Synopsis:
Dottie Matheson is a selfish mother who has been granted the supernatural power to resurrect her son, Harold, whenever he dies. He uses this ability to shock audiences around Scotland by killing himself on stage over and over again, attracting fame and fortune.
As his Circus Nightmare act takes the world by storm, his adoration attracts a demon who wishes to use Harold’s power to re-enter the world. Will they stop the demon on time? Will Dottie redeem her selfish ways before it’s too late?
Review:
“Mother Death,” is a narrative that whilst pulsating with emotion, and teeming with life, ultimately, is haunted by the inevitability of death. It explores grief in a way that no novel I know of has ever done before.
I first stumbled across this author last summer, which I spent helping orchestrate a Sinister Smile Press anthology (If I Die Before I Wake- Volume 9). I ended up reading about 400 short stories, which ranged from amazing to abysmal, and there’s only a select few that I remember reading for the first time. “Call The Wasps,” by Paul O’Neill is one of those stories. When I heard about his foray into full length novels, I was practically salivating at the thought of getting my hands on it- and am SO happy I did. Thank you Paul for sending me a copy.
In “Mother Death,” the line between life, and mortality is blurred and manipulated into a grotesque spectacle of fame and greed. The narrative revolves around “Harold The Impossible,” a self-absorbed performer, who is willing to meet his demise on stage each night. His mother Dottie resurrects him by placing her hand on his forehead once the show is over, and the cycle repeats (in increasingly brutal and bloody ways). Little do either Harold or Dottie (Mother Death) know that on the other side lurks a malevolent being, one who (through the conduit of Harold’s resurrection) poses a pretty large threat to humanity.
O’Neill’s cast of characters are as flawed as they are compelling. Harold’s narcissism and addiction to fame propel him toward increasingly extreme deaths, whilst Dottie is left to grapple with her past failures as a mother. Torn between a craving for redemption, and her own selfish desires, her character ARC serves as a profound commentary on parenthood, and its mutlti-faceted nature. Pamela is perhaps the only relatively stable character, and she evidences how heavily impacted we are by those around us.
The prose serves the story well. Obviously, with Harold committing suicide each night, in increasingly drastic and gruesome ways, there’s plenty of blood, guts and gore. This viscera is well balanced with O’Neill’s lyrical prose and insightful commentary. All this bloodshed takes place in Fife, Scotland, and Paul’s occasional use of the local dialect was certainly fun to read. I don’t think this novel is splatterpunk, but certain passages are downright grisly. If you’re looking for an introduction to extreme horror content and want to support an indie author (without traumatising yourself) maybe pick this one up.
I rave about the themes of grief and motherhood pretty consistently, in a lot of reviews. Whilst these themes are certainly central to the plot, the most interesting route that the author goes down here is human nature, and how morbid it is. You’re reading a review about a book in which the morally-grey protagonist repeatedly kills himself… I read the book in the first place! The story wouldn’t have spiralled into the madness it did but for the curiosity and amazement Harold’s deaths were met with. The audiences at the circus…the people online who’d pay for custom suicide videos… ultimately, it was their voyeuristic fascination that drove Harold’s addiction to fame, and later to death itself.
Behind its gore-soaked theatrics, “Mother Death,” is a wholly original story of sacrifice and redemption that forces you to question your own morality, whilst craving more. Audacious and inventive, O’Neill’s debut is a tour de force that defies convention, and (at detriment to my bank account) leaves me looking forward to whatever he writes next with bated breath.
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