Stitch by perfect stitch, Andrew Garvie makes exquisite dolls in the finest antique style. Like him, they are diminutive, but graceful, unique and with surprising depths. Perhaps that's why he answers the enigmatic personal ad in his collector's magazine.
Letter by letter, Bramber Winters reveals more of her strange, sheltered life in an institution on Bodmin Moor, and the terrible events that put her there as a child. Andrew knows what it is to be trapped; and as they knit closer together, he weaves a curious plan to rescue her.
On his journey through the old towns of England he reads the fairytales of Ewa Chaplin--potent, eldritch stories which, like her lifelike dolls, pluck at the edges of reality and thread their way into his mind. When Andrew and Bramber meet at last, they will have a choice--to remain alone with their painful pasts or break free and, unlike their dolls, come to life. (Summary and pic from goodreads.com)
I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
My Review: There are two exciting things about this review. 1) This book comes out tomorrow! Talk about hot off the presses! 2) I sent the author three questions and she answered them for us, and I've included them in this review. It's always fun to see what an author says about their work! Check those out at the bottom of my review.
Do you know what is super exciting? It’s October!
YESSSSSS!! I know there are many, many of us who love fall more than anything.
I love fall. There is something to love about all the seasons, sure, but there
is something about fall. AmIRight?! I don’t mess around with fall—I start my
creepy/scary/disturbing books/podcasts/movies early just in case I feel like I
don’t get enough of it. Let’s be real, here, I do spend a lot of the year
listening to podcasts that deal with all things of this ilk, but in fall it
just seems like its sacrilege not to. Maybe it’s the exceptional foliage colors
we’ve had this year, maybe it’s because I’m really leaning in to All The Things
Fall, or maybe it’s just something special about this year—but I am here for
it! And I am happy to admit that this isn’t just a rant, The Dollmaker was a fun and creepy little addition to my fall
reading.
At first description you maybe wouldn’t lump antique, classical
dolls and the ornate and delicate procedures that go into designing and making
them as creepy, but this story is just a little macabre, which was great. I
love reading books about things that I don’t know a lot about, and I love
feeling that I am allowed in to a world and a subculture that I may not come
into contact with in my normal life. Sure, my grandma loved dolls and bought me
a few Madame Alexander dolls when I was younger, but this is beyond that. This
is about dolls and doll aficionados who take it all to a whole new
level—specialized, expensive dolls. Dolls that are not necessarily beautiful,
but instead expressive and life-like. Doll collectors who are extremists, and
the people on the outside who don’t understand what they’ve given up and what
they’re giving away.
This story was layered and nuanced as well. There were
complex relationships and social biases, as well as preconceived notions about
people and who they are based on what they look like. There was quite a bit of
discussion of trauma of all sorts, and some of that was related to people
judging each other on what they looked like. It made for a dark and complex
world wherein you felt like you walked the proverbial mile in another’s shoes
and found that you had no idea what they had been up against, even if you
thought that you might have.
Through all of these complex relationships and
complicated storylines there were creepy—very creepy—short stories by a
dollmaker. The stories were disturbing and just plain weird, which was awesome.
Sometimes it was daunting to think of taking on the next story and I would wait
until I had sufficient time to sit down and read it and cogitate it. I have
lots of books that I can bring with me places and pop in and out of with ease,
but this was not a book like that. Although there were parts of the story that
were less complex, the short stories written by the dollmaker were not the kind
you wanted to turn your back on. One false move and things changed. Also, the
short stories had a tendency to mimic the real lives of those reading them,
which made for a sense of foreboding and dread on behalf of the characters
reading the story. See what I mean? You need this for your creepy seasonal
reading.
Overall I enjoyed the book a lot. It made me
uncomfortable at times due to some of the insensitivity of the characters in
the book towards other characters, but I appreciate that kind of discomfort. It
makes me question myself and societal norms and re-evaluate what I think and
how I treat others. That’s one of the great things about reading—it challenges
you in a way that you may not suspect, and allows you to question yourself and
your beliefs at your own pace.
I recommend this book for anyone interested in groups of
people who may not be on your radar, anyone who enjoys topics with a macabre
undertone, and anyone up for a good non-traditional (re: not a ghost story)
Halloween-season read.
My Rating: 4 Stars
For the sensitive
reader: This book doesn’t have language, but has quite a bit of sex in it, and
sometimes the sex is not consensual, although I wouldn’t consider it violent.
There is definitely sex, sometimes taking place among same-sex partners.
Author Interview:
1.
What led you to the world of
dolls and dollmakers? Why did you choose this as the backdrop for your story?
Dolls fascinated me as a child. While
holidaying with my family, I loved to acquire costume dolls from the countries
we visited, and many of these dolls later became characters in my earliest
stories. When I was in my early teens, an aunt gave me a large, brightly
illustrated book on the history of dolls and dollmaking, which further deepened
my interest. What I enjoyed most, I think, was the idea of dolls almost as a
separate species, like us and yet unlike us, living in a world that appeared to
mirror our own and yet that was at the same time entirely strange. I always
loved novels and stories that involved dolls – a favourite of mine was Rumer
Godden’s The Dolls’ House – again
because of the potential they seemed to hold for strangeness, and for the wildest
leaps of the imagination. The core inspiration for The Dollmaker was the character of Andrew Garvie, who sprang into
my head more or less fully formed. I knew instinctively that he would be a
dollmaker – that is simply who he was. The details of his world fell into place
around him very naturally.
2.
Is Ewa Chaplin based on a
real dollmaker? Why is she given the role of go-between and interpreter of
lives and truth (with her stories)?
Some of the historical dolls and
dollmakers mentioned in the book are loosely based around real makers and real
factories, but Ewa is completely her own person, and a powerful symbol of
creativity and endurance. What I found most compelling about her as a character
is the freedom she gave me, to dive deeper into the fantastical realm, not only
to give free rein to the imaginative possibilities of fairy tales, but to
reveal how the often dangerous stereotypes present in some traditional fairy
tales might be subverted and recast as a source of empowerment. Ewa’s stories
are the most outspoken part of the narrative – her characters are bolder and
sometimes scarier, and there is a sense that both Andrew and Bramber become
emboldened by reading about them, that Ewa’s stories give them courage – as
stories often give courage to those who are encountering difficulties in their
own lives. I have heard some readers argue that it is Ewa, not Andrew, who is
‘the dollmaker’ of the title, a kind of queen behind the scenes, and I don’t
think it’s my place to disagree with them!
3.
Do you consider your book to
include magical realism? Why or why not?
I would say yes, it probably does. I
think many readers might argue that Andrew’s ongoing dialogue with Ewa’s doll,
‘Artist’, is an example of magical realism, although I’m sure there are others
who will remain convinced that everything that happens between Andrew and
‘Artist’ is a figment of Andrew’s overstressed imagination. I am more than
happy for readers to interpret my texts any way they want to – that is the true
beauty of writing, when it finds an indentity and a meaning beyond the writer,
when it rightfully becomes the property of its readers. I have no objection to
labels like magical realism, if they are useful to readers and critics in
providing a common lexicon – I use these labels myself. The danger comes when
genre labels are used not to distinguish but to restrict. Unfortunately this
does still happen, especially in the case of science fiction and horror. These
genres are very broad churches, encompassing some groundbreaking writing, and
should be recognised as such.
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