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Guest Post: All Hallow’s Read: Creepy Stories You (Probably) Haven’t Read Yet

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Frequent guest contributor Matthew Jackson is back with a special post for the season on lesser-known horror stories. He wrote a series for us last year on Horror Lit 101. Matt is an entertainment writer for Blastr.com, film critic for the Huntsville Item, and frequent contributor to nerdbastards.com. Visit him at his personal blog at www.awalrusdarkly.blogspot.com.
Last year
rock star author Neil Gaiman suggested via his blog that we should begin a
tradition of giving each other scary books for Hallowe’en (British spelling;
it’s cooler). Bookish nerds (like myself) rallied around him, and All Hallow’s
Read was born. If you weren’t aware of this development last fall, you can read
all about it (really not much more than “Hey, give each other books.”) right
here (http://www.allhallowsread.com/). 
I gave an
All Hallow’s Read book last year – a collection of short fiction edited by the
wonderful horror writer Peter Straub – to a friend with a fortuitous October
birthday, and I also spent some time talking here on this very blog about some
essential horror writing from the last two centuries. When I was asked by the
lovely ladies of STACKED to reprise my role as horror geek this October, I
started thinking about the books people might give (and get) to celebrate
Hallowe’en (again, cooler), and I realized that quite a few of them would be
the same book. 
There are
essential horror texts, of course. A good portion of the Stephen King canon,
the complete works of Poe (particularly if you get one of the cool black
leather, gilded editions like I have), Gaiman’s own creepy all ages story Coraline and a host of others that
lovers of scary stories have already devoured. But what about the others? What
about those books that you thought about picking up, but didn’t, or those books
written by the bestselling author that didn’t quite go the distance? What about
those stories that have been forgotten by all but the enthusiasts? 
With this in
mind, here are a few of those stories that I’ve discovered during my life as a
horror reader. If you’re a lover of creepy tales, you might’ve read a few of
these, but if you’re a casual reader who just gets the urge for such a story
around this time of year, you’re very likely in for some new experiences.
The
Great God Pan by Arthur Machen
H.P.
Lovecraft praised it in his critical writing on supernatural literature, and no
less than Stephen King labeled it the finest horror story in the English
language. The Great God Pan is the
story of a scientist who performs a horrific surgery in the hope that his
patient can see a god and the terrifying results of the experiment that emerge
years later. Published in 1894, it remains an essential precursor to the
classic weird fiction of the ‘20s, ‘30s and ‘40s, and even more than a century
later is still among the more disturbing horror tales I’ve ever read.
Cabal
by Clive Barker
Lately Clive
Barker has been noted more for his fantasy fiction, but he began as a horror
writer, perhaps the most effective of the 1980s, and it’s those early tales of his
that I still read with the most affection. Cabal
is a novella from the sixth volume of Barker’s Books of Blood anthologies. It was made into a critically panned
but still interesting film, Nightbreed,
by Barker himself, but it’s the story that sticks in my head. It’s the tale of
a man whose life just feels wrong until he stumbles upon a group of
otherworldly creatures living in a sprawling necropolis. Cabal is one of the great modern monster stories, endlessly weird
and ambitious, filled with the imaginative power of all of Barker’s more famous
stories, and the same visceral punch of each of his other horror writing.
Zombie
by Joyce Carol Oates
Joyce Carol
Oates has won loads of awards for her fiction, but she probably never expected
to get one from the Horror Writers Association. Zombie won the HWA’s Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in
a Novel in 1995, and even though it’s hard to find these days, it remains
worthy of the distinction. Oates is no stranger to dark writing, but this is
easily her greatest confrontation with literal horror. Based on the life of
serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer, it’s a first person account of one man’s desire
to create a human slave for himself, and the victims he dispatches in the
process.
Song
of Kali by Dan Simmons
The great
Harlan Ellison (who is known as much for his temper as his brilliant writing)
profusely praised this debut by Dan Simmons, who won the World Fantasy Award
for this novel and went on to win a host of other awards for later novels like Hyperion, Carrion Comfort and Drood. Song of Kali is the story of an American who travels to Calcutta and finds himself
embroiled in the horrific deeds of a cult worshipping the Hindu goddess Kali,
but in many ways the real star is Simmons’ layered and gorgeous writing.
The Wine-Dark Sea by Robert Aickman
Aickman
didn’t consider himself a writer of horror. He called his work “strange
stories,” short fiction that was deeply evocative, dark and often
unclassifiable. There are Aickman stories that I have finished without even
really knowing what just happened, but I’m left with a feeling of glorious
doom, the kind of feeling that only a really good and creepy story can leave. Most
people don’t remember Aickman, but he’s experiencing a resurgence lately
(thanks in part to Neil Gaiman’s praise of his work). If you absolutely can’t
find any of his collections, do what I did and ask your local library for an
interlibrary loan.
Ghost
Story by Peter Straub
Ghost Story was one of the most popular
horror novels of the 1970s, and Peter Straub has written a ton of really wonderful
work since, but I’m always surprised how many people either don’t know about it
or just haven’t taken the time for it. It’s the classic New England hamlet
plagued by evil setup, but rarely has that tale been told so elegantly or
eerily. Straub is one of the greatest living horror writers, and Ghost Story is one of the most effective
and haunting horror stories of the 20th century.
Hellboy:
Seed of Destruction by Mike Mignola
Me being me,
I can’t get through this without recommending at least one comic book, and Mike
Mignola’s Hellboy was the first that came to mind. Seed of Destruction is the first story starring Hellboy, the
working class demon birthed by dark magic in World War II who’s now working for
the U.S. government, just trying to make the world a better place. It’s not
exactly nightmare-inducing, but it’s a dark, often funny and infinitely
ambitious take on a classic horror subgenre: the monster story. I started
reading Seed of Destruction about a
year ago and have since read every Hellboy story Mignola and company have
produced. They’re that addictive.
It’s time
for spooky stories. Read your favorites, discover some new ones, and give a few
to friends. Happy All Hallow’s Read.

