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Mostly Dead Things
One morning, Jessa-Lynn Morton walks into the family taxidermy shop to find that her father has committed suicide, right there on one of the metal tables. Shocked and grieving, Jessa steps up to manage the failing business, while the rest of the Morton family crumbles. Her mother starts sneaking into the shop to make aggressively lewd art with the taxidermied animals. Her brother Milo withdraws, struggling to function. And Brynn, Milo’s wife—and the only person Jessa’s ever been in love with—walks out without a word. As Jessa seeks out less-than-legal ways of generating income, her mother’s art escalates—picture a figure of her dead husband and a stuffed buffalo in an uncomfortably sexual pose—and the Mortons reach a tipping point. For the first time, Jessa has no choice but to learn who these people truly are, and ultimately how she fits alongside them.
356 pages, Hardcover
First published June 4, 2019
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,791 reviews
June 29, 2019
I really enjoyed this novel. The physicality of it is impressive. Every aspect of living is splayed out--the smells, tastes, textures of human bodies interacting without human bodies. At the heart of it is a brother and sister, in love with the same woman who leaves them both to pick up the pieces of their lives. This family is so tenderly, humanely rendered. There is so much heart here without too much sentimentality. Jessa is an infuriating protagonist but still, so compelling, so damaged, so ready to try a different way of living. I am not sure about the ending or the sections/structure but that is of little matter. Excellent excellent novel. Can't wait to see what Arnett does next.
July 16, 2019
Despite the neon bright cover that screams ‘Quirky! Funny!’,
Mostly Dead Things
is Mostly about Sad People, and I didn’t find much mirth in this debut (maybe a sardonic undercurrent, at best). Instead, this is quite a dark story about a family of grieving, emotionally damaged people.
The narrator, Jessa, has only ever loved one woman, Brynn, but Brynn chose the more conventional life of marriage and babies offered by Jessa’s brother Milo (while continuing to have sex with Jessa on the sly). This awkward love triangle holds, barely, until one day Brynn abruptly walks out on them both, also abandoning her small children in the process.
Several years later, Jessa and Milo’s father kills himself, leaving Jessa struggling to manage the family taxidermy business, and their mother channelling her pain into grotesque, pornographic art made from dead animal parts.
A family unit devastated by these twin blows, the lost binary star at the centre of their collective orbit, is the main narrative strand. Interspersed flashbacks delve into Jessa’s childhood, and complicated relationships with both her father and Brynn.
The book’s title can read “mostly dead-things” or “mostly-dead things”. There are a lot of dead things in this book, usually animals, but also yards full of dead grass, dead neighbourhoods, dead relationships. Emotionally closed off and numbing herself with alcohol, Jessa is only “mostly-dead”, as is her brother Milo.
It’s a grimy book. The swampy, muggy Floridian setting; deliquescing roadkill; the gross yet mundane details of human bodies – Arnett creates a pervasive grubbiness throughout. These descriptions are not extreme, but they are frequent, and endless repetition of words like muck & grime & puke & snot & blood & dank belabours the point. Creating this miasma takes up so much space on every page that the story struggles under the weight of it all, leaving the main narrative undercooked.
Characters too are sketched, rather than fully formed - we are presented with every oozing zit and flaking scab but learn far less of their interior lives. Perhaps it doesn’t help that the two ostensibly dominant, charismatic characters are Jessa’s dad and Brynn, who are both defined by their absence, only seen in flashbacks and never really make a strong impression. By the time that the remaining family members ‘make their way back to each other’ as their emotional arc (rather predictably) dictates, this payoff felt a little false: too pat, and not fully earned. Mostly Dead Things is an unconventional family drama that didn’t quite hit the mark for me. 3 stars.
The narrator, Jessa, has only ever loved one woman, Brynn, but Brynn chose the more conventional life of marriage and babies offered by Jessa’s brother Milo (while continuing to have sex with Jessa on the sly). This awkward love triangle holds, barely, until one day Brynn abruptly walks out on them both, also abandoning her small children in the process.
Several years later, Jessa and Milo’s father kills himself, leaving Jessa struggling to manage the family taxidermy business, and their mother channelling her pain into grotesque, pornographic art made from dead animal parts.
A family unit devastated by these twin blows, the lost binary star at the centre of their collective orbit, is the main narrative strand. Interspersed flashbacks delve into Jessa’s childhood, and complicated relationships with both her father and Brynn.
The book’s title can read “mostly dead-things” or “mostly-dead things”. There are a lot of dead things in this book, usually animals, but also yards full of dead grass, dead neighbourhoods, dead relationships. Emotionally closed off and numbing herself with alcohol, Jessa is only “mostly-dead”, as is her brother Milo.
It’s a grimy book. The swampy, muggy Floridian setting; deliquescing roadkill; the gross yet mundane details of human bodies – Arnett creates a pervasive grubbiness throughout. These descriptions are not extreme, but they are frequent, and endless repetition of words like muck & grime & puke & snot & blood & dank belabours the point. Creating this miasma takes up so much space on every page that the story struggles under the weight of it all, leaving the main narrative undercooked.
Characters too are sketched, rather than fully formed - we are presented with every oozing zit and flaking scab but learn far less of their interior lives. Perhaps it doesn’t help that the two ostensibly dominant, charismatic characters are Jessa’s dad and Brynn, who are both defined by their absence, only seen in flashbacks and never really make a strong impression. By the time that the remaining family members ‘make their way back to each other’ as their emotional arc (rather predictably) dictates, this payoff felt a little false: too pat, and not fully earned. Mostly Dead Things is an unconventional family drama that didn’t quite hit the mark for me. 3 stars.
