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A review by mafiabadgers
The One Who Eats Monsters by Casey Matthews
adventurous
dark
funny
fast-paced
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
First read 06/2023, reread 03/2024 & 01/2025
Almost as fun as the day I first read it. It's not Great Literature by a long shot, but it's got repressed lesbian mutual obsession, blood on the walls (and floors, and ceilings), absolutely cracking action, and very funny moments (some good enough that they still had me laughing out loud). It also has incomprehensible politics and a ridiculous habit of referring to Naomi as "the auburn-haired doe". Somehow this feels fitting for a book so inclined to disregard genre conventions.
We start off with a prologue that would work just as well to introduce a morally-grey antagonist as it does to introduce our protagonist, Ryn. The first chapter would be a very credible opening to an action novel. The international nuclear weapons smugglers then cease to be relevant to the plot, as the protagonist gets yanked off to school in America. Utterly absurd, but it's a paranormal YA romance, so I suppose she has to go to school to meet the love interest? Wrong. The love interest goes to a different school. They meet at the mall. This is the greatest book of all time. Being an immortal deity of vengeance, Ryn continues to go about her usual business i.e. murdering rapists. This is a world in which rapists seem to be lurking on the corner of every American street. Has Casey Matthews had her worldview grievously distorted by listening to too many true crime podcasts? Or are the slight alternative history elements that are hinted at in the background a tacit acknowledgement that, even without the supernatural aspects, this world is still patently ridiculous?
Anyway, the cops start investigating her antics, which in any other book would provide a story arc as they slowly close in on her, but here, in a truly implausible move,the soldier from chapter one is now a detective and immediately realises that Ryn's responsible. He's not too fussed though, because the guy totally deserved it. What is it about the 'hero who constantly murders rapists' thing that feels cheesy and ridiculous? It's not as though it isn't a deeply horrifying crime. It's not as though the book doesn't make them perfectly sinister. Maybe it's something about the desire for a purely bad person, in order that they can then be killed brutally with no moral qualms whatsoever; the inverse of that terrible scene in The Flash (2023) when Ezra Miller saved a bunch of babies. Who could possibly fail to root for a man who saves babies? They're so pure and innocent that surely their rescue must consitute a Truly Heroic Act! And so it stands to reason that the most honourable act of extreme and graphic violence should be directed against the most despised class of criminal. Unfortunately by taking things to such extremes, it becomes too obvious and verges on absurdity. It also means the book struggles to deal with anything more nuanced—the woman who hangs around with the big mean tattooed mafia rapists and enjoys their 'antics' gets off scot free, because if the protagonist mauled a woman, it wouldn't be quite so clear cut. It's not a very intersectional book.
This all sounds terribly negative. Please understand that I wouldn't read this book for a third time if I didn't love it, but I've settled comfortably into my affection and now I'm ready to start tearing it apart. Sometimes you have to go where the review takes you. Perhaps on my next reread I'll get very gushy.
And hoo boy, the politics! Naomi is firmly established as a paragon of goodness, and she's a socialist. But the person whose political opinions get the most space are those of her father, a "principled libertarian". The bad guys want him and his daughter dead:some delusionally believe he's the Antichrist, while some think that the solution to his pro-firearm policies is to hack up his daughter with a machete. Sure, they've been manipulated into it by nasty supernatural beings, but the roots of their feelings were already there. This principled libertarian is opposed to a bill about online surveillance for civil liberties reasons, but it's also acknowledged that the bill would make it easier for the police to track down bad guys (and this book is generally pretty enthusiastic about cops and American soldiers and their Great Noble Sacrifices). Now, the bill is supported by a secret ancient evil god, but there's a maybe-slightly-less-evil god who opposes it. And maybe the book just wants to add some action, but I don't think it's a coincidence that the Republican senator's daughter grabs his convenient handgun and starts shooting at the bad guy when he breaks into their house. Mind you, in a world where gods and monsters exist, and some beings are simply Better than others, guns cannot prevent crime by levelling the playing field, as gun rights activists like to argue. Ryn's constant rapist-murdering might be seen as a justification of vigilantism, but then her moral compass is as superhuman as the rest of her, so one could argue the point that only an honest-to-goodness deity could be trusted with that sort of power. The book definitely seems to have right wing leanings (I know Matthews does), but upon closer inspection, it's leaning in a whole lot of other directions as well. This, too, feels somehow fitting.
Anyway, the prose is not brilliant, but there's a definite sense that Matthews was trying. It comes through quite strongly in the elaborate similes. I appreciate the effort. There's something about the way the narration's focus jumps around in the first couple of chapters (perhaps I was too absorbed after that to notice) that I really liked. The characters are delightfully good fun. I think the last action scene makes everything a bit too big and loses its touch slightly, but all the rest are great. Ryn is a proper murdery monster and it really comes through. I'm already looking forward to next time.
Almost as fun as the day I first read it. It's not Great Literature by a long shot, but it's got repressed lesbian mutual obsession, blood on the walls (and floors, and ceilings), absolutely cracking action, and very funny moments (some good enough that they still had me laughing out loud). It also has incomprehensible politics and a ridiculous habit of referring to Naomi as "the auburn-haired doe". Somehow this feels fitting for a book so inclined to disregard genre conventions.
We start off with a prologue that would work just as well to introduce a morally-grey antagonist as it does to introduce our protagonist, Ryn. The first chapter would be a very credible opening to an action novel. The international nuclear weapons smugglers then cease to be relevant to the plot, as the protagonist gets yanked off to school in America. Utterly absurd, but it's a paranormal YA romance, so I suppose she has to go to school to meet the love interest? Wrong. The love interest goes to a different school. They meet at the mall. This is the greatest book of all time. Being an immortal deity of vengeance, Ryn continues to go about her usual business i.e. murdering rapists. This is a world in which rapists seem to be lurking on the corner of every American street. Has Casey Matthews had her worldview grievously distorted by listening to too many true crime podcasts? Or are the slight alternative history elements that are hinted at in the background a tacit acknowledgement that, even without the supernatural aspects, this world is still patently ridiculous?
Anyway, the cops start investigating her antics, which in any other book would provide a story arc as they slowly close in on her, but here, in a truly implausible move,
This all sounds terribly negative. Please understand that I wouldn't read this book for a third time if I didn't love it, but I've settled comfortably into my affection and now I'm ready to start tearing it apart. Sometimes you have to go where the review takes you. Perhaps on my next reread I'll get very gushy.
And hoo boy, the politics! Naomi is firmly established as a paragon of goodness, and she's a socialist. But the person whose political opinions get the most space are those of her father, a "principled libertarian". The bad guys want him and his daughter dead:
Anyway, the prose is not brilliant, but there's a definite sense that Matthews was trying. It comes through quite strongly in the elaborate similes. I appreciate the effort. There's something about the way the narration's focus jumps around in the first couple of chapters (perhaps I was too absorbed after that to notice) that I really liked. The characters are delightfully good fun. I think the last action scene makes everything a bit too big and loses its touch slightly, but all the rest are great. Ryn is a proper murdery monster and it really comes through. I'm already looking forward to next time.