Red Rabbit Ghost by Jen Julian

 

Synopsis From Back Cover:

Eighteen years ago, an infant Jesse Calloway was found wailing on the bank of a river, his mother dead beside him. The mystery of her death has haunted him all his life, and despite every effort, he has never been able to uncover the truth. 

Now someone is promising him answers. An anonymous source claims that they'll tell him everything. But only if he returns to the hometown he swore he'd left in the rearview. 

But in Blacknot, North Carolina, nothing is as it seems. It's a town that buries its secrets deep. Jesse's relentless investigation garners attraction from intimidating locals, including his dangerous ex-boyfriend. And he'll soon discover that this backwater town hides a volatile and haunting place on its desolate edge.

I picked this up off a table at our west side Barnes & Noble, and I knew in less than a minute that it was coming home with me. The cover alone is worth the purchase, but then I read the synopsis—and really, who doesn’t love a good queer, haunted-house, Southern Gothic tale? That was all she wrote. I got suckered into buying another book when I already own far too many that are still waiting to be read. Now that I’ve read it, some of that initial luster has faded a bit, but I’m still fricking glad I experienced this one for myself.

I’m going to start off by saying that Jen Julian’s prose is a pleasure to read. It’s lush and evocative, creating characters and landscapes that have been lingering in my mind for days. With her words, she painted Blacknot, NC into vivid life. I experienced the putrid smell of the congested pig farms and felt the spongy give of rotting floorboards as Jesse explored the rooms of the Night House. I felt the desperation and rage Alice experienced as she watched her world crumble around her. The fetid smell and cloying humidity of the swamp clung to my skin and seeped into my lungs. Red Rabbit Ghost is a fever dream that unmercifully assaults the senses, and I was there for every second of it.

And yet, as much as I loved feeling like I was there with Jesse and Alice, that may be part of the reason I didn’t fully connect with the story as a whole. I need to phrase this next part as carefully as I can, so bear with me—I may ramble a bit. The landscape of this nightmarish world, full of ghosts and magic, felt so tangible that I think it may have gotten in the way of making the characters feel just as real. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the time I spent with Jesse, but the frantic pace he kept—trying to find his mom and uncover what happened to her—didn’t allow who he was as a person to come to the forefront. He felt two-dimensional for most of the book, and I hate that for him. He deserved to feel as real as the world he inhabited.

Alice, for the most part, was so full of rage and hurt that, despite the amount of page time she had, she never felt fully real to me at any point in the story. That leaves the side characters—including the ex-boyfriend I wanted dumped in the swamp for the alligators to feed on—who I can only describe as storytelling props. They were there, they did the narrative jobs they were written to do, but they felt more like NPCs in a random, generic video game.

Now, based on the length of that last section, you might think I didn’t enjoy this book as much as I did—but you’d be wrong. While Blacknot, NC isn’t a place I’d ever want to experience in the real world, I loved the time I spent with Jesse as he navigated dirt roads, swampy backwoods, and the Night House in search of the truth. It’s just not a story I feel compelled to revisit anytime soon.

Challenges: Mount TBR

Favorite Fictional Character --- Sam Sheepdog and Ralph Wolf

 

"Mornin' Sam." "Mornin' Ralph."

If there was ever a perfect metaphor for the drudgery of going to work day after day—repeating the same actions, getting the same results, and never achieving your goal—Sam and Ralph would be the poster children of the dead-end job.

When Sam clocks in, he’s the guardian, parked on a ledge protecting his charges. When Ralph clocks in, he’s a hungry predator, desperate to get his hands on a sheep. Sam spends a lot of his time sleeping. Ralph spends a lot of his time running around like crazy. Sam, as adorable as he is, is a little more violent than expected. Ralph, as dangerous as he looks, just doesn’t seem to have the drive needed to react in kind.

I shouldn’t find it as funny as I do. It’s an unending, 9-to-5 hamster-wheel cycle that’s hilarious as hell. No growth. No victories. No promotions. Just two guys doing exactly what they’re paid to do and getting absolutely nowhere. And somehow, that never gets old.

Libeled Lady (1936)

Synopsis From Rotten Tomatoes:

When a major newspaper accuses wealthy socialite Connie Allenbury (Myrna Loy) of being a homewrecker, and she files a multi-million-dollar libel lawsuit, the publication's frazzled head editor, Warren Haggerty (Spencer Tracy), must find a way to turn the tables on her. Soon Haggerty's harried fiancée, Gladys Benton (Jean Harlow), and his dashing friend Bill Chandler (William Powell) are in on a scheme that aims to discredit Connie, with amusing and unexpected results. 

There are few on-screen pairings that will ever come close to the chemistry shared between William Powell and Myrna Loy. Watching the way they play off each other is almost a cinematic religious experience. I remember the first time I watched The Thin Man (1934) and how utterly enchanted I was by them. I was so enchanted, in fact, that I immediately went out and bought The Thin Man box set, which included all six films. When I finished those, I went on to watch all fourteen movies Powell and Loy made together between 1934 and 1947. That’s the kind of hold they have on me.