June 27, 2019
This is one of the strangest books I've ever read, and it was fantastic. Florida can be weird, and Kristen Arnett was like, "hold my beer," and created a wacky, gut-punching gem of a book. It's a reminder that families are always changing, families can be flawed, and that learning to be vulnerable is such a huge act in itself. Plus, this book is very gay.
August 2, 2019
It would have saved us all a lot of time and exasperation if the author of Mostly Dead Things had just included a note at the front of the book:
Dear reader, please note that the family in this book is grieving and they have let things go a bit. Therefore, whenever any kind of household item is mentioned, please assume it is dusty, dirty, sticky, and/or broken. Whenever anyone has a runny nose or dirty hands, please assume they wipe them off on the clothing they are wearing. Further assume that said clothing does not get washed anytime soon. Please be aware that no one is ever taking out the garbage. It is really, really important to me that you know everything is as gross as possible. Thank you for your cooperation. Enjoy the book!
So yes, Mostly Dead Things is dirty and grimy to the point that it quickly becomes rote and repetitive. But that's not all that's wrong with it. Although this book is competently written, it doesn't help that all the characters are crazily awful people. Maybe the best one is the mother, who nonetheless seems determined to ruin her kids' memories of their father, long after he's around to defend himself. Beyond her, there's people who There's the main character, Jessa-Lynn, who —a circumstance that's portrayed as completely normal and unremarkable. And even a character who otherwise seems normal and shockingly well-groomed eventually —another act portrayed as fairly run-of-the-mill. Hardly anyone suffers negative consequences from any of these actions.
At a certain point I had to stop and ask myself why it bothered me so much that no one suffered any negative consequences from their horrible behavior. I am well aware that in real life people engage in horrible behavior all the time without experiencing negative consequences. What's more, I'm usually happy to defend books where women are portrayed as something other than gleaming paragons of selflessness and purity. What made this one different?
Eventually I figured it out, I think. Oftentimes when literary novels have female characters behaving poorly, there's something truly subversive going on; points are being made about gender roles, societal restrictions, etc. But there is nothing truly subversive happening in Mostly Dead Things. That's one of the book's other major flaws: Eventually all the book's wildness is resolved with a painfully written that Jodi Picoult would have been embarrassed to write, and our main character even . Maybe the way the book subverts its own subversiveness is its true act of subversiveness, but it sure didn't work for me.
The (suspiciously high number of) five-star reviews for this novel all seem to mention how the fact that Jessa-Lynn is gay is treated as unremarkable: There is no coming-out narrative, no one giving her a hard time about it, etc. And that is true. So if you want to read about a character who has no issues around her gayness and is also , AND you don't mind many graphic descriptions of taxidermy procedures, congratulations! Mostly Dead Things is the book you've been waiting for. Best of luck with it.
Dear reader, please note that the family in this book is grieving and they have let things go a bit. Therefore, whenever any kind of household item is mentioned, please assume it is dusty, dirty, sticky, and/or broken. Whenever anyone has a runny nose or dirty hands, please assume they wipe them off on the clothing they are wearing. Further assume that said clothing does not get washed anytime soon. Please be aware that no one is ever taking out the garbage. It is really, really important to me that you know everything is as gross as possible. Thank you for your cooperation. Enjoy the book!
So yes, Mostly Dead Things is dirty and grimy to the point that it quickly becomes rote and repetitive. But that's not all that's wrong with it. Although this book is competently written, it doesn't help that all the characters are crazily awful people. Maybe the best one is the mother, who nonetheless seems determined to ruin her kids' memories of their father, long after he's around to defend himself. Beyond her, there's people who There's the main character, Jessa-Lynn, who —a circumstance that's portrayed as completely normal and unremarkable. And even a character who otherwise seems normal and shockingly well-groomed eventually —another act portrayed as fairly run-of-the-mill. Hardly anyone suffers negative consequences from any of these actions.
At a certain point I had to stop and ask myself why it bothered me so much that no one suffered any negative consequences from their horrible behavior. I am well aware that in real life people engage in horrible behavior all the time without experiencing negative consequences. What's more, I'm usually happy to defend books where women are portrayed as something other than gleaming paragons of selflessness and purity. What made this one different?
Eventually I figured it out, I think. Oftentimes when literary novels have female characters behaving poorly, there's something truly subversive going on; points are being made about gender roles, societal restrictions, etc. But there is nothing truly subversive happening in Mostly Dead Things. That's one of the book's other major flaws: Eventually all the book's wildness is resolved with a painfully written that Jodi Picoult would have been embarrassed to write, and our main character even . Maybe the way the book subverts its own subversiveness is its true act of subversiveness, but it sure didn't work for me.
The (suspiciously high number of) five-star reviews for this novel all seem to mention how the fact that Jessa-Lynn is gay is treated as unremarkable: There is no coming-out narrative, no one giving her a hard time about it, etc. And that is true. So if you want to read about a character who has no issues around her gayness and is also , AND you don't mind many graphic descriptions of taxidermy procedures, congratulations! Mostly Dead Things is the book you've been waiting for. Best of luck with it.
July 14, 2019
Reading this book was a lot like riding a merry-go-round: I was entertained and mildly fascinated by the unusual scenery until it became obvious that all we were really doing was riding through the same fixed territory again and again and again. I was thinking this could even be a 4-star read for the first third or so, but then found myself tossing away quarter- and half-stars as the circular path became less meaningful.
