By Kayleigh Donaldson | Books | December 31, 2024 |
It’s the final books post of the year! Shout out to everyone who pulled off their reading resolutions for 2024 (100 books read and logged, baby!) Before we welcome in 2025, let’s have one more chat about our never-ending TBR piles.
Under Loch and Key by Lana Ferguson
This book is about a woman who f*cks the Loch Ness Monster.
Okay, to be specific, this book is about a woman who f*cks a guy who is cursed to turn into the Loch Ness Monster every night when the sun sets. No, she doesn’t actually do the horizontal monster mash with Nessie but there is a scene where they’re doing it and ahem, bits of his anatomy start to shift in ways that the heroine greatly enjoys. They should put that on the tourist signs around Inverness.
In Under Loch and Key, Keyanna MacKay is an American woman who goes to Scotland to scatter her Scottish father’s ashes and maybe reunite with the family from whom he was estranged. As if things weren’t stressful enough, there’s also a hot guy named Lachlan Greer with his own secrets who can’t help but infuriate and enrapture her. Spoiler, he’s Nessie.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: Kayleigh, isn’t Nessie a girl? How dare they erase yet another strong woman from history. Don’t worry, they make a joke about that and it’s pretty good. Honestly? This whole book was actually pretty charming. I have a very low tolerance for both cringe and Americans badly writing Scottish stuff, but Ferguson is a fun writer who had real emotional stakes at play here alongside the self-aware silliness of a rom-com monster erotica (don’t let the cutesy cartoon cover fool you, this book f*cks.)
Ferguson also mercifully avoids a lot of the pitfalls that pop up a tad too often in romance, especially the stuff that TikTok loves. She doesn’t drag out the troubled relationship between Key and her newly discovered grandmother for the entire book. The use of Scottish slang is accurate and there aren’t too many “och aye bonny lass” utterances. The big scary curse has a neat resolution that reminded me a lot of one of the all-time great Scottish romances, I Know Where I’m Going! Look, this is still a book where a woman f*cks a Nessie guy whose d*ck does some weird stuff. This one is for the monster lovers, proudly. But it’s also not a half-assed effort. Ferguson put in the work and gave us a fully formed, cohesive, and emotionally sturdy rom-com that won me over. But Nessie’s still a girl in real life, of course.
Helltown: The Untold Story of Serial Murder on Cape Cod by Casey Sherman
In 1969, the Manson family murders became worldwide news, marking the end of the flower power optimism of the decade and demonizing hippies for generations to come. Before those events, Tony Costa was terrorizing Cape Cod, ingratiating himself within the youth scene of Provincetown and preying on smitten young women. His crimes and ensuing trial led to the creation of the myth of the Cape Cod vampire and inspired at least two literary giants of the era.
I’ve become increasingly picky about the true crime I consume thanks to the genre becoming, to put it professionally, a cesspit of exploitation and leering gruesomeness under the guise of modern cultural legitimacy. I still think the genre, at its best, can delve into the deepest recesses not only of humanity but of a broken justice system that puts victims second. Helltown had aspirations at painting a fully layered portrait of how a crime impacts a community but fell short in a few ways.
It didn’t surprise me to hear that this book has been optioned for an adaptation, nor was I surprised to see the author refer to Tarantino films as one of his inspirations. This book 100% reads like something that was initially imagined for film or TV (or, at the very least, written in a way that would make it easy to pitch for such projects.) Its vocabulary and pacing are those of a thriller, with lots of shifting perspectives. This includes hearing from Tony Costa’s inner monologue, a demonic figure who he often seems at odds with when it comes to brutally slaughtering women. True crime writers often take liberties with such things, creating dialogue or filling in moments where there rare gaps in the available records. It’s always an ethical conundrum and here it’s particularly icky since so much of it seems to have been done for artistic flair.
We don’t get enough time with the victims either. The author seems more interested in both Kurt Vonnegut and Norman Mailer, two writers who resided in Provincetown and were inspired in different ways by reporting of the case. It makes for an interesting quirk in the story, that two icons of American fiction were both fascinated by the Costa trial, but why does it take up more page space than the victims and the fallout from the trial? I did not need to hear so much of Costa’s murderous imaginary alter ego when the book was already overflowing with unnecessary details.
Corpses, Fools and Monsters: The History and Future of Transness in Cinema by Willow Maclay and Caden Gardner
Trans images in cinema are almost as old as cinema itself, although it has taken a long time for trans filmmakers and trans-centred stories to be given their space beyond the margins. We’re long overdue a critical analysis of transness in the medium so blessed be to Maclay and Gardner for getting the job done, and doing it so excellently.
Corpses, Fools and Monsters delves into over a hundred years of images, exploring the cultural and political context and impact of how a highly marginalized group has been shown to the world, often by those with cruel intentions. A lot of the big films are here, like The Silence of the Lambs and Psycho, plus trans-forward readings of filmmakers like David Cronenberg whose body horrors have always resonated with trans audience. While the discussions are fascinating, it was especially intriguing to read about films I’d never heard of. The book also delves into a wide range of topics related to trans images in cinema, from the issue of cis actors playing trans roles to what counts as ‘good’ representation to the continuing lack of trans masculine stories front and centre. It’s a nourishing read, one that should proudly sit on any film lover’s shelf alongside The Celluloid Closet.