Without Tess by Marcella Pixley

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At conferences, I always like to ask the publicists what their favorite book of the upcoming season is. I always feel like I get a peak at something I may not have otherwise gotten just wandering the floor. This year at ALA, Without Tess by Marcella Pixley was the title recommended highly at the Macmillan booth and touted as an in-house favorite.

The story opens with Liz talking about feeling guilt for the death of her sister Tess. We’re in the present but we’re taken to the past near immediately, to a time when both girls were younger. The girls, who were three years apart in age, were close. Liz idolized her bigger sister, who was a believer in all things magic. She believed in werewolves and selkies and magic passionately — all her games revolved around these ideas. It was these beliefs that ultimately caused Tess’s death, and it’s Liz who feels responsible for it.

While Without Tess sounds like a fairly cut-and-dry story of grief and loss, it’s a lot more complex as it delves into a few big issues that a number of other books looking at these issues don’t. There’s an interesting play of religion here, as Liz and Tess are Jewish. They practice, and their beliefs are challenged repeatedly by their neighbors and friends Niccolo and Isabelle. They are practicing Catholics, and Pixley smartly juxtaposes the ideas of formal religion with the fantastical beliefs held by Tess.

It’s those fantastical beliefs that offers readers another layer to the story, and that’s mental wellness. The second half of the book opens the doors to this storyline, as Liz expounds upon her sister’s diminishing stability. Her sister talked of turning into a water princess with earnestness, and she goes as far as to attack Liz when she believes she has werewolf abilities. Although it sounds somewhat funny, in the context of the story it’s quite scary. As readers, we’re on to the fact something isn’t quite right with Liz, but we aren’t able to put our finger on it exactly. I’ve read a number of books broaching the issue of mental health this year, but I didn’t quite find the storyline here compelling enough to be believable, especially since Liz focuses so little on it. She’s too self-absorbed, honestly, and eager to make sure she’s the center of attention when it comes to the downfall of her sister. But it’s worth noting — Pixley offers an interesting question to readers about whether Tess’s beliefs are child’s play, since she’s only 12, or whether they really are signs of deeper mental issues.