Plenty has already been said about the squalid, gruesome surroundings in which these characters live and work. It has definitely put a lot of folks off and I completely understand. In general this is the kind of thing I can take in stride. If this is how the author chooses to set her story, so be it. So it wasn't the nasty, aromatic descriptions that bothered me. The problem I had is that this filth and muck is so pervasive that it loses any power it might otherwise have to do more than simply disgust the reader.
Everyone in this novel has an afghan covered in crumbs and pet hair. Nearly everyone's skin is greasy and pustular. Everyone's floor is grimy; their carpets littered with trash, dirty laundry, and "a quart of dust". (A quart? Really? That one made me sigh in half-gallons.). If there is a dead animal within 50 paces of a character, bits of gristle will adhere to their jeans and their hands will become coated with the slime of decay just before they drag them through their ratty hair. Even the tailored, sleek Lucinda leaves her waxy cotton swabs on someone else's bathroom counter...and uses their toothbrush night after night. Welcome to Pigville, where everyone is a hoarder and everything is fetid. Come for the taxidermy but stay for the porn!
There is also a heavy reliance on repeating the same descriptive language, character traits, and stock gestures throughout. That gets old, too. I lost count of the number of times one character sweeps the hair away from another's sweaty face/forehead and tucks it gently behind their ear. More lipstick, balm, and gloss is applied to more lips than at a beauty pageant. If somebody is wearing a t-shirt, the neck wil be stretchd out of all proportion; if they are sporting a fluffy bathrobe, is will slip down or fall open to reveal a shoulder, a leg, a breast. If there's a beer, it's going to get "cracked"; if there's not a beer, it's going to get purchased at a convenience store by the six-pack, THEN cracked. It's all so hackneyed and also so unfortunate. I really think there is so much unrealized potential here.
There really does seem to be a rash lately of talented, well-intentioned debut novelists who include details they do not fully understand, and professional editors who let them. I don't know whether to be insulted or irritated, so I'm both. When red and blue lights flash from a police car, or are reflected over the surface of a lake, they don't combine to make purple. It's just a fact of photo-optics. Eyes that are "squinty and narrowly placed" are no more "ready to analyze the tiniest detail of a pelt" than eyes that are very open and widely spaced. Also an optical fact. And, as all my friends know, the coup de grace for me is when the author herself is self-contradictory:
p. 145: The adult Jessa is playing house with Lucinda and tells us, "She squeezed fresh orange juice, a thing I'd seen done only on TV or in movies."
Why, then, were we told this:
p. 68: A much younger Jessa is in the kitchen with her 4-year-old nephew, Bastien, narrating, "He was standing at the counter with my mother as she pressed orange halves on a citrus press."
Busted. Penalty flags clutter the sordid field of play. 2.5 stars
Plenty has already been said about the squalid, gruesome surroundings in which these characters live and work. It has definitely put a lot of folks off and I completely understand. In general this is the kind of thing I can take in stride. If this is how the author chooses to set her story, so be it. So it wasn't the nasty, aromatic descriptions that bothered me. The problem I had is that this filth and muck is so pervasive that it loses any power it might otherwise have to do more than simply disgust the reader.
Everyone in this novel has an afghan covered in crumbs and pet hair. Nearly everyone's skin is greasy and pustular. Everyone's floor is grimy; their carpets littered with trash, dirty laundry, and "a quart of dust". (A quart? Really? That one made me sigh in half-gallons.). If there is a dead animal within 50 paces of a character, bits of gristle will adhere to their jeans and their hands will become coated with the slime of decay just before they drag them through their ratty hair. Even the tailored, sleek Lucinda leaves her waxy cotton swabs on someone else's bathroom counter...and uses their toothbrush night after night. Welcome to Pigville, where everyone is a hoarder and everything is fetid. Come for the taxidermy but stay for the porn!
There is also a heavy reliance on repeating the same descriptive language, character traits, and stock gestures throughout. That gets old, too. I lost count of the number of times one character sweeps the hair away from another's sweaty face/forehead and tucks it gently behind their ear. More lipstick, balm, and gloss is applied to more lips than at a beauty pageant. If somebody is wearing a t-shirt, the neck wil be stretchd out of all proportion; if they are sporting a fluffy bathrobe, is will slip down or fall open to reveal a shoulder, a leg, a breast. If there's a beer, it's going to get "cracked"; if there's not a beer, it's going to get purchased at a convenience store by the six-pack, THEN cracked. It's all so hackneyed and also so unfortunate. I really think there is so much unrealized potential here.
There really does seem to be a rash lately of talented, well-intentioned debut novelists who include details they do not fully understand, and professional editors who let them. I don't know whether to be insulted or irritated, so I'm both. When red and blue lights flash from a police car, or are reflected over the surface of a lake, they don't combine to make purple. It's just a fact of photo-optics. Eyes that are "squinty and narrowly placed" are no more "ready to analyze the tiniest detail of a pelt" than eyes that are very open and widely spaced. Also an optical fact. And, as all my friends know, the coup de grace for me is when the author herself is self-contradictory:
p. 145: The adult Jessa is playing house with Lucinda and tells us, "She squeezed fresh orange juice, a thing I'd seen done only on TV or in movies."
Why, then, were we told this:
p. 68: A much younger Jessa is in the kitchen with her 4-year-old nephew, Bastien, narrating, "He was standing at the counter with my mother as she pressed orange halves on a citrus press."
