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Author Brett Alexander Savory has characterized his first full-length novel, In and Down, as weird…and who am I to dispute the author’s own honest description of his work? It is weird. But weird in a good way. In and Down tells the tale of young Michael and Stephen, brothers who are searching for their mother, long absent from their lives. Michael and Stephen have a love-hate relationship with one another, typical enough for brothers, but theirs has an eerie, almost surreal, aspect that makes it unique in the annals of brotherhood. Add to the mix the emotionally-distant and neglectful father who is raising the boys, and you have a strong impetus for Michael and Stephen to begin seeking the maternal presence that has made them both somewhat sociopathic. The discovery of a cryptic letter written by their mother leads Michael into the world of the Freekshow, a dream-world carnival where he discovers the dark and disturbing underbelly of his fixation with finding his lost mother. In and Down is not your typical horror novel, though. If you pick up the book expecting blood and gore, you’ll be sadly disappointed, but if you enjoy reading about how humans themselves can become the monsters in our—and their own—lives, you’ll find the book very satisfying. Savory possesses the ability to describe the indescribably surreal world of dreams (if dreams they truly are) in such a way that the reader can easily form a mental picture of a child’s nightmare world. Told in present tense, the novel is well-paced even though it is by no means a roller-coaster ride of action. There are surprises along the way, with carefully placed clues woven into the story and the subtext of the novel. I found these devices forcing me to constantly second-guess myself about the true nature of the tale and its characters. I was usually wrong, by the way. The end, while tragically poignant, was equally satisfying. In and Down is a thinking man’s horror novel and while the horror genre tends to have fewer female readers than male, I believe it will prove itself a thinking woman’s horror novel, as well. Author Savory doesn’t beat you over the head with his writing style or his gift of expression. He lets you embrace his tale willingly, expanding its scope as the reach of your arms increases. Weird or not, In and Down is one of those horror novels that truly belongs in the literature section of your local bookstore.
IN AND DOWN
FBS Quick Take The pool is deep; there is no shallow end. With these words Brett Alexander Savory begins the climax to his second novel. That single line is as an appropriate a description of the novel as you will find. It’s an unsettling journey from the carnival that opens the story to the world of The Freekshow that Michael journeys to in his dreams. In and Down is, on the surface at least, the story of two brothers, Michael and Stephen. But as Savory takes you in to the narrative and down to the depths of Michael’s mind it becomes much, much more. After the disappearance of their mother, Michael and Stephen are living with their father. A father who doesn’t look at his son the way a father should. Despite Michael’s near-drowning the man can’t help but put in a pool behind their new home. Michael knows he will die in that pool. But then Stephen doesn’t look at his brother the way a brother should either, and on one occasion made Michael drink weed killer. While the boys stay at their uncle’s house, Michael begins to dream of a man in a green suit and top hat. A man who calls him Mr. Head, a man who Michael will name Hob. Hob is Lewis Carroll’s Mad Hatter. Alan Moore’s Joker. The sinister ringleader of The Freekshow. And a man who looks a little like Michael’s father. After the boys return from their uncle’s house, where Michael has found a letter from their missing mother, Michael’s waking and dream world begin to collide. One of the very interesting things about the novel, in fact, is that the letters have been reproduced on the page, in handwritten type on what looks like loose leaf paper. Little illustrations and other similar notes follow, exactly as Michael has found them. It’s interesting that the dedication page bears only the symbol for women. No women appear in the novel. They simply don’t exist. They haven’t existed since Michael’s mother left the family. Michael comments on this as he remembers tossing a rock off of an overpass. It hits a woman’s windshield, and she nearly dies. Michael worries that his father will be mad, not at his unthinking childish act, but that he could have killed something that didn’t exist. Something imaginary. In and Down is being marketed as a horror novel. That is probably as close a label as one can attach to this unsettling piece of psychological disquiet. The novel’s only real shortcoming is Savory’s preference for ambiguity and a narrative that while it opens itself to the imagination of its reader, provides few if any clear answers.
