Question: If a writer continually taps his keyboard in California, could it really cause an avalanche in the sitting-room of a London reader?
A seemingly odd question, perhaps, but not if you consider the focus of Mike Robinson's second book, to wit, "chaos theory" and the mysterious/sinister nature of cause and effect.
"Color heavily diluted. Non-existent. Sound, like snow, a physical unheard thing. Connecting everyone, entwining every skull, were channels of butterflies, flying in slow obedience back and forth, from one mind to another. Rivers of wings rippled through the human geography, nourishing life and sentience."
The Green-Eyed Monster, ostensibly horror, explores the complicated idea of the "butterfly effect", albeit in a very interesting and highly original way. The story centres on the sinister relationship between two best-selling writers, Martin Smith and John Becker (perhaps imagine Stephen King and Dean Koontz living side by side in an eerie condo?). Anyway, the narrative structure is somewhat complicated to describe, but thankfully not to read. To begin with, Becker is dead on page/screen one, the police arrive to find Smith with smoking gun in hand, and so the mystery is set to unfold. We quickly discover how Smith and Becker have become connected from birth, growing up together in the small town of Twilight Falls. The two are inexplicably inseparable and yet fierce and bitter rivals . The story then further unfolds from the varying perspectives of those whose lives interconnect with the two writers, first from the viewpoint of their school teacher and then a fellow high school pupil.
It's here, in first adopting the voice of the school teacher, Robinson not only seamlessly changes from third to first person, but rather deftly, and after only one or two paragraphs, has you right there, that is to say, picturing yourself alongside the teacher in her classroom from hell. Also worth noting is young Marty Smith's childhood story: The Big Brain. This is incredible writing. Robinson again changes gears effortlessly and offers something new, both simplified but deeply profound all at once, and, in a peculiar way, reminding me of the character Bruno in the The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas, or, perhaps faint echoes of The Book Thief.
Of course, the horror of Stephen King is what's at the forefront of this work, that way of placing horror in the everyday and especially in the arena of childhood. And, sticking with my somewhat obvious comparison to King, in places The Green-Eyed Monster really reminded me of The Shining too. For certain, you'll be taken to some very weird, dark and chilling places as the two writers create words which float out into the world like causal but sinister butterflies, that is each word/butterfly having a knock on effect.
Come 9:56, the writings of John Becker and Martin Smith had grown into firestorms of language. Their wrists yelled pain. Their foreheads glistened with perspiration. They could not stop. They wrote and wrote and the library, the town, became a dapple of eternity. At 10:25, Harry placed his first knock on Max's door.
Anyway, you've perhaps already noticed, from the two extracts above, that Mike Robinson not only is a writer daring to tackle rather complicated ideas, but is also a rather fine writer at that. His prose both has a poetic sensibility that fittingly floats about your mind like a rich yet foreboding butterfly, but is also somewhat expedient with its grand approach, perhaps always underlined with an exacting and taut precision:
"Harris orbited the table, snapping pictures. The coroner, a soft-eyed young doctor named Greene with a manner as cold and metallic as the table propping her subject, surveyed the body curiously, scalpel in hand."
"Physical life is nothing but diseased membrane grown around divine tissue, tissue heavily impaired and diluted by anatomical limitations."
"Looming over the body, Smith laughed. The bullet had dug a maroon tunnel through Becker's skull. Smith had an absurd urge to peer inside as if it were some kind of organic peep-hole."
In addition there's a real depth of philosophical exploration too, an ace card that gives Robinson's work a literary prowess, not always present in a lot of out and out horror. Literary Horror would assuredly be a more exacting way to describe this tome because every page is full of insight matched only by the high standard of his writing, and with all sincerity I can't help but think that in the fullness of time Mike Robinson's work will/should sit alongside the major authors of the genre: King, Koontz, Becker, Smith... and Robinson.
Question: If a writer continually taps his keyboard in California, could it really cause an avalanche in the sitting-room of a London reader?
Answer: Yes, an avalanche of the senses, because The Green-Eyed Monster is a triumph of a story, burying said reader in the macabre and chilling recesses of an already accomplished writer's dark imagination.
NB: This review also appears on The Indie Pedant website, a home for indie writers.