Maeve Fly by C.J. Leede
This was a strange one.
It started like an absolute 5 star to me, with a dreamlike scenery of a half mythical Los-Angeles and the kitsch existence of its residents. The scenery was so cool that reminded me of one of my favorite things ever, a Netflix series Brand New Cherry Flavour (criminally underrated, but that’s for the better).
Although it is most likely a collective image of the city created by different media through the ages and creatively transformed in C.J. Leede imagination, it appears as something enticing and magical. The fascination that Maeve has for the city, the feeling of belonging had ignited a similar longing in me:
“This city has taught me, what perhaps had always been inside, was a deep and ever-growing appreciation for pretense. For the lacquered kitsch of out own town and the hidden proclivities it brings out and encourages in its visitors and denizens. To witness people giving themselves over fully to fantasy, to participate in it”.
The amount of appreciation towards the kitsch in the novel has definitely filled me with anticipation. I adore when the absurdity of life and magical realism encounter on the same page. But somewhere in the middle plot pulls out to the road I don’t fully comprehend. Seems like Maeve is following Patrick Bateman footsteps, and the reason behind her actions is something that lies somewhere in the range from “just because” to “just because there are not enough evil female antagonists”.
There are recurring thoughts on the lack of women antagonists in literature (I presume it is Western canon that Maeve is talking about), which is an interesting thought by itself, but what about Eve? Or one of the biggest books of American literature, East of Eden by John Steinbeck? I remember it was specifically stated that Cathy Ames didn’t have any motivation behind her cruelty and cunning nature, she was born this way. Or is the idea of lackluster female antagonists is considered specifically with regards to the horror genre? Hmm...
The ending of the novel was redeeming, even if it didn’t entirely smooth out the things that did not quite agree with me. It was sentimental and simple in a good way (minus the gore), and made me go back to where it all started and think about everything I’ve just read over again.
Maeve Fly is an experimental work sitting in between commercial and literary horror, that I imagine can be very devisive, but interesting to think about.