The JAM: Yahtzee Croshaw’s Humor/Horror Adventure

“No really, I actually think you’ll like this.”

I gave my friend the brow, which is the raised left eyebrow I traditionally extend to invoke my incredulousity on any manner of subjects, but mostly harmless “recommendations” (though, over the years I’ve come to call them “insistences”).

“This is the book by that internet guy you’re always watching who does the sarcastic and mean yellow and black stick-man reviews, right?” I posed in the tone.

“Yeah, but I really do think you’ll like it.” His emphasis on the word really really exposing his doubts rather than alleviating them.

But what the heck, I’ll read anything. So I read Jam by a guy named Yahtzee Croshaw. And you know what? I didn’t hate it.

With a cover that’s a throwback to the 80’s science-fiction paperbacks of yore, Jam starts straightforwardly, not wasting time with unnecessary character build-ups or scenic strolls. Right off the bat, the event happens—BANG! Our protagonist, Travis (no last name), wakes up to go to work and discovers that his city has been overrun with flesh-eating strawberry jam (or, something that very much resembles strawberry jam) by watching his roommate Frank slide down a banister to only be promptly slurped. From this point on, the slightly dim but rather good-hearted Travis and a gang of mishmashed survivors struggle to make it in the ever hungry, ever sticky, ever fruity smelling dystopia.

“It was a pleasant, cloudless Brisbane day. The sun beamed cheerfully across the balconies of the vacant flats opposite. I slid the balcony doors aside, and felt the warm breeze play gently on my face. What a lovely day. By now Frank, Frank who was dead, would have reached the gym, probably flirting with the receptionist on his way to the locker room. If he hadn’t been dead, that is.

I kept my gaze focused on the clear blue sky and stepped forward until I could clench my hands around the railing. I took a deep breath. Then I looked down.

The jam had filled the courtyard and foyer and pushed the water out of the swimming pool. Where it touched walls, little tendrils snaked their way upwards like searching fingers. There was an overpowering stench of strawberries.

From my vantage point I could see into some of the ground-floor apartments. All of them were half-filled with jam, the top halves of TVs and stereos poking up like electronic islets. The occupants were nowhere to be seen.”

With a very thick, bulging vein of modern humor coursing throughout the bulk of the book, it isn’t clear whether Croshaw is punching up or down; really, he seems to have just clipped a clothespin over his nose and jumped in. A story of adventure, Jam has gone the horror/whimsical route, taking the morally confusing path of a lot of contemporary adult cartoons which usually end with creators shrugging their shoulders and balking, “It’s not real, so what does it matter? Just laugh it off, folks.” Croshaw does a little better, never taking up the reader’s time to explain his intentions or lack thereof: there’s jam and it loves the taste of organic meaty bits and its everywhere—oh what are our band of woefully unprepared misfits going to doooooo!

Without shame, I will say I’m a tad of a hardsell when it comes to the slapstick, modish comedy of our times; however, I genuinely found a lot of Croshaw’s Jam funny and even found myself laughing out loud during some of the outrageous situations Croshaw throws his characters into. Ultimately, Jam seems to be a novel about regular people, and the swathe-nature of the modern day zeitgeist: when the worst comes to pass, and the layers of the age are concentrated to their purest elements by way of disaster, what will the archetypal materials of our collective be? Croshaw presents a world hellbent on detachment and irony, emotionally stunted by the ratrace, and trapped inside the restrictive bonds of the 40+ hour workweek. He does all this with a big, jovial laugh track, meanwhile people die and behave selfishly, cower and follow obediently, and sometimes, occasionally, something brave and truly meaningful breaks free. Though not nihilistic, there is a smack of irritation from Croshaw. (Whether he is aware of it, this reviewer can’t say.)

Cute image of author Yahtzee Croshaw being very suspicious of jar of strawberry jam. Stolen from his YouTube channel – let’s hope he doesn’t mind.

The novel breaks down the event (being the Jam Apocalypse) into 9.2 days, which is fairly rare for a sci-fi, taking a narrative path more commonly chosen by mystery and thriller writers. This works well, considering the intensity of the scape Croshaw has chosen, and throughout the days and nights our characters gain and lose, gain and lose, cope with their present situation by way of camcorders, work projects, hope of a New World Order, and (my particular favorite) a parental attachment to a Goliath Birdeater spider named Mary, all the while waddling around in the jam via plastic garbage bags (it is discovered that the jam, for whatever reason, prefers organic carbon-based snacks and does not consume plastic, therefore much of Brisbane is conveniently spared) and navigating a sailboat from cursory colony to cursory colony, everyone having gone loony from the surprise of flesh-gobbling jam showing up. Some individuals seem to go mad with power (or, mad with potential power) and others grip their fingers around the idea that none of this is permanent or really even happening, spending all their cognitive energies avoiding the very real sticky hungry blob outside. Where the jam-blob came from, no one seems to know, but a few set out to find the inception point, and a couple have secrets that they’re refusing to share.

