Ordinary Monsters by J. M. Miro

Ordinary Monsters read a little like a non-cancelled Joss Whedon-style pop yarn in art guise.

From far away, it reads like Neil Gaiman in his Stardust / Neverwhere style – darkly romantic, gothic, a little bit of Albion-love, at times I caught feelings of Susanne Clarke. But it lacks the resonance and authenticity of the former and the dense, gorgeous ambiguity and darkness of the latter.

Instead, where Whedon comes in is that Ordinary Monsters feels somehow pop, and the author, Miro, aping the style, borrowing the words, but somehow not able to create a real world out of it.

At every turn, as I was getting invested in the powers of the two main characters or the teachers or the world, Miro would write something that feels contemporary or out of character, and the illusion is destroyed. I didn’t leave the book haunted or seeing these characters as anything other than stand-in’s that propel plot. There is not true risk, or true sacrifice.

The density is not achieved, despite its considerable length. The thing it felt closest to, for me, is The Nevers, the HBO Max show by Joss Whedon. It too felt light and somehow a little inconsequential.

In the end, this book didn’t quite work for me. I wish it did, instead it made me sometimes angry, I felt tricked somehow and fishhooked. Perhaps next time.

File under: Your mileage may vary