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hldonavant's review against another edition
Dirty book!! Sorry I couldn't finish it. The summary hooked me but the language was terrible.
mamimitanaka's review against another edition
5.0
About as layered a work of genre fiction as you're going to get...pretty much as near-infinitely interpretable as a Lynch film, as heart-on-sleeve [in a good way] as anything you'd get out of a work this openly indebted to its vastly diverse influences, and still as chilling and upsetting in what it implies and leaves out as much as it shows. I'd go as far as to say that a second read of this is even darker than the first, the second experience for me netted more interest in the realism than the supernatural flourishes...Kiernan never shows their hand precisely, because that would defeat the point, but there's always a sense that there's something much more sinister in a real world context going on here than stories of demonic possession and haunted wildlife. Sarah is clearly running from a violent past, one in which she has potentially been both victim and perpetrator at different times, and the direct inability to take what she says at face value [by her own frequent admission] makes it nearly impossible to deduce her guilt or innocence. The novel takes psychological horror to its extremities, Sarah is essentially gaslighting herself as much as the reader; we're made to inhabit this frightful interior space because the journalistic approach gives no recourse to escape the brain of this very volatile, really quite nasty human being. Staying in the headspace of Sarah this long and this intensely is of course a bold move that will alienate many, but the time spent with her allows for empathy and intimacy that a more detached perspective wouldn't necessarily be able to conjure. This is a character study before it is anything else, and it really pays off.
This novel has always reminded me of "The Blair Witch Project" [which is not surprising considering Kiernan directly cites it as an influence], but the similarities are a lot more about the postmodern application of ideas than the surface level "haunted woodlands" atmosphere that I didn't recognize initially...Sarah and Heather are pretty similar protagonists in the sense that they both filter and understand their deteriorating situations through the use of physical mediums and specifically the Objects in which they filter them, Heather's being the camera and Sarah's being the typewriter specifically. Both utilize the specifics of their mediums to great effect, with the physical object not just being a means of narrative convenience but an extremely important cornerstone of how the characters understand and compartmentalize the narrative on their own terms, and as a result it makes both works feel like they exist independently of an audience because the integration of one's own individual perspective is so carefully crafted in a meta sense. In other words, just like "The Blair Witch Project", "The Red Tree" actually does feel like it could have been someone's journal discovered after their death, intended for no one else's eyes but the writer. Which is also even more metatextually effective, because this novel is clearly autobiographical for Kiernan, who is essentially splurging this very confessional and dark fairy-tale metaphor for her own life to be read and analyzed by nerds like me.
And ofc as a textural work it's just great, Kiernan is clearly incredibly well-read and the diverse bag of influences and references they pull from never feel like they're overplayed or cloying because their central authorial voice is always clear and full of movement and purpose, even when the narrative for all intents and purposes moves at a snail's pace due to most of it being in Sarah's [and by extension Kiernan's] mind. The meta elements, Sarah's character and her obsessions, and the nested story structure allows for an exploration of tons of disparate ideas and avenues of thought, and the rug is never pulled out from under the reader in an undermining way considering Sarah is always transparent that what she says is not the full truth, but just as transparent in that she truly believes she isn't lying either. So you can read it as the story of real, Lovecraftian hauntings, or the story of a woman's mind disintegrating, or the story of cult murder and conspiracy and criminal activity, and then some; no potential explanation takes less or more precedent than the other. It makes the novel inherently rereadable and assures longevity for anyone who is willing to sit with it and accept the narrative deceit on the terms established.
So yeah, along with "The Fisherman" [also kinda a similar novel] this is another one of those genre reads I was worried would cool on me the second time around but only ended up enriching itself and revealing its deeper secrets to me even further. Would definitely recommend this to anyone interested in postmodernism when applied in a genre context, but also would recommend it to anyone invested in character studies because it works just fine on both those levels and then some. Plus Kiernan can fucking write, they're not going on these long and labyrinthine prose poems, but they absolutely understand how the human voice and cadence translates into a written context better than most writers of dialogue I've ever encountered. So yeah this book is a big W and the cover sucks, read it in spite of that because it's worth the investment!
