Reality never changes. Only our recollections of it do. Whenever a moment passes, we pass along with it into the realm of memory. And in that realm, geometries change. Contours shift, shades lighten, objectivities dissolve. Memory becomes what we need it to be.
When neurosurgeon Jake Breaker operates, he knows he’s handling more than a patient’s delicate brain tissue–he’s altering their seat of consciousness, their golden vault of memory. And memory, Jake knows well, can be a tricky thing.
When growing up in 1980s Niagara Falls, a.k.a. Cataract City–a seedy but magical, slightly haunted place–one of Jake’s closest confidantes was his uncle Calvin, a sweet but eccentric misfit enamored of occult artefacts and outlandish conspiracy theories. The summer Jake turned twelve, Calvin invited him to join the “Saturday Night Ghost Club”–a seemingly light-hearted project to investigate some of Cataract City’s more macabre urban myths. Over the course of that life-altering summer, Jake not only fell in love and began to imagine his future, he slowly, painfully came to realize that his uncle’s preoccupation with chilling legends sprang from something buried so deep in his past that Calvin himself was unaware of it.
It’s that time of year! As soon as the weather starts to cool down all I want to read is Stephen King, Alice Hoffman, The Raven Cycle, Harry Potter, and other spooky magical things. This book definitely falls into that category.
I wanted to read The Saturday Night Ghost Club simply because the cover is so awesome. It was made to look like a vintage library book, how cool is that?
What also intrigued me was the mention of urban myths, which I enjoy learning about. Though I thought it would be interesting to include a cute whimsical anecdote about my hometown’s own urban legends, I can’t recall any off the top of my head. Of course.
One I can think of is from Hamilton (specifically Ancaster), the Hermitage Ruins and the legend of Lover’s Lane. The ruins are the site of an old mansion built by Mr. George Gordon Browne Leith in 1855. But there was an older house, a ways away from the ruins, where an English man named Otto Ives lived with his wife and niece in 1833. The Coachman of the family, William Black, fell in love with Ives’ niece and asked Otto for her hand in marriage. When Otto refused, Black — seeing no other options — took his own life. Since suicide was considered a sin, he could not be buried in a cemetery and was thus laid to rest at the corner of Lover’s Lane and Sulpher Springs Road. It is said Black’s ghost haunts that corner and the grounds of the ruins.
Anyway, back to the book…
The third thing that made me want to read this book is that it’s Canadian! Yay! I find I don’t read as many Canadian books as I should. I’d like to, but it doesn’t seem to happen often. Luckily, I’ve been to Niagara Falls enough that I could imagine most of the geographical locations… maybe just Cliffton Hill.
The book itself is not that long, and I quickly devoured it in a few days. If you’ve been following along on my other book reviews, that’s quite quick for me. I just really enjoyed the atmosphere, writing style, and vaguely spooky content. I felt like I could fully immerse myself in the world of Jake.
While the plot itself was interesting enough, the book explores a number of interesting concepts such as memory, family, friendship, regret, and growing up. I tend to refer to these types of books as thinking AND feeling books… okay, this is the first time. It’s also full of childish fantasies and the (sometimes) dark origins of those fancies. Think “ring around the rosy.”
I can’t say too much more about it without getting too spoiler-y. Please read it and get ready for some spooky adventures and a semi-unexpected twist. Just read it.
I’ll leave you with one last quote:
That magic gets kicked out of you, churched out, shamed out – or worse, you steal it from yourself. It gets embarrassed out of you by the kids who run the same stretch of streets and grown-ups who say it’s time to put away childish things. By degrees, you kill your own magic. Before long your fears become adult ones: crushing debts and responsibilities, sick parents and sick kids, the possibility of dying unremembered or unloved. Fears of not being the person you were so certain you’d grow up to be.
Jenna Goldsmith 