I didn’t care for Liz as a narrator in this story, and I don’t know if I bought the greater premise of the story because of her. She’s depressed, even years later, by the loss of her sister, and over the course of time she has to heal from this wound, she’s made it become a part of who she is. She wears dark clothes and acts as though she carries the weight of the world on her; she makes herself out to be a stereotype, and while I could picture this to be true, I thought it worked more as a way to make herself feel self-important. Liz is obsessed with the idea of her sister and more so with the idea that she was responsible for her sister’s death. She strings together these flashbacks during counseling sessions, and in doing so, there is a lot of build up to finding out what exactly happened to Tess (there’s no surprise Tess is dead, since that’s known upfront). The problem is that these build ups ultimately lead to a disappointing conclusion, furthering the fact that Liz is more interested in telling a story about herself than about her sister. For me, this didn’t settle well, as I hoped for something greater and something that would give me a reason to sympathize more with Liz. I couldn’t even say I’d necessarily sympathized with Tess, except for the fact no one helped her when she needed it — though perhaps they did. Again, getting the story from Liz’s perspective means only getting part of the story.

One of the other elements of this story worth mentioning is the poetry. One of the things Tess left behind in her death was her Pegasus Journal. It was where she drew her fantastical pictures and wrote poems that talked about other worlds and this world, to good readers. Liz actually stole it from her sister’s coffin at her funeral (need I mention her selfishness again?) and used it for class assignments. It’s this little plot point that brings the book full circle, though I’m not sure how necessary it is. It feels like a thin string to hold the story together, given the time passage between Tess’s death and the revelations Liz makes in therapy. But more than that, I found the poetry didn’t quite work well to further the story. Many of the poems preceded chapters that explained them further, and I felt like the chapters would have been enough. Although it was meant to give Tess a voice in the story, I felt it did more to take away from her voice. This is a technique that was used more effectively in Jandy Nelson’s The Sky is Everywhere, which was also a story of sister grief.

Although I found a lot of this book to be kind of a let down, one of the things that made me keep reading with interest was how interesting a mirror this book was for one of my favorite books this year, Nova Ren Suma’s Imaginary Girls. This book features an interesting sister relationship, much of it based in the supernatural, and I thought that what Liz and Tess went through was quite reminiscent of Chloe and Ruby’s story. Where Ruby had a magical vibe to her throughout Suma’s book, build through the observations and idolization of Chloe, Tess earns her magical vibe through Liz’s determination to react against the diagnosis of instability others gave Tess. The parallels didn’t end there, either: water plays a huge role in this book, much as it does in Suma’s. I think these two books could be read as a conversation with one another, and despite the fact they don’t have a relationship to one another, reading Pixley’s book gave more insight into what may have been going on in Suma’s, and vice versa.

Without Tess was worth the time, but I think in the end, this book might be forgettable. It’s not that it’s bad — it’s not — but there are other books that feature a lot of these elements and do it just a little more strongly. The writing itself is fine, but it’s not sparkling; it felt like the poetry was meant to aid in giving it a stronger literary quality, though I didn’t buy the poetry nor think it was that strong (and thinking about it now, it seemed like pretty mature poetry for a 12-year-old to write). That said, I think this book could work for a younger teen readership, as it’s fairly clean, and it is less creepy and eerie than Suma’s book. It also offers more answers than questions, which is something many readers prefer in a story. I’d classify this as a contemporary read, and it’s one that those who like to think about issues of mental health, belief, grief and loss, or even family relationships.

Book received from the publisher. Without Tess will be published October 11.

