A long post, but I hope you'll bear with me.

This story freaked me out. In fact, I'm reminded of the first line Vincent Bugliosi wrote in his book Helter-Skelter, but I think it's a fitting description for Joyce Carol Oates' short story as well: "The story in which you are about to read will scare the hell out of you."

In this fascinating collection of critical essays, Joyce Carol Oates' famous short story Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been, is discussed, argued and analyzed. If you've not read it, I highly recommend you do. I didn't realize I had read it years ago until a new-to-me blogger at Adventures in Borkdom reviewed it for the RIP Challenge, and it got me thinking about it. It was with a Twitter conversation from Nicole at Linus's Blanket that finally pushed me over the edge to download it.

I only intended to read the story, but I was soon swept up in this collection. The story itself is both brilliant in its subtlety and disturbing in its content. While there is no gore or slash, in my opinion it bests all of those typical fright night stories and films with quiet hints and allusions to what might happen. As one essayist, Larry Rubin writes:

For instance, Walter Sullivan praises her skill by noting 'horror resides in the transformation of what we know best, the intimate and comfortable details of our lives made suddenly threatening.' Although he does not identify it as such, Sullivan's comment aptly describes a classic instance of a grotesque intrusion: a familiar world suddenly appears alien.

It seems to be what Oates does best: Take our comfortable world and shift it to reflect the view back like a mirror. Everything seems to be the same, but something is a little bit off.

The Story

It's the early 1960s and Connie is fifteen-years-old. The prettier of the two daughters in the family, her mother doesn't approve of the precocious Connie, always looking at herself in the mirror. She's pretty sure her mother prefers her, though, over her older sister June, who works at the library and still lives at home.

Sunday begins like any other day since they don't go to church, but with a boring barbecue to attend with her family, Connie decides to stay home, wash her hair and laze around her room, thinking of romance and boys and listening to rock and roll. With her family away and Connie alone in the house, it becomes a dreamy afternoon. Things take quite a different turn, however, when a car pulls up the driveway driven by a man she walked past the prior evening at the drive-in.

His name is Arnold Friend and there's something about him that doesn't seem right. Stepping out of the gold-painted car awkwardly, he looks older but claims to be around her age. It looks like he's wearing make-up but forgot to finish putting it on his neck, so the stark contrast appears as though he's wearing a mask. The passenger in the car never acknowledges her and only continues to listen to the same young rock and roll music she has on in the house, but when she takes a closer look from the kitchen screen door, even he is different. In fact, he has the face of a "forty-year-old baby," which is extremely unnerving. Arnold stands by the car, propping himself up or holds the door, as though if he didn't, he might fall. His boots stick out at odd angles, which hint at the possibility of rags stuffed into them so he can stand on it to appear taller.

Arnold Friend wants Connie to get into the car and go for a drive with him. While initially exciting for Connie, it becomes obvious of his more violent intentions as the conversation continues. Instead, Connie stays behind her screen door, but he makes it clear he will never come inside. He casually explains that she will make the choice to come outside eventually, and when she does, she will come to him. He'll teach her about love, he says. It sounds different to Connie, though, and she doesn't like it, the air thick with fear and impending violence, nowhere near the romantic dreams she had before he arrived. She knows it's all wrong, that the way he stands and the fact that he's got make-up on is all a disguise. There is a far more disturbing element to Arnold Friend underneath it all and Connie is afraid. He is dangerous and she knows that she shouldn't leave the house.

Initial Thoughts

In all of the scary horror stories, this one struck me as one of the more frightening. I think it's because at only approximately twenty pages or so, its terror comes across in what is not said. There is an uneasy, uncomfortable atmosphere set with Arnold Friend's casual conversation, and incredible suspense was building as my fear for Connie grew. I was begging her to not leave the house, to not get into Arnold Friend's car.

I intended to only read the short story but the critical essays were fascinating. They evaluate and analyze feminism, Connie's innocence, the symbolism of Arnold Friend, and rock and roll music. They provide more insight into the relevance of religious values and the slippery slope between good and evil. There is even the argument, which I tend to also believe, suggesting Arnold Friend may even be Satan, embodied in this frightening man who wears his disguise of make-up and can't quite seem to stand in his boots just right because they very well could be the hooves of the Devil.