This novel has always reminded me of "The Blair Witch Project" [which is not surprising considering Kiernan directly cites it as an influence], but the similarities are a lot more about the postmodern application of ideas than the surface level "haunted woodlands" atmosphere that I didn't recognize initially...Sarah and Heather are pretty similar protagonists in the sense that they both filter and understand their deteriorating situations through the use of physical mediums and specifically the Objects in which they filter them, Heather's being the camera and Sarah's being the typewriter specifically. Both utilize the specifics of their mediums to great effect, with the physical object not just being a means of narrative convenience but an extremely important cornerstone of how the characters understand and compartmentalize the narrative on their own terms, and as a result it makes both works feel like they exist independently of an audience because the integration of one's own individual perspective is so carefully crafted in a meta sense. In other words, just like "The Blair Witch Project", "The Red Tree" actually does feel like it could have been someone's journal discovered after their death, intended for no one else's eyes but the writer. Which is also even more metatextually effective, because this novel is clearly autobiographical for Kiernan, who is essentially splurging this very confessional and dark fairy-tale metaphor for her own life to be read and analyzed by nerds like me.
And ofc as a textural work it's just great, Kiernan is clearly incredibly well-read and the diverse bag of influences and references they pull from never feel like they're overplayed or cloying because their central authorial voice is always clear and full of movement and purpose, even when the narrative for all intents and purposes moves at a snail's pace due to most of it being in Sarah's [and by extension Kiernan's] mind. The meta elements, Sarah's character and her obsessions, and the nested story structure allows for an exploration of tons of disparate ideas and avenues of thought, and the rug is never pulled out from under the reader in an undermining way considering Sarah is always transparent that what she says is not the full truth, but just as transparent in that she truly believes she isn't lying either. So you can read it as the story of real, Lovecraftian hauntings, or the story of a woman's mind disintegrating, or the story of cult murder and conspiracy and criminal activity, and then some; no potential explanation takes less or more precedent than the other. It makes the novel inherently rereadable and assures longevity for anyone who is willing to sit with it and accept the narrative deceit on the terms established.
So yeah, along with "The Fisherman" [also kinda a similar novel] this is another one of those genre reads I was worried would cool on me the second time around but only ended up enriching itself and revealing its deeper secrets to me even further. Would definitely recommend this to anyone interested in postmodernism when applied in a genre context, but also would recommend it to anyone invested in character studies because it works just fine on both those levels and then some. Plus Kiernan can fucking write, they're not going on these long and labyrinthine prose poems, but they absolutely understand how the human voice and cadence translates into a written context better than most writers of dialogue I've ever encountered. So yeah this book is a big W and the cover sucks, read it in spite of that because it's worth the investment!
kitty_whimsical's review against another edition
4.0
Kiernan has created a melancholy, haunting tale of a writer who is struggling to come to terms with a number of recent losses. She has, as of approximately a quarter of the way through the novel, lost a lover and her health and seems to be on the verge of losing her career as a writer and her mental stability. The novel is a fascinating study in grief and the madness that it can bring about. At least, that's what I've got from it so far. Ask me in a few days what I think. So far I haven't encountered any true horror, but the atmosphere is undeniably spooky and psychologically discomforting.
I love it.
I love it.
lesbrary's review against another edition
4.0
I would rate this 3.5/5 if I could. I really liked it, but I found the ending disappointing enough that it really dragged down my enjoyment. Full review here: http://lesbrary.com/2013/10/07/danika-reviews-the-red-tree-by-caitlin-r-kiernan/
jhennesy's review against another edition
5.0
Read this on recommendation with my book club. It was the consensus favorite from 2014. Best use of having a writer as the narrator I've ever experienced.
mxsallybend's review against another edition
4.0
While there are few answers and even fewer conclusions to be drawn from The Red Tree, it is still a damned fine read, one distinguished as much by the voices as the embedded narratives. What Caitlín R. Kiernan has crafted here is a story of stories within stories, each of which adds to the overall mystery and the sense of creeping dread, all without ever leading us any closer to a climax.