Busted. Penalty flags clutter the sordid field of play. 2.5 stars
April 23, 2024
Help! I can’t stop reading books about weird and kinda gross lesbians !!!
March 11, 2019
This fucked me up spectacularly. I was simultaneously on the verge of tears, nauseated, and couldn’t put it down. What a great novel. Jesus.
May 14, 2020
Mostly Dead Things is the story of Jessa Morton, a woman who is left to pick up the pieces following her father’s suicide, committed at the family’s taxidermy shop where Jessa works. She, her mother, and her brother, Milo, get along well enough, though the family struggles to communicate with each other, often keeping conversations surface level. Jessa attempts to find closure, while Milo shuts down, and their mother makes unusual art with the animals in the shop. Jessa and Milo are also both still in love with Brynn, who left them years ago without saying goodbye.
I wanted to like this story, and the taxidermy element didn’t really bother me, but I grew tired of the incessant descriptions of how dirty Jessa’s apartment was, the physical descriptions of the same characters — repeatedly, and Jessa’s general apathy. Life isn’t perfect and neither are people, but I wanted some form of “care”. Recognizing grief is an individual process with no start or end date, I struggled to find relatability with these characters. The premise of Mostly Dead Things sounded interesting — a bit different, however, the execution just didn’t work well for me.
I wanted to like this story, and the taxidermy element didn’t really bother me, but I grew tired of the incessant descriptions of how dirty Jessa’s apartment was, the physical descriptions of the same characters — repeatedly, and Jessa’s general apathy. Life isn’t perfect and neither are people, but I wanted some form of “care”. Recognizing grief is an individual process with no start or end date, I struggled to find relatability with these characters. The premise of Mostly Dead Things sounded interesting — a bit different, however, the execution just didn’t work well for me.
Read
August 7, 2024I listened to close to 4 hours of author Kristen Arnett’s “Mostly Dead Things”. I tried; I really did. This is an interesting story, perhaps a YA story, of a girl who is an instrumental part in her family’s Taxidermy business. She’s not stuck there, as she loves her work. It’s an interesting look into taxidermy. I was fascinated.
But then, it turned a bit trashy. The protagonist, Jessa-Lynn finds her father, who committed death by suicide (it’s a bloody scene). That didn’t bother me. Her mother, who was on shaky emotional ground prior to her husband’s death, sinks into a disturbing level of emotional unwellness. She starts exhibiting the taxidermy animals in provocative and vulgar poses.
Jessa-Lynn is queer and can’t keep her hands off her brother’s wife and her mother’s acquaintances. It became a bit raunchy, too raunchy for me. Hence, I DNF.
This is highly rated, so take my DNF with a grain of salt.
But then, it turned a bit trashy. The protagonist, Jessa-Lynn finds her father, who committed death by suicide (it’s a bloody scene). That didn’t bother me. Her mother, who was on shaky emotional ground prior to her husband’s death, sinks into a disturbing level of emotional unwellness. She starts exhibiting the taxidermy animals in provocative and vulgar poses.
Jessa-Lynn is queer and can’t keep her hands off her brother’s wife and her mother’s acquaintances. It became a bit raunchy, too raunchy for me. Hence, I DNF.
This is highly rated, so take my DNF with a grain of salt.
June 21, 2019
Received this arc from my local bookstore. After reading some reviews I was very excited to read this “strange” & “funny” book. I’m sorry to say I was greatly let down. The only, slightly strange aspect of the book is that it revolves around taxidermy, which in it of itself isn’t that strange. As far as reality based books go the strangeness level was set to 1. The characters were all so self loathing it was hard to care about any of them or what they were going through. Half the chapters are memories which were meaningless and boring. The other half told the current story, which wasn’t much more exciting. Also, midway through the book they just start murdering animals just to stuff them, which is awful and a really pointless plot point. Hard pass on this one.
November 16, 2019
Quite the queer novel! I loved the queerness of Mostly Dead Things, its eccentricity, its bi representation, and its messy, complicated associations between dead animals and human relationships and sexuality and grief. There’s a raw physicality to this novel that will resonate with those who appreciate language that appeals to the senses, like textures, scents, and motions like breaking into something with your hands or peeling something apart to reveal what lies underneath.
I feel like this book centers on grief, an important topic, and yet I wanted more from the characters and the story. Our main character, Jessa-Lynn, mourns both her father who died by suicide as well as her lover – who also was married to her brother – who abandoned her. The sheer enormity of Jessa-Lynn’s grief pervades her life and the lives of the other characters in the novel. Yet, the emotions felt a bit too removed for me, and the characters’ interior lives felt too obscured for me to make an honest connection with them. I’m not sure if this is the desired response, given that Jessa-Lynn’s emotional arc seems to be that she, and the rest of her family, all repress their emotions surrounding Jessa-Lynn’s father’s death and Jessa-Lynn’s lover Brynn leaving without a word. But by the time the characters finally started opening up toward the end of the book, I felt that I hadn’t connected with them enough during the beginning and middle to truly care.
Overall, an okay book with solid queer representation by a queer author. Not my cup of tea but it may resonate with those who appreciate dark humor and books about the weight of things left unsaid.