Joyce Carol Oates, if nothing else, is a master of horror and fright, but contrary to the Halloween and Friday the 13th movies, Oates is a sophisticated storyteller, drawing images of paralyzing fear with the agonizing ache of growing up into a very scary adult world. I highly recommend this and encourage you to read and re-read it.

I listened to the audiobook version of A Fair Maiden by Joyce Carol Oates and wasn't the biggest fan of it. Now, I'm reconsidering going back and listening again, or reading it, since I've found that Introductions and Afterwords, along with critical essays of a book give me much more insight and I end up appreciating a story even more. After reading the various thoughts from other writers on Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been, I'm thinking A Fair Maiden may be worth another go.

Where did the story come from?

Included in this collection is the original Life magazine article that piqued Oates' interest and served as the idea for the characters. Oates read only part of it because she wanted the story to not be encumbered by the true events of the case.

The article featured Charles "Smitty" Schmid of Tucson, Arizona, nicknamed by the Life article as the "Pied Piper of Tucson." Like Oates' character Arnold Friend, Schmid drove a wild gold-painted car and was a short man of 5'3" who stuffed his boots with cans and rags to give the impression he was much taller. Odd though he may be, according to the Life magazine article he still managed to generate a following of younger teenagers. Everyone knew he was different, but no one ever really complained about him. When it was uncovered that he had murdered three young women, it was not a revelation to the Tucson youth. In fact, they knew about it but no one wanted to be the one to turn him in, or make a big deal about it. While shocking that murder seemed to be more acceptable than tattling, it provided insight into the life of a kid at that time, struggling with acceptance of their peers, not ever wanting to "rock the boat." Of course, I'm not an expert on the psychological or sociological reasons why people do what they do, but being accepted by your peers is always a recurring motivating factor for every generation. Kids never want to stand out as the snitch, even though it's the right thing to do.

His victims were only teenagers: Alleen Rowe, Gretchen and Wendy Fritz. They are much more important to remember as they never had a chance to live out their lives.

Schmid was subsequently convicted of the murder of the three young women and was incarcerated up until his death by fellow inmates in the 1970s. He was apparently stabbed more than forty times and it took him twenty days to die.

Smooth Talk

Smooth Talk, Image Source

As I mentioned earlier, I read this years ago, and for some reason forgot about it until I started reading it last night. I also now recall the film adaptation, Smooth Talk, starring Treat Williams and Laura Dern. I don't remember everything but I do know that it was sufficiently disturbing, and I most especially remember Laura Dern perfectly representing Connie's contradictory sultry side and innocence. Treat Williams was oddly charming but frightening. Unfortunately, that's all I can say about the film since it's been probably more than fifteen years since I watched it. I'll need to rent that one soon.

About the Author

With over fifty novels to her name, Joyce Carol Oates is an American writer and winner of the National Book Award for Them (1969), and nominated for the Pulitzer prize for three novels: Black Water (1992), What I Lived For (1994), and Blonde (2000). She has been a Professor at Princeton University since 1978.

Click here to visit the author on her website.

My final review for the RIP Challenge. You can read more reviews from participants by clicking here.

Were it not for a 1973 book by Michael Lesy entitled Wisconsin Death Trip, which showcased news reports and a collection of photographs that depicted the harsh Midwestern landscape and some of its residents who suffered mental illness, crime, and the claustrophobic effects of a winter that seems like it might never end, Robert Goolrick would never have found the inspiration to create a fictitious story of life in the frigid Wisconsin winter. I'll need to research Michael Lesy's book since it's clearly been influential for many. Not only has Wisconsin Death Trip been adapted into a film, there is also an album, and one of Stephen King's short stories, 1922, from the collection "Full Dark, No Stars" was also influenced by it.

It is 1907 and Catherine has arrived to Truitt, Wisconsin to marry Ralph Truitt, the namesake of the town and the man who owns everything in it. Everyone in the town works for him, and making money is both his work and his livelihood. He has no family to remember anymore, and Catherine is the start of a new life for him.

She will be his second wife, a wife he selected from hundreds of responses to an advertisement he placed in the paper. He's lived the past twenty years alone with regret, but he's always wanted a life like everyone else, a simple one in which he wakes up with a woman he loves and who loves him, and goes to sleep with her at night after making love. But this wish of a simple life may never be possible. He grew up with a religious fanatic who tormented him to show him what hell was like and he ended up marrying a woman who he caught cheating. He threw her out but kept their son, and beat him every day until he ran away.