The first of those embedded narratives is the preface from Sarah Crowe’s editor, really sets the stage here – and, if you’re paying attention, should establish expectations as well. Sharon teases a bit of the urban legend mystery of the Wright Farm, but then tells us she saw no evidence of vandals or curiosity seekers and felt no sense of the supernatural. She also teases us with the mystery of the basement, which “seems, to me, to lie very much at the heart of the matter,” and which she “very much wanted” to explore but forgot to bring a flashlight . . . except she also tells us she is “not the least bit ashamed to admit you couldn’t have paid me enough to make that descent alone.” The more we read of Sarah’s story, and the more we come to know (and wonder) about that basement, the more perplexing Sharon’s apparent contradictions become.
Sharon then goes on to describe the Red Tree itself in almost whimsical fashion, describing dozens of tiny ceramic figures (which Sarah never mentions) that give it a “shrine or reliquary” feel. Again, the more we read of both Sarah’s story and Harvey’s manuscript, the more bewildering the very nature of the tree becomes. It is a preface that raises so many questions, and which almost seems to have been deliberately written to cast doubt on Sarah’s story, rather than properly introduce it.
The next narrative layer is the manuscript left behind by Charles L. Harvey, with the discovery of a single page in an old typewriter leading Sarah to a basement search for the rest of it. It’s basically research notes, a collection of the urban legends surrounding the Red Tree and the Wright Farm, and it is absolutely fascinating in its depth and breadth of information. There are murders and suicides, monsters and hauntings, and more than enough information to make for a fascinating tale all on its own. What’s weird about it, however, is how clinical and factual is all reads, compared to what we’ve been told of his fate and what Sarah tells us of the feelings it evokes.
A much shorter but absolutely pivotal embedded narrative is Sarah’s autobiographical story, Pony, which she does not remember writing. The circumstances of its introduction are almost as exciting as the story itself, connecting both to Sarah’s grief over her lost girlfriend and to her increasingly erratic and unreliable behavior. It is a fascinating piece of fiction, erotic and melancholy at the same time, with a weird twist that seems to push fetish into fear.
That leaves us with the most important embedded narrative, of course, Sarah’s journal – written on the same onionskin paper on the same old fashioned typewriter as Harvey’s manuscript. It is here where the real magic of the story is found, with Sarah’s voice – self-aware, argumentative, and frustrated – drawing us deep into her experiences. What could otherwise have been an exasperating tale is elevated to something hypnotic and unsettling by both her candor and her seeming unreliability. Despite the introduction of Constance halfway through, a woman who seems to share in the bizarre experiences of the Wright Farm and who is perhaps even more haunted and unsettled by the Red Tree, all we know is what Sarah writes, and she herself admits to not always being honest or straightforward about her feelings.
As a story, it is entirely fascinating, constantly hooking us with the creepier details of becoming lost in time and space, of feeling haunted, and of being driven to the brink of madness. The Red Tree itself becomes something of mythic proportions, and the short journey of a few hundred yards between it and the Wright House grows into an epic trial. The mystery of the basement, hand-hewn and larger than the house, is legitimately terrifying, and the mystery of the attic (particularly at the end) is perhaps even more perplexing. There are so many questions raised, so many mysteries teased, that we should be angry and frustrated by the lack of answers . . . and, yet, it seems entirely appropriate that the book should end without them.
In many ways, this is a character study more than anything else, an exploration of Sarah Crowe’s journey through the stages of grief, with a focus on the shock and denial, pain and grief, anger and bargaining, and depression. The more we learn of her past and her relationship with Amanda, about her seizures and her writer’s block, the more we want to know. We want to understand this woman and find some way to wrap our head around her emotions as much as we want to rationalize her experiences.
