If any contemporary author sheds a naked light on the weird, wicked and wild array of humanity, it's Dan Chaon. I've loved every single one of his novels, shivering as he opens the lid off of a supposedly common life to show us not only the misery - and frequently the horror - that lurks there, but the deep, unsettling peculiarity. Chaon does not need circus freaks when he sees the hidden freaks out there in the noon day sun so clearly.
And still, under the ominous Big Top we go: One of Us is fantastic, in every sense of the word. It's a pitch black sideshow of a novel, with little letup, as compelling and addictive as anything Chaon has ever written.
It is 1915 when we meet the unfortunate, orphaned twins Eleanor and Bolt, names that swing like clock pendulums (and their cruel surname, Lambkin! How many children had a little stuffed Lambykin doll to cuddle?) Eleanor is clever, self protective and gingery weasel-plain in appearance; the feminine wiles of more delicate girls unavailable to her. Bolt is somewhat easier on the eyes, but needier and slower. They know each other as no one else ever will, able to pop in and out of each other's thoughts at will.
With no adults to care for them, Eleanor and Bolt are easy prey for traveling circus ringmaster Harland Jengling - every name in the book is that perfect, that referential - who swoops them up like a soaring eagle retracting its talons, promising home and a new life. Off he whisks them to striped tents and sticky cotton candy, where they'll meet a boy entirely covered in fur, a girl with a third leg jutting out, a host of other sideshow performers, tiny and gigantic, lumbering grease painted clowns. Their tale unspools, like a tattered, blood red ribbon.
By then, the twins have had a stay with the lone, uniquely odious relative willing to take them in - or just take them, really. As rattling as the circus scenes are, nothing had me more on edge than the passages with their putrid, murderous Uncle Charlie, his vision clouded by alcoholic delirium, his mouth, all black teeth and stench, proclaiming familial love. At times, Chaon manages to make this character as far fetched a buffoon as Daffy Duck, while still maintaining the terror Uncle Charlie creates, the filth dripping off of him. The twins may escape his taloned clutches, but he is never far behind.
I did wonder if he was named as a nod to Hitchcock's Shadow of a Doubt Uncle Charlie, but that serial killer was also a gentleman who cleaned up nicely, the opposite of the vile creature 'takin keer of' Eleanor and Bolt. There is a great amount of referencing to other grim tales of ill fated chillun and misbegotten cirque otherlings - when starting with a title ripped from the 1932 banned movie Freaks, you know the ride you signed up for. The yokel talk also pervades throughout - yee haw, ya pore lil dogies! - occasionally irksome early on, but increasingly fitting as the twins journey on through a battered Midwest of the past.
One of Us frequently delights in its grotesquerie. A scene under a darkened tent with the "trapt" young woman Rosalie and her parasitic twin left me sickened, as if I was stuck on a janky carousel ride. Ugh, I thought, putting down the book, well played, Mr. Chaon, damn it.
It is farcical at times, but it is not a happy story (okay, I snorted as I wrote that - it's like saying the beheading of Anne Boleyn lacks whimsy). The shadows inch in closer, smoking out any tendrils of hope one had for Eleanor and Bolt.
There were times, particularly as we oozed toward the end, where I craved some relief, one mote of clean, unfiltered light. The novel is unrelenting.
Or maybe I need to toughen up. This is the first of Chaon's novels where it was clear he was having a blast, stepping out on the highest of razor thin wires and grinning at the public below. There was some sense of a writer having evil fun with Sleepwalk, his last novel, (which may be my favourite of his works), but this is brazenly going for as many jugulars as he can grab at once - juggling jugulars, this book is creeping through my blood. I needed a long hot shower at the end, but I still can't wash it off, or drown it out - One of us! One of us! Lord have mercy.
I should have mentioned earlier (and read earlier, for that matter!) my thanks for the early copy from a Goodreads/Holt sponsored giveaway. Dan Chaon is a favourite of mine, and I was thrilled to receive the book, if also a wee bit terrified. Both reactions proved correct.