Unbeknownst to him, Catherine isn't the innocent she's claimed to be. She brings a terrifying plan and secret that will ultimately put their arranged marriage to the ultimate challenge. While all of them are deplorable characters initially, it soon becomes clear that they are all just a product of their own difficult childhood. They've just made a sad mess of their adult lives.

At once quiet and thoughtful, exploring a different time and world, it is also loud, torrid and passionate. Frantic in its excesses of scene after scene of sex, it could be considered cheap and tasteless, the moments literally throbbing off the page with descriptions to make you blush. Instead, it provided harsh contrast to the quiet and brutal life in the wintery Midwest. Like the winter, sex is an important and symbolic part of the story. The primal passion ties Ralph's old life to his new one and while it could become tedious at times, I felt it made sense for the story's evolution.

What Robert Goolrick is trying to paint in this novel that was inspired by Wisconsin Death Trip (and I believe he succeeds) is the picture that life was extremely hard for those who suffered the Midwest winters over a hundred years ago, and that while horrible things happened, it was just part of life. The old adage of "it is what it is" seems appropriate. These tiny towns in America may have been unheard of on a map, but they carried the same tragedies as the big cities, and yet approached it with an almost quiet and clinical detachment. One spouse commits infidelity, another is murdered, and yet another family experiences a suicide. It is what it is. Funerals are attended, newspapers relay more horror, and the next day the town has yet another sad event to focus on.

For some, normal lives turned to nightmare. They starved to death in the horrible winters. They removed themselves from society and lived alone in ramshackle huts in the woods. They were found drooling and naked and were committed to the insane asylum at Mendota where they were wrapped in icy sheets and lashed with electrical currents until they could be restored to sanity and quietude. These things happened.

People either love or hate this book. I've found that when people hate it, it tends to be for one of two things (or both), which I can understand: Too much sex or choppy sentences. The argument for both is there since I thought there was a whole heck of a lot of intimacy described with everyone, but I never thought it was too much. The choppy sentences also were there, but I didn't find it troubling. In fact, there are several sections that are choppy, but actually blend fluidly. Here's an example of it, which I think works well:

They laughed. They spoke quietly, out of respect for what they know to be Ralph Truitt's failure. The train was late. They felt the snow in the air. They knew the blizzard would soon begin. Just as there was a day every spring when the women of the town, as though by some secret signal, appeared in their summer dresses before the first heat was felt, there was as well a day when winter showed the knife before the first laceration.

It's choppy, I know, but something about it resonates, particularly the comparison of when you first feel winter coming with "the knife before the first laceration."

With a marriage built on lies starting anew in a town that quietly accepts tragedy, A Reliable Wife is the stark and beautifully written story of life at the turn of the twentieth century. Taking the reader through Wisconsin and the seedy nightlife of St. Louis, Robert Goolrick's tale of two people and their hope for love, is haunting and compelling. I appreciated the writing and look forward to more from Robert Goolrick. I would recommend this in the printed version versus the audiobook, simply due to the sex. If you do listen to it, just remember to listen with your headphones on, or keep the windows up if you're in the car.

Fans of Patrick McGrath's modern Gothic stories, particularly Asylum, will like A Reliable Wife.

About the Author

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This is my final selection for the RIP Challenge. You can read more RIP reviews from other participants by clicking here.

The 1998 film What Dreams May Come starring Robin Williams, Annabella Sciorra, and Cuba Gooding, Jr. was one I enjoyed, but it was the cinematography that I loved the most. The images were so beautiful that it has become a film I've watched more than once. When I learned it was based on a book originally released in 1977, I figured I would download it. After I did more research, it was interesting to find the author was previously a horror writer and, at the time, was trying to separate himself from the genre.

In the book, Robert has a visitor at his door, who delivers a large envelope. In this, Robert finds a manuscript written by his brother Chris. Immediately dubious at the authenticity since Chris has passed away, the woman at the door explains that she spent the last six months writing down Chris' words and after reassuring him that she understands it might be unbelievable, it is, in fact, true. She leaves quickly, never giving her name or a way to contact her.

