Titan Books Ltd Good Neighbours

After reading her first three novels I've been waiting and waiting for another one. Well, it was worth the wait! Sarah isn't afraid to dig deep into what hides behind neighbor's smiles and what goes on behind closed doors. The children in this novel are the real adults. They can see the rottenness festering in their parents but are unable to do anything about it and so get swept along in all the murk. A sinkhole that appears suddenly in a park represents a collapsing facade of community. This novel also tackles global warming and it's effects. It takes place several years in the future when things have gotten much hotter, probably contributing to some of the insanity. BE WARNED: It contains some child abuse.

People are always wondering what currently under-appreciated book will someday become a classic. Good Neighbors has all the potential to become the novel all students are assigned to understand our hyper-tribal, polarized social landscape: It is a story with layers upon layers of meaning; its characters are complex, have depth, and are representative for groups/values/cultures within society; it has a unique message that takes introspection on the part of the reader in order to digest; its themes are nuanced, open-ended, and have the ability to facilitate deep discussions about human nature; it does not fit with any typical genre, eschewing all tropes and expectations; and the plot is wicked fun, entertaining, and produce intense, oscillating emotions, going from hilarious to slit-your-wrist-depressing in the matter of a page. Giving away too much of the plot would not only ruin the flow of it, but the summaries wouldn’t even make sense without all the wonderful characterization and context Langan gives. Instead, I’ll explain what reading it *feels* like before moving on to touch on its themes: Imagine the writers of South Park modernizing Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery”, with their trademark dark humor and heavily thematic writing used to illuminate the absurdities of our culture, melding their flavor with Jackson’s bleak and disturbing portrayal of the evil groups are capable of. Give said group the power of Big Brother in 1984 without even needing the technology, but instead using natural human behavior to do the government’s dirty work. Then grab Mac and Dee from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and cast them as 2 of the leading protagonists (Gertie and Arlo) and face them off against one of the most complicated villains I’ve ever read, Rhea Schroeder. Then give it some dashes of cult flavoring from Folk Horror mixed into a Stepford Wives suburban ut/dystopia. Take all of these elements and wind them up, slowly ratcheting up the tension until it all snaps, and you have something like Good Neighbors. When it comes to its themes, It doesn’t just “touch” on them, either, inserting them to stroke the critic/readers ego a bit. It submerges you in its ethical quandaries and trepidatious prognoses. This will not be a book that reaffirms your beliefs. It will force you to confront if you’d be any different from the characters. It’s about what we are capable of for acceptance and a place in our tribes. Even worse than what we do to remain in our social strata is what we are capable of when we no longer belong to one, but instead become isolated. During the Cultural Revolution in Mao’s China, the power of the group was used to surveil and self-enforce dogma -- Langan understands these social dynamics and brilliantly depicts this in action. If there is no big government or corporate entity taking away your liberties, is enforcement still censorship/surveillance/authoritarian? It’s a question we should all be asking ourselves lately, since recent cultural trends have had more of a chilling effect on speech/expression than government regulators could ever dream of. “Modern culture is an inverse panopticon. Not a drunk father, but a vigilant mother. The masses elect a single person to the hot seat for their five minutes of fame. We, the periphery, are the judges and jury. Because we’re separated (like prisoners, we can’t connect to each other through these impossible walls), we’ve no option but to connect via the sacrificial lamb we’ve placed dead center. Even when we privately dispute the censure or praise we heap upon them, publicly, we echo popular sentiment. To avoid loneliness, we become a single, unthinking mass. And yet, the mother and father both reveal their very limited ability to connect. The proverbial child cannot attach. We participate in this mass identity, but it does not serve us. Our language is reduced to a series of agreed-upon signs reflecting not nuance, but binaries: like/dislike; good/bad; yes/no. We are even more lonely for the failure of it…”

A few days after finishing this book, and I'm still not too sure about what to make of it. At first I was tempted to leave it, as the 'Americanisms' were a little too confusing. However, returning to it, the narrative picked up pace, and kept me turning the pages. At times I felt as if this book had been written for a screen adaptation, and perhaps TV / film would work well, better than a book. The characters of the Wildes, and Rhea Schroeder were well described, but the other characters were reduced to bit parts. The dialogue between the children at times seemed too advanced, and the idea that all of them could slip out of their houses unnoticed towards the end of the book, especially given the misguided concerns of the parents at the time was unrealistic. The repeated references to 'candy apple scent' started to grate after a while, and seemed unnecessary. However, this book was a page turner, and attempted to explore the motivations of individuals who are keen to hold up a facade at all costs. As