I feel like this book centers on grief, an important topic, and yet I wanted more from the characters and the story. Our main character, Jessa-Lynn, mourns both her father who died by suicide as well as her lover – who also was married to her brother – who abandoned her. The sheer enormity of Jessa-Lynn’s grief pervades her life and the lives of the other characters in the novel. Yet, the emotions felt a bit too removed for me, and the characters’ interior lives felt too obscured for me to make an honest connection with them. I’m not sure if this is the desired response, given that Jessa-Lynn’s emotional arc seems to be that she, and the rest of her family, all repress their emotions surrounding Jessa-Lynn’s father’s death and Jessa-Lynn’s lover Brynn leaving without a word. But by the time the characters finally started opening up toward the end of the book, I felt that I hadn’t connected with them enough during the beginning and middle to truly care.
Overall, an okay book with solid queer representation by a queer author. Not my cup of tea but it may resonate with those who appreciate dark humor and books about the weight of things left unsaid.
August 7, 2019
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“Why not try something different instead of the same old shit that’s been making us miserable our whole lives?”
“I haven’t been miserable my whole life!”
“Really? I’ve been pretty miserable.”
Mostly Dead Things was brought to my attention a couple of months ago via way of a recommendation by my friend Mindy. To her I say . . . .
The jumping off point to this story is when Jessa-Lynn finds her daddy has blown his brains out on the specimen table in the family’s taxidermy shop. From there we meet the other members of the family – brother Milo whose wife that left him also happened to be Jessa-Lynn’s girlfriend, Milo’s daughter Lolee (who was pretty much the daughter I’ve never had), his stepson Bastien – back from rehab and a man of dubious means, and their mother – recent widow turned pornographic taxidermy artist. These were my people. What can I say . . . .
Ha! Not really. I’m about as basic as they come. However, I’m also pretty much white trash so I fell head over heels for all of these quirky misfits. I mean, if there was ever a book designed for me it would be one about a dysfunctional family who owns a taxidermy shop, right?!?!?!? For realz . . . .
With my father gone, gag taxidermy paid the rent. I pinned antlers to rabbit heads stuffed with foam cuttings, shellacked frogs propped at miniature card tables, boiled a million alligator skulls, mouths stuffed with pointy teeth painted blue and orange for UF football fans. I turned ducklings into mermaids, fish tails shimmering green-gold.
Not to mention it was set in Florida . . . .
STFU John Oliver! Dear Florida: Never stop being you.
At the end of the day this was a bizarre little book about getting through the grieving process and finding yourself. Definitely not a book for everyone (very detailed in description of creating a mount – not to mention the way some of the animals were acquired), but Mitchell and I liked it enough for everyone. Just look how happy it made him . . . .
I'll definitely be buying a hard copy of this one for the bookhoardshelves.
“Why not try something different instead of the same old shit that’s been making us miserable our whole lives?”
“I haven’t been miserable my whole life!”
“Really? I’ve been pretty miserable.”
Mostly Dead Things was brought to my attention a couple of months ago via way of a recommendation by my friend Mindy. To her I say . . . .
The jumping off point to this story is when Jessa-Lynn finds her daddy has blown his brains out on the specimen table in the family’s taxidermy shop. From there we meet the other members of the family – brother Milo whose wife that left him also happened to be Jessa-Lynn’s girlfriend, Milo’s daughter Lolee (who was pretty much the daughter I’ve never had), his stepson Bastien – back from rehab and a man of dubious means, and their mother – recent widow turned pornographic taxidermy artist. These were my people. What can I say . . . .
Ha! Not really. I’m about as basic as they come. However, I’m also pretty much white trash so I fell head over heels for all of these quirky misfits. I mean, if there was ever a book designed for me it would be one about a dysfunctional family who owns a taxidermy shop, right?!?!?!? For realz . . . .
With my father gone, gag taxidermy paid the rent. I pinned antlers to rabbit heads stuffed with foam cuttings, shellacked frogs propped at miniature card tables, boiled a million alligator skulls, mouths stuffed with pointy teeth painted blue and orange for UF football fans. I turned ducklings into mermaids, fish tails shimmering green-gold.
Not to mention it was set in Florida . . . .
STFU John Oliver! Dear Florida: Never stop being you.
At the end of the day this was a bizarre little book about getting through the grieving process and finding yourself. Definitely not a book for everyone (very detailed in description of creating a mount – not to mention the way some of the animals were acquired), but Mitchell and I liked it enough for everyone. Just look how happy it made him . . . .
I'll definitely be buying a hard copy of this one for the book
January 10, 2019
Phenomenal. Queer Ladies + Taxidermy + Complex Familial Relationships + A Small Town = a meteor to the gut. Read it, k bye.
July 28, 2019
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I was trying to project, "I swear I'm not a psycho" vibes to the people side-eying me for reading this book, even though the title was basically 99% of the reason behind why I applied for this in the first place. MOSTLY DEAD THINGS is a book chock-full of dark humor, and is definitely not for the faint of heart. I thought Carl Hiaasen had the market cornered on the unique brand of Floridian-style "crazy," but apparently Kristen Arnett is moving in on his territory.
Jessa comes from a family of taxidermists; getting into the family business was the one surefire way she had of bonding with her somewhat aloof father. But when he takes his life into his own hands following a cancer diagnosis, the family is split apart. Jessa's brother, Milo, withdraws away from his mother, sister, and children. Their mother begins to methodically destroy her late husband's animals, turning them into disturbingly erotic displays. And Jessa is torn between stopping her mother and preserving her father's memory, and obsessing over Brynn, her brother's wife, and the woman she's been having a relationship with since high school.
