Book Review: The Radleys by Matt Haig

Families. Sometimes they're a bloody nightmare...

Vampires have enjoyed something of a revival in recent years.  Teens have swooned over young adult fare such as Twilight and The Vampire Diaries, while more adult stories have played out in Southern soap True Blood and kitchen sink comedy drama Being Human.  Matt Haig's interpretation of the vampire myth has most in common with Being Human, introducing us to a typically English suburban family who are struggling to suppress their darker instincts.

Peter and Helen Radley are a middle class couple with a wild past that they never discuss.  Their children, Rowan and Clara, are outcasts at school because they are different; they are incredibly sensitive to sunlight, can barely stay awake during the day, and have all kinds of strange cravings and allergies.  Rowan and Clara feel like freaks, clueless as they are to their true heritage.  But that changes one night, when Clara is attacked on her way home from a party.  Self-defense soon becomes dinner.

Terrified that their quiet village life could be turned upside down, Peter contacts his brother Will, also a vampire, to help them clean up the mess.  And it is when this devil of a man steps foot in Bishopthorpe that things really begin to fall apart.

The Radleys succeeds as a novel because the focus is never on the characters as supernatural creatures.  For the first chunk of the book, the two teenagers are unaware they are vampires at all, they are simply angsty teenagers, and the author treats them as such.  Similarly, Peter and Helen are presented to the reader as parents struggling to raise their kids right even as they hurtle towards their own marital and mid-life crises.

Matt Haig's humour permeates the story.  There are plenty of vampire in-jokes, such as the scene where a potential victim jokingly refers to Will as "Dracula", to which he replies, "I prefer Count Orlok."  There's a hint of satire in proceedings too: Helen entertains the idea that she is not the only vampire housewife in Bishopthorpe; surely there must be other women in her book club who have given up a life of bloodlust and depravity in order to conform?  As her son Rowan later points out, not only are they vampires, but they are also British: "repression is in our veins".

There are times when The Radleys doesn't work, although these are few.  The co-existence of a secret vampire subculture and a clandestine agency dedicated to tracking bloodsuckers could have been explored more fully, as could the history of some of the more fascinating side-characters such as vampire Isobel and policewoman Alison.  These small faults, though, are more than made up for by the larger than life, wicked Will Radley, who dominates the page the moment he is introduced.  He'll tear your throat out without a second thought, but for a moment you might just want him to.

Can sex work as a plot device?

I have watched two very interesting films about sex recently.  They weren't particularly titillating, but that wasn't their purpose.  What made them so enjoyable was the way they actually used sex to tell a story.

 

Sex and Death 101 is a black comedy starring the delicious Simon Baker as Roderick, the enviably successful businessman with a beautiful fiance.  To put it bluntly, he has it all.  And, as is the trope in modern comedies, if the story begins with the main character having the perfect life, then said life will soon be turned upside down.

 

Warning: Spoilers Ahead

 

On the eve of his wedding, Roderick receives an anonymous email containing a list of every woman he has ever slept with.  The last name on the list that he recognises is that of his current fiance.  But strangely, the list continues, comprising a total of 101 names.  A series of comedic and fateful accidents lead Roderick to believe he is predestined to sleep with every name on the list.  At the same time, a serial killer by the name of Death Nell is working her way through the sexist, misogynistic population.

 

As Roderick's journey unfolds, he learns a few precious lessons about the difference between having sex and making love, and as he draws inevitably closer to name number 101 on his list, he begins to fear that once he has bedded this last woman, his life will end.  The sublimely ridiculous commentary from Alpha, Beta and Frank, the so-called Fates of this story, act as shamelessly obvious exposition.  And yet the narrative is not ruined.

 

Now I'm not saying this film is a deep look at gender roles or the nature of free will.  But it struck me as a wonderful concept, that one's love life could be mapped out and tracked in such a way.  Similarly engaging was the backstory of the femme fatale Death Nell, whose own experiences with the opposite sex led her to become a predator.

 

Easy A has a slightly more conventional plot.  Olive Pendergast, a witty and attractive teenager, tells a small lie about losing her virginity.  Almost immediately, rumours about her are spreading like wildfire and she is branded a harlot by her high school's Christian youth group.  Embracing her newfound reputation, Olive takes her cue from Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter and sews a red 'A' onto each item in her new, revealing wardrobe.