The book tumbles into a bit of a of Schusterfleck, with the same notes being played over and over again higher and higher until at last the crescendo pops. Ending abruptly, and on a rather bittersweet chord, Croshaw closes up shop. It’s a good enough conclusion, a satisfying enough wrap, and I have no qualms with it. All and all, Yahtzee Croshaw’s book surprised me. Though this reader prefers the lacy, filigreed writing of the late 19th, early 20th centuries, Croshaw’s direct modern style operated perfectly for his humorous, strawberry-preserved tale, mapping the places and plots expertly and rendering fine characters, one-dimensional as they were.

Without further ado, Jam delivers. It’s fun, fast-paced, and is a refreshing turn away from much that currently sits on the science-fiction/fantasy shelf. So go give it a try. This YouTube reviewer has punched out a good book, and this long time reader sends her regards: I liked it!

3 and ½ stars for Yahtzee Croshaw’s Jam. And, I think—maybe—I’ll be more open to my friend’s recommendations from here on.

Now, let’s all go watch The Blob.

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The featured image is of the 1958 indie classic film The Blob, directed by Irvin Yeaworth and starring 1960’s bad-boy heartthrob Steve McQueen. According to Wikipedia, “The storyline concerns a growing, corrosive, alien amoeboidal entity that crashes to Earth from outer space inside a meteorite. It devours and dissolves citizens in the small communities of Phoenixville and Downingtown, PA, growing larger, redder, and more aggressive each time it does so, eventually becoming larger than a building.” – As always, thank you. 

Wildwood Dancing: A Romanian Fairy Tale

In a castle, deep in the Romanian wilderness, five sisters have a secret.

From eldest to youngest, sisters Tatiana, Jenica, Paula, Iulia, and little Stela, by way of a hidden door in their bedchamber, depart to another world each and every full moon.

Beautiful Cover Art by Kinuko Y. Craft – Thank you.

Dressed in their best, the young’uns go dancing. But not with boys—oh no. Oh no not with fellow young boys. These girls go out partying with dwarves and trolls, with fairies and beasts and other magical forest folk. Free-spirited Iulia spins and spins until her face gets red; elegant and beautiful Tatiana sways serenely, her cascade of black hair tilting on her head; bubbly Stela jumps and jigs with her tiny woodland friends; Paula does not dance, but discusses her studies—at a table with robed academics while the music plays—enthusiastically expounding her writings and theories.

And then there’s Jena. Sensible Jena. Responsible, plain-looking, opinionated Jena.

With her best friend Gogu (who so happens to be a frog) she observes more than she dances, watches over more than she joins. Are her sisters safe? Is there trouble nearby? Jena understands the Other Kingdom can be a dangerous place, so she keeps her wits about her, keeps track of the time, keeps tabs on all her siblings and makes certain that everything goes smoothly and that everything is fine.

The girls pay their respects to Ileana, the fairy queen of the wildwood, and then set off again across the Bright Between. On five boats uniquely shaped—swan, wyvern, phoenix, wood duck, and salamander—they return to their bedchamber in the early morning, sleepy eyed and full of new daydreams. Their secret secure, their secret still secret.

But secrets have an animation about them. Like young girls, no matter how hard we try to keep them out of harm’s way and keep them locked up, secrets have a way of sneaking off. In a series of unexpected events, the sisters’ lives change. The wildwood holds secrets all its own, and seeds planted long, long ago start to take root. Jena tries with all her might to maintain the order, to keep the two worlds divided and to keep her sisters safe; but the forest has other plans, and the magic around her and within her is set to fly—no matter what she has to say about it.

The long room we sisters shared had four round windows of colored glass: soft violet, blood-red, midnight-blue, beech-green. Beyond them the full moon was sailing up into the night sky. I put Gogu on a shelf to watch as I took off my working dress and put on my dancing gown, a green one that my frog was particularly fond of. Paula was calmly lighting our small lanterns, to be ready for the journey. […]

“Come on,” Iulia urged. “My feet are itching for dance.”

