We're gonna have another book review, and its another Weekly Readers book I've saved for years from my old middle school days. If you remember my other review of another WR book, Ghost in the Garden, you'll also recall that many of those old cheap-o books were of the supernatural ilk, including but not limited to true ghost stories, urban legends, and small short books about kids and ghosts. Sure, some of them were decent, but many of them were admittedly pretty damned good for a children's book.
Eerie Animals by Donna Hill is one of them. The book is broken up into 7 short stories, each dealing with a different animal, and all of them in some way extraordinary. What really made this book memorable all these years was the deceptive simplicity the stories seemed to have, hiding layers and themes that are decidedly more darker than one may think. I've decided to do a mini review of each story, and why they still resonate with me to this day.
1) That Thing
Evan, a 12 year old boy who lives in a seemingly affluent neighborhood, has been begging his parents to let him have a pet. One day, with money in hand, he comes across a shady pet store (if you all are old enough to remember when malls used to have pet stores that sold pets), and ends up buying what he thinks is a fish. Only its not a fish. Evan discovers that his new pet is growing rapidly. As is its appetite for meat. "The rawer," the doctor professor salesman says eerily. "The better."
As the first story in the book, That Thing begins in media res, right in the middle of the story. Actually, to be more accurate, it begins near the end, as told in 1st person from Evan as he retells and reports about how his pet is now on the loose to a tape recorder, desperately hoping the authorities will get to it before the creature does. Its a story ahead of its time, reminiscent of the current crop of handy cam horror (you'll remember another movie review I did in this genre of horror film), in its desperate witness 1st Person POV as the characters move through the horror story in almost real-time. You don't know if Evan makes it out alive by the end, and in a weird way get left hung up, unlike most handy-cam horror movies, where you do get some sort of closure, however late it may be.
I can easily see That Thing as a film, short film hopefully, with all the frantic survival action that zombie apocalypse movies can command. Only the flesh eater isn't a lurching zombie; its some sort of horrific creature on a wildly rapid evolutionary growth spurt. And that somehow, when considering your protagonist is merely a child, seems all the more unsettling.
2) Ghost Cat
Filmore, his mother and his little sister Jodi have lost their father, and they all decide to take a vacation to take the edge off the grief. Filmore has problems moving on, but his sister Jodi does not, even going as far to befriend a cat near their new home. Only this isn't just any cat; its a ghost cat.
Ghost Cat is a story that immediately shows off the author's ability to layer a story while seemingly keeping it simple. While the main emphasis of the story is the eponymous cat and its relationship to Jodi and her stuffed raccoon Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, the focus is actually Filmore's coping abilities, as well as his inability to move on from his father's death. Though Jodi is of course much younger than he is (only 6 years old), she seems to be much more resilient than her older brother, who only refers to her inner strength as being "daft", and privately envies it.
Filmore's coping amounts to trying to project his grief onto his sister, by prodding her constantly and asking her if she missed their father or why doesn't she. His mother, though she also doesn't believe in the cat, knows that the cat is vital to coping with the loss of a very special person in all their lives; what she doesn't know is that the cat is there for both Jodi and Filmore. In the end, accepting the ghost cat's existence, and accepting the truth that people die, and its a fact of life, becomes the climax of Filmore's story. Jodi does not need closure; she already knows how to deal with her father's absence. The cat is Filmore's salvation of finally being able to let go.
3) Thor
Gabriel's biggest passion is playing baskeball. Described by the unnamed narrator as having "more heart than brains", Gabe takes an interest in Mr. Prinz's dog, a muscular black dog named Thor. But the interest becomes obsession when Prinz passes away suddenly, and the dog, immoveable yet obviously dangerous, has nowhere to go. Soon it becomes unclear if Gabe's preoccupation in the dog is merely a young man's passion-turned-obsession for an animal in need, or a darker possession from Thor himself.
Thor goes from a gentle story of moving on from the previous short to unsettling and dark almost immediately. From early on, all does not seem right with the dog, as the narrator points out (he doesn't smell, move much, or even make any noise whatsoever, nor does it seem to go to the bathroom or even eat and drink), but Gabe, who seems at first merely a very compassionate young boy, brushes it all off. The dog seems to take only interest in the boy early on, and exhibits almost no other emotions or actions until later, when a vet attempts to take tests and the dog reacts viciously. It becomes very ambiguous what Thor's true nature really is, and how much power the dog really has, until its too late.
The most disconcerting moments of the story are near the end when the vet techs attempt to euthanize the animal, and Thor refuses to die. "You can't imagine how horrible--" Edie's voice was shaking. "How horrible to have to kill something that won't die!" And in the end, the dog itself doesn't; it merely disappears, leaving no trace, and no answers for anyone. As the story closes with the narrator's comments of how Gabe never was the same, and how he waits for Thor to come back, he also hopes that neither of them will meet.
4) Daisy
Abigail is a softball pitcher on a sadly losing team with hopes of owning a dog; something powerful and imposing like a Great Dane, German Shepherd, or Wolfhound. What her mother brings home is...less than that. In fact, Abigail's new pet is a diminuative chihuahua named Daisy, the absolute antithiesis of the never-give-up power a larger breed has. But Daisy has her own powers, and she has her own ways of making up what her size lacks.