It is Chris' journey following death that is explained, in minute detail of his initial stumbles as a spirit who didn't  understand what happened. He doesn't grasp how he can be at his own funeral, or lay down next to his weeping wife, since he believes he's not dead. When it becomes too confusing and exhausting, he eventually cries for help. It's answered by Albert, a guide who begins to educate Chris on where he now is, and what he must do in order to achieve fulfillment in this afterlife. Albert brings him to Summerland and while it's not quite the heaven one might expect as there aren't any angels or harps, it instead is a sweeping landscape of beauty and nature, where colors are at their purest, and everything emits its own natural energy vibration that is pleasing to hear. The sky has no sun, yet is bright and clear; the rushing water in the lake is cool and refreshing, yet hands and clothes remain dry. It's a peacefulness that Chris has never experienced before. And I'll admit that when a dog begins to run toward him, a dog he and his wife Ann had in their earthly lives but had to put to sleep because of illness, I got a little choked up.

Chris, though, is still tethered to earth through his wife's despair and pain at his loss. Her grief ultimately keeps him connected, and he can't move on. It's when she commits a final act that determines her own fate, that Chris must travel to the deepest realms to save her soul.

What happens after we die?
I'm sure I'm not the only one who wonders what happens after death. Although several sources were used to build the foundation of the experience of death and the afterlife in What Dreams May Come, the book doesn't claim to be anything more than a story, and it's a pretty entertaining one. Bogged down by descriptions at times, but still good.

Surprisingly, I was not all that interested in the love between Chris and Ann, even though it's important to the story and I appreciated it in the film. In the book, though, I cared more about this particular version of life after death. I was fascinated by the idea that hell was a result of people limited by their minds in the afterlife. If they could only bring themselves out of the negativity they were surrounded by, and the despair and darkness, then they also could be in Summerland. Everywhere they looked, though, they were in a land with others who were also drowning in misery, so these poor souls couldn't conceive of anything more than sadness, hatred, and pain and were mired in this existence.

I also was more curious about the image of a house of rest, almost like a hospital in Summerland in which those who died by an act of violence or a lingering illness recuperated. Only when they acknowledged that they had passed on and could accept that they were able to now live without pain, could they really begin their new life. An interesting thought that new residents of Summerland still clung to their earthly existence, even if it was wracked with pain.

It's a good story and I enjoyed several aspects of it, but I found that I did get a little overwhelmed with so many of the descriptions of the love between Chris and Ann. It's pivotal to the story, but the flashbacks to moments in their life and expressions of devotion became tedious. In one defining moment towards the end, I was shocked at how many pages it was taking to fully express their connection. So, I quickly read those sections, to get to the ones that interested me more.

The book is a nice way to spend a couple of afternoons, though, and those who are interested in this version of an afterlife, or who struggle with what might be next, might like to spend some time reading this. Ultimately, I do recommend the film instead of the book simply because the images alone are brought to life much more. In my opinion, it was a story meant more for the eyes.

The movie follows the same story to a certain extent as the book. Even though several characters were changed, I could understand why it was done. It's the stunning visual imagery that I've always enjoyed, and here are a few pictures to give you an idea.

All Images from Blu-Ray.Com

All Images from Blu-Ray.Com

All Images from Blu-Ray.Com

I participated in the RIP Readalong and this is the final week of our discussion. As this post will contain spoilers in the Q&A section for those who have not read it, the opening paragraph below will be safe to read as it is an overview of the story, along with my initial thoughts and recommendations.

The premise of the story is told through alternating voices of two women on a small farm in Provence, the South of France, but in different times. In one, Bénédicte, shares her secrets and perspective of her life beginning in her child of the 1930s/1940s and in the other is Eve, our primary narrator in contemporary times who is a recent resident, moving in with her mysterious boyfriend Dom. A beautifully evocative story, previously mentioned that it has  been compared to Rebecca. After finishing The Lantern earlier today, I agree. There are mysteries within secrets, a beautiful home in a lush landscape, a love story that could be sinister, and more. At the height of this new love with Dom, they begin a life together in the summer, but when the weather changes, the hidden stories of Dom's previous life make Eve more curious, and the secret treasures found in the house don't convey the same sense of joy for her that she first felt when uncovering them before. There's more to the house, the previous tenants, and there's most assuredly something more with Dom, and Eve may not be comfortable with the truth.

A beautiful story, highly recommended to all who enjoy a story with atmosphere, mystery, and a Gothic tale. Fans of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield, and The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova will enjoy this story. I look forward to more from this author.

