Susie Moloney
Susie Moloney's fourth novel, The Thirteen, has been described as Desperate Housewives meets The Witches of Eastwick, which isn't entirely accurate (though handy for marketing). Desperate Housewives is far too absurd and dumbed-down an enterprise to compare to Moloney's work. The Witches of Eastwick, on the other hand, with its exuberant nastiness, is much more apropos. Though perhaps The Thirteen is more like a gonzo, mirror-universe, occult version of The Stepford Wives, with a dash of Stephen King thrown in.
But Susie Moloney remains, as always, her own self, with her unique (scary) vision: At the heart of any Moloney novel, there is always a deep well of small-town claustrophobia. Welcome to Haven Woods, a suburban idyll - quiet streets, good schools, zero crime, friendly neighbours and just a soupcon of the darker side of life. Like blood sacrifice, demon worship, self-immolation and other pleasant pastimes.
Returning to these country delights is Paula Wittmore, who, after losing yet another horrible job in the city, comes back to Haven Woods to care for her mother, who has contracted a mysterious illness that leaves her incapacitated and growing … hairier. With Paula comes her daughter Rowan, who, as it happens, is just the person Paula's old friend Marla wants in Haven Woods. Because Marla and the other women of the town have a plan - to recoup their astonishing good fortune, the sort of blessed life that seems like a gift from God. Or someone else. And if the payment for that happiness is a bit of sacrifice, a few dismembered sons or slaughtered husbands, what of it? The male population of Haven Woods may be low (and getting lower), but it's all for the good of the 13 women who have secured their futures in a devilish pact that has been handed down from mother to daughter over the decades.
Of course, the number is the key; there must always be 13. And there's the rub: When one of the current crop of 13 women does the unthinkable and leaves the town coven a member short, the situation (already unstable) gets even worse. Marla is given one mission by her mother, Izzy, who made the original pact for her own generation: Get Paula and Rowan on-side, and bring Rowan to "meet" their, ah, benefactor. The balance of the town must be restored at any cost, or all hell might break loose. Just possibly, literally.
What Moloney does so well in all her books is to evoke emotion in her readers. Her first novel, the snowbound, claustrophobic Bastion Falls, like King's The Shining, is a book that should really never be read in winter. Conversely, A Dry Spell probably shouldn't be cracked open in the summer. And the hair-raisingly creepy The Dwelling should not ever, ever be read alone at night.
With The Thirteen, Moloney has constructed a compellingly uncanny narrative, binding the tropes of small town paranoia and cliquishness with the chokehold of family obligations and religious fervour, and the very real claustrophobia of poverty and desperation. While the nasty, scary stuff really is nasty and scary, Moloney also excels at the non-supernatural horror: parents' anxiety for their children, ordinary people's terror in the face of crippling mortgage payments and the fears we all face just getting through our day-to-day lives. What's worse - making a pact with a demon to have things go your way, or putting your morals aside to pay the bills?
The supernatural elements in the book are gleeful and vicious, and perhaps not for everyone: Your mileage may vary. But there really is a delight, a literary schadenfreude, in watching the town of Haven Woods and those terrible witches come undone, especially because one can't help but feel that the author herself was having a hell of a good time writing the book.
So make sure to pick up a copy of The Thirteen at your local bookseller as soon as possible. As for when you shouldn't read it? Well, better stay away from those home-town reunions for a while. And if you can't? Then, a piece of advice: if you encounter a whole lot of cats on your way home, walk in the other direction. Quickly. Or maybe … run.
Sandra Kasturi is a Toronto writer, editor and publisher, and author of The Animal Bridegroom.