The first time we had done this, in our earliest days at Piscul Dracului—when I was only six, and Stela was not yet born—Tati and I had been amusing the younger ones by making shadow creatures on the wall: rabbits, dogs, bats. At a moment when all our hands had been raised at once to throw a particular image on the stones, we had found our forest’s hidden world. Whether it had been a chance or gift, we had never been sure.

An excellent YA fairy tale, Wildwood Dancing starts the party early and doesn’t let up. Juliet Marillier (who, according to her bio, sounds just as magical as the books she pens) is skilled in her abilities, deftly weaving enchantment and mystery and bringing to life well-wrought characters and magical scenes. Taking the very popular folk tale of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses” Marillier leaves behind its traditional German roots and takes it for a spin out in Romania. A bit of a Rubik’s Cube, the book kicks off right away and doesn’t take unnecessary amounts of pages getting to all the juice: tall, dark, and handsome strangers, danger and intrigue, mythical beings, adventure, wild and sudden emotions, and of course, lots and lots of dancing.

With a handy-dandy glossary in the back and a guide to help with difficult pronunciations, the book feels hale and hearty, and a reader can quickly fall into another world.

Fairy tales are popular in YA right now. Ever since women started getting their hands on them, there’s been an eagerness to flip the script. And why wouldn’t there be? No longer willing to be passive victims in their own stories, women insist on a different kind of tale, a tale that involves autonomy, action, and liberation, the inner narratives of young women and girls at last spilling free.

More Cover Art by the talented Kinuko Y. Craft – Thank you.

It’s not all good, of course. What reader hasn’t found herself rolling her eyes at overused tropes and ham-fisted scenarios where our heroine shouts, “NOT TODAY, BUCKO!” and kicks comically sexist Evil von Baron Le Pué to the curb while seizing a kiss from the equally preposterous non-sexiest Bad Boy Edward Hot Pants and then using her super powers to blast a sunbeam into the sky to exemplify her extraordinary abilities to overcome all things m-a-n while at the same time riding off into the sunset with one. It can get tiresome, all the mentally ill girls who are secretly psychic or have telekinetic powers, who are not the pretty ones because they are “too skinny” and/or have “wild hair” and are “clever”. It doesn’t fall on deaf ears that YA has problems. But it should also not fall on deaf ears that YA has a lot to offer, and has in fact offered it in abundance. Simply put, perhaps YA has garnered most of its bad reputation over the years on its slow cultural and societal formation into “a girl’s genera”.

So in summary, Wildwood Dancing might be a difficult book to get your son to read. The characters are overwhelmingly female (which can, sadly, be enough of a deterrent) and the tale itself feels traditionally feminine. But books, ultimately, do not have sex nor gender. Wildwood Dancing is a wonderfully told tale about truth, love, and the courage to believe in yourself. It is fun, exciting, and undoubtedly at times titillating (this red blooded woman will admit to some flushed cheeks) and there’s certainly enough fantasy to keep you interested. The sisters are all versatile, flawed, and contain their own desires and dreams. Juliet Marillier does an excellent job of bringing real life struggles to the fore, and just as gracefully guides readers through them, not shunting on painful conflicts and that sometimes human beings don’t get things right; however, with some planning—and some guts—Marillier reminds that we can fix what’s been wronged, and that stumbling is just a part of living.

Read Wildwood Dancing. Why not? Unless you can’t find it. Jump into your boat (your car), sail the Bright Between (your street), get yourself to the Other Kingdom (your local library), and remember, life is a dangerous wildwood.

But, there’s also dancing.

Four out of Five Stars for Juliet Marillier’s Wildwood Dancing.

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All images are sections of Kinuko Y. Craft’s truly spectacular cover art. Find more of her artwork at http://www.kycraft.com   

Seraphina and the Black Cloak

Girls are well-mannered, bright; when they enter they light up a room. They wear beautiful dresses, are clean, well groomed, and very much liked. They are treasured, the center of attention, talented and poised and lovely. Pretty. Polite.

But not Seraphina.

Seraphina is a wild thing. She lives in the dark. She’s strange, thin and wiry, dirty and disheveled, unkempt. She’s not very talented, or so she thinks, but she does have a job: Baltimore Estate’s C.R.C. at your service. As Chief Rat Catcher extraordinaire, Seraphina knows how to sniff out a vermin or two.

And there is a rat at Baltimore Estate.

A man, a wraith, in a magical black cloak is taking talented young girls, and Seraphina is determined to stop him.

But there’s a problem. Well, several problems, but two really stand out. Her Pa doesn’t believe her, for one. No one would seem to, for what adult would believe in an otherworldly specter kidnapping children by means of an enchanted cloak?

And the second is no one but her Pa knows Seraphina exists.