Ashes by Ilsa Bick

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Alex’s life is kind of terrible. Her parents are dead and she has an inoperable brain tumor she calls the Monster. She’s run away from her aunt’s house, where she’s been living, to spend some time hiking and camping in the wilderness. She plans to eventually make it up to Lake Superior where she’ll sprinkle her parents’ ashes. Then a massive electromagnetic pulse hits, knocking out almost all electricity, killing most people, and turning everyone else – except a few – into zombies. Alex is one of the few who survives without turning zombie, as is Ellie, a bratty eight year old girl who was hiking under duress with her (now dead) grandfather.
The first section of the book is an extended action sequence wherein Alex must use all of her wits to survive in the newly zombified world. She’s stuck in the wilderness with no car, no electricity, plenty of zombies, and an annoying and unhelpful little girl in tow, but she does pretty well for herself (something I really appreciated – Alex is incredibly smart and capable). When she meets up with Tom, a young military man, they have an even better chance of survival. This first section, which takes up a little more than half the book, is full of action and page-turning suspense. I’m normally not one for a story that is almost non-stop action, but Bick writes it very well.
Then things go downhill very fast (as if the zombie apocalypse weren’t bad enough already), and Alex finds herself taking sanctuary in the city of Rule – without her two companions. There are some seriously creepy things going on in Rule that aren’t apparent at first. These creepy things involve the council of five men that rule Rule, why the young girls who are taken in by Rule are called the “Chosen,” and what the city of Rule’s relationship really is with the zombies they keep at bay.
I’ve seen a lot of negative feedback toward this second part, but I actually liked it just as much as the first. The dynamics between the different inhabitants of Rule are fascinating, and watching Alex assess the situation and attempt to make conclusions about what she experiences is equally fascinating. Plus, I love reading about sinister societies whose secrets are slowly revealed over time.
It’s got a lot of elements in common with the Chaos Walking series: the end of the world/human civilization, a frenetically paced first section, the protagonist’s affinity with a dog/dogs, and a creepy post-apocalyptic society masquerading as a good society that has some serious problems with women. It’s not terrible that Ashes has so much in common with those books, but because of my deep and unending love for them, Ashes inevitably pales in comparison – and comparisons are unavoidable here.
Still, that makes it a good readalike for people who enjoyed Chaos Walking. It’s also a bit more straightforwardly-told, so readers who disliked Todd’s somewhat disjointed narration needn’t worry about that in Ashes. In a subgenre so full of mediocre offerings, Ashes is a very good one. It’s even written in – gasp – third person past tense! No wonder I liked it so much.
Review copy received from the publisher. Ashes is available now.

Covers Change the Story

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I’ve caught a lot of changes in book covers when they go from hardcover to paperback, as well as a number of general repackaging looks. As usual, some of these are excellent and some are not. Covers sell a book, as it’s often what draws a reader in who may otherwise not be familiar with the story, so when the cover changes, it’s always interesting to see what elements are being played up. Here’s a look at a few of the recent changes I’ve found that are worth stopping to think about, both in terms of design and in terms of marketing.

Let’s start with a change I think is really beneficial:


The Half Life of Planets by Emily Franklin and Brendan Halpin: The original cover gives a way vintage feel to the story. It dates it, and I don’t think it does so in a good way. I read this book quite a while ago, but I don’t remember it being a historical fiction, which is what the cover here seems to suggest. The LP and the style of dress of the two characters don’t feel contemporary, and I think that does a bit of a disservice, unfortunately. The font for the title and the author name also don’t work and only serve to further the vintage feel. Frankly, I don’t know many teens who would get this cover, especially the album aspect of it.


This paperback makeover is fantastic. I love the fact it doesn’t have an aged feel to it, but instead, it’s incredibly contemporary. The font is fun and has a definite teen vibe to it. The perspective of the guitar against the black and starry background is a bit reminiscent of Star Wars and that’s a good thing. More than that though, the red guitar really pops on the cover; despite there being a number of covers that feature guitars, this one jumps from the shelves. I think the cover fits the story much more, and I think that it has much more appeal to the intended audience than the original. No faded vintage feel here!

Lisa McMann’s Cryer’s Cross has such a great cover. Although it might be considered a bit of a spoiler, it’s such a knock out — the desk in the darkened room gives the horror feel that the pages inside work with, rather than against. The desk features graffiti, but beyond that, it’s worn and old and the vibe that emerges is perfectly suited to the story. I love that the title isn’t separate from the image, but instead, it is part of the image itself. It’s creative and it fits, too, with Lisa’s Wake series in the font and placement of her name. Check out the tag line, too: “The smaller the town, the bigger the secrets.” It’s perfect for the book.

