Rating: 5 out of 5
Life isn’t always cut-and-dry. Sometimes, the most terrible
of circumstances can directly lead to the most wondrous acts of creation. A personal
tragedy can spur an artist to craft their life’s seminal work. Addiction can result
in the addict steering an otherwise ill-fated existence onto a path of hopefulness.
Society can rally around a national catastrophe, bringing people together,
opening up pathways to communication and goodwill. This is true even on a
cosmic scale, when something as violent as the Big Bang leads to the creation
of life, itself.
And sometimes, an abused woman and a serial killer can find
love, because existence can be the darkest of jokes, whose punch-line is hidden
beneath layer after layer of human frailty. It is a play in ten thousand
disjointed acts without an ending. A contradiction that is at once both
alluring and terrifying.
Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu is all of this,
and so much more.
Mercedes Yardley, as an author, is herself a contradiction.
Her work is darkly whimsical, gorgeously macabre, optimistically cynical, and outwardly
aloof, with a dash of cheerful angst thrown in for good measure. Her gift with
prose is magical; she’s very nearly creating long-form poetry, channeling every
bit of darkness you could imagine, stuffing it into a black hole, churning and
squeezing and choking the emotions for all they’re worth, and spitting out
something absolutely breathtaking on the other side.
I really cannot say enough about this book. Sure, you can likely
find many antagonists as depraved as Lulu the serial killer. Yes, there have
often been Fallen Woman heroines that are as lonely, pathetic, and cursed as Montessa.
But you would be hard pressed to find another work of fiction that could
demonstrate as much dreadful wonder in their mutual discovery of each other.
One is evil, the other tortured; together, their story is somber, ugly, and yet
eye-mistingly wonderful.
And yes, there is a message lurking within the beautiful
prose, hidden in the glint of Lulu’s First Kill Knife. Buried beneath the
layers of Montessa’s abuse. Lingering inside the suffocating miasma of ambiguity
that governs both of their thoughts.
But what that message is, is up to you to decide.
That is the last contradiction Yardley has given you.
Damn, how I love this appallingly beautiful book.
I think I’ve found a new favorite.
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