Their wit and playful banter are in full display in Libeled Lady (1936), a classic screwball comedy with romantic hijinks thrown in for good measure. It’s a fast-paced romp packed with more marriages than you can count, a barrage of one-liners flying through the air like heat-seeking missiles, and a fishing scene that has me laughing so loudly I’m convinced they can hear me seven counties over.

The chemistry between Powell and Loy is already a force to be reckoned with, but when you add Jean Harlow and Spencer Tracy into the mix, it becomes something truly special. The four of them work so effortlessly together that it’s no surprise Libeled Lady earned a Best Picture nomination, ultimately losing to The Great Ziegfeld—another William Powell and Myrna Loy film, no less.

The pace of the movie is exactly why this review is going to be short on specifics and heavy on demands that you go watch it for yourself. I’m struggling to single out moments without giving anything away, and this is very much a movie best experienced firsthand. If for no other reason, watch it to see William Powell and Myrna Loy at the absolute peak of their powers. You won’t regret it.

Murder Most Haunted by Emma Mason

 

Synopsis From Back Cover:

On her last day as a Detective, Midge McGowan is given the retirement present from hell: a ticket to a haunted house tour. She’ll have to spend the weekend before Christmas ghost-hunting in an isolated mansion with a group of misfits, including a know-it-all paranormal investigator and a has-been pop star.

The guests soon realize that the house has a mind of its own... and that they might not be the only ones there. An eerie figure appears on the property, and then the unthinkable happens: someone is murdered in a room that's been locked from the inside.

When a blizzard cuts the group off from help, the house’s own dark secrets begin to surface, and Midge can’t shake the creeping sense that they are walking into a nightmare. Could a ghost really be responsible? Or is the culprit one of the guests, who have somehow, impossibly, endeared themselvesto Midge?

Because I’m still not entirely sure whether I liked this book or not, this may end up being a rather short—and possibly a little rambling—review. Reading Murder Most Haunted was an odd experience.

The first half of the book was a slog. Honestly, if I hadn’t needed this one for a couple of reading challenges, I might not have pushed myself through it. Our lead detective is, at least initially, a deeply miserable character. She reads as someone so unhappy in every aspect of her life that it robs her of any personality beyond what is imposed upon her by others in her life. It’s the kind of unhappiness that becomes such a dominant part of who a person is that Midge starts off feeling less like a fully realized human being and more like an automaton moving through the motions of life.

She has quirks, but early on they come across as just further evidence of how damaged she is. The old adage “misery loves company” pretty much sums up my first impressions of the rest of the cast as well. I didn’t like a single one of them at the beginning, and I found myself quietly hoping that more than one body might turn up.

Gradually, though, something shifted. I’m not entirely sure if the book itself started to grow on me, if the characters became more fleshed out and likable, or if I simply acclimated to its tone. Whatever the reason, as I kept reading, Midge began to make more sense. Her quirks and worldview gained context, and I stopped seeing her as a caricature and started seeing her as a woman who’d been dealt a truly shitty hand in life and did the best she could with what she had at the time.

I’m still not sure I like her, but by the end I had more respect for her—especially once the murderer was revealed.

As for the mystery itself, it was… fine. I’m a sucker for a locked-room murder, and I think the author did a reasonably solid job constructing this one. I don’t see myself rereading this book, but I would be willing to pick up a second Midge installment—provided the podcaster and the pop star come along for the ride.

Challenges: Mount TBR, Cloak and Dagger, Calendar of Crime 

Favorite Fictional Character --- Daffy Duck

 

"You're deththpicable!"

Let’s be honest: would Bugs Bunny be as entertaining without Daffy Duck? I’m going to say no. As much fun as Bugs vs. Elmer or Bugs vs. Yosemite Sam can be, when Bugs and Daffy go at it, everyone had better duck and cover, because the shenanigans are about to reach catastrophic levels. That’s not even getting into the times Bugs and Daffy team up—because when those two join forces to cause a little mayhem, I know I’m in for a wild ride.

As a kid, I don’t think I could have picked between Bugs’ antics and Daffy’s temper tantrums when it came to which I found more entertaining. Looking back as an adult, though, I think Daffy may have elicited a few more belly laughs than Bugs, though it’s a very close call. Unlike Bugs, who I may not find quite as funny now as I did as a kid, my darker sense of humor gives me full permission to enjoy Daffy’s jealous machinations even more than I used to. And those temper tantrums? They’re absolute works of art.

Watching Daffy as an adult hits differently. What once felt like pure slapstick now reads as insecurity, jealousy, and a desperate need to be taken seriously. Daffy knows he’s always playing second fiddle to Bugs, and watching him unravel because of it is darkly hilarious. He’s his own worst enemy, and somehow that just makes him funnier. His fragile ego is especially on display in “Robin Hood Daffy,” where his overwhelming need for recognition turns even his noblest intentions into one disaster after another. 

I can’t do a post about Daffy without mentioning his turn as Duck Drake in “The Super Snooper.” I have a weakness for detective parodies, my love for Sesame Street’s Sherlock Hemlock will attest to that, so watching Daffy play a private investigator summoned to look into a potential murder is a true pleasure. Of course, the comedy is helped immensely by the fact that the lead suspect seems far more interested in pursuing Drake than Drake is in solving the case. It’s pure 1950s comedy gold.