But oh, I do not like the paperback make over:


Let’s start with the tag line change: “Some secrets have the power to bury you.” The story is set in a small town, and that plays a huge part in the creepy factor of the book; the change in tag line makes the story sound so generic and like every other book out there. Swap this one with any of the paranormal romances out there. It’s unfortunate because this book is not a paranormal romance in the least. It’s a horror story. Now, for the trope I am so sick of in covers: the girl on the ground being saved by a boy. Guess what doesn’t play a big role in the story? Romance. Yet, this cover plays into the idea of romance, and the tag line only enhances it. Frankly, this cover is a disservice to readers, as it makes the book like every other book on the market when in fact, it’s quite different. The trees in the background make this look paranormal, right? Take those out and put in a pink or purple background and the cover could then become one for a Lurlene McDaniels book. And don’t get me started on the fact the girl looks stiff and the male looks much too old to be a teenager. The whole set up devalues the role of the female in the book, too, which is probably part of why it bothers me so much — the main thrust of the book hinges upon one girl who uncovers an ages-old mystery in the story, yet this cover makes it look like the girl is being saved from some secret that will “bury her.” Enter suave looking male to save her.

Let me step back and talk about the problem here on a greater level. The trend I’ve been seeing more and more in young adult books and in young adult book trailers is the one to play up the romance in a book, and this is especially true in books that aren’t contemporary romances. That is to say, books that feature a paranormal, horror, fantasy, or science fiction story line seem to be falling victim to this a lot more than what you’d expect. This cover/trailer treatment, in my mind, devalues females as lead characters. It sends the message that girls can’t be strong in worlds outside our own and ones that make sense to us. Whether the story says that or not — and often, as is the case in the McMann book, the story says precisely the opposite of what the cover says — it’s playing into a trend that’s not healthy. It’s not okay to suggest that a male is always a saving force and that the female needs to be saved or loved to be strong. Moreover, it’s always a female in a submissive position. Notice above that the male is on the top and the girl is on the bottom. Notice, too, that the male has his arm above the girl’s head — he is dominating her not only physically, but intellectually, too. She doesn’t have a finger on him, and her body language suggests that she’s open to be taken and saved. This makes me so uncomfortable, especially knowing what I do about this particular book. Moreover, can we please have stronger females on the cover of non-contemporary books? Less girl lying in submissive positions and more girls being strong and powerful, please. Girls in worlds other than our own can be just as strong as those here. And get this — the more we show that on covers, the more female readers we can entice to genres like science fiction and fantasy, where often, there is a stigma about reading those sorts of books.

This cover does nothing at all for the book, and it’s especially disheartening given the fantastic hardcover version of this novel and how well it fits the story. This one feels a bit like a meme.


It’s so rare that a young adult novel gets an illustrated cover treatment, but Laini Taylor’s Lips Touch Three Times got it, and it works so well. This is one of my favorite covers, despite having a lot of elements I don’t like to it. It’s the illustration that makes it work, and the colors play perfectly into the content, as well. The novel features Jim Di Bartolo’s illustrations, and they use the same color schemes. What works, I think, is the contrasting use of colors — the red flames against the light blue font and eerily icy eyes. The red lips pop against the pale skin of the girl, and I love how the curls in the hair flow with the curl of the flames. There’s a lot of flow and a nice echo effect throughout.

As much as I like the cover, I don’t necessarily know if it’s got the right appeal to it. It’s less that it’s not appealing, but more that it is an illustrated cover and that makes it read like it’s geared toward a younger readership (despite the flames).