I thought I had a grasp on The Red Tree when I turned the final page, but the more I thought about it, the less certain I felt. Similarly, I thought for sure I’d found my way to those answers in going back over it and writing my review, but the more I tried connecting the dots, the more I realized there are too many spiraling circles and not nearly enough straight lines. This was not the book I expected. In fact, it was the kind of book I would have said I have no patience for. So why did I enjoy it so much? Why have I come away from it with such deep appreciation for Kiernan and her craft? I honestly couldn’t tell you, but I know I’ll be reading more.
https://femledfantasy.home.blog/2020/01/03/book-review-the-red-tree-by-caitlin-r-kiernan/
The first of those embedded narratives is the preface from Sarah Crowe’s editor, really sets the stage here – and, if you’re paying attention, should establish expectations as well. Sharon teases a bit of the urban legend mystery of the Wright Farm, but then tells us she saw no evidence of vandals or curiosity seekers and felt no sense of the supernatural. She also teases us with the mystery of the basement, which “seems, to me, to lie very much at the heart of the matter,” and which she “very much wanted” to explore but forgot to bring a flashlight . . . except she also tells us she is “not the least bit ashamed to admit you couldn’t have paid me enough to make that descent alone.” The more we read of Sarah’s story, and the more we come to know (and wonder) about that basement, the more perplexing Sharon’s apparent contradictions become.
Sharon then goes on to describe the Red Tree itself in almost whimsical fashion, describing dozens of tiny ceramic figures (which Sarah never mentions) that give it a “shrine or reliquary” feel. Again, the more we read of both Sarah’s story and Harvey’s manuscript, the more bewildering the very nature of the tree becomes. It is a preface that raises so many questions, and which almost seems to have been deliberately written to cast doubt on Sarah’s story, rather than properly introduce it.
The next narrative layer is the manuscript left behind by Charles L. Harvey, with the discovery of a single page in an old typewriter leading Sarah to a basement search for the rest of it. It’s basically research notes, a collection of the urban legends surrounding the Red Tree and the Wright Farm, and it is absolutely fascinating in its depth and breadth of information. There are murders and suicides, monsters and hauntings, and more than enough information to make for a fascinating tale all on its own. What’s weird about it, however, is how clinical and factual is all reads, compared to what we’ve been told of his fate and what Sarah tells us of the feelings it evokes.
A much shorter but absolutely pivotal embedded narrative is Sarah’s autobiographical story, Pony, which she does not remember writing. The circumstances of its introduction are almost as exciting as the story itself, connecting both to Sarah’s grief over her lost girlfriend and to her increasingly erratic and unreliable behavior. It is a fascinating piece of fiction, erotic and melancholy at the same time, with a weird twist that seems to push fetish into fear.
That leaves us with the most important embedded narrative, of course, Sarah’s journal – written on the same onionskin paper on the same old fashioned typewriter as Harvey’s manuscript. It is here where the real magic of the story is found, with Sarah’s voice – self-aware, argumentative, and frustrated – drawing us deep into her experiences. What could otherwise have been an exasperating tale is elevated to something hypnotic and unsettling by both her candor and her seeming unreliability. Despite the introduction of Constance halfway through, a woman who seems to share in the bizarre experiences of the Wright Farm and who is perhaps even more haunted and unsettled by the Red Tree, all we know is what Sarah writes, and she herself admits to not always being honest or straightforward about her feelings.
As a story, it is entirely fascinating, constantly hooking us with the creepier details of becoming lost in time and space, of feeling haunted, and of being driven to the brink of madness. The Red Tree itself becomes something of mythic proportions, and the short journey of a few hundred yards between it and the Wright House grows into an epic trial. The mystery of the basement, hand-hewn and larger than the house, is legitimately terrifying, and the mystery of the attic (particularly at the end) is perhaps even more perplexing. There are so many questions raised, so many mysteries teased, that we should be angry and frustrated by the lack of answers . . . and, yet, it seems entirely appropriate that the book should end without them.
