It’s difficult to convey what I am compelled to say about this novel, as THE LONEY was just about my favorite book of 2016. Andrew Michael Hurley is a writer of commanding talent, and I will still be first in line for his next novel, when it comes out, as his elegiac tone, haunting atmosphere, and undulating and metaphorically muscular prose is still on full display in DEVIL’S DAY, despite it being a disappointing book for this reader.
This is how I can best describe it with analogy. It’s like I was at the airport waiting to board a plane for a heady trip. But then the flight gets delayed by many hours. There’re still a lot of exclusive places to shop and eat at the Austin airport, and I can stay amused and fed until my flight finally arrives. But after finally boarding and watching the pregnant clouds, the grey and moody sky, and the astonishing play of light for half a day and night, the plane detours to another city because it ran out of fuel.
The story in THE LONEY was electrifying, dangerous, ominous, and menacing, yet also supple, delicate, with a plot and characters fully rounded, from mournful to macabre. I was on the edge of my seat, although the narrative wasn’t swiftly paced, but rather gradual with colossal strength. But I have to wonder if Hurley, in writing DEVIL’S DAY, felt the need or desire to combine some autobiographical material into a fictional story.
There was a lot of time spent on the quotidian dynamics of a family who lost an icon, The Gaffer—father to some, grandfather or uncle or cousin to others, and the first year of the annual Gathering and Devil’s Day sans Gaffer. This is when the tiny, rural and provincial burgh celebrates with a feast and rituals simulated to seduce and trick the devil after bringing the sheep down from the moors.
Those that live here in “The Endlands” year round deal with punishing climate and embrace superstitious beliefs. I looked it up to see where in England it was, and discovered that The Endlands was a sci-fi horror book by Vincent Hobbes, a place of darkness, despair, and where things hiding in the recesses of your imagination foment and haunt you every night. OK, I was intrigued, anticipating another story where the mind is the most conjuring and frightful foe, reinforced by the moody, grim setting.
This year, the Gaffer’s grandson, John Pentecost, returns to help gather the sheep for the Gathering. He’s the one that left for a teaching degree, lives in Suffolk with his comely, pregnant wife, Kat, and is the narrator of this story. He brings Kat for her first visit--for the Gaffer’s funeral, the Gathering, and the feast for Devil’s Day.
The set up is alluring, and Hurley foreshadows with his poetic, confident prose. Every sentence is gem-like and rarefied, building tension and foreshadowing evil. Describing the Devil, “He was the maggot in the eye of the good dog, the cancer that rotted the ram’s gonads, the blood in the baby’s milk.” “But when he saw the animals decaying before his eyes and the blood dribbling from the wet-nurse’s teat, his nerve faltered and the Devil brought a blizzard to the valley that lasted for days.”
Omens augur throughout the story, and now and then I was creeped out by the behavior of a disturbing child or a dark, murky memory. There were a few moments where I held my breath, but then it flattened out and blended into the background. That is how I felt the presence of the book—a finger that points to something intoxicating and ominous, but then it fades or deflates. The mounting tension between John and Kat becomes the focal point, but it is unsustaining when it weakens. The reader gets a sense of a guarded event that John is hiding, but then another event from the past becomes the locus of evil. Or is it?
Wounds and buried secrets provoke and then sigh. The background and setting seem to rise from the primordial steam, like THE LONEY, but don’t coalesce into a riveting tale. Rather, it is a coming of age for the back woods, an evoked Stand By Me vibe that is more a portrait of an isolated, eccentric, and sad little valley that did surprise me at the end, past the disappointing denouement, but only because it didn’t seem credulous.
If you haven’t read THE LONEY, read it! It’s a masterpiece. I think Hurley needed to get this one out of his system, and I’m still glad I read it, as the glistening prose kept me forging ahead. But it was more grimacing than grim, and malingering rather than moving. I may have been disappointed with the finale, but I wouldn’t say I totally wasted my time.