The Cabin at the End of the World (Review)

I went into this book not knowing much about it. I’m not sure it would have helped. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

This book is smart. It feels like literary fiction, and I think it could fit just as easily into that genre as it could into mystery, or home invasion, or apocalyptic. It’s very highly character-driven; there’s a large focus on building the seven players in this book and their relationships and–rather than watching them grow and flourish–letting them burn. 

“Too many people have smiles that don’t mean what a smile is supposed to mean.” 

This book deals with some of my favorite things; characters that are not portrayed as good or bad but as a series of sometimes black, sometimes white, and mostly grey choices that have led them to this point; multiple perspectives including a child narrator; and just the hint of a questionably magical realism element. Although, it might be more accurate to describe it as ‘paranormal’ or ‘supernatural.’ Either way, it’s very ambiguous, just the way I like it.

In fact, this whole book is a bit ambiguous. I have a feeling that, depending on who you are, you’ll have a different reading experience. The story is laid out plainly and neatly so that it is up to the reader to connect with whichever character they connect with most and to project their own life experiences, ideals, philosophies, and beliefs onto the circumstances that those characters face to create whatever messages and emotions they will. You could take this book apart and find commentary on certain issues; gun rights, the nature of humans, religion, politics, or even perhaps on the climate. This book is ripe with well-hidden references that you will only find if you are looking for them, which I was not. I ate up the author’s commentary at the end of my edition, which detailed the nuances of his foreshadowing and literary allusions. Without really knowing it, you make a lot of choices while reading this book, and it decides, not the outcome exactly, but what you get from it.

I’ve never read a book quite like it.

“Trust the process. Dumbly believe things are how they’re supposed to be and that they will work out simply because of that belief, even if you know better.” 

Nor have I ever read a book that has quite this writing style. 

Tremblay takes on a very detailed and meticulous third-person style that jumps between perspectives. This omnipresent, non-character narrator, takes on a sort of personality without being a person. One which points out certain backstories about the characters, noting particular things in particular ways that the reader can take one meaning or another from. The style takes time to point out exactly how a room is furnished, from the drapes to the lamps, to the carpet. It takes time also, to describe minute detail by minute detail how violence is caused. 

In any other circumstances, this would become quite tedious and boring, but the pacing here makes it palpable. It has the strange effect of dulling the tension and heightening it at the same time. We see that events are gaining momentum and yet the narration remains steady, making us wait. It’s like a long, panning shot during the action scene in a movie. It also has the effect of describing gore and violence in vividly disturbing detail but with an air of nonchalance that makes it both more gruesome and yet more readable.

I hope I am explaining this well but I’m probably not because it’s a strange style and one which is best experienced rather than described. 

What was the weirdest aspect, however, was not the style but rather the perspectives which came into play later in the book. Before now, I had never heard of having what Tremblay calls a first-person plural narration, which switches between omnipresent third-person focusing on two characters to plural first. This means that the narration uses both characters’ names and “we” or “us,” but never “I.” 

It was jarring in a way that worked with the story and events, but that was, admittedly a bit confusing. But, that’s to be expected when you’ve never experienced a perspective like that before. Although I had some trouble reading it in certain paragraphs, I admit that it worked well in the full scope of the story.

Accounting for my trouble with this perspective I considered my overall rating for this book for a long time. I had the ending to think about too…

As I read, I figured that there was only one possible ending that could tie everything together in a satisfying way. I wasn’t mad about not being surprised since I had long ago given up on the idea that the main goal of this story was to be a mystery.

But then, it didn’t end that way.

Which, should be a good thing because I was surprised after all, but it changed my whole perspective on what the book meant as a story, for me, and for the characters. It changed the ambiguity that was underneath into a whole other set of (still admittedly very ambiguous) questions. 

I like ambiguous endings, don’t get me wrong. Several years in an English program certainly beat the idea that open-ended endings are good for me. But I was thrown off guard by how sure I was that this was not how the book would end. Which is something I don’t think I can ever say I’ve experienced before. 

Reading Tremblay’s explanation for the ending eased my mind a bit, but I still continued to think about it a lot. Not only because of the resolution, but because this is a book that will stay with you, that will make you think, and that you’ll burn to discuss with others. 

“Not all gifts are easy to accept. The most important gifts are often the ones we wish with all our hearts to refuse.”

In the end, I decided to rate The Cabin at the End of the World 5 out of 5 stars for its originality, genre-bending nature, lasting impression, strong characters, and just, simply, for how well-written it was. I will certainly be picking up more of Paul Tremblay’s work soon.