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NO FURTHER MESSAGES Reviewed in Rue Morgue (issue #74, December 2007) The world of Brett Savory is a dark, grimy side of town populated by damaged psyches, introspective killers, ugly truths and frayed sanity. With his handsome word choice and ear for dialogue, he is a brilliant narrator—switching seamlessly between genders and ages to maximum effect—in both his short fiction (No Further Messages) and his shape-shifting second novel (In and Down). The latter is the story of two young brothers living with their angry father and the whisperings of a mother who abandoned the family. Stephen seems like a bad seed who knows more than he lets on and Michael is missing something and suspects his father and brother may be plotting to kill him. Plagued by Naked Lunch-like dream states, Michael descends into a Lynchian mindfuck where characters switch identities and a spiritual guide named Hob (think Cat in the Hat on acid) takes him on a headtrip through dimly lit metal sketches involving murderous clowns, pig balloons and a wooden doll named Marla, who might just hold the answers. A Gothic fantasy with the same kind of murky, twisted whimsy as Pan’s Labyrinth, In and Down sucks you in like a shadowy film noir as Michael tries desperately to uncover the secrets behind his peculiar family. Similarly, the 21 tales in No Further Messages mine the fragility of the human mind, with a cavalcade of marred miscreants so enthralling, you’ll be hesitant to put it down for fear of prolonging where Savory’s brain is headed next. However, as imaginative and well written as Savory’s work is, there’s frustration in that, as a storyteller, he rarely offers any plot-related resolve, favouring mysterious ambiguity over a clever twist. While not everything needs to be spelled out, Savory might be holding his narrative cards a little too close to his chest, lessening the impact of intriguing stories that are immensely open to interpretation. Regardless, there’s absolutely no denying the talent and depth of the exquisitely crafted worlds he creates. Both books are the work of a gifted writer bound to be a leading voice in the darkness of the Canadian literary landscape. Trevor Tuminski
IN AND DOWN
November 2007
I received your book on Tuesday and have just finished it this evening. I pretty much couldn't look away, I sat alone for hours and just read and it was everything I hoped for.
I'm kind of a deep thinker, at least I like to think I am, and your book added to my thoughts—made me think a lot, which I appreciate from anything (and anyone). Thank you for writing such a thought-provoking book, I've always been looking for something like that.
First off, the imaginative lives of "Michael's" thoughts reminded me of the movie Mirror Mask, which is also a very creative movie that has also inspired my thoughts. You should definitely check it out, I guarantee you'll like it.
When the twists first began, I was getting pretty confused, but later on everything was brilliantly brought back together, questions were answered and, like "Michael," I like to have answers to questions . . . and questions to answers.
One of my favorite parts of your book is, "Stephen's just crying and crying and shaking his head—no no no, say it ain't so—and no, Stephen, it ain't so, but Michael's not telling you that." It has so much emotion and strength in it. That captured me, I felt Stephen's true pain, I felt like I was experiencing it with him.
I also liked this part, "They gaze up at the stars . . . They're not wondering if there are aliens out there, or if a comet is hurtling toward earth to cause mass destruction. No creatures, no sci-fi stories. They're not even staring in awe. They are not attaching any sort of emotion to the stars whatsoever. They are simply watching them. Watching them go by. Not looking for anything." . . . SOOO beautifully written! I couldn't think of any better way to express that sort of feeling. That kind of writing puts me in absolute awe, it's astounding, really, it is.
You have captured the brotherhood of two young boys so well, I experienced the life of two boys struggling to understand each other and their own purpose, their strengths, weaknesses, developing characters . . .
After reading your book, I have such high hopes for myself as a writer, not that I will become anything like this book—it's truly enchanting, but that you can be my inspiration and I can be an inspiration to others.
In and Down is, in fact, my favorite book I've ever read, and I know that it will remain that way for a very long time. As a young and developing writer, In and Down is my inspiration. Thank you for writing it. I now have such a passion for my own writing.
