along until it stopped.
But like I said, I’m probably just too dumb for it.
Or too sad. Another discussion pointed out that the book is actually more sad than scary. And I have to agree. It’s called a “horror,” but it’s really more of a tragedy. And a tragedy was the last thing I needed in my life today. So, yeah, a bit disappointed.
I mean, climate fiction… that’s the big surprise? Reminds me a lot of the “twist” in M. Knight Shyamalan’s The Happening, which was simiarly unsatisfying for me. It’s disappointingly, upsettingly realistic, I guess. I was hoping for something a little more escapist. Shoulda known escapism wouldn’t be shortlisted for a Booker prize. You’ve got to be socially aware to make that list.
Don’t get me wrong though, Fever Dream is an amazing little book and really holds your interest. And it is creepy. There were parts that were so suspenseful I almost couldn’t stand it, like where David is going this is it, this is the important part, and you’re just watching and waiting for something climactic to happen. His rushed, italicized interrogation really did add to the suspense.
And a lot of the discussions and reviews online are talking about how relatable it is for moms: this idea of a “rescue distance” (which, if I’m not mistaken, is the original title in Spanish; I kinda wish they’d kept this title in translation!): the constant awareness that we moms have of how far away your kid is, where they are, what they are doing, how long it’d take you to get to them in an emergency… like an invisible rope from your stomach connecting you to them (an umbilical cord, one might say). The way it pulls taut and shortens or ties in knots when something scary happens or you don’t know where they are. Those moments are indeed extremely relatable and well-written. And in the end make the story that much sadder.
Overall, I do recommend this book if you are someone who’s smart and socially aware — but I do not recommend this book if you’re looking for a satisfying, mysterious ghost story, or if you’re someone who doesn’t like being made to feel sad.
Oops. I accidentally read five novels in two weeks. (Maybe not a big deal for some of y’all, but as a busy SAHM, I have no business staying up late binge-reading as much as I’ve been doing lately; I’m actually physically ill, right now, as I’m writing this.) This always happens to me when I discover an author that I really like. I think I might need to slow down… Anyway, here are my thoughts:
The Soulmate. Devoured this one over the course of two days while on a beach vacation. So freaking fun. Loved it even more than The Family Next Door. Why?: because it immerses you even more deeply in the characters and fleshes them out more, focusing on just two couples instead of a whole neighborhood. I also love the way it jumps back and forth in time, circling around the hub of a single event. Very romantic, very delicious, highly suspenseful. Once again, beautiful setting, senually delightful, & great fun spending time in the world of Australia’s ultra-rich. Gabe is fascinating and splendidly-written imo, but Max is the best character by far; what a great twist at the end. I now begin to get a sense for the type of story that Sally Hepworth dwells upon, the motifs that repeat over and over in her mind. (Every writer has them; it’s almost like every writer really has just one story they long to tell.) One of hers is apparently raspberry-white chocolate muffins. I’m now wondering if they’ll make an appearance in every one of her novels. Let’s find out.
The Mother-In-Law. No raspberry-white chocolate muffins in this one! Bummer, I was kinda hoping that’d be a thing. Oh well. This one lost a few points for me due to its unfortunate portrayal of Catholicism. “Diana grew up in a Catholic family 😨,” is something we hear repeated over and over, with horror, as if it’s some kind of explanation for why her parents were so judgmental and cruel and cut her off. Those bad, evil Catholics!! What a shame, because philosophically Sally Hepworth gets a lot of things right in this book — it’s a very pro-life story, really; Diana chooses life in extremely difficult circumstances, things work out, and she devotes her adult life to helping expectant mothers in difficult circumstances. Voluntary euthanasia is considered, but ultimately depicted as unwise and tragic. Same with surrogacy and IVF: Lucy, the hero of the story, is very opposed to surrogacy and egg donation, and I wanted to cheer for her for standing her ground there. The author tells us about the ridiculous toll that reproductive technology takes on people’s lives and sanity; it’s cast in a very negative light. (Poor Nettie; TTC-induced insanity is a very real thing, and I felt for her.) I was pleased about that. If only Ms. Hepworth didn’t treat the word “Catholic” as some kind of insult. Diana might be my favorite of her characters yet.
