reading rachel harrison (a book binge) pt. 1

Not very often, but sometimes, I start reading a new author and just fall in love with their books. Sometimes it's the tone or the humor, sometimes it's beautiful writing or endearing characters, sometimes it's wildly inventive plots or the ability to surprise me with twists. But when it happens more than once, I start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I've found a new favourite author.

So for spooky season 2024 I'm chronologically reading Rachel Harrison's catalog and bringing you along for the journey! These posts will be a little more literary analysis than straight up review as I'm exploring the themes in her work.

Today I've got the first two books to share with you!

The Return (2020)

by Rachel Harrison

This unofficial binge is starting off with Rachel Harrison’s debut and working my way chronologically through her catalog. We begin with Elise and her friend group dealing with the loss of Julie who then mysteriously turns up two years later. Some things about Julie just aren’t adding up: from her convenient memory loss of her time away, to the way she suddenly not only eats meat but eats it quite raw. Sus.

Navigating female friendships can be tricky, and I really like the way that Harrison approached this group. The POV character not only has anxiety, but is also in a lower socioeconomic class than her friends. Through her perspective, we’re able to explore her insecurities like always showing up early so she never misses out, wanting to be invited along to know she’s part of the group (even if she doesn’t actually like sushi and that’s where they’re going). Elise radiates a relatable nervousness of being left behind or forgotten or having her friends suddenly realize she doesn’t belong there at all that leaves her feeling vulnerable and honest to the reader. 

Likewise, with Julie’s first disappearance the group went out of whack. The forged bonds and group dynamics, the balance of who’s closest with whom… everything’s thrown into disarray in her absence. But then it’s only further exacerbated when she comes back different. Despite their closeness and how long this group have been friends with each other, there are a number of topics that they’ve buried. We don’t talk about that. It’s uncomfortable and repressed and shouldn’t be acknowledged. There’s a dichotomy between these people growing together their whole lives and knowing each other’s deepest, darkest secrets, but still masking for one another and avoiding treading on well-worn sore topics and arguments. The hurts that they hold close but don’t allow themselves to voice aloud.

As they’re challenged to evaluate their friendship in new ways, they start to question if their relationships had always been a projection, a story that they tell themselves. Are you truly as in sync as you think, or does your bias cause you to see your own reflection in them? How well do you really know each other and in the end does it even matter? They’re a part of you and you’re a part of them.

I think that the dynamics of friendship are really tricky and a lot of us have very complicated feelings of insecurity and inadequacy that can come across as needy, clingy, or even self-sabotaging. Our society does a poor job of discussing relationships and feelings outside of romantic partners, and I think that tapping into that complicated swirl of emotion makes for a very compelling and relatable horror.

Cackle (2021)

by Rachel Harrison

Harrison’s sophomore book starts to inject a little more of the characteristic wry humor and sarcasm that first drew me in when I read Black Sheep. Perhaps it was because of the needy and insecure POV character in her debut, or maybe it just took a second to find her footing, but this feels much closer to her recent style.

“I brush my teeth and take three Advils instead of the recommended dose of two, because I’m hard like that.”

Annie has just turned 30 and is feeling lost in life. Her long term relationship of several years has just ended and she’s been with him so long that she no longer remembers who she was without him. Likewise, her dreams and future had been built on the foundation of expecting him to be there with her, and now she needs to pivot and find something else to do with her life.

“You never realize how special it is to share a random inside joke until something funny happens and you have no one to tell. Then you realize how much of your life fades away without a witness.”

The theme of feeling lonely and inadequate -especially without the presence of a male romantic partner to center you and build your life around- is similar here as it was in her debut. Rachel Harrison’s main characters have a tendency to be single and also incredibly insecure about that fact. As Annie speaks of herself: “I don’t want to be this sad, single thirtysomething.” But unlike in The Return, the heroine here isn’t surrounded by a group of happily paired off friends– quite the opposite, actually! Annie starts to form a bond with Sophie who is not only single but relishes in her independence. And she challenges Annie to determine how much her desire to be in a relationship with another person is about being with that person, and how much is simply about validation.

“I can’t let my weird paranoid bullshit ruin this potential friendship. I won’t…I keep thinking, 'what if I can’t do this? What if I can’t be alone?’”