—Jill Wilcocks, 16
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October 2007, Broken Pencil Magazine
Brett Alexander Savory's second horror novel delves into the psychological and physical terror that subtends patriarchal family life. In In and Down, Michael and Stephen live with their emotionally absent father in a suburban everytown. The boys—motherless, anxious, and growing up in a cloistered environment of icy secrecy, lazy mendacity, and outright misogyny—recede into a shared psychological unrest. Stephen is mean, reclusive and plays obsessively with a pair of sticks that act as prosthetic buffers between him and the world. Michael, on the other hand, falls into a dream-state in which he embarks on a quest for his mother, who supposedly abandoned the boys when they were young. What ensues is a disturbing and entertaining approximation of what Freud might have written had he gone deeper into the sickening ramifications of psychosexual subjectivity. Michaels' obsession with his mother's absence leads him into a shadow realm of dark attics, "freek" carnivals, human bowling balls and cannibalistic clowns. Confronting the horror of heredity, the revelatory aspects of not knowing and the dialectic of creation and identity, In and Down captures the gothic elements of everyday familial life, and the suffocating discord between the real and the ideal. Like most genre writers Savory sometimes falls prey to convention and clunky prose—on more than one occasion, I found myself scribbling, "show don't tell!" into the margins of the book. He does, however, paint an adroit portrait of the brothers' tense, sadistic and paradoxical relationship; at times, we are given a glimpse of their complicity, of the bond that links all siblings. Yet their relationship is far from normal, and it is the quiet battle between them that pushes the narrative forward. Going oedipal at the carnival has never been more fun, nor more terrifying. (Erin Gray)
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September 2007, Winnipeg Free Press
Brett Alexander Savory; $19.95 paper 978-1-897142-26-4, 220 pp., 5½ x 8½, Brindle & Glass, Sept.
With his second novel, In and Down, he doesn't abandon the genre, but sidesteps into an almost unclassifiable world that lies somewhere between the work of Neil Gaiman and filmmaker Tim Burton.
In and Down tells the story of two brothers—Stephen, 11 and Michael, 9—who are being raised by their father. Not only is their mother out of the picture, but so are any female role models. In fact, women simply don't exist in their world.
The boys grow up in the country, though their house "wants desperately to be from the outskirts of a big city." This is the perfect setting for a young boy to let his imagination run wild, which is exactly what young Michael does.
His older brother seems irritated by his existence, and not in a relatively healthy boys-will-be-boys sort of way, but a potentially sociopathic one. The boys' father is negligent, racist and possibly abusive, building a swimming pool in the backyard not long after Michael nearly drowns.
The only other person we meet in Michael's life is his uncle, whose house is "always swarming with flies," leading Michael to believe that his dead aunt may be stored in the attic.
Soon Michael finds a hidden letter from his and Stephen's departed mother, which begins: "I'm not coming home tonight. The boy makes me uneasy. You love him. I can't."
Shortly after, the skeletal remains of dead dogs start showing up in the family's yard.
And all of this happens outside of the bizarre dream world that makes up the bulk of this book.
It doesn't take long for Savory to pull us into the rabbit hole of Michael's dreams, a world populated by carnival barkers, deranged clowns, wooden women and a turkey-shaped sack that serves as the boy's guide.
Comparison
In comparison, the surreal HBO TV series Carnivale seems like a nice family day at the circus.
Among the characters in Michael's dream world are Hob, a sort of possessed Technicolor ringleader and Marla, the only woman the boy has ever known.
Soon Michael's dream world becomes part of his waking consciousness and he finds himself on a quest to find Marla, who has gone missing, just like his mother.
Savory never gets overly descriptive of Michael's dream landscape, offering only glimpses and allowing the reader to use his or her imagination to fill in the blanks.
For the most part this works, as it makes the young daydreamer easier to relate to. The dream setting is a great chance for the 34-year-old author to create a world where anything can happen. Rules of logic and reality are tossed aside, which makes for a pretty unique read.
Unfortunately though, it doesn't all come together at the end. Family secrets are revealed and there are M. Night Shyamalan-worthy twists—some predictable, some not—but there are also several unanswered questions.
Still, if you believe the journey is more important than the destination, and you have an interest in carnival sideshows or psychedelic imagery, this book could be right up your dark alley. If you prefer horror with a straight narrative and a tidy ending, you better look elsewhere.
Alan MacKenzie is a Winnipeg-based writer and actor.
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September 2007, Edmonton Journal, Sunday Reader section
Brett Alexander Savory; $19.95 paper 978-1-897142-26-4, 220 pp., 5½ x 8½, Brindle & Glass, Sept. Reviewed from advance reading copy
A darker than dark "family romance," partly because the family in question lacks women, it is one of the most claustrophobic fantasies I have ever read.
It seems to begin well, with a father and his two sons visiting a carnival, but only one son wants to be there, and readers will soon understand why. After this "real" experience, 12-year-old Michael, the eldest, soon travels to a carnival of nightmare, whether just in his dreams or in his daytime life is never clear. This is a novel of stark ambiguities, and nothing is quite what it seems. Not even the time when Michael's strange younger brother saves him from drowning in the family pool while their father continues to read his newspaper and ignores his kids at play.
