This is the first of what I’m going to call a “crazy review” in which I review a book, movie or television show I’ve recently watched. You won’t find too much “real, objective review worthy insight” but rather my personal experience with the media I just experienced. Maybe there’ll be some character and plot analysis, but honestly, that kind of stuff is what my college papers are for. So, read on at your own risk of selfishly indulgent musings.
Sharp Objects is Gillian Flynn’s debut novel. From my personal understanding, she is best known for her latest novel, Gone Girl, which naturally has a movie in the works. And I, being the sucker I am for “Must Reads” lists in pop culture magazines, wanted to get my hands on Gone Girl. One day, while loitering in Target as I am apt to do, I meandered over to their tiny little book section. There lay plenty of shiny new hard-back copies of the book I desired, but at $20+ I couldn’t bear to spend my own money on it (after all, my mom still buys my ‘for fun’ books). Next to this book however, was Sharp Objects, a nice little paperback by the same author for half the price. Add the fact that there was a razor blade on the cover and I was sold. Of course, this was a few months ago and the book has been sitting on my shelf ever since my mom glared at the razor blade cover (it’s because I liked to use razor blades in a bad way when I was a teenager and she has harbored a special kind of disdain for them ever since).
So today, for some unknown reason I decided to pack the book in my bag along with my swimsuit and sunscreen for the trip to my aunt’s pool. By midday I had hopped into the pool and plopped myself on one of those inner-tubes with my book. It was a battle of interest in book and interest in closed eye tanning. Closed eye tanning kept winning. It took me a while to get into the book, to understand the main character and narrator, Camille Preaker. It wasn’t until she tells the audience that she is a sort of obsessive cutter of words that my interest is really piqued. I’m sure there were people who were disgusted, confused, repulsed by this. I just happened to love it, in my own sick way of loving a character flaw such as this. While my scars aren’t words, they are still scars. And I have this little neurotic tick where I see or read or hear a word and have to keep spelling it out silently with a finger or even a toe, until another word catches my fancy. This is a main character I get! Although, of course there’s also the fact that she (and everyone else) describes her as breathtakingly beautiful, and that is something I can not relate to. (Ha, ha.)
And of course, there’s the should-be-simple-but-god-damn-what-the-fuck-is-happening plot that suddenly took hold of me right as everyone else decided to infiltrate my solitude in the pool. Reporter goes to her hometown to investigate some murders for her second rate paper as a sort of favor to her really nice boss. Hometown is some crazy place in not the south technically the midwest but fuck that its the south area where people are bat shit but have nothing on her psycho ass mother. Psycho ass mother also happened to birth an even crazier youngest daughter who is also “so damn beautiful and sexy for just a little baby thirteen year old”. And of course, the whodunit!?, who killed these two little girls and strangled them and pulled out all their teeth. (The answer is NOT a woman because women don’t commit such heinous crimes as these. Not lying at ALL.)
But what really pulled me along, was the characters. Camille, her mother Adora and the youngest sister, Amma. They were such interesting, crazy, unrelenting characters that even if not fully formed as a person, took hold of me and beat the shit out of my psyche. Their secrets and personalities and mental issues drained the living hell out of me but I couldn’t stop reading. After a 6 hour break because it’s rude to read while your family is trying to interact with you, I was finally able to pick up the book again sometime around 10 or so. I mostly wanted to sleep but I couldn’t sleep not knowing what happened. I kept reading and the farther I got and the more I KNEW who did it I want to stop reading and sleep because it was all so exhausting for my brain. But I just couldn’t stop because sleep suddenly seemed terrifying. And when I finished the book (and was like WHAT? WAS THAT A TWIST? OR DID I SEE THAT COMING THE WHOLE TIME?) I knew I couldn’t go to sleep. I was straight up freaking out.
Don’t get me wrong, I love horror. I love horror movies and horror stories. Gory, bloody, violent, suspenseful, cheap scares, psychological scares, what have you, I love it all. Nothing has ever really gotten to me so bad that I wasn’t able to sleep. (Except maybe one episode of CSI I watched when I was little that has forever made me more than weary of attics). But this book, I just can’t think of going to sleep. I thought about trying to sleep with the light on, but that doesn’t seem like enough. I thought about sneaking into my mom’s room and laying next to her, but to be honest I’m a little scared of moms right now after that read. I’m a little scared for myself too. Reading 200 pages of a character who often talks about cutting herself and describing how it all really feels was hard on me. When she felt her skin itching I swear I could feel mine itching for that little sting and that red release of blood. It’s all in my head though. But that is what Sharp Objects does, it burrows into your mind. Not so much the actual “plot” per se, but the characters. In the end I didn’t care about the big ole murder mystery and who killed these two little girls. I cared about Camille and Amma and Adora. Maybe that was the point after all.
In the meantime, I’m going to watch some nice cartoons and try to purge my brain of these feelings and this book while trying to erase my sudden need to read Gone Girl as soon as possible.
Goodnight, Dear Void 