And I’m sure it’ll be pretty clear how I stand on the change for this cover. It feels like an adult romance — the kind that come in a smaller package that you can pick up at the grocery store. By that I don’t mean trashy; I mean it’s something I’ve seen so many times that it’s not distinguishable from anything else on the market. It does also feel very adult, versus the original cover. Maybe it’s the way the colors really contrast and the way the red lip is shiny in less of a symbolic manner but in more of a come hither manner. This cover doesn’t give a fantasy vibe, but instead, it gives a romance vibe, and I think that’s a disservice to the incredible fantasy worlds inside the story (that yes, do involve kisses, but not in the romance sense). Moreover, I think it’s sad that Jim Di Bartolo’s illustration isn’t the cover image anymore; instead, we get a headless model, which is my favorite kind. I’m not sure this cover hit the mark with audience appeal either. It’s misleading.


Ship Breaker by Paolo Bacigalupi is a cover that doesn’t speak to me one way or the other. It kind of blends into everything else, and I don’t necessarily mean that in a bad way or a good way. There’s not a striking image on the cover that’s memorable, aside from the cover font, which takes up the bulk of the cover. I like the font and placement, and I think that it sort of speaks to the story inside. However, the rusty-colored background doesn’t add much; it doesn’t tell a story itself. I understand it to be the side of a ship, given the title, but otherwise, it sort of exists and doesn’t do much more. Again, it’s not bad or good. It just is. It’s a bit of a sleeper in terms of covers.


The paperback makeover, though? Fantastic. Although it has the creepy half face in the background, I quite love how evocative this recovered book looks. We finally get an image to the story, and though the cover font changed, I like this one as much as I like the original. This cover reminds me greatly of the Kenneth Oppel Airborn series covers, and I think that is a huge benefit to this particular novel. Although I admit to not having read either the Oppel series nor this book, I do think there is readership crossover, so this sort of cover pairing makes perfect sense, whether it was intentional or not. This cover has a rusty look to it, but it’s used in a much more effective manner than it is in the hardback cover; this time it’s used to develop a sense of place and time, rather than simply as the backdrop. Rather than being a pass over cover now, this one really pops and I think it has mega boy appeal. It’s nice to have something that doesn’t look embarrassing to read, too.

I’m a huge believer in the idea that covers can be an easy means of reader’s advisory (that for non-librarians is the term for helping people find a book to read based on what else they’ve read and enjoyed). Whenever a cover can play into that, it makes for happier readers, I think. Teens and adults do often pick up their books on the covers, and the more reminiscent a new read is to one that has been enjoyed before, the more trust a reader builds into new reading experiences, whether that’s fair or not.

What do you think? Do any of these covers better serve the reader than others? And please: I want your feedback on the romance on the cover issue. It’s one that strikes me as something people aren’t talking about, yet it’s something that is incredibly important to think about and talk about.

Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

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Wade Watts is eighteen years old, socially awkward, a little overweight, and a whole lot geeky. Like most of humanity, he spends his time logged into the OASIS, a massive virtual world that has practically replaced reality. And why shouldn’t it? It’s the year 2044, and the Earth has gone to seed. After the deaths of his parents, Wade (alliteratively named by his father for the superhero connotations) is forced to live with his aunt, who only uses him for the additional food vouchers he can buy her, and her rotating string of boyfriends. They reside in the stacks, trailer park lots where stacks of mobile homes and RVs are piled onto each another in mountains of rickety steel in order to maximize space in prime locations near cities. Food is scarce and an energy crisis is threatening. No wonder everyone escapes to the OASIS, a land where individuals become avatars and can transform into anyone and anything they could possibly imagine being. A land composed of thousands of planets utilizing details from any number of fictional fantasy and science-fiction universes: “The Firefly universe was anchored in a sector adjacent to the Star Wars galaxy, with a detailed re-creation of the Star Trek universe in the sector adjacent to that. Users could now teleport back and forth between their favorite fictional worlds. Middle Earth. Vulcan. Pern. Arrakis. Magrathea. Disc-world, Mid-World, Riverworld, Ringworld. Worlds upon worlds” (p. 49).