But then, this is a core story of In and Down, a motherless family where the father is almost as absent in his presence as the missing person. Indeed, one of the frightening aspects of In and Down is the nearly complete absence of women from the text. Like his almost undefined daily life, Michael's nightmare carnival is empty of women. Except for Marla, the woman he meets early on in the charcoal-smeared landscape of the continuing dream where he has to deal with Hob, who in his green suit and top hat seems to control the carnival. Marla is waiting for someone, but meanwhile she will be Michael's only friend there. Or is she?
Savory, a senior editor at Scholastic Canada in Toronto, switches direction in almost every chapter, never letting the reader quite grasp what is happening. Like Michael, we can only go on, and hope that we will finally make sense of it all. There are the notes from Michael and Stephen's mother, which may or may not explain why she left; there are the workers who have come to dig a new swimming pool (and the dead dogs they keep unearthing); there are the flies that seem to worship his father; and there is Michael's father, a monumentally unloving and useless presence.
In and Down is one weird quest, but it's a beautifully tension-filled narrative that will hold a reader's interest late into the night. Its final revelations will surprise. The arc of the whole suggests just how terrible a world, even the small world of one abused family, without women can be. Savory's style catches the wrongness of it all perfectly.
Douglas Barbour is a local poet and freelance reviewer
IN AND DOWN [starred review]
September 2007, Quill & Quire, p. 61
Brett Alexander Savory; $19.95 paper 978-1-897142-26-4, 220 pp., 5½ x 8½, Brindle & Glass, Sept. Reviewed from advance reading copy
In and Down is difficult to summarize. It tells the story of two brothers, Michael and Stephen, who live with their father following the disappearance of their mother. After a series of near-tragedies—as often as not caused by Stephen, who quickly emerges as something of a sadist and demon seed—Michael receives a mysterious letter from their mother, written after her disappearance. The letter, which seems to lay the blame for her decampment on Stephen's strangeness, triggers a series of visions in Michael, macabre waking dreams that draw him deeper and deeper into the strange and terrifying depths of his subconscious. This alternate reality, which takes, among other shapes, the form of a sinister carnival, begins to creep into Michael's waking life.
Standard concerns of the novel form, such as characterization and narrative drive, are of little concern in a novel like this one, wherein the very nature of reality and consciousness are called into question. In and Down unfolds, appropriately enough, with a dream-like amorphousness, constantly resetting its own parameters in a way that would make even the most ardent postmodernist proud. Compulsively readable, it defies expectations even while seeming to embrace them. The book's final revelations are breathtaking, and justify an immediate re-reading.
So why is In and Down being pushed as a horror novel? Simply put, because it will scare the dickens out of you. And clown-phobics should be warned: the Simpsons punchline “can't sleep—clowns will eat me” has never been more terrifyingly applicable. In and Down is a masterful piece of work.
Robert J. Wiersema, author of Before I Wake (Random House Canada).
IN AND DOWN
July 2007, HellNotes
Brett Alexander Savory
Michael and Stephen exist as brothers in a womanless world created by an abusive father. Their mother had abandoned the family long ago, citing the father’s son, not hers, as the reason for her departure. Cryptic letters, apparently from her, begin surfacing throughout the house after Stephen, who appears to harbor hostility towards the younger brother, saves Michael from drowning.
Savory pulls the plug on reality with prose reminiscent of T.M. Wright, Straub, and Ramsey Campbell, slowly circling the drain as the reader is pulled In and Down into his sick little world. A “quiet horror” that seduces with subtlety, this story doesn’t aim to frighten with typical scares. Instead, it simply leans in close and whispers its tale, holding us captive with a tender, unflinching grip.
Once Michael ventures into the attic, the plot introduces the characters which give In and Down its life. Only when Stephen locks him in does he begin to funnel his way into the freedom from the mysteries of his life via a Dante-esque elevator. The enigmatic Hob serves as an unreliable tour guide through levels of his psyche that help him unravel the horrors that lie within. Others take the baton when Michael travels deeper, but it’s only when Marla, the lone female in the story, arrives, does he realize the depth of his delusions.
This novel may not appear to the reader as horror, initially, but if that connection Savory itches to make is made, he or she will enjoy a very dark ride, sitting uncomfortably close to a talented new writer.
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