“A black tide of perversity, violence, and lush writing. I loved it.” –Joe Hill A Finalist for the 2019 Shirley Jackson Award! Debut author Jennifer Giesbrecht paints a darkly compelling fantasy of revenge in The Monster of Elendhaven, a dark fantasy about murder, a monster, and the magician who loves both. The city of Elendhaven sulks on the edge of the ocean. Wracked by plague, abandoned by … the ocean. Wracked by plague, abandoned by the South, stripped of industry and left to die. But not everything dies so easily. A thing without a name stalks the city, a thing shaped like a man, with a dark heart and long pale fingers yearning to wrap around throats. A monster who cannot die. His frail master sends him out on errands, twisting him with magic, crafting a plan too cruel to name, while the monster’s heart grows fonder and colder and more cunning.
These monsters of Elendhaven will have their revenge on everyone who wronged the city, even if they have to burn the world to do it.
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Jennifer Giesbrecht’s The Monster of Elendhaven is a black tide of perversity, violence, and lush writing. I loved it.
Jennifer Giesbrecht’s debut novella is a gory, gothic exploration of monstrosity that’s biggest sin was being a novella. Full of lush writing and characterization to die for, I can honestly say that even though this ended up being a bit of a frustrating read for me, I wish we had so many other books like this in the market and I hope Giesbrecht one day writes the epic long-running fantasy series of my dreams. It feels like she may have a writing style better suited to longer form writing, or perhaps I’m just looking for some more elaboration to my endings.
Johann awakes with no memory. He takes his name from from the townspeople along with their lives and their wallets as he grows into a monster that stalks Elendhaven’s way, able to survive with his mysterious immortality and from the way everyone seems to forget about him the moment he leaves their gaze. It’s only when Johann sees Florian Leickenbloom that he recognizes monstrosity in someone other than himself, and the two begin a grisly partnership. Florian’s obsession with revenge on the townspeople for abandoning his family to the plague tangles with Johann’s immortal abilities, and the two of them embark on a plan to ruin the people who ruined them, no matter the consequences.
The unrepentant dedication to monstrosity is what got my attention in the first place, and this book did not let me down. A major part of the appeal of The Monster of Elendhaven is that both of our main characters are awful people. Johann comes the closest to our traditional monster: unable to be truly harmed with no regard for human life and a desire to harm others. He dubs himself the titular monster early in the narrative, and we love a self-aware king. But it’s Florian that stole the show for me: a tiny aristocrat, kind and polite in public with a secret dedication to dark magic. They both know their actions are wrong and relish in it, albeit for differing reasons, but together they make for a duo so awful it’s like watching a train wreck.
Part of what I love about this narrative is how frustrating their motives are: Johann’s in the whole thing for kicks, but Florian has a desire to take revenge on the townspeople for not coming to his family’s aide during a plague. To be clear, quarantining is what you’re supposed to do during a plague. No one came to anyone’s aide during the plague because it would literally kill you and had no cure, and yet Florian is unable to shake the rage and trauma from his family’s deaths. Part of this horror is a tragedy, that no one did anything wrong and yet they’re doomed anyway. And it’s hard for the reader to blame Florian as well, after witnessing something so unshakeable at such a young age. Stories with conflicting moralities and villains who are convinced they’re doing the right thing are a personal favorite, and Johann and Florian hit that for me perfectly.
Giesbrecht’s writing deserves much praise; The Monster of Elendhaven has enough horror in it for anyone, but all of it is described so eloquently and prettily. We have a horrifying plague that does disgusting things to its victims, a city so degraded that it could be ripped out of a dystopian novel, and two characters who spent their time carving up other people in various grisly ways, and yet she manages to create a novel that’s more gothic than horror, more atmospheric than gruesome. I feel like I’m watching Hannibal, except the gay parts aren’t just implied.
I loved reading Johann and Floran be terrible for a hundred pages, but as the story drew to a close it felt like things were happening far too suddenly and bizarrely, with things ending very abruptly. There’s an argument to be made that in such a messy situation things were never going to be tied up neatly, but the fact that when I went on Goodreads to see if there was going to be a sequel I found people asking what the hell even happened in the last twenty pages confirms my suspicions. The novel plays coy with exactly what Florian’s plans are and how his magic works… too coy, it seems, for a conclusion that makes sense. Almost none of my questions were answered, and not in the fun open-ended way. It feels like Giesbrecht goes too far in her ghoulish, atmospheric writing and fails to take into account the actual characters and plot we were invested in.
If only the book was a few more chapters longer, or even a full-length novel, I feel like there would’ve been more room for things to wrap up better. I wasn’t expecting a clean-cut resolution, but I was expecting more than what we got. But I had very few qualms with the narrative until that point and for such an average rating, I was quite enamored with most of it. That ending just killed it for me. After my sequel-stalking I found that Giesbrecht is writing again after a years-long break, and I’m still very much looking forward to what she puts out next.
I liked this story mainly because the magic. I also liked how it was easily relatable to today’s time. How many believe that “…apocalypse is the only hope for redemption.” What made me uncomfortable was Johann’s advances. The homosexual relationship seemed forced even though it does correlate with Florian’s family history. I appreciate Florian’s response to the offered treatment. A treatment to change who you are because they believe you made a choice. The ending is exceptional and satisfying. This is a good story.
I’m a little bit in love with these dumb monster men. I hope they reincarnate into a happy fluffy couple in the next cycle of the world.
WARNING: this book is genuinely dark. Not in the way that most grimdark books these days tag that label onto their normal fantasy story that happens to have a few gruesome moments/customs, but in the sense that the entire thing, from the first to the last paragraph, is DARK. It’s deliciously dark. There’s a line somewhere that I can’t pull up because I listened to the audiobook about the kind of euphoric moment when people are about to die, and that’s the way it hit me. You’re gonna suffer, but you’re gonna be happy about it. Thanks, I hate it.
Pitch dark, whimsical, topical, wild, and lushly written, Jennifer Giesbrecht’s The Monster of Elendhaven is the most reading fun you’ll have this year.
Gorily gothic, darkly baroque, rotten with magic, and shot with shafts of wicked humor, The Monster of Elendhaven is a perfect nightmare.
Jennifer Giesbrecht’s The Monster of Elendhaven is a gothic delight, dark as an oil-slick and iridescent with feral humour, bruise-violet prose, and a fascinatingly depraved tragic romance.
Delicate, jagged, and unrepentant, The Monster of Elendhaven has the linguistic febrility of Peake and the brutal sentiment of a gothic, perfectly framed in a secondary-world Hanseatic League setting that is as unusual as it is compelling.
Horror fans will want to grab this one ― Giesbrecht has an extremely compelling voice.