I don’t mind metaphors as much as I might. I think that generally I’m supposed to hate them when they show up in children’s literature. I don’t if they’re done well, though. Maybe if I were an adult encountering The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe for the first time I’d find the Jesus allegory annoying, but as a kid it flew right over me. Similarly, if I were an eleven-years-old today and someone handed me A Monster Calls I could read this whole book and not once speculate as to what the monster “really means”. Author Patrick Ness (who also wrote a book called Monsters of Men just to confuse you) writes a layered story that can be taken straight or at an angle, depending on what you want out of the book. What I wanted was a great story, compelling characters, and a killer ending. That I got and so much more.
The monster comes at 12:07. It would probably be easier for everyone, the monster included, if Conor were afraid of it, but he isn’t. Conor’s afraid of much worse things at the moment. His mom has cancer and this time the treatments don’t seem to be working as well as they have in the past. He’s plagued by a nightmare so awful he believes that no one else ever need know of it. Bullies at school pound him regularly, his grandmother is annoying, and his dad lives with a different family in America. The crazy thing is that Conor kind of wants to be punished, but the monster has a different purpose in mind. It’s going to tell him three stories and when it’s done Conor will tell him a fourth. A fourth that is the truth and also the last thing he’d ever want to say.
For the record, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate a book that includes the word “monster” in the title and then proceeds to include lots o’ monster. Since we’re dealing with the serious subject matter of a boy learning to forgive himself as his mother dies of cancer, Ness could also be forgiven for just putting a dab of monster here or a dribble of monster there. Instead he starts with the monster (“The monster showed up just after midnight. As they do.”) continues to pile on the monster scenes, and by the time you reach the end there’s not a kid alive who could say they were mislead by the cover or title. The monster in this book isn’t the only wild Green Man to be published this year. Season Of Secrets by Sally Nicholls
I agree that this is a lovely book!
But gee– the Green Man in Season of Secrets might not be a powerful character at the beginning of the story, but he’s never cuddly, and since roles are reversed at the end, and he becomes the powerful one, it’s hardly fair to say he’s Mister Tumnus-esque!
Possible spoilers. I was a very literal kid, but I loved metaphor and allegory. But then, as now, I wouldn’t have been enthusiastic about this book. It would have confused me. Keeping the monster’s reality so ambiguous annoyed me because if the monster is a manifestation of the boy’s imagination, how could a boy that age be so mature, knowing and self-aware of his psychological turmoil that he creates a monster who becomes his therapist? (Having experienced the sudden deaths of both parents, I know something of what the boy was going through). If the monster is real, and its reality is hinted at with the leaves left in the boy’s room, the magic that repairs houses and keeps others from seeing and hearing the monster is pretty damn powerful. The seemingly intentional gray area doesn’t work for me. For me, the father was a shallow stereotype, a device. It’s a good book, and the illustrations make me think of the surreal art often seen in books in the 70s, but for me it just tries too hard to be mysterious and deep. On the subjects of death and guilt, I prefer Marion Dane Bauer’s “On My Honor.”
No, I’m afraid I found the Nicholls Green Man very cuddly indeed. The reversal helped but I still came away with that feeling. That may be purely personal, though.
Interesting point about the monster’s gray area. Oddly enough, I read the monster as real from page one onward. I’m certain that it is a metaphor but I didn’t enjoy it that way. I enjoyed it as a kid would with a great big terrible monster taking a personal interest in a child’s life. But I concede the point about the father.
“I don’t mind metaphors as much as I might. I think that generally I’m supposed to hate them when they show up in children’s literature.”
Why? (Can we talk about this?)
Well, there’s metaphor and then there’s metaphor. Maybe it’s allegories I have more of a problem with. The problem with metaphor is that the book hinges on how well it’s done. A poorly done metaphor sinks a book faster than anything, and wears down the reader to boot. A good metaphor, when done well, sings. It’s like rhyming picture books. As a rule they’re awful unless, of course, they’re brilliant.
For me the bully was the most interesting part of the story. He was the only character to do the unexpected or have any fun. Connor and his family were such a bore I would have much rather read a story from the bully’s persective.
You question who the audience is for A MONSTER CALLS and I don’t think it is for teenagers or kids but instead for parents. I tried to think about what kid/teen i might recommend this to and couldn’t come up with a single name. I did however think of a ton of adults who I thought would really enjoy it.
Bravo on writing such a coherent and excellent review. I think I wrote mine too close finishing it and it was rather muddled as a result.
Like you I didn’t spend a lot of time trying to figure out the metaphors and just went along for the ride. I agree that Ness did a remarkable job dealing with the inner fears and personal blame one might feel and that it might help many people who have experienced this. I can see it having the opposite effect as well though. I think this is one of those books that it is impossible to categorize by age (which is frustrating for those of us who enjoy categorizing things).