Friday, April 17, 2020

THE RETURN :: Rachel Harrison

A version of this review previously appeared in Shelf Awareness and is republished here with permission.

Rachel Harrison's horror thriller debut, The Return, is a gas. Elise, Molly and Mae are stunned when their friendship fourth, Julie, quickly marries a virtual stranger. It would have been the shock of their lives if Julie hadn't then gone missing. Exactly two years later, Julie shows up, unharmed but with no memory of what happened.

Mae sets up a reunion at the Red Honey Inn (a "pastel Frankenstein's monster" straight from "some warped fairy tale"), isolated in the Catskills. Prepared for Julie to be different, they're stunned when the strict vegetarian shows an unnerving love of meat. She's also understandably thin, but her skin has a bluish tint and "pools like melted wax."

Things head magnificently and creepily downhill. The hotel begins to smell like rot, footstep sounds abound and the televisions emit moaning sounds. Julie's condition worsens--her meat consumption becomes ravenous and she spits out teeth without care--and relationships start to fracture. With no idea what sinister corridor Harrison is heading down, there's no hope or desire but to hang on and read through dread-squinted eyes.

Harrison has a degree in writing for film and television and has worked on game shows and in publishing and finance. The Return is as thematically varied, but all the pieces fit into a terrific whole that's suspenseful to the end. "Whatever's happening now... it's going to catch up to us. It's going to grab us by the ankles and bring us down, not let us go. It's going to change us."

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About Malcolm Avenue Review

I was lucky enough to be born and raised in a nifty, oak-shaded ranch house on Malcolm Avenue, a wide-laned residential street with little through traffic, located amid the foothills of Northern California. It was on that street and in that house I learned most of my adolescent life lessons, and many grown-up ones to boot. Malcolm Avenue was "home" for more than thirty years.

It was on Malcolm Avenue, through and with my family and the other families that made up our neighborhood of characters, that I first learned about and gained an appreciation for the things I continue to love the most to this day: music, animals, photography, sports, television/movies and, of course, books.

I owe a debt of gratitude to that life on Malcolm Avenue. It gave me a sense of community and friendship, support and adventure. For better and worse, life on that street likely had the biggest impact on the person I've become. So this blog, and the things I write here, are all, at their base level, a little bit of a love letter to Malcolm Avenue.

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