I read Margo Lanagan’s Tender Morsels weeks ago, and am just now getting around to reviewing it for a reason: I have no idea, still, how I feel about it. It seriously left me a jumbled mess. The only other books I can think of that have come anywhere close to haunting me like this one are Never Let Me Go by Ishiguro Kazuo and The Road by Cormac McCarthy.
And yet, Tender Morsels is nothing like either of these two novels. It is a re-telling of the fairy tale Snow White and Rose Red. In this version, it is Liga, the girls’ mother, who is the focus, rather than the daughters, and if you’ve got visions of Disney’s plump little dwarves and sweet and sleepy Snow White, stop now. The source material for this version is the far more sinister Grimm tale, and the brothers’ last name describes it to a tee.
To truly review this novel, I’d have to write a lengthy essay exploring all the contradictions and moral gray areas wrought by Lanagan’s invention, but since this is just a wee review site, I’m going to break it down into pros and cons.
The pros: the prose (yes, I went there). Beautiful and striking more for what it doesn’t say than what it does. The opening scene is one of the most violent and heartbreaking I have ever read, yet if you took the words one by one, there is little to be shocked about. We first meet Liga in the throws of a forced abortion, administered by her father. Some writers would have written a scene like this down to the last pang and drop of blood, but Lanagan hits it with a broad, dark gloss that is vastly more effective. The things she chooses to focus on and the very precise words she uses act as does a good horror movie score – they signal something truly horrible is afoot, but make it impossible to look away.
Upon looking, you will be unnerved to your core. So brilliant is Lanagan’s opening that, even when things are going beautifully well for Liga and her girls, you never, ever feel safe. As a reader, you become one with Liga, so it is as if you are living the betrayal of incest; the horror of gang rape; the sorrow at the murders of the children taken from her; the joy at the ones she is able to keep; the total loss of the will to live; and the tentative thrill at fighting to find it again. While using all the archetypes, clichés, and tropes of a classic fairy tale, Lanagan strips them of their familiarity. Whereas fairy tales are generally thought of as a safe place to confront one’s internal monsters, Lanagan’s re-telling seems to say that the monsters will eat you, and there is nothing you can do about it. It is more realistic than the grittiest reality novel, yet never loses the look, feel, or language of its source material. In this way, it is magical, and a truly impressive literary feat.
The cons: A brutal novel, from start to finish. Even in the moments of tenderness and humor, of triumph and happiness, there is always the specter of the harshness and despair, of failure and loss. Always.
And the ending. What? I’m not one who wants a pat ending wrapped up in a black and white bow, but damn! After following Liga through hell, I wanted – nay, needed - something purely sweet. I didn’t get it. On some level, I applaud Lanagan for sticking to her guns and not dishing out the happy ending. On the other hand, I was angry. No, I was pissed. And disturbed. I walked around reeling and devastated for over a week after reading this thing, trying to figure if Lanagan was somehow saying Liga brought it all on herself, or if people were just evil, or what. At the end of the week, I still didn’t know. I still don’t know. I suppose some would think this a positive thing - at least the book made me feel something, right? Sure. Lovely. Great.
Yet … I don’t like to walk away from a book with no sense of hope. Even The Road left me with some hope, even though the Man died. Even Never Let Me Go left me with some hope, even though Tommy died and Kathy was about to undergo her last “donation.” Tender Morsels left me nothing but the vague feeling that I’d been punched in the gut. Multiple times. With something hard.
On a side note: I simply cannot believe this was promoted as a young adult novel. When is the publishing industry going to acknowledge that not all stories with “genre” elements are kids books? Make up a new fucking genre, please. Call it whatever you want, just make it official so we can stop lumping any and everything under the YA banner. Tender Morsels is not a YA novel, and not because kids can’t handle serious shit. On the contrary, I think most kids today are a bunch of coddled little brats who spend too much time indoors and could use a little harshness here and there.
