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A review by firewolffred
Nothing On Earth by Conor O'Callaghan
2.0
'Nothing on Earth', by Conor O'Callaghan, is a book that wears the genre of Literary Fiction like ornate robes. It looks nice, but wear it outdoors in any weather and the impracticality of it will quickly make itself known. It’s all style without meeting any of its basic purpose.
This is what literary fiction has become. Distilled pretentiousness tied up into a neat bow while forgetting that the bow should be wrapped around an item of greater value than itself. Pretty words like 'ambiguity' and 'interpretive' get presented to bewildered readers, and the close-knit literacy types pat themselves on the back, feeling ever so smart that the vox populi don't understand their art. The stories lose their soul and serve no greater purpose than for these writers to masturbate over how frightfully clever they truly are.
Reading through 'Nothing on Earth', I'm constantly left with a feeling of utter banality and blandness. I ask myself, what is the purpose of this story? Why was it written? Every step forward the story takes seems to gleefully raise a middle finger to the reader, daring them to ask simple questions so it can merrily kick them in the shins for their insolence.
No aspect of the story goes anywhere. It opens with the appearance of a wild young girl knocking on the door of a priest. We learn that the girl's father is missing, and have the suggestion that he isn't the first. The police are called and they make the trip back to the girl’s house to investigate. Now we are thrown back in time to a new set of characters and a new style of narration. Knowing what we know, a small flame of hope blossoms within the reader. Here comes the promised gothic ambience.
Only, this never happens. Sure, the characters go missing, but this always seems like a disregarded footnote. One line we are following the character carrying out some mundane aspect of life, the next line we are with other characters stating that the previous had vanished. Even then no real fuss is made about it. Life just continues in the usual, boring way that O'Callaghan seems to revel in portraying. You want to hear more about spooky happenings? Nah. Here's a dozen pages about going to the shops and sunbathing. You want to see the raw emotion of bereavement as a family is torn apart? Sorry, they're pretty chill with events.
For something that bills itself as a modern gothic, 'Nothing on Earth' does the bare minimum to push its creepy atmosphere. The unoccupied new build housing estate is a perfect setting for a modern take on the gothic, and the pervasive heat builds an interesting and tense backdrop. This setting should have worked wonderfully, but instead, the tiny fishhooks of fear that build suspense are almost forgotten in the wake of day to day life. Like breadcrumbs to a starving crowd, we are offered mention of banging doors and words drawn on windows, but it’s never enough to create a coherent sense of dread. I can't imagine what Donal Ryan felt was 'quietly terrifying', but I can only assume that sneezing kittens must make him wet himself.
Perhaps the story holds up on its own without being scary? Not really. The narrative is spread thin across the already short length of the book. Mundane life can be interesting, but it isn't here. None of the characters ever get any, well, character. The girl isn’t given a name and only serves as a passive actor in the life of her other family members. We are given caricatures of these other characters, little snippets of what they are more than who they are. Helen is absent minded and anxious, Martina is flirty and outgoing, and Paul is, err, blunt, I guess. A mysterious past is alluded to, but nothing more than hinted at, leaving us with nothing but unanswered questions.
As the story reaches its conclusion, we learn nothing new, and none of our questions are answered. The puddle of plot is only further muddied as details are revealed to be different than stated, and the priest admits that parts of the story may have been added and rearranged by himself. Was any of it real? Was there any meaning to be taken away by the reader? Was there any enjoyment to be had?
As a writer, I create stories to elicit emotions. Literary types might look down sneeringly upon 'popular' fiction, but books like 'Nothing on Earth' aren't stories that I can imagine anyone enjoying. They might be packed with themes and ostentatious words, but without that drive to entertain an audience, we are left with a soulless shell, as empty as a model home that has never been lived in, nor ever will be...
This is what literary fiction has become. Distilled pretentiousness tied up into a neat bow while forgetting that the bow should be wrapped around an item of greater value than itself. Pretty words like 'ambiguity' and 'interpretive' get presented to bewildered readers, and the close-knit literacy types pat themselves on the back, feeling ever so smart that the vox populi don't understand their art. The stories lose their soul and serve no greater purpose than for these writers to masturbate over how frightfully clever they truly are.
Reading through 'Nothing on Earth', I'm constantly left with a feeling of utter banality and blandness. I ask myself, what is the purpose of this story? Why was it written? Every step forward the story takes seems to gleefully raise a middle finger to the reader, daring them to ask simple questions so it can merrily kick them in the shins for their insolence.
No aspect of the story goes anywhere. It opens with the appearance of a wild young girl knocking on the door of a priest. We learn that the girl's father is missing, and have the suggestion that he isn't the first. The police are called and they make the trip back to the girl’s house to investigate. Now we are thrown back in time to a new set of characters and a new style of narration. Knowing what we know, a small flame of hope blossoms within the reader. Here comes the promised gothic ambience.
Only, this never happens. Sure, the characters go missing, but this always seems like a disregarded footnote. One line we are following the character carrying out some mundane aspect of life, the next line we are with other characters stating that the previous had vanished. Even then no real fuss is made about it. Life just continues in the usual, boring way that O'Callaghan seems to revel in portraying. You want to hear more about spooky happenings? Nah. Here's a dozen pages about going to the shops and sunbathing. You want to see the raw emotion of bereavement as a family is torn apart? Sorry, they're pretty chill with events.
For something that bills itself as a modern gothic, 'Nothing on Earth' does the bare minimum to push its creepy atmosphere. The unoccupied new build housing estate is a perfect setting for a modern take on the gothic, and the pervasive heat builds an interesting and tense backdrop. This setting should have worked wonderfully, but instead, the tiny fishhooks of fear that build suspense are almost forgotten in the wake of day to day life. Like breadcrumbs to a starving crowd, we are offered mention of banging doors and words drawn on windows, but it’s never enough to create a coherent sense of dread. I can't imagine what Donal Ryan felt was 'quietly terrifying', but I can only assume that sneezing kittens must make him wet himself.
Perhaps the story holds up on its own without being scary? Not really. The narrative is spread thin across the already short length of the book. Mundane life can be interesting, but it isn't here. None of the characters ever get any, well, character. The girl isn’t given a name and only serves as a passive actor in the life of her other family members. We are given caricatures of these other characters, little snippets of what they are more than who they are. Helen is absent minded and anxious, Martina is flirty and outgoing, and Paul is, err, blunt, I guess. A mysterious past is alluded to, but nothing more than hinted at, leaving us with nothing but unanswered questions.
As the story reaches its conclusion, we learn nothing new, and none of our questions are answered. The puddle of plot is only further muddied as details are revealed to be different than stated, and the priest admits that parts of the story may have been added and rearranged by himself. Was any of it real? Was there any meaning to be taken away by the reader? Was there any enjoyment to be had?
As a writer, I create stories to elicit emotions. Literary types might look down sneeringly upon 'popular' fiction, but books like 'Nothing on Earth' aren't stories that I can imagine anyone enjoying. They might be packed with themes and ostentatious words, but without that drive to entertain an audience, we are left with a soulless shell, as empty as a model home that has never been lived in, nor ever will be...