MOSTLY DEAD THINGS doesn't shirk on the gory details, so be prepared to learn everything you probably never wanted to know about taxidermy. That part didn't bother me much, since I've read a couple nonfiction books about taxidermy as well, but sensitive readers should know that there are some animal deaths in here, some of them quite cruel. There's also the whole cheating factor, with Brynn stringing along two siblings for years, and Jessa knowingly continuing her affair with her brother's wife. I know I have some friends who can't stand to read about adultery and cheating, and that's a pretty significant plot point in MOSTLY DEAD THINGS; it can't be avoided.
MOSTLY DEAD THINGS is a pretty interesting look at a dysfunctional family's various ways of attempting to overcome grief. Some scenes were darkly funny, and others were bizarre to the point of being cringeworthy. One thing for sure, is that I've never read a book quite like this, and in a market that's inundated with copycats, originality is definitely noteworthy and appreciated. I'm giving this book 3-stars because I did like it and I thought it took some brave risks, but some of the characters fell a little flat for me and the ending fizzled out-- despite a pretty compelling beginning.
Overall, not bad.
Thanks to the publisher for sending me a copy in exchange for an honest review!
3 to 3.5 stars
August 14, 2019
This story was just too relentlessly sad. The characters are all filthy, depressed, and passive-aggressive. They are grieving the death of their father and abandonment by a former lover. My biggest issue with the book is the lack of finesse. The reader is constantly hit over the head with repeated scenes that show just how sad and disgusting everything is. Yes - I got it! And the narrator’s incessant pining over her former lover without realizing what a manipulative brat she was drove me nuts!
July 10, 2019
Mostly Dead Things, mostly disgusting, dirty and funky, mostly too icky for me, but... it was an interesting look into the world of taxidermy.
The excessive funky descriptions wrapped around all the love and grief didn't quite work for me. I felt very distant from all of these characters, or perhaps it was that I distanced myself from them. If it wasn't for a group read, I would have given up on this at several different stages along the way.
The excessive funky descriptions wrapped around all the love and grief didn't quite work for me. I felt very distant from all of these characters, or perhaps it was that I distanced myself from them. If it wasn't for a group read, I would have given up on this at several different stages along the way.
August 19, 2023
An uncomfortable, intimate look into grief and artistic expression. Filled with dark humour and unflinching honesty, Mostly Dead Things is a glimpse at a family destroyed by loss and years of alienation; it is a raw account of a life lived with yearning, secrets, resentment. But it is also a story of the catharsis of art, which can say all of the things we never quite dare to: our deepest desires, our darkest secrets, our most disturbing or authentic inner thoughts are laid bare. This novel is in many ways a parallel to so many people who have gone so long with toxic cycles or stagnation that the fear of starting over is almost greater than the fear of going on forever in misery. A quirky but evocative read that is worth working through the discomfort for.
August 4, 2019
2.5
Well, the cover is lovely.
If only Flamingoes frolicking on a page unblemished by food stains, dust or gore was truly representative of the reading experience. Where is the sexy Cicada ?, the trio of Peacocks ? or even one of those dioramas involving goats in compromising positions ?
I have never been to Florida or even know that much about the state but in this novel Florida is essentially the main character. It is one of the strengths of the novel, a strong sense of place. The humidity practically leeches across the page, alligators peer at you and vegetation is lush and rampant. The characters are just as interesting; a family of taxidermists, a boy-girl (brother, sister)-girl love triangle, a mother with a penchant for making porn tableaux with taxidermied animals. This all held the promise of a quirky, black comedy, Florida style ! but alas it never manages to coalesce out of the murk.
One of my biggest hurdles was the focus on detailed description over narrative advancement. Whenever a character defining moment threatened to appear, the author would bury me in an avalanche of sensory details. Couch cushions that stunk of spilled wine, zits that popped gruesomely over a mirror coated in grime, food stains on sweat reeking clothes. I have not even mentioned the taxidermy.
Basically it is atmosphere overload ! This book should come with a warning that it is guaranteed to make you want to start scrubbing something.
Arnett is objectively a good writer but for my reading taste this was far too hyper-real, I just don't need to know this much minutiae about bodies, animal or human.
Well, the cover is lovely.
If only Flamingoes frolicking on a page unblemished by food stains, dust or gore was truly representative of the reading experience. Where is the sexy Cicada ?, the trio of Peacocks ? or even one of those dioramas involving goats in compromising positions ?
I have never been to Florida or even know that much about the state but in this novel Florida is essentially the main character. It is one of the strengths of the novel, a strong sense of place. The humidity practically leeches across the page, alligators peer at you and vegetation is lush and rampant. The characters are just as interesting; a family of taxidermists, a boy-girl (brother, sister)-girl love triangle, a mother with a penchant for making porn tableaux with taxidermied animals. This all held the promise of a quirky, black comedy, Florida style ! but alas it never manages to coalesce out of the murk.
One of my biggest hurdles was the focus on detailed description over narrative advancement. Whenever a character defining moment threatened to appear, the author would bury me in an avalanche of sensory details. Couch cushions that stunk of spilled wine, zits that popped gruesomely over a mirror coated in grime, food stains on sweat reeking clothes. I have not even mentioned the taxidermy.
Basically it is atmosphere overload ! This book should come with a warning that it is guaranteed to make you want to start scrubbing something.
Arnett is objectively a good writer but for my reading taste this was far too hyper-real, I just don't need to know this much minutiae about bodies, animal or human.