But this book is too much. As another reviewer said, the problem is not that teens aren’t old enough to handle it, but likely no one is old enough to handle it. Reading Tender Morsels is like finding out Santa Claus is a serial killer, the Easter Bunny is locked in a lab having poison dropped into his forced-opened eyes, and Fairy Godmothers are procurers for a child sexual slavery ring in hell, all on the same day. And yet it is deftly executed, remarkably layered, and phenomenally written. Would I recommend it? I don’t know. All I can say is, if you do read it, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
And yet, Tender Morsels is nothing like either of these two novels. It is a re-telling of the fairy tale Snow White and Rose Red. In this version, it is Liga, the girls’ mother, who is the focus, rather than the daughters, and if you’ve got visions of Disney’s plump little dwarves and sweet and sleepy Snow White, stop now. The source material for this version is the far more sinister Grimm tale, and the brothers’ last name describes it to a tee.
To truly review this novel, I’d have to write a lengthy essay exploring all the contradictions and moral gray areas wrought by Lanagan’s invention, but since this is just a wee review site, I’m going to break it down into pros and cons.
The pros: the prose (yes, I went there). Beautiful and striking more for what it doesn’t say than what it does. The opening scene is one of the most violent and heartbreaking I have ever read, yet if you took the words one by one, there is little to be shocked about. We first meet Liga in the throws of a forced abortion, administered by her father. Some writers would have written a scene like this down to the last pang and drop of blood, but Lanagan hits it with a broad, dark gloss that is vastly more effective. The things she chooses to focus on and the very precise words she uses act as does a good horror movie score – they signal something truly horrible is afoot, but make it impossible to look away.
Upon looking, you will be unnerved to your core. So brilliant is Lanagan’s opening that, even when things are going beautifully well for Liga and her girls, you never, ever feel safe. As a reader, you become one with Liga, so it is as if you are living the betrayal of incest; the horror of gang rape; the sorrow at the murders of the children taken from her; the joy at the ones she is able to keep; the total loss of the will to live; and the tentative thrill at fighting to find it again. While using all the archetypes, clichés, and tropes of a classic fairy tale, Lanagan strips them of their familiarity. Whereas fairy tales are generally thought of as a safe place to confront one’s internal monsters, Lanagan’s re-telling seems to say that the monsters will eat you, and there is nothing you can do about it. It is more realistic than the grittiest reality novel, yet never loses the look, feel, or language of its source material. In this way, it is magical, and a truly impressive literary feat.
The cons: A brutal novel, from start to finish. Even in the moments of tenderness and humor, of triumph and happiness, there is always the specter of the harshness and despair, of failure and loss. Always.
And the ending. What? I’m not one who wants a pat ending wrapped up in a black and white bow, but damn! After following Liga through hell, I wanted – nay, needed - something purely sweet. I didn’t get it. On some level, I applaud Lanagan for sticking to her guns and not dishing out the happy ending. On the other hand, I was angry. No, I was pissed. And disturbed. I walked around reeling and devastated for over a week after reading this thing, trying to figure if Lanagan was somehow saying Liga brought it all on herself, or if people were just evil, or what. At the end of the week, I still didn’t know. I still don’t know. I suppose some would think this a positive thing - at least the book made me feel something, right? Sure. Lovely. Great.
Yet … I don’t like to walk away from a book with no sense of hope. Even The Road left me with some hope, even though the Man died. Even Never Let Me Go left me with some hope, even though Tommy died and Kathy was about to undergo her last “donation.” Tender Morsels left me nothing but the vague feeling that I’d been punched in the gut. Multiple times. With something hard.
On a side note: I simply cannot believe this was promoted as a young adult novel. When is the publishing industry going to acknowledge that not all stories with “genre” elements are kids books? Make up a new fucking genre, please. Call it whatever you want, just make it official so we can stop lumping any and everything under the YA banner. Tender Morsels is not a YA novel, and not because kids can’t handle serious shit. On the contrary, I think most kids today are a bunch of coddled little brats who spend too much time indoors and could use a little harshness here and there.
But this book is too much. As another reviewer said, the problem is not that teens aren’t old enough to handle it, but likely no one is old enough to handle it. Reading Tender Morsels is like finding out Santa Claus is a serial killer, the Easter Bunny is locked in a lab having poison dropped into his forced-opened eyes, and Fairy Godmothers are procurers for a child sexual slavery ring in hell, all on the same day. And yet it is deftly executed, remarkably layered, and phenomenally written. Would I recommend it? I don’t know. All I can say is, if you do read it, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
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