Reviews

Crushing Snails by Emma E. Murray

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abbuelita's review against another edition

dark emotional sad medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? A mix
Strong character development? No
Loveable characters? No
Diverse cast of characters? No
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

4.25

This book is probably one of the darkest I’ve ever read; check content warnings before picking it up. A story of a monster and how her circumstances led to the creation of said monster. The prose was high quality and the storytelling was well-done; I will absolutely be on the lookout for more from this author.

eerieyore's review

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5.0

Once again, I have come across a book that I heartily want to recommend to everyone I meet—especially those which are interested in the form and function of fiction—but which also requires that I detail the reader be advised of one thing:

Tread carefully. This book is alive; or at least, the truth within it is. It squirms from page to page, transforming itself with every scene. In one chapter, it might assume a guise of innocence; in the next it becomes nearly invisible, so small that it could hide between clenched teeth. There are hideous images, actions, and twisted patterns of thought at play in this book, and none of them lead where one might expect them to. At its core, this is a bildungsroman, evincing the birth of a new self from the ashes of the old—but why might we assume that something burned alive is necessarily going to transform into something noble?

A lot of present-day discourse circles around the notion of sympathy in literature, I find. Much is made of the "unlikeable" protagonist—entire books are tossed away in revulsion because the reader "didn't like" the characters. I should note that I have no judgement for those who decide a book is simply not for them—reading is a matter of timing as much as anything, and sometimes the prose or the themes are just not aligned with a current mindset. I think that some of this, however, can be due to a spiritual insecurity when it comes to being presented with ugliness—evidence of the hideous is too often a mirror for those who shy away from their darker selves, and the reflections can sometimes be unbearable.

Personally, I enjoy books that challenge a reader's empathy, presenting a cockeyed view of the world and the people in it through the filter of the so-called "unlikeable" narrator, the "anti-hero," or the "outsider." And there is no more an "outsider" role than those sons and daughters of Cain—the murderers. I often find these fringe perspectives interesting or fascinating, but when it comes to literary depiction of the disturbing acts perpetrated by the protagonists, I often find myself numbed into submission rather than pricked into sympathy.

It is rare that a book like Crushing Snails crosses my path. I'm not a fan of so-called "extreme" horror, which typically wields shock and revulsion like a nail-studded club, deadening the senses before any real emotions can be evoked and seeking to stimulate only the baser, more voyeuristic parts of our brain. Elements of that genre, though, can be used to elicit reaction when used skillfully, and Emma Murray is a smart, brilliantly sensitive writer.

Her work here focuses more on the negative space surrounding these events, which is the most powerful space of all: it is where the reader must insert themselves, or their imagination by proxy, to fill in the gap left by the prose. In this way, the hideous becomes sharply illuminated and deeply, deeply personal.

Smartly, the novel juxtaposes an ongoing interrogation, intermittently revealed between chapters, imposing a strictly-enforced sense of pace throughout. Recalling Paul Tremblay's novel [b:Disappearance at Devil's Rock|27064358|Disappearance at Devil's Rock|Paul Tremblay|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1464530350l/27064358._SY75_.jpg|47104908] not only through this mechanic, but also in its variety in point of view. Picture the classic optical illusion of two white faces, kiss-adjacent, on a black background. With a subtle twitch of gaze, the picture becomes instead a black vase on a white background. This, too, is what is at play here, in Crushing Snails—there is a constant dynamic shifting as various perspectives are superimposed on the events of the narrative, using memory as the filter.

When I was in college, I had a problem with Philosophy. I loved reading about ontology and epistemology, and I was fascinated by every single thinker's distinct way of relating their thoughts about being (and its opposite) and the world. But I agreed with all of them, even those who disagreed with one another. How could this be? I couldn't believe in both George Berkeley's theory of immaterialism (which specified that there are no material objects but only a collection of our own impressions regarding their forms) but also Hume's complete rejection of the notion of self! In this way, I encountered the characters in Crushing Snails—I felt sympathy for every single character, no matter how horrible their actions, because of how they were presented by their author. I grappled with this throughout my reading experience: how could I possibly agree with every character, no matter how frequently they clashed, and despite how horrible the aftermath always was?

It is testament to Emma Murray's strengths as a writer that even though this is a constant struggle, the actual story is lit as if by lightning. The reader both wants to run away in terror and is also rooted to the spot, every hair standing on end in anticipation of the next strike. To extend the metaphor, even the air in this novel is hot, seethes with ozone, hums with demented energy all the way through to the end. Even now, I am not entirely sure how I feel about anything that happened in the book—but I know that I will return, again and again, to the images that it left behind. The murders and the brutality, certainly, but—perhaps more importantly—I will never forget the blighted rainbow of sympathy that this fractured lens of a novel spilled into my mind.

Highly recommended, but again, do tread carefully, and look out for jagged fragments underfoot—they might not be shattered snail-shells, but perhaps winking little pieces of your own dark self.

scatteredshowers13's review

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dark emotional reflective sad tense medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? Character
Strong character development? Yes

4.0

irnhlo's review

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4.0

Gripping, uncomfortable and often outright harrowing. The vivid descriptions of the abuse our protagonist suffers at the hands of her father and the suffering that she dishes out to others make for a tough read, but Murray paints a convincing picture of what it takes to drive someone to the extreme.

It’s a strange coincidence that I’ve finished two female serial killer origin stories on the same day. (The Eyes Are The Best Part being the other)