November 25, 2019
This isn’t a bad book, but it’s an ugly one. Not only is everything here dirty, smelly, complicated, and repressed, Arnett uses some of the ugliest sounding words and similes to describe how gross everything is. It’s clearly intentional, and certainly not without skill, but do you really want to spend 300 odd pages in this muck? I’ll ponder that while I take a very long, hot shower.
January 7, 2020
This is a good read for people who like Florida weirdness. Jessa has been working with her father, apprenticing at his taxidermy shop, when he takes his own life. She tries to keep the shop going while her family falls apart - her brother, who had a child with her high school girlfriend, and her mother who has taken to creating sexualized sculptures with some of the taxidermied animals. Deeper are themes of grief, connection, siblings, and art.
July 14, 2020
Who knew that a novel about a taxidermist who shoots himself and his adult daughter who (literally) cleans up the mess and takes over the family business could be SO moving and SO funny and SO surprising? Kristen Arnett is an astute observer of the human condition, like all terrific writers, and I savored narrator Jessa-Lynn Morton and her seriously oddball family and friends. Bonus: IT'S SET IN FLORIDA, WHICH MAKES ALL THAT WEIRDNESS ALL THE MORE WONDERFUL.
February 16, 2020
2.5 stars
just a buncha Sad People being Sad and not much else
Mostly Dead Things was such a depressing book. No narrative is good without conflict; the problem with this book is that there was nothing in it but conflict. I genuinely cannot think of a single moment from this book that was even remotely close to positive—not a single scene or line or relationship that wasn't drenched in sadness or angst or repressed feelings. Emotion is not dynamic in Arnett's novel; it doesn't have highs and lows. There are only lows and then even lower lows. All of this didn't make for a particularly enjoyable, or even tolerable, reading experience. A novel doesn't need to be happy to be good (in fact, I would argue for the opposite), but it also needs to present characters that experience emotion along a spectrum rather than a single point.
There is also the matter of the disappointing characters. The characters of Mostly Dead Things are going through a lot, I get that. But they are so unlikable. It felt like there was nothing redeemable about them (and the novel's sad attempts at a resolution definitely didn't move them to a point where it felt like they could redeem themselves). And to be clear, I don't want to blame these characters for the trauma they go through, of which there is a lot—the main character finds her father's dead body after he commits suicide AND the person she's in love with abandons her and her brother—but I just felt like Arnett never tried to unpack and work through her characters' trauma. It felt like the novel was saying here are characters in pain rather than here are characters in pain and here's how they negotiate and understand the things they do because they are in pain. Arnett gives us some characters and then writes a novel where all she says is, here are my characters!! That is not a novel because that is not a narrative—that's nothing more than just a bunch of character descriptions.
Also, I don't think I will ever like novels about taxidermy. It's just SO painfully on the nose. Like oh the main character is like her taxidermied animals, she, too, is trying to reanimate herself even though she feels dead!! It feels gimmicky, like the novel is straining for a depth of meaning that it doesn't have by way of this very obvious—not to mention overdone—metaphor.
Honestly, this novel was less Mostly Dead Things and more Fully Dead Things. That is to say, it had no life.
just a buncha Sad People being Sad and not much else
Mostly Dead Things was such a depressing book. No narrative is good without conflict; the problem with this book is that there was nothing in it but conflict. I genuinely cannot think of a single moment from this book that was even remotely close to positive—not a single scene or line or relationship that wasn't drenched in sadness or angst or repressed feelings. Emotion is not dynamic in Arnett's novel; it doesn't have highs and lows. There are only lows and then even lower lows. All of this didn't make for a particularly enjoyable, or even tolerable, reading experience. A novel doesn't need to be happy to be good (in fact, I would argue for the opposite), but it also needs to present characters that experience emotion along a spectrum rather than a single point.
There is also the matter of the disappointing characters. The characters of Mostly Dead Things are going through a lot, I get that. But they are so unlikable. It felt like there was nothing redeemable about them (and the novel's sad attempts at a resolution definitely didn't move them to a point where it felt like they could redeem themselves). And to be clear, I don't want to blame these characters for the trauma they go through, of which there is a lot—the main character finds her father's dead body after he commits suicide AND the person she's in love with abandons her and her brother—but I just felt like Arnett never tried to unpack and work through her characters' trauma. It felt like the novel was saying here are characters in pain rather than here are characters in pain and here's how they negotiate and understand the things they do because they are in pain. Arnett gives us some characters and then writes a novel where all she says is, here are my characters!! That is not a novel because that is not a narrative—that's nothing more than just a bunch of character descriptions.
Also, I don't think I will ever like novels about taxidermy. It's just SO painfully on the nose. Like oh the main character is like her taxidermied animals, she, too, is trying to reanimate herself even though she feels dead!! It feels gimmicky, like the novel is straining for a depth of meaning that it doesn't have by way of this very obvious—not to mention overdone—metaphor.
Honestly, this novel was less Mostly Dead Things and more Fully Dead Things. That is to say, it had no life.
November 7, 2024
2.5 rounded down
This book felt like it was at least
3 times longer than it actually was.
The characters were unlovable, and not in an interesting sort of way, for most of it and the child neglect and general air of apathy made them profoundly unsympathetic too. The story got nowhere and I couldn't really find a point to it aside from unhealed people will hurt their children and even in complacency you will find some modicum of healing at some point? The writing style did nothing for me either.
This book felt like it was at least
3 times longer than it actually was.
The characters were unlovable, and not in an interesting sort of way, for most of it and the child neglect and general air of apathy made them profoundly unsympathetic too. The story got nowhere and I couldn't really find a point to it aside from unhealed people will hurt their children and even in complacency you will find some modicum of healing at some point? The writing style did nothing for me either.
