What. The. EFF. Is. Going. On…. ?!?!?!?!!?!?
This is what replayed in my head as I delved deeper and deeper into Paul Tremblay’s The Cabin at the End of the World.
This book is INSANE. In the best possible way. Definitely one of the best books I have read all year. I greedily consumed this novel with the same intensity as I did Bird Box, which I actually finished in one day. Had I had an entire day at my disposal to read The Cabin, I probably would have done so. I wanted to inhale this book, but I settled for reading it in great, big gulps over three days.
I unfortunately can’t tell you too much about the book itself. So much is locked away in its pages, and while I’m tempted to reveal a few key points to pique your interest, I simply can’t. To do so would ruin the beauty of how the story unfolds, particularly the tension that Tremblay tightens throughout the book like a violin string until you feel you’re ready to snap. Honestly, the way that Tremblay builds tension in this novel is a thing of beauty in itself.
Here’s what I can tell you.
Although I’ve read Tremblay before, this particular novel’s subject matter is largely outside my comfort zone. I loved his previous novel¸ A Head Full of Ghosts, and while Disappearance at Devil’s Rock wasn’t my favorite, I did enjoy it and was something I could easily handle.
When I first read the synopsis for The Cabin at the End of the World, it didn’t seem supernatural-y enough to tempt me, and it sounded alarmingly like a subplot right out of that movie The Strangers with Liv Tyler and Ben-from-Felicity. (Which I have not watched. Which I will never watch. I mean The Stranger, not Felicity, because Felicity is fantastic. Moving on.).
The whole home invasion premise originally turned me off – I’m someone who already battles anxiety, thanks – but then I started hearing 1) rave reviews about the book, and 2) that the story doesn’t follow the usual home invasion plot. Once I heard there was more to this novel, I was intrigued and decided to give it a try.
More to it, indeed. While this novel is a perfect example of why I will never vacation at a remote cabin in the woods, it goes worlds beyond the cliché home invasion tale.
I won’t lie – this book is disturbing. But, it’s also incredibly gripping. I had blown through 100 pages before I knew it. You’re in the trenches with the main characters – Eric, Andrew, and Wen – who are faced with an impossible decision in a nightmare scenario. Their terror and their confusion is unbelievably palpable, and you can’t help but identify with them. You can’t help but wonder if how they react is how you might react, if you were *gulp* caught in their situation. You begin to feel their desperation and hopelessness, and although I had to take a few breaks from this book to diffuse the tension, I was always compelled to continue reading after I had calmed down a bit.
For those of you worrying about the gore factor: There are some unsavory scenes, but not so much that I had to stop reading. And that’s saying something considering I have a hard time stomaching about 50 minutes of each 60-minute Game of Thrones episode. I would say the gory moments are relatively mild, and not at all gratuitous. They are crucial to the story. Take a deep breath, skim a few paragraphs if you need to, and continue reading. It’s worth it.
In many ways, I was reminded of The Immortalists as I read this book. While they are completely different stories, that same theme of “what do you believe?” runs through The Cabin. Andrew, Eric, and Wen are told something that seems ludicrous. But, as events begin to unfold, the validity of the claim is called into question. Faith goes up against science; superstition against skepticism; logic against paranoia; right against wrong; the possible against the improbable, etc. The main characters are assaulted by timeless questions and themes, and they are forced to ask themselves what they believe and what they should believe. As they question themselves, so does the reader; it’s impossible not to when faced with a decision of this magnitude.
The dichotomy that repeatedly shows up in this novel is masterfully done, and it’s key to bringing the reader into the action. The story starts off on a sunny day in an idyllic location; it seems impossible that anything bad would happen there, and certainly not during broad daylight. Most novels (and movies and TV shows) teach us that we have nothing to fear during the day; it’s only when night falls and the shadows lengthen that we should begin to look over our shoulders for the bogeyman.
This treasured notion of safety is dashed to smithereens when the bogeymen turn up during that sunny, carefree afternoon. The dichotomy of something so sinister appearing in the midst of something so innocent immediately unsettles the reader. You’re reminded that daylight might not keep you safe, and ripping away that mental safety net makes what’s happening in the book that much more disturbing.
The juxtaposition of light and dark is repeatedly reinforced as the characters continually note the sunlight coming through curtains during upsetting moments, or the fact that the bright light actually hurts one of the characters instead of comforts him. We all try to find something to hang on to during our darkest moments – turn on the light; the light will make the monsters disappear. But, what do you do when the lights are already on, and the monsters are still in front of you?
The dichotomy continues by comparing the events that happen over just a short time period. The novel really only takes place over two days, but with all that happens, it feels like two weeks. One minute, Eric, Andrew, and Wen were having a lazy family vacation, but within the mere span of about 24 hours, everything has disintegrated into a complete, awful antithesis of how their vacation started. Each time something happened, my mind would harken back to the carefree start of the book, and I’d think, How did we end up here? And it’s definitely a “we” because even though you’re not in the book, what’s happening in the book is happening to you, too. You’ve been in that cabin with all of the characters for as long as they have, and it feels like an eternity to everyone trapped in there. It’s unsettling and unnerving, but, damn, is it effective.
The only part of this novel that bothered me was the ending. Again, I can’t say what it is. But I will say this — Tremblay, I get why you did it. I really do. And I probably would have done the same thing if I were writing this book. But I still am really irked that you decided to go with that ending, on a personal level. You’re still brilliant, though. Just irksomely so.
That is all I have to say about The Cabin at the End of the World. And I realize it’s quite a lot. Considering that there was so much packed into the novel, I feel I exhibited admirable brevity in my review.
Have you read this book or any other novels by Tremblay? I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments!
And, check back in for my book-inspired recipe: Cinnamon Hot Chocolate Ice Cream with Mini Marshmallows!
Oh, there is NOTHING better than discovering a book like this that you just want to devour like a delicious meal when you’re starving 😍 and the parallels with The Immortalists you mention interest me, I totally wouldn’t have guessed that from the synopsis and blurbs. Thank you so much!!
Yeah, it’s hard to give more info on the parallels without giving away so much more of the plot, but they definitely stood out to me. I like books that really question your beliefs and superstitions. 😊