Hemlock introduces Sam, a Midwestern transplant maintaining sobriety while living in New York with her boyfriend of ten years and their ambivalent cat. After her father reveals he is ready to stop holding onto the family cabin, Hemlock, many years after her mother’s disappearance, Sam decides fixing up Hemlock to sell is the perfect break from a perfectly adequate life that is draining her from within. What follows tests her in ways she never could have imagined.
What does it mean to be from a place rather than of a place? Are they one and the same? For Sam, the place is the Northwoods of Wisconsin. Faliveno’s spectacular imagery makes for magnificent sensory immersion. Sometimes, it’s as simple as the light coming through the trees, or how she describes the cabin: “a small place, made of hand-laid pine,” and “a normal little house … that looks inviting,” making readers feel Sam’s sense of safety as their own. Other times Faliveno gifts us with Thoreau-level treatises on the beauty and terror of the natural world. “This was a place of trees, both living and dead, of animals and insects and all things wild.”
Once Sam loses herself in the work of repairing the cabin, time begins to bend and we quickly lose any semblance of comfort, embark ing alongside Sam on a descent into unreality, brought on not only by her isolation and failure to abstain from alcohol, but also through a series of bizarre visits from a chatty deer and unlikely friendships with human neighbors. We watch Sam’s terrible choices unfold, arriving at Surviving, much like haunting, can take many forms. the penultimate decision that ends in a horrific, life-altering incident. A tense ride, there are few, if any, moments after Sam indulges in a beer left behind in the cabin where you as the reader are certain of what is or isn’t reality, making it easy to understand the blurb comparison to Black Swan (though personally I think it’s more like Ravenous minus cannibalism). This is all set-dressing for the identity crisis Sam has been living for decades.
The questions at the heart of Sam’s cross roads: “Am I queer enough? Am I trying too hard?” When Sam finally admits maybe queer ness isn’t the question but perhaps self-acceptance is the answer, it’s too late to avoid the utter destruction of her life and implosion of her world. Her spiritual connection to the woods and its creatures is her lifeline, and even that becomes twisted into something grotesque. The juxtaposition of the serene with the alarming, the mundane with the ethereal, adds to the impression of a mind in turmoil within a person desperate for a place to belong.
This is a book that needs your undivided attention. The prose moves the reader as if we too are walking toward the lake to the sound of loons with the eyes of the doe upon us. At times this book was a visceral reminder that women rightfully live with a constant sense of fear, even those who appear more masculine and confident. This story forces you to confront the reality of queerness as more than just a flag to wave — it is intrinsic to every part of your being. You can feel like an outsider in your own home, or you can feel like you have nowhere to belong even among people who seem very Melissa Faliveno. Photo courtesy of Anna M. Maynard. like-minded. For anyone who has ever wondered if you can survive in a body not made like most, or anyone who grew up not accepted because they fit somewhere between the straight mold and the queer one, Hemlock will have moments of striking resonance.
This one is for fans of place-y, quiet stories rather than splashy blockbusters. The unforgiving Northern Midwest landscape presents a constant external mirror to Sam’s inner battles. Isolation brings up memories she would rather have left buried, forcing Sam to confront the possibility that she has been primed for transformation her entire life, and that the vanishing of her mother at a pivotal time in her life may have stunted her own growth. Repairing a cabin while unraveling both mentally and physically coalesces into a nightmare of blurred reality for Sam. Surviving, much like haunting, can take many forms. The monsters we fear are the monsters we become, and the mother we lost may not be the mother we need. Essentially, Faliveno asks, can the land you fear be the land you love and will it welcome you into its dark arms?