As if to bring relief from the decidedly dark Thor, Daisy is a story of two opposites trying to deal with one another. Abigail is obvious that she dislikes her tiny new pet, and Daisy seems to sense that and almost teases her new owner by hanging around her more than anyone else. Abigail has bigger fish to fry: her softball team is losing like no tomorrow, and all because the "star" pitcher sucks. Her team's sponsor, a huge, cigar-smoking bellicose bakery owner named Hoffmeyer only allows his niece to pitch in a fit of nepotism.
But Daisy, sensing her owner's distress, seems to have preternatural powers, and ends up getting Abigail on the mound by the end of the story (with an unusual double team of dog and bee), allowing the young pitcher and the toy dog to reconcile their differences. Its a lighthearted-story that seems almost like a sitcom. Both parties walk away with respect for one another, and really, its not something that many people can do nowadays.
5) Michael
Cara, suffering from an unnamed but terminal illness that leaves her endlessly weak, befriends a squirrel that she calls Michael at the park. Soon, it seems that Michael isn't like other squirrels; he's intelligent, and seems to even be able to speak human language. Cara's life is full of pain and misery, especially from her father, who seems utterly in denial and desperation at how far gone his daughter really is. But that doesn't bother Cara. After all, she's preparing to go on a journey, and only has to wait for "the messenger" to begin. And Michael seems to be just that messenger.
As the stories seem to alternate between lighthearted or comedic and dark or downbeat and unsettling, Michael is a quiet yet haunting story of a young girl whose childhood is pretty much removed from her by forces beyond her control. Her aunt, who has come to live with the single parent family (her mother has died of what you presume is the same illness), seems to be absorbed in her mystery novels and seems to barely pay attention to the little girl, while the father tells their maid never to pity her, and always call her "gutsy", a denial that he may be losing Cara, and losing her quickly.
The story is a heart-wrenching yet subtle story of a young girl trying to cope with her impending death. This death isn't mentioned so much as implied, in especially Cara's aim to "go on a journey" and waiting for "the messenger". These are thinly disguised euphemisms of "death" and even a messenger of death, whom you slowly come to understand is Michael the squirrel (is Michael the messenger/angel of death or death himself is also left up to the reader). Whether or not the squirrel really is indeed talking, or if this is the madness of a terminally ill child (not unlike the fantasy world crafted by Ofelia of Pan's Labyrinth), but by the end, the reader can be struck with a subtly sickening sensation that as Cara begins her journey with Michael, she maybe in her last throes of life.
6) Mantis
Lorette attends what you assume to be a Catholic school and though she seems to have friends, they don't seem to be all that supportive of her interests, namely the universe and the cosmos. Lorette finds a bright green mantis at her high rise apartment, way out of season, and once she discovers that the insect not only is strictly a vegitarian but also understands human speech, she begins to wonder if her insectoid visitor is a visitor not of this earth.
Mantis is another story of growing up, albeit in a different way. Lorette is obviously on the cusp of puberty but her interests don't lie in the earthly or the worldly, much to the dismay of her parents. In fact, her friends have no problem, in true heartless high school girl fashion, in berating and even ridicule her for her fascination with the universe. She even seems to completely overlook what appears to be a crush from fellow classmate Chelsey, whom follows her interests like a moth to a flame. He eventually becomes the only one she can confide in about her special mantis.
Lorette's story is something of a coming-of-age story, where upon one would assume she would blossom into a young lady, rather than spout astronomy facts and seek what she calls "the ultimate truth" (a thinly if not obvious message of caring for the earth and being prepared to strike out into the unknown of the cosmos above). Obstuse until the final paragraph of the story, Lorette doesn't seem to see that maybe the truth to everything may lie in herself, and she sadly may have ignored the message her mantis was trying to get across: that humans must learn to get along with each other first before they are ready for life outside their beautiful blue sphere.
7) Rondo
Haskell is a problem child; he's willful, mean-spirited, and even hateful sometimes. He's staying with his grandparents on their ranch, a childhood haunt of his when he wasn't so rough around the edges. He makes contact with a girl nearby, named Wendy and her beautiful bay horse Rondo. Haskell, full of himself, attempts to ride this horse, and causes it such a grievous wound that the poor animal must be put down. Weighed by guilt and warring emotions, Haskell becomes haunted by Rondo. Literally.
The final story in the book, Rondo, presents a main character quite different from the other protagonists in the book. While they are all relatable, and even sympathetic, Haskell is everything but. He is the book's most unsympathetic character, pushing away everyone around him with rude remarks and terrible behavior. When he causes Rondo's injury, a horrifying gash that almost completely severs the horse's right foreleg, he does not immediately stand up to his error, and even takes some satisfaction in his deed before plunging into guilt and self-hatred.
Rondo is about Haskell's coming to terms with what he perceived abandonment by his parents (whom had to be overseas for military reasons), and coming to terms with his unresolved anger and frustration as well as loneliness and fear of abandonment. The people around him, including Wendy and her only other horse Dutchess, gently handle the troubled youth until he's able to finally cast aside the hateful parts of him and truly make amends for his anger and violence. Its a cut and dry story, but as it closes the book, it becomes a capstone for the entire book. The animals around us have no pretenses, no reasons to hide who they are, while humans do, and in so doing can cause harm to others.
Eerie Animals is at once simple yet complex book that should be read numerous times at different stages of one's life to really digest it. Some of the stories are simply there to scare one or make us laugh, but the others are there to teach us valuable lessons like caring for one another, letting go, or even learning to deal even the more hateful parts of ourself. Its not just about the animals; its about the people too. Highly recommended (if you can find it!)
--Dio (10/11/11)
(all art done by Dio)