The Good Sister. Not proud of how quickly I finished this one. 🙈 I’m beginning to see why I stopped reading. When I get into a book, my addict brain takes over. “Just a little more! Can’t stop now!” While the dishes are rotting in the sink and there’s craft supplies all over the floor and painty finger-smears on the table and walls. A few weeks into this Rediscovering Reading endeavor, I think I might actually need to slow down on reading. This one was too good though. An autistic protagonist, although the word “autism” is never actually spoken: cool! It was nice to have a somewhat unusual main character; most of Sally Hepworth’s female leads are kinda Barbie dolls (not a criticism, just an observation: she likes to write about rich, pretty, feminine, romantic, housewifey types), but Fern here is ~Autistic~ Barbie! Sally Hepworth always makes sure to remind us, over and over, how frequently her characters love to exercise, so that we understand that they are super fit and sexy. (Granted, judging from her back jacket photos, Sally Hepworth is, herself, a very beautiful, attractive, and fashionable person — write what you know, I guess.) Interesting though. I think the folks on Writer Twitter (er, X now) might have a few things to say about Sally Hepworth writing an autistic character in the first person when she herself is not autistic; I understand that’s a cardinal sin, in this day and age, in the writing world. Anyway, I didn’t mind; I liked it. Fern + “Wally” was probably my favorite romance of hers that I’ve read so far. A little too perfect, lol — he just happens to be a famous bazillionaire with no day job! They’ll never have to work a day in their lives! Life with a disability is easy when you have all the money in the world, Fern realizes at the end, when she figures out that she won’t have to do school pickups/dropoffs or birthday parties because Wally will never need to clock in for a job a single day in his life. Ah, what a dream. Anyway, on a more serious note: this one was my favorite so far. A story of two sisters with different recollections of their childhood is of particular interest to me, as my own sister and I have more than once discussed how different our perceptions are of our upbringing. Thankfully, neither of us has ever committed murder. Rose had me in the first half, not gonna lie… but by the back half I hated her! The scene in the hospital where she showed up with formula like “I’m the mom” and refused to let Fern breastfeed her own newborn… that was almost too physically painful to read! I almost needed to put it down. But couldn’t. Damn your writing skills, Sally Hepworth! I’m gonna have to avoid her books in the future, they’re too much fun for me. But, in the meantime, just one more…
The Things We Keep. This one was different than her others: slower and sadder. Lighter on the crime and mystery, heavier on the reflection and sorrow. Still really good, but not as much “suspense.” Also, I don’t think it was Sally Hepworth’s intention, and this might just be me, but this book kinda made Anna’s life with Alzheimer’s look… idllyic?! I mean: a permanent stay at what basically amounts to a gorgeous, ritzy B&B with its own fancy chef and sexy gardener… zero responsibilities, unlimited leisure time, a credit card for shopping, all expenses paid, people taking care of you around the clock, and your gorgeous lover right there with you, like an endless honeymoon? A bit fantastical, really. My one beef with this one: I’m sorry, but there is nothing “dead sexy” about a man crawling up the stairs, no matter how good-looking the man is, lol. Did give me a good laugh though, so thanks for that. And, how does he stay so “muscular,” anyway, living in a nursing home with dementia? Hmm. I take issue also with the way that, while all the main characters are beautiful and fit, the two “villains,” Eric and Miranda’s mom, are hatefully described as fat — perpetuating the stupid stereotype in fiction that “fat = bad” and “thin/attractive = good.” And also, the name Richard being used on a rich, shady, sleazy businessman. Why is “Richard” always a rich, shady, sleazy businessman, in fiction?! Has there ever been a decent fictional Richard?! Come on now. In all seriousness though, this book really toed the line between “good-sad” and “too sad,” for me. Impressive though; apparently she can write in first-person from a seven-year-old’s POV too, and it really works. No raspberry-white chocolate muffins, but we do get some orange-poppyseed ones.
Umm… I lied. Just one more:
Darling Girls. Okay, I’ll say it: this one had the most exciting, “high-concept” premise, but the least-polished execution. The story was insanely good — but the ending felt rushed, some of the last scenes a bit contrived, the big twist felt too late, and there were two or three typos. I can excuse one, but when there are two or three, I’m like: why did nobody look at this before they printed it? I feel like maybe they were rushing her to finish the novel and hand it over. My other beef: it’s mentioned that Kevin, the creep, is a D&D player. Ugh. Let’s stop maligning D&D players, can we?! I’m so over the popular portrayal of them as all slimy, smelly neckbeards and incels. D&D is a highly intricate, intelligent, artistic, and fascinating thing. I don’t play it, I’m way too stupid for that, but my husband does. Anyway. Rant over. Whatever. Still a thrilling, un-put-downable book, and honestly it’s probably just that I’ve become spoiled and nitpicky from reading 1500+ pages of Sally Hepworth’s incredible writing over the past two weeks. This one also dropped a few truth-bombs that made me pause and go “😮” and just stare and think for a minute, such as: “Even after all these years, yearning for the love and attention of someone who couldn’t give it to her was much more comfortable than actually receiving it” (96). Damn, ok! It’s these profound little moments that make Sally Hepworth’s writing more than just “chick lit” crime thrillers. Also, Holly Fairchild is 100% her worst villain yet; total nightmare fuel. I can easily see this one being made into a limited series on Netflix. No muffins to speak of, though, alas.
… Okay, that’s it. I’ve got to slow down for real. At some point I’ve got to get back to that accused middle grade fiction project I mentioned three or four months ago. I need to go read something dry and dense. And I need to sleep! Do not, I repeat, do NOT, under any circumstances, give me any more copies of any Sally Hepworth novels, no matter what I say to you, no matter how I beg. I’m in recovery.