 

A surprising business opportunity arises, as the local geeks come to Olive and offer to pay her in exchange for a claim that they had sex, making them seem less like losers and further propelling her into the slutty stratosphere.

 

Throughout the entire tale, Olive in fact remains a virgin, and it is only when the consequences of having such a loose reputation come back to bite her on the behind that she decides enough is enough.  But convincing everyone that the town bike is, in fact, still pure, is nigh-on impossible.

 

While part of me found it hard to believe that the idea of a seventeen year old having sexual relations would cause such a scandal, Easy A was still a hugely enjoyable film.  Emma Stone is pitch-perfect as the sardonic, invisible student who jumps at the chance for notoriety, and I fell in love with her far-too-modern parents and their recollections of an adventurous, misspent youth.

 

I've been struggling recently with Eli, one of the lead characters in my paranormal novel Little Death.  He is the offspring of a human mother and a father with unknown origins, and ever since adolescence he has been possessed with a sexual appetite that leads him to believe he is an incubus.

 

In the original draft of this story, the incubus fed through physical contact, namely intercourse.  My problem with this was, how do I tell his story without making him seem unsympathetic?  He wants to remain faithful to his lover, but can't satisfy his cravings at home without causing harm.  So he casts a wider net, all the while hating himself for doing so.

 

This didn't satisfy me.  So I researched the incubus myth a little more thoroughly, and realised that they are more commonly linked with erotic dreams.  There was my solution; something that, I felt, elevated Eli above a ravenous imp with a taste for the pleasures of the flesh.  It also opened a million doors for my story - if the monster of your story resides in the world of the subconscious, doesn't that make anything possible?

 

This new approach enabled me to write Little Death as a Gothic tale with erotic elements, as opposed to a piece of erotica with endless scenes of the incubus feeding.  This theme was far too similar in my mind to the latter half of Laurell K Hamilton's Anita Blake series, in which the previously celibate heroine is consumed with otherworldly passions that must be sated at any given opportunity. 

 

The films discussed above provided an alternative, light-hearted insight into how such a salacious subject can be broached, and I praise their imagination and humour.

"Little Death" Writing Playlist

Two years ago, as a belated Christmas gift to my best friend and housemate Adele, I wrote a novella entitled Sex and the Cemetery.  It was written specifically with her tastes in mind, and fell somewhere between Bram Stoker and Bridget Jones.  Recently, out of morbid curiosity, I dusted off a copy and read it again.

It was truly, undeniably awful.  The central theme, that of doomed romance between a vampire and a human, was hardly original.

But something in me remembered how much I enjoyed writing it.  So I've taken it upon myself to re-vamp (if you'll pardon the pun) the entire story, under the new working title "Little Death".  This has involved completely jettisoning a werewolf plot line because it was boring to write, and therefore probably boring to read.  The vampire love story has been almost entirely eradicated, leaving space for another character to take centre stage.

I could never really get under the skin of a four-hundred year old female vampire, quite understandably.  So I have opted for a younger, male voice to tell the story.  Eli.  An artist with a real thirst for life and other, less conventional appetites.  The folklore of the incubus, a seductive dream demon, is now central to the plot.

And with this in mind, I've composed a writing playlist.  I can never read while listening to music, as it screws with my concentration, but when writing I find the right song can help me connect with a character.

When I sat down to write my first chapter, the following tunes helped me bring Eli to life and set the tone for this Gothic tale.

"Cosmic Love" - Florence and the Machine
"Hurricane" - 30 Seconds To Mars
"Invisible Light" - Scissor Sisters
"XXXO" - M.I.A.
"Better Than Love" - Hurts
"Heart Skipped A Beat" - The xx
"Majesty" - Warpaint
"Guilty" - Marina and the Diamonds
"Lovegame" - Lady Gaga (Robots to Mars Remix)
"Under The Sheets" - Ellie Goulding
"Rolling In The Deep" - Adele
"Alejandro" - Lady Gaga (Sound of Arrows Remix)
"Howl" - Florence and the Machine

What do you guys listen to while writing?  Or do you prefer a cloistered, monastic silence?

I should probably get back to actually writing the book, so I'll be off now.  Just felt like sharing.

P. x