Scan barcode
A review by stephen_arvidson
The Girl from the Well by Rin Chupeco
3.0
The Girl from the Well draws heavily on Japanese folklore; namely, the Banchō Sarayashiki legend in which a beautiful servant girl is betrayed by a spurned admirer and subjected to a dismal fate. Recent decades have seen this famed ghost story invoked in such popular Japanese horror flicks as Ringu (a.k.a. The Ring) and Ju-On (a.k.a. The Grudge). While author Rin Chupeco is clearly channeling these movies in her debut novel, she takes it a step further, reinventing the semi-established image of the vengeful onryō—the black-haired, pallid-faced ghoul hanging inexorably from the rafters, contorting her slithery physique in impossibly frightening ways. Chupeco skillfully weaves Japanese mythology into a contemporary story of a dead girl preying on human monsters.
Okiku, the titular girl from the well, is a killer of killers; she’s a centuries-old apparition bent on exacting horrific justice against child murderers—and she’s very superstitious of the number nine. In the course of the story, Okiku develops a strange fascination with a boy named Tarquin, a brooding pre-teen on the cusp of manhood. The son of an American man and a Japanese woman, Tark bears inexplicable tattoos inscribed by his clinically insane mother, binding his soul to a malevolent demon spirit. The second half of the book takes the protagonists out of American suburbia to the remote valleys of Japan, immersing both characters and readers in a culture steeped in ancient tradition, where spiritual exorcisms are a matter of grim routine.
Although Chupeco makes practical use of J-horror movie tropes, the scares are prosaic by today’s standards and yet suitable for the book’s target audience. Constant Readers of Stephen King will be largely unfazed by this soft chiller. To the author’s credit, the premise is both innovative and effective as a horror construct. Readers familiar with The Grudge and its ilk will find appeal in the fresh perspective offered by this dark tale that’s narrated chiefly from Okiku’s waiflike viewpoint. Unexpectedly, Chupeco humanizes this wrathful specter, imbuing her with a marked benevolence. Okiku vacillates between ruthless, death-dealing phantasm and empathic guardian angel, leaving readers on the fence about how to perceive this atypical anti-heroine.
The Girl from the Well is by no means a perfect book. The sudden POV shifts and broken lines are a tad disorienting and impede the story’s natural flow. And then there’s the peculiar writing style, which, understandably, is intended to reflect Okiku’s cold detachment—yes, we get that she’s a ghost lacking any real connection to the corporeal world, and so her attention flits from place to place—however, this kind of experimental writing, albeit clever, requires a bit of acclimation and may even prove disengaging to some readers.
Okiku, the titular girl from the well, is a killer of killers; she’s a centuries-old apparition bent on exacting horrific justice against child murderers—and she’s very superstitious of the number nine. In the course of the story, Okiku develops a strange fascination with a boy named Tarquin, a brooding pre-teen on the cusp of manhood. The son of an American man and a Japanese woman, Tark bears inexplicable tattoos inscribed by his clinically insane mother, binding his soul to a malevolent demon spirit. The second half of the book takes the protagonists out of American suburbia to the remote valleys of Japan, immersing both characters and readers in a culture steeped in ancient tradition, where spiritual exorcisms are a matter of grim routine.
Although Chupeco makes practical use of J-horror movie tropes, the scares are prosaic by today’s standards and yet suitable for the book’s target audience. Constant Readers of Stephen King will be largely unfazed by this soft chiller. To the author’s credit, the premise is both innovative and effective as a horror construct. Readers familiar with The Grudge and its ilk will find appeal in the fresh perspective offered by this dark tale that’s narrated chiefly from Okiku’s waiflike viewpoint. Unexpectedly, Chupeco humanizes this wrathful specter, imbuing her with a marked benevolence. Okiku vacillates between ruthless, death-dealing phantasm and empathic guardian angel, leaving readers on the fence about how to perceive this atypical anti-heroine.
The Girl from the Well is by no means a perfect book. The sudden POV shifts and broken lines are a tad disorienting and impede the story’s natural flow. And then there’s the peculiar writing style, which, understandably, is intended to reflect Okiku’s cold detachment—yes, we get that she’s a ghost lacking any real connection to the corporeal world, and so her attention flits from place to place—however, this kind of experimental writing, albeit clever, requires a bit of acclimation and may even prove disengaging to some readers.