Question & Answer

1. Now that it's all said and done, what did you think of the book? Did you see the ending coming?

-- I really did enjoy this book. It had all of the elements that I love about a book: a Gothic tale, heightened atmospheric setting in the South of France, beautifully described scents and images, and characters that had quite the stories to tell. While I didn't see the ending coming, I did initially suspect that there was something medically related to the story, but I instead felt that perhaps Eve had some form of a split personality and Bénédicte was one manifestation. After all, we know her name only as Eve, but we know it's not her real name, so couldn't that have been another personality? Or perhaps this name was chosen as some form of a Biblical clue, that Eve is telling us all lies and leading us down the wrong path. Part of me thinks I could argue it is a possibility, but I'm comfortable with the more grounded in reality ending of two separate people in different decades that intertwine with each other because of one house.

2. What did you think of the characters? Lawrenson took us on a twisty little ride there, I had trouble deciding who was good and who wasn't for a while! What do you think of Dom? Of Sabine? Rachel?

Surprisingly, the characters all end up exactly as we are initially introduced to them. While Dom's secrets are explained away, I still found him to be a bit mysterious and didn't trust the story all the way through. But I kept thinking that Eve gave us all of the facts for everything else, why couldn't she have provided us the evidence that Rachel really did die in that clinic? Somewhat odd, right? Rachel seemed to be a snake, but that was only if I believe Dom, and again, Eve never shared anything concrete that was proven that Rachel did die in the clinic (unless I missed an entire page or something...?) I still didn't like Sabine and thought she was someone who shouldn't be trusted. She's so shady with her interactions with Eve and I know that most of it is because Sabine may not have trusted Eve either, but still. I didn't like her that much in the end.

3. Pierre was such a conflicted character. In the end, do you think he killed Marthe and Annette, or did they fall to their deaths because of their blindness?

Oh, Pierre, that disgusting character. While I initially thought that Bénédicte killed Annette and Marthe and that would be the surprising twist, I completely believe after closing the final pages that Pierre was a sick man his whole life, brutally attacked Annette, and then killed her and Marthe. No doubt in my mind. Pierre was a beast of filth and in my reader's hope for revenge, I wished he met a much more appropriate passing than the seemingly easy one he ultimately experienced.

4. The book is being compared to Rebecca and Daphne du Maurier's writing. Do you think the book lives up to that description?

This is my only gripe, and it is minor. Perhaps it is because I read Rebecca so very recently a few weeks ago, that I didn't always care for the exact mentions of Du Maurier throughout The Lantern. I instead, preferred when Eve would allude to Du Maurier with similarities, but when one specific chapter started out with the exact opening of a Du Maurier short story, I was a little annoyed by it. (I'm referencing a chapter when the first sentence is Dom telling Eve "Don't look now," which is  also the title and opening sentence of Du Maurier's short story. Maybe I wouldn't have minded it as much if I had read Rebecca years ago and then read The Lantern now.

5. Did you have any problems with the book? Narration? Plot? The back and forth between two different characters and times?

I didn't mind the alternating perspectives of the two women or the plot. I enjoyed all of it quite a bit.

6. Do you think Lawrenson tied both stories together well in the end? Is there anything she could/should have done differently?

I do think both stories were tied well together, and the only thing I would have wished for more of were Rachel's articles, or maybe a few letters or newspaper clippings. I think the addition of more of that would have heightened the atmosphere and overall Gothic feel of the novel quite a bit. Ultimately though, I was satisfied with this story and thoroughly enjoyed it.

7. One problem I had with the novel was the reliability of the narrators. Do you think any of them were telling the truth? Which ones?

I actually didn't mind this. It lent to the overall uneasiness of the mysteries and ambiguity of the characters, which is part of the reason why I love these types of stories. More, please!

About the Author (from the book)

Deborah Lawrenson spent her formative years moving around the world with diplomatic service parents, living in Kuwait, China, Belgium, Luxembourg, and Singapore. She studied English at Cambridge University, and has worked as a journalist for various publications in England, including the Daily Mail, the Mail on Sunday, and Woman's Journal magazine. She is married, with a daughter, and lives in Kent, England. She and her family spend as much time as possible at a crumbling hamlet in Provence, France, the setting for The Lantern.

The Lantern is her first novel to be published in the United States.

Click here to visit the author on her website.

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This is the final discussion installment for Peril of the Group Read. Click here to see other thoughts for the book.