Having been quite taken (zing!) by Alma Katsu’s slow-burn take on the Donner Party in her excellent novel The Hunger, I was eager to give her earlier works a chance. So I figured I’d start at the beginning, with her debut novel The Taker. And while the premise sounded suspiciously like a romance tale with vampires (two genres that I really have no interest in), the actual contents of the book were quite entertaining and rather original.
”One partner doesn’t love the other enough to stop drinking, gambling, or running around with other women. One is the giver, and one is the taker. The giver wishes the taker would stop.”
Originally published back in 2011, The Taker is a rather unique historical fiction, one that reads like a more contemplative, and less verbose, Anne Rice novel. Much like The Hunger, this is a slow burn affair, relying more on originality and plot, rather than action and spectacle, to keep the reader invested. Like I said, I’m not much for vampires or romances (and definitely not romantic vampires), but thankfully The Taker provides a slightly different take on immortality and those who have it.
”Take care of yourself, Lanore. Be careful. And whatever you do, don’t fall in love with your gentleman. We women make our worst decisions when we are in love.”
As with all of my reviews, I will attempt to keep spoilers to a minimum. Though the synopsis of the book does a good job of explaining the basic premise, there is so much history and discovery fashioned within the pages that, to explain them, would rob the story of much of its impact. So, in order to keep things as secret as possible, I will do my level best to avoid giving away any significant plot points.
The Taker is a story that jumps between the present and early 1800’s New England, but these transitions are never confusing or jarring. The majority of the story does take place in the past, with the present day sections providing brief respites from the historical reminiscing. We essentially have two main characters, though I hesitate to call them protagonists per se. There is evil in this book, for sure, but it’s not really a tale of “good vs evil”. So unlike most books I’ve read, I can’t really say that anyone is overtly a protagonist or antagonist. Like most people (fictional or otherwise), the characters in The Taker are various shades of gray, showing both kindness and wickedness, being at turns both caring and selfish. The primary main character is Lanore McIlvrae, a woman born into a mixed religious family in St. Andrew, Maine, in the late 1700’s. She is the focus of the story, and most of the book is from her perspective. The other main character is Luke Findley, an ER doctor in modern times, and he is the surrogate for the reader, as we share his sense of wonder and discovery as he meets Lanore and she shares her story with him.
It was a sad place to live, too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, and lonely as the moon.
In a way, the storytelling in The Taker reminds me quite a bit of Frankenstein. Both are a story that is being told after the fact; a recounting of events to another character in the story. But while Frankenstein was done in an epistolary format, The Taker is a verbal affair, with Lanore telling her tale to Luke over the course of several days. Given the historical nature of the tale, this delivery works well, helping convey the tale with a more personal slant. Needless to say, the modern portions of the book are nowhere near as engaging as Lanore’s historical accounts. While the modern sections are necessary, and do provide a break and a counterpoint to the retelling of past events, they just don’t have the same oomph. Nor did I expect them to. This is a story about the extraordinary events from Lanore’s past, so that’s where the meat of the story is going to be.
He’s left their paintings in storage in the old country, like the faces of angels locked away in a vault.
The only part that was a little jarring at first is that all of the chapters from Luke’s perspective are told in present tense third-person. It’s just rare enough that it threw me off for the first third of the story. Eventually I stopped noticing it, but it did take a little bit.
Of the two characters, Lanore is obviously the focal point. It’s her history we are learning about, and she is an engaging character and consummate storyteller. She has a hopeful heart, and her emotions are always close to the surface. While she is ultimately a “good” person, she is by no means perfect, and has plenty of moments of weakness, spite, jealousy, and anger. One of the things I absolutely loved about this book is that every character is shown with their flaws fully on display. There’s no glossing over the things that men and women do when they think nobody is watching. Everyone has secrets, everyone has faults, and Alma Katsu navigates these imperfect waters with great talent. Ultimately, Lanore is relatable because she feels things we all feel, but in her case she feels them more strongly than most characters do in books. She’s a “heart on her sleeve” kind of girl, and I found it endearing. She is far from perfect, and some of the things she has done (or admitted to herself in the solitude of her own mind), made me cringe, but that just makes her all the more human.