June 30, 2019
3.5 stars. Guts and gore, guts and gore. Not convinced that it's all necessary or contributes. But a compelling read nonetheless.
June 16, 2019
I’m beginning to realize that I need to start expecting less out of really hyped debut novels. They are very rarely the literary coming of Jesus the blurbs on the back cover proclaim them to be. Character motivations are pretty unbelievable in this one, even when explored in relentless detail. Narrative thrust is almost nonexistent. The novel really shines in its biting humor and portrayal of the strange and macabre world of taxidermy (even if all the taxidermy metaphors were stretched to their breaking points). But that was hardly enough to overcome its flat characterization and lack of drive. Probably would have been a three star read were it nor for the ridiculous and cliched ending.
April 29, 2019
This is a book that, after reading the blurb, I really wanted to love; however, I didn’t. It was fine. It was funny at times. It was strange. I’m good with strange, but there was something about this book that just didn’t resonate with me.
Partly, I think, I just didn’t love the main character, Jessa, until nearly the end of the book. I found her character tedious at times and I just wanted to shake her. I couldn’t get into the strange relationship that both her and her brother had with Brynn. I also didn’t like how Milo, her brother, was basically a non-existent parent. That didn’t sit well at all. It had been something like 14 years since Brynn left and still Jessa and Milo couldn’t get themselves together.
The book also dragged, especially in the middle, but it did pick up at the end. Maybe this book is more of an exploration of an idea than a strong story.
I did love Jessa’s mother, though. She was fantastic. I loved how she rearranged the taxidermied animals in “artistic” ways and how she used her art to come to terms with her life and marriage. She was the only one with any life in her, and maybe that was the point.
Other people seem to love this book, however, so maybe it is more of a case of this book just not being for me.
Thank you to Netgalley and Tin House Books for a review copy.
Partly, I think, I just didn’t love the main character, Jessa, until nearly the end of the book. I found her character tedious at times and I just wanted to shake her. I couldn’t get into the strange relationship that both her and her brother had with Brynn. I also didn’t like how Milo, her brother, was basically a non-existent parent. That didn’t sit well at all. It had been something like 14 years since Brynn left and still Jessa and Milo couldn’t get themselves together.
The book also dragged, especially in the middle, but it did pick up at the end. Maybe this book is more of an exploration of an idea than a strong story.
I did love Jessa’s mother, though. She was fantastic. I loved how she rearranged the taxidermied animals in “artistic” ways and how she used her art to come to terms with her life and marriage. She was the only one with any life in her, and maybe that was the point.
Other people seem to love this book, however, so maybe it is more of a case of this book just not being for me.
Thank you to Netgalley and Tin House Books for a review copy.
July 10, 2019
3.5, rounded up.
It's no surprise to find Karen Russell blurbing her enthusiasm for this debut novel on the book jacket, since it kept reminding me (a LOT), in both style and subject, of Russell's own Swamplandia!, which I actually didn't much care for - at least not as much as I did this. Both concern quirky Florida families, in Russell's tome a family of professional alligator wrestlers, and here, an equally funky family of taxidermists. Although It took me an absurdly long time to get through (a full week), which friends and followers know usually indicates I am NOT enjoying a book, here I just kind of took a leisurely approach which didn't really indicate any dissatisfaction. The book kept my attention, there are some truly wonderful and often humorous set pieces, and the language itself is frequently terrific without being overly fussy.
There were, I admit, a couple sections that bordered on the gruesome (ok, maybe more than bordered), but they didn't upset me as much as such descriptions usually do (animal cruelty is one of the things I find truly heinous, but here most of the time the animals are ALREADY deceased, so I wasn't quite so squeamish). On the strength of this, I'd certainly be interested in seeing what Arnett comes up with next.
It's no surprise to find Karen Russell blurbing her enthusiasm for this debut novel on the book jacket, since it kept reminding me (a LOT), in both style and subject, of Russell's own Swamplandia!, which I actually didn't much care for - at least not as much as I did this. Both concern quirky Florida families, in Russell's tome a family of professional alligator wrestlers, and here, an equally funky family of taxidermists. Although It took me an absurdly long time to get through (a full week), which friends and followers know usually indicates I am NOT enjoying a book, here I just kind of took a leisurely approach which didn't really indicate any dissatisfaction. The book kept my attention, there are some truly wonderful and often humorous set pieces, and the language itself is frequently terrific without being overly fussy.
There were, I admit, a couple sections that bordered on the gruesome (ok, maybe more than bordered), but they didn't upset me as much as such descriptions usually do (animal cruelty is one of the things I find truly heinous, but here most of the time the animals are ALREADY deceased, so I wasn't quite so squeamish). On the strength of this, I'd certainly be interested in seeing what Arnett comes up with next.
June 17, 2019
“Brynn had been shitty. My brother had been shitty. My parents were shitty. I was the worst one of all, the shittiest one.”
This quote. All the characters were shitty people. They got on my every last nerve and I’m so glad to be done with them.
This quote. All the characters were shitty people. They got on my every last nerve and I’m so glad to be done with them.
August 3, 2020
4.5 stars
Don’t be mislead by the blurbs. The book is not funny. It’s a beautifully written tragedy through and through.
Don’t be mislead by the blurbs. The book is not funny. It’s a beautifully written tragedy through and through.
June 17, 2019
I'm going to have to abandon this one. And let it blow in the wind.
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