Seraphina’s life is a secret; she has spent all her days hidden from the light. While all the rich folk upstairs have parties and dance and laugh under the wealthy owners of Baltimore Estate’s roof, the esteemed Vanderbilts, Seraphina lives in the basement, coming out only at night. She snatches books from the library, watches from the shadows, lingers and darts between the corners and nooks of her small world. Raised solely by her Pa, Seraphina’s mother is an enigma, and her Pa never speaks of her. Indeed, the secret resident of Baltimore lives a rather lonely life, never having had a single friend, but when she meets Braeden Vanderbilt, the Vanderbilt’s nephew, all that changes. Seraphina has a lot of questions, and a lot to give, but her Pa has warned her, to never reveal herself, never let anyone know of her existence, and to never, ever, go into the deep forest alone.

Needless to say, there is a lot of mystery going on at Baltimore Estate.

“I don’t want to here any talk ’bout that,” he interrupted her, shaking his head. She could see in the tightness of his mouth how upset her questions made him. “You’re my little girl,” he said, “That’s what I believe.”

“But in the forest – ” she began

“No.” he cut her off, “I don’t want you to think about that. You live here. With me. This is your home. I’ve told ya before, and I’ll tell ya again, Sera: our world is filled with many mysteries, things we don’t understand. Never go into the deep parts of the forest, for there are many dangers there, both dark and bright, and they will ensnare your soul.”

As you have probably guessed, Seraphina breaks all the rules. Joining forces with Braeden, the two of them decide the adults aren’t on the right track, and will never believe in the dark magic that is clearly overtaking Baltimore, so the two young heroes take matters into their own hands, each using their own unique talents to help solve the mystery, and save the children who have been taken by the Man in the Black Cloak.

To go straight into it, this book is pretty darn marvelous. Great writing, a spooky mystery, and finely wrought characters. Seraphina is courageous, bold, daring, sharp-as-a-tack and keen, possessing instincts that would make Sherlock proud. Her and Braeden’s relationship is fast forming, but honest; there is a special affinity going on here. Braeden and Seraphina both grew up feeling different, and separated from the world. But together they make each other stronger, and confident in themselves. Braeden shows Seraphina that her strangeness is not bad, but good and special, and Seraphina reveals to Braeden that his unique talents are worthy, and a wonderful gift to be shared and relished in. I particularly liked Seraphina’s protectiveness of Braeden in this story; Braeden is clearly the more sensitive of the two, and Seraphina’s fierce loyalty and bravery really shined through in this guardian role.

There are actually two story arcs going on in this book: that of the mystery of the Man in the Black Cloak and the missing children, and Seraphina’s personal journey of self-discovery and the un-shadowing of her past. They meld well, the Man in the Black Cloak becoming a catalyst for Seraphina’s liberation, and her choices and acts of heroism lead Seraphina out of the dark and into the light.

Many of the descriptions and imagery are wonderfully eerie, befitting its frightening and somewhat macabre theme, and for a children’s book, it is splendidly thrilling, even scary! Robert Beatty does a fine job rending a dark and wild forest, a chilling cat and mouse game, and is quite good at knowing when to pull the thread tight and when to give slack. The action is fast paced; one minute you’re preparing to set down the book and fetch a snack, the next minute leaving the pages behind is unthinkable—for everything is suddenly happening now and oh my ah! It’s a page-turner, so you might possibly want to prepare yourself a night to be devoted to it. (I have self-control problems when it comes to reading though, so a couple days or, if you’re a Savor Reader, a week will probably do.)

I liked this book. I loved this book. I cared about Seraphina, and was internally (and sometimes externally) cheering her on, wanting her to succeed, wanting her to find her courage and her place in this world. Like so many of us growing up, Seraphina wants to be someone different, someone who fits in and is of that quintessential aura that the world often insists girls should be. But Seraphina is not that girl. And through her journey, she comes to realize that is her strength. She rises to the occasion, forges her own path, trusts in herself, and in the end comes out a heroine, mighty and powerful in her own special way.

There is much to enjoy in Seraphina and the Black Cloak. Pick it up. It would be a good Halloween read. Full of twists, turns, mystery, and friendship, courage, and redemption, what is not to love? Give it to your son or daughter, niece or nephew, or yourself! It’s 1899 at Baltimore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina, and something dangerous is afoot. Evil is lurking in the corridors of Baltimore… Children are disappearing, the darkness encroaching. All is seeming quite hopeless. But, there is a secret weapon you have, and she lives in the night.

And her name is Seraphina.

Five out of five stars.