But the OASIS isn’t just a place to play, battle, find magic items, and attend school (yes, Wade is a senior in the OASIS public school system). It’s also the location for the greatest contest ever imagined, the search for James Halliday’s Easter Egg. When Halliday, the creator of the OASIS, died, he set into motion a massive treasure hunt for three keys and three gates. The first avatar to successfully locate these items will win an unimaginable fortune and ultimate control over the OASIS. This contest, composed of riddles based upon Halliday’s obsession with 80’s pop culture and the history of videogames, comes to consume the life of these egg hunters, who eventually come to be known as “gunters.” The 80’s are back, and exhaustive knowledge of that decade will pay off big for someone.

When Parzival (the name of Wade’s avatar), discovers the location of the first key, he shoots to the top of the virtual scoreboard, instantly becoming an instant celebrity and the object of media attention, death threats, and adulation. He must carefully navigate the web of clues he is faced with, evade the attention of Innovative Online Industries, a corrupt corporation looking to purchase and take control of the OASIS, and figure out how to manage his virtual relationships with the other gunters in contention for the top prize: his best friend Aech, the brotherly team of Daito and Shoto, and Art3mis, the female avatar he is slowly falling in love with. All this while keeping his gaming and pop-culture skills honed to perfection.

Ready Player One was a rollicking, fast-paced, absolutely engrossing read. I was born in 1982, so I probably fall at the early end of this book’s target audience. Regardless, I picked up on most of the pop culture references in the novel and was fascinated by the reverence with which Parzival, Halliday, and by extension the author, feel for this decade. Mastering videogames, movie references, and song lyrics is a way of life for the people of Ready Player One, and, in fact, this way of life mirrors the way many obsessive fans feel for the objects of their obsessions nowadays. Who hasn’t encountered someone who has scoured every screencap of Lost for hidden clues? Or who watches and rewatches the entire series of Doctor Who, new and old? Or who spends hours updating a spreadsheet of weapons and their capabilities for their favorite video game? We know them all, and they are brought to vivid and extreme life in Ready Player One. However, here, this is their entire world. Glory and fortune depend upon this knowledge, and the stakes are high.

Although the dystopian aspects aren’t dwelled upon in Ready Player One, the novel is clearly rooted in a society gone wrong. Wade’s home environment is proof enough of that, along with the unemployment rate that has multiplied over the years. If she wins, Art3mis want to use the prize money to feed the world, while Parzival just wants to pack up, buy a spaceship and flee Earth forever. But these horrific aspects aren’t pounded into the reader’s head. They’re just background noise for the OASIS, the great escape, where humans transform into avatars, able to escape their bleak lives. And that’s the creepy part. All of this is way too familiar. The unemployment, the overcrowding of cities, the energy crisis. The alienation and the obsession with technology to the neglect of everything else. The world of the OASIS seems so foreign to us on the surface. Who could imagine spending every waking moment inside a virtual world? But then we remember that this is possible. This could happen, and is closer and more real than many of the post-apocalyptic novels that haunt us.

The pace of this book was absolutely perfect, and it rarely dragged. Even when Parzival was in the middle of a quest, Cline made sure not to dwell on each and every action his avatar took, something that could have made the key scenes laborious. Many people might find joy in reading about every sword thrust or feint, but I am not one of them. The action moved, and things happened. One quibble I did have with this book (after having this pointed out to me by a friend), was how long it took for the first key to be found. In this world of crowd-sourced knowledge and with the amount of obsession over Halliday’s interests, it seems a bit of a stretch that solving the first riddle would take years. I’ve participated in the MIT Mystery Hunt and know how quickly an obscure puzzle can be solved when there are ten heads crowded over the laptop. However, this complaint of mine could be explained by the highly secretive nature of the contest. When a prize that big is on the line, who wants to share knowledge? Also, some of the major scenes, along with the ending, seemed to be wrapped up a bit too neatly. I almost expected more twists and turns at some points.

However, as a whole, Ready Player One was fantastic. Fun, informative, geeky, and utterly compelling, appealing to young adults as well as adults, its intended audience. The effort and passion author Ernest Cline put into his debut novel shows on every page. I fully expect to see this show up on YALSA’s Alex Awards list this coming year.