Throughout the novel, Annie remarks on the beauty of Sophie– how she’s curious about her age, envious of her skin, wants to befriend her enough to learn her skincare routine, stunned by how glamorous she is, and thinks that others are struck in awe of her appearance and presence. But similarly people seem to be… wary. They don’t make eye contact; they scurry back and forth to appease her. Is it small town hospitality or something more insidious like fear? And, um, what’s with all these spiders? 👀👀👀

Regardless of the generation or context, there’s always a sort of inherent feminism built into stories about witches. They are the women on the fringes of society; they are the women who can not only fend for themselves but challenge any opposition; they are the women who defy social norms and expectations; they are the women who don’t need a man. 

“I’m not brave enough to be who I am.”

Even in the year of our lord 2014, after getting married I received mail addressed to “Mr & Mrs [Husband’s Name]”-- this is especially egregious considering I did not elect to change my surname to mirror his.

“It’s astonishing what you’ll accept when you want love. When you need it. You’ll welcome it in any form, from anyone, anything, regardless of circumstance, however peculiar. However fantastical.“

There’s a huge pressure in our society for women to assume their husband’s identity: to like his likes, to cater to his schedule, to serve as his emotional regulation and housekeeper and secretary and therapist. And it’s significant that this starts from an early age. It’s not that AFAB individuals are suddenly expected to make all these sacrifices overnight when they marry, but we are groomed to assume a certain trajectory for our lives in which we orbit around his sun. Annie makes frequent references to how she hasn’t spent a Valentine’s alone since she was 13 or the way she buried her own interests throughout her relationships to favor her partner’s instead. Even when it comes to writing the story of their relationship, he completely overshadows her recollection of events with his own.

“I know what it is not to know your place.”

So this story isn’t just about breaking free of one man, or the baggage of one relationship, but overcoming the lifelong training to become subservient– a secondary character in your own life. There’s an importance in female friendships and supporting each other fiercely, sure, but what tops everything is self-actualization.

“I don’t smile when I don’t feel like smiling. I don’t pretend. I’m entirely honest about who I am. Is that my great offense? Or maybe it’s that I live alone in the woods. And what’s more damning: that I live in the seclusion of the trees or that I live alone? Or that I’m happy about it all? That I’ve made these choices, that I have these gifts, and I embrace them? I’m not ashamed of who I am. Of what I am. What is it about a woman in full control of herself that is so utterly frightening?”

And I have to admit that that’s honestly a refreshing take. A lot of feminist and witchy stories focus on overt abuse that is sinister and obvious and unquestionable. But rarely do they tackle the invisible hands that seek to guide us into the path of least resistance. The path that coincides with policy and capitalism and the images we project of ourselves as a society. The call is coming from inside the house, and it’s Annie’s own perception and interaction with the world around her that needs to be reshaped.

“It’s hard to make new friends, especially as you get older.

“I need her.”

There’s a push and pull on Annie’s journey there. It can be scary, after all, to expose those unsanded edges of herself and stop equivocating the way she’s always been told to. But there’s also a power and freedom in asserting her needs and her worth… and maybe serving a little comeuppance on the side as well.

The main strength that I see starting to emerge in Harrison’s sophomore novel is a stronger sense of voice. While Annie can be a little one note in her thoughts and her plots, she’s at least funny. Her observations of the world around her aren’t merely descriptive, but contain her own running commentary (usually cynical or self-deprecating or just dorky). This could be a good thing if you enjoy the voice, but will probably leave the novel feeling hollow and plodding if it’s not the type of commentary you enjoy.

And Ralph! My beloved best boy with joy too large for his tiny body and his little felt hats.

For weaknesses I think that the social commentary and themes could run much deeper and more nuanced. While I appreciate that it feels like a different focus than most other witchy novels I’ve read, I still don’t think it digs deep enough into the material.

And the horror is a big miss for me personally. Because this is so frequently shelved as Horror, and especially with the UK cover looking like it does… I expected a lot more horror than there really is here. It’s a tricky book to categorize, so I can understand why decisions were made the way that they were. But when I read a horror novel, I hope for a much stronger sense of foreboding and tension throughout, or at the very least for some fairly memorable horrific scenes. Instead this book is more like walking down a street in autumn in your knitwear, a crisp breeze blowing and crunchy leaves underfoot, and then occasionally (like 3% of the time)  someone switches the filter to photo negative for a minute before going back to the vibes.