I was absorbed and in suspense for much of the book, but then came the finale. Initially, it seemed a dystopian speculative suburbia story—the main events take place in 2027, and it is interspersed with media and scholarly reports 10-15 years later, after the fact (up to 2043), editorializing and analyzing the culminating events that led to “The Maple Street Murders.” The author’s style of writing was primarily sharp and terse; however, the denouement felt too blunt, too on the nose, and ungainly. And it started off as one genre, and ended up somewhere else. I won’t say which genre, as I don’t want to reveal spoilers. But, it starts with a groupthink type upper middle-class area on Long Island, where heat, a sinkhole, and mob rule bear itself out. It gripped me from the first page. The crescent-shaped neighborhood is pictured on a map, with the inhabitants listed for each address. Most families are white, with an Indian-American family, the Singhs. There is one gay couple, two women and their son. These variations seemed like tokens to demonstrate that the community accepted all races and lifestyles. On July 4, 2027, there are 18 families and 72 people. As the chapters progress, the zeal for living on Maple Street is reduced. Also, a sinkhole has appeared in the park, the hot bitumen spreading its guts and oil up and over the hole. The kids who play near there dare each other to get closer. Not everyone is accepted equally, which creates tension for the neighborhood and suspense for the reader. Rhea Schroeder, the Queen Bee of Maple Street, is a college professor living there with her oddball husband and children. Her dark past is gradually revealed to the reader. It is only because of Rhea that the Wildes aren’t complete outcasts. Rhea befriended Gertie Wilde, a former beauty pageant winner. Gertie’s husband, Arlo, is a former rock star and recovered heroin addict. They don’t fit in—their messy house, his tattoos, Gertie’s lack of formal education, and their kids. Julie is loud and impulsive, and her little brother, Larry, is on the spectrum and plays “pocket pool” in public (my words). After Rhea, drunk as usual, divulges too much to Gertie, she regrets it and ghosts Gertie. When that happens, the groupthink suburbia starts throwing shade on the Wildes, too, until they are truly treated as reprobates, complete with ugly rumors. The sinkhole gets worse, swallows, so to speak, a dog, people start leaving, and those who stay are like a Greek chorus or a mob. The adults deplore whoever Rhea deplores, and only some of the kids think and act like individuals (sometimes). Langan does a superb job of laying out her premise—the heat, the sinkhole, the gossipy, judgmental suburbanites, and the petty and tribal behaviors that pollute the neighborhood. I enjoyed the action and events up to the climax, where it broke down for me. It’s not that the author failed to set it up, but I thought she was more nuanced and would surprise us with a penetrating finale. Instead, it felt too busy, messy, dizzying, and pointless—something I thought that she would not do. Perhaps in a movie or series, it could work--all that chaos given proportion. I was disappointed, and it almost ruined the rest of the novel for me. It went from classy to the lowest hanging fruit. The innovative yet familiar beginning went with standard and easy. Also, the interspersed news and academic articles didn’t fit once I came to the end. It boiled down to red herrings or total misguidance, which was inconsistent with the rest of the story. That’s why I give it 3 stars.

Good Neighbors by Sarah Langen is a tour de force. It is eerie, over the top, and funny in a sick way. Think about a typical suburban neighborhood and you’d never imagine what goes on inside the houses on Maple Street, the center of Ms. Langen’s disturbing novel. Here you’ll find sinister intent, dark secrets, violent undercurrents, child abuse and tons of hate. The novel revolves around Gina Wilde and her family, newcomers to Maple Street. With their lowbrow Brooklyn accents, their unkempt house and lawn, and the fact that Gina’s husband Arlo was once a rock star and is covered in tattoos and track marks, they don’t fit in. Gina has two children and is pregnant with her third. Money is tight and both she and Arlo work at low paying jobs. The self-proclaimed Queen of Maple street is one Rhea Schroeder, a community college professor who deigns to be knowledgeable about all things suburban – raising children, maintaining a lawn and keeping appearances up and secrets hidden. Her secrets torment her and she wears a metaphorical mask to make it through the days. The children of Maple Street call themselves The Rat Pack and within the pack cliques form and change erratically. Julia Wilde is 12 years old and close with Shelly Schroeder until one day Shelly turns on her. This day is close to the time when her mother Rhea turns on Gina, and believe it or not, a large sink hole opens up in the children’s park. The sinkhole is a subject of mystery and fascination to both the adults and children. Kids take chances by walking on a plank across the hole that might give way suddenly. It is fun and games until Shelly Schroeder accidentally falls into the sinkhole. This is the turn of events. Rhea does her best to turn Maple Street against the Wildes, and mob mentality soon prevails with everyone complicit in one way or another. There is no gray area. You are either with Rhea or not. Even the police become involved because Rhea’s allegations are over the top, enough to destroy the Wilde family. What caused the sink hole? Was it due to climate change or is it a metaphor for the murk, unrest and disgust that lives inside the houses on Maple Street. I, for one, believe it is the latter. Pretty lawns and nicely painted facades can definitely hide evil. This is a literary page turner where the author just as easily discusses Bertrand Russell and Foucault as she can the current pop scene and rock bands. Parts of this novel reminded me of the split in our country during the time of our presidential election. The sinkhole post dates Covid, as the novel takes place during one week in July and August, 15 years in the future. What it ultimately said to me is that we all need to watch out for mob mentality and violence. Love can prevail, but it requires huge effort and an ability to see through all the murk and mud.