Luke, on the other hand, is a bit of an odd duck for me. He is kind, in a world-weary way, and certainly has his endearing moments. He sees beyond his initial impression of Lanore, and has a dedication to his craft that is admirable, but I honestly don’t see what endears him to Lanore. He comes across more like a befuddled Samaritan than someone who would capture (and keep) her interest. I get it that the story needs a surrogate, someone for Lanore to tell her story to, but Luke is almost too much of a wet blanket. Almost. Still, props must be given to Alma Katsu for not going taking the “McDreamy or McSteamy” path for Luke, and instead making him more of a relatable everyman. And, I think any man would be somewhat of a wet blanket in the face of the timeless mystery that is Lanore. So I guess I have to cut him some slack.
There are plenty of other characters in The Taker, including Lanore’s beautiful but aloof friend Jonathan and Adair, the man who brings Lanore into the shadowy world that she didn’t know existed. Both men are richly drawn, attractive and yet dangerous in their own way. I like how Alma Katsu subverts the usual “most attractive man in the world” conceit with Jonathan, providing a viable reason why his looks are important, beyond the “attractive people attractively fucking” motif that pervades every facet of entertainment these days. But to speak any more about either of these men would run the risk of spoilers, so that’s all I’ll say about them.
So much suppressed lust smoldering in the bosom of many a female in that dry field that day, it’s a wonder the grass didn’t catch on fire.
One of my favorite things about The Taker is that it’s a supernatural tale, but one bereft of traditional “monsters”. Alma Katsu could have easily gone in any of an assorted directions with her story, but she wisely takes the road less travelled. Yes, this is a story that has monsters in it, but those monsters are men who choose to do monstrous things. After all, what is worse? A monster who is evil be design? Or a monster who is evil by choice? For my own preference, give me a human monster any day. Mankind is capable of such selfless acts of love and sacrifice, which makes it all the more engaging when someone willingly chooses to take the darker road, forsaking morality and decency and instead succumbing to the animal instincts buried just below the surface. This is undeniably a story about love, and the lengths people will go because of that love, but on the flipside of that coin is hatred and cruelty, and The Taker has that in droves as well.
A love that is too strong can turn poisonous and bring great unhappiness. And then, what is the remedy? Can you unlearn your heart’s desire? Can you stop loving someone?
After reading both The Hunger and now The Taker, it’s clear that Alma Katsu has a serious knack for historical fiction. She expertly takes true pieces of history and incorporates them with her imaginative creations for a wonderful concoction. But I like that she keeps the historical facts to a minimum, serving mostly as accents to the story. Because ultimately these are works of fiction, and her imagination should be allowed to breathe. And believe me, it certainly does. She has some pretty awesome ideas nestled within these pages, all served with a healthy dose of pragmatism where human nature is concerned. And honestly, nothing quite played out in The Taker like I thought it would. Which was a very welcome surprise indeed.
But the town now made its living catering to the whims of strangers and seemed degraded, like finding your childhood home had been turned into a bordello, or worse, a convenience store.
If I have any issues with the story, it’s that it’s less horrific and more contemplative than I was expecting. But that’s mostly from my own expectations after reading The Hunger. Honestly, there’s not much criticism I can level at the book. Sure, it’s slow at parts, and occasional punches are pulled when it comes to describing the unsavory acts that immortal hedonists would taking part in. But outside of that, there’s very little to nitpick. It’s a well written book, with a unique take on immortality and has enough little twists and turns to keep even jaded readers engaged. There’s mild stabs at humor, but for the most part this is a somber tale, moments of light and warmth always locked in battle with the harshness of life and the casual cruelty of man.
Men like this are capable of sniffing out women like Magdalena from across a town, across a valley if the wind is right and they are desperate enough.
The most frustrating part with this book, and the trilogy itself, is that I’m kind of at a crossroads. I am very excited for where the story is heading, especially after reading the sneak-peek for the second book in the trilogy. There’s some interesting shenanigans in store for Lanny and Luke, and I’m sure there’s more stories from her past for Lanore to dredge up. At the same time, this wasn’t quite as dark or as disturbing as I was hoping for. While The Hunger was more a traditional “horror” tale, The Taker is more of a historical romance with supernatural underpinnings. Not quite my cup of tea, no matter how expertly it may be crafted. So, in all honesty, I can’t really say if I’ll pick up the next book or not. I’m sure I’ll check out the novella The Devil’s Scribe where Lanore meets Edgar Allen Poe (because duh, it’s POE!), but I am truly unsure if I’ll read any of the other novels themselves. But, that uncertainty notwithstanding, I really did enjoy The Taker.