In many ways, this is a character study more than anything else, an exploration of Sarah Crowe’s journey through the stages of grief, with a focus on the shock and denial, pain and grief, anger and bargaining, and depression. The more we learn of her past and her relationship with Amanda, about her seizures and her writer’s block, the more we want to know. We want to understand this woman and find some way to wrap our head around her emotions as much as we want to rationalize her experiences.
I thought I had a grasp on The Red Tree when I turned the final page, but the more I thought about it, the less certain I felt. Similarly, I thought for sure I’d found my way to those answers in going back over it and writing my review, but the more I tried connecting the dots, the more I realized there are too many spiraling circles and not nearly enough straight lines. This was not the book I expected. In fact, it was the kind of book I would have said I have no patience for. So why did I enjoy it so much? Why have I come away from it with such deep appreciation for Kiernan and her craft? I honestly couldn’t tell you, but I know I’ll be reading more.
https://femledfantasy.home.blog/2020/01/03/book-review-the-red-tree-by-caitlin-r-kiernan/
_moth_'s review against another edition
5.0
"Like all doors, she tends to swing open, and so care must be taken to mind the hinges and the latch"
File this one under books that change you by having read them.
File this one under books that change you by having read them.
kvltprincess's review against another edition
4.0
This one was very strange, and it's one that I'm going to be thinking about for a while, I can tell.
Sarah Crowe moves to a house outside of Providence, Rhode Island to write after a horrible rift between herself and her girlfriend. Outside of the house is a creepy red oak. Inside the house, in the basement, Sarah finds a manuscript written by the house's former tenant, an anthropology professor who hung himself from the previously mentioned creepy red oak.
Things that are awesome:
1) The book is prefaced by commentary from Sarah's editor. The bulk of the book is written in journal entries from Sarah. Several pages worth of the deceased anthropologist's manuscript are also here, as well as snippets from other authors, mainly Lewis Carroll and Poe. Lovecraft's shadow, too, is hanging all over this thing, even though it is more implied than overt.
2) I don't know if this is a spoiler or not, because like I said, I'll be ruminating on this thing for a while. But just in case,
3) The way the story ties into Sarah's own grief and experiences in her own past, and how much of what happens seems to mirror those.
The thing that I wasn't crazy about: The ending. Just because it didn't seem to explain enough.
That being said, this was still a fantastic book and (as you can tell if you read my spoilery bits) it's got my mind quite boggled. If you are a horror geek and like Lovecraft and Poe, there is fun stuff in here for you. And if you don't mind not having ALL the answers, or at least having to think hard for them, The Red Tree is a fantastic read.
Sarah Crowe moves to a house outside of Providence, Rhode Island to write after a horrible rift between herself and her girlfriend. Outside of the house is a creepy red oak. Inside the house, in the basement, Sarah finds a manuscript written by the house's former tenant, an anthropology professor who hung himself from the previously mentioned creepy red oak.
Things that are awesome:
1) The book is prefaced by commentary from Sarah's editor. The bulk of the book is written in journal entries from Sarah. Several pages worth of the deceased anthropologist's manuscript are also here, as well as snippets from other authors, mainly Lewis Carroll and Poe. Lovecraft's shadow, too, is hanging all over this thing, even though it is more implied than overt.
2) I don't know if this is a spoiler or not, because like I said, I'll be ruminating on this thing for a while. But just in case,
Spoiler
Time and space in this thing are WONKY. At one point, Constance tells Sarah about her experience in which she was the ghost for another person, in a sort of string theory concept. I think that maybe that is the lynch pin here. Time and space seem to be very thin around the red oak, with characters in the book in modern day meeting people who died long before. But again, this is something I need to think more about.3) The way the story ties into Sarah's own grief and experiences in her own past, and how much of what happens seems to mirror those.
The thing that I wasn't crazy about: The ending. Just because it didn't seem to explain enough.
That being said, this was still a fantastic book and (as you can tell if you read my spoilery bits) it's got my mind quite boggled. If you are a horror geek and like Lovecraft and Poe, there is fun stuff in here for you. And if you don't mind not having ALL the answers, or at least having to think hard for them, The Red Tree is a fantastic read.