Actually, if y’all don’t mind, I think I’m going to go watch it again now—because no matter how many times I’ve seen it, Daffy Duck absolutely never fails to make me laugh.

Nothing But Blackened Teeth by Cassandra Khaw

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

A Heian-era mansion stands abandoned, its foundations resting on the bones of a bride and its walls packed with the remains of the girls sacrificed to keep her company.

It’s the perfect wedding venue for a group of thrill-seeking friends brought back together to celebrate a wedding. 

But a night of food, drinks, and games quickly spirals into a nightmare as secrets getbdrwgged out and relationships are tested. 

But the house has secrets too. Lurking in the shadows is the ghost bride with a black smile and a hungry heart.

And she gets lonely down there in the dirt.

I don’t say this often—or lightly—but Nothing But Blackened Teeth is one of those books you are either going to love with everything in you, or loathe with your entire soul. I’ve seen no middle ground on this one, and sadly, those who hate it seem to be in the majority.

I personally find the hate this book receives to be undeserved. I fall firmly into the camp that absolutely adores this 124-page novella with every fiber of my being. When I decided to give this a reread a few days ago, I went back and looked at the short little review I typed up on Goodreads the first time around. I loved it so much that I said it belonged alongside The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, Hell House by Richard Matheson, and Drawing Blood by Poppy Z. Brite. After this reread, I stand by that.

When I read this for the first time, I experienced an author who truly loves language—the way words feel as you take them in, one after the other, as they lodge themselves into the nooks and crannies of your mind. There is a rhythmic flow to Khaw’s writing as she chooses words and then plays with the way they connect to one another. I think the reason I love this book as much as I do is because this gorgeous writing wraps itself around a group of petty, spiteful, deeply unlikable characters who have no business being friends, let alone gathering together to explore a haunted house and a culture they have no respect for—an experience not all of them will survive. The contrast is so stark that I can’t help but be completely enthralled by it.

While I’m on the subject of language, I want to briefly mention how much I appreciate the seamless way Khaw incorporates Japanese without feeling the need to translate or explain every word outside of the natural context already provided. All too often, those explanations pull me right out of the story, and I’m grateful that never happens here.

I don’t know how often I’ll pull this off the shelf to revisit this beautifully written piece of horror, but I do know that when I do, I’ll embrace the experience and happily lose myself in the ebbs and flows of the prose as I once again walk the halls of that house.

Binge Watch --- The Mentalist

 

The Mentalist was another one of those shows I stopped watching during my years-long TV hiatus. Honestly, I’m not even sure I would have finished the series had I not taken that break. By that point, I was already exhausted by the Red John storyline, which felt like it would never end. I don’t mind a long through line, but eventually it needs to end. And the way they finally wrapped it up felt so ridiculously contrived that I was ready to pack it in altogether.

What stopped me was Simon Baker. His portrayal of Patrick Jane was so damn compelling that I was loath to say goodbye. Walking away from the character for good just didn’t sit right with me, so I was determined to stick with it. And then one day, I simply stopped turning the TV on—unless it was to watch a movie, either something I owned or whatever was on TCM.

Which brings us to this recent binge rewatch, where I finally found out how it all ended. Part of me really enjoyed spending time again with Patrick and the rest of the CBI team—especially Cho. I had completely forgotten just how adorable he is, albeit in that wonderfully stoic way. Patrick was just as charming as ever, and how anyone can resist that little half-smile of his is beyond me. It’s honestly unfathomable that Simon Baker didn’t land another big, long-running show after this. Maybe I should start a petition to bring him back to our screens.

As for the cases themselves, when they didn’t involve Red John, I enjoyed them for the most part. When Red John did show up, I found myself even more annoyed this time around. Maybe that’s residual irritation from my first watch, but dear lord, that storyline did not need to be dragged out into the sixth season. It should have ended after the third—at the latest.

That said, while the Red John resolution mostly made sense to me, the later decision to shuffle half the main cast over to the FBI just didn’t work. It wasn’t what I wanted for these characters, and part of me wishes I’d stopped watching at that point. I still enjoyed my time with Patrick, Cho, and Lisbon, but the show never quite regained its sense of cohesion after that shift. And don’t even get me started on the forced romance—Booth and Bones, they are not.

All that said, I do want to give the writers their due. The mythology of the show—including Red John—was carefully constructed, and they introduced recurring characters years in advance, laying groundwork that paid off much later. That takes real skill. Even when I didn’t enjoy the direction of certain storylines, they rarely missed a beat or flubbed a connection. The casting of those characters was also spot-on: Malcolm McDowell, Morena Baccarin, Pedro Pascal, Leslie Hope, and Reed Diamond amongst them—not a single wasted actor in the bunch.

While I’m glad I spent 151 episodes with Patrick Jane and finally saw how his story wrapped up, this isn’t a show I feel the need to revisit. I love so much of it, but the elements that frustrate me really frustrate me—and I don’t think I’m willing to put myself through that again.