Back to the Bookshelf is a new feature in which I revisit books I haven't read in at least ten years (an entirely arbitrary rule which I will no doubt break on a regular basis) to see how much I remember, and how well the books hold up. This is a trial run before I hopefully make it a regular feature next year. And what better place to start than with a book that has spent the last decade on a little shelf in my head labelled real Irish Sídhe?
WHAT I REMEMBER
I remembered that The Call was a very disturbing book. I'm not sure gory is quite the right word, because it's not exactly blood and guts, but it is certainly violent. These are the real Fair Folk from Irish mythology: violent, capricious, and utterly indifferent to human feelings. None of your pretty, twinkly Victorian fairies here!
I remembered that the main character, Nessa, had bad legs, and I remembered what happens to Anto, although I didn't remember his name until another character mentioned it. The general premise had stayed with me, as had one particular scene involving a bus full of people when someone is Called.
Most of the side characters, however, had vanished into the mists of time. I'd also forgotten that the narration switches to them when they're Called to the Grey Lands, giving us glimpses of their individual ordeals. I remembered the giddy joy the Sídhe take in mutilating teenagers, though. Some things, apparently, leave an impression.
I'd also remembered the teenagers as being seventeen or eighteen, judging by the way they talk and act. In fact, they're only fourteen. I suppose being trained for a war in which nine out of ten teenagers die will do that to you.
POST-READING
I really enjoyed this reread. I read it in a single day because I didn't want to put it down, which is always a good sign!
One thing I hadn't remembered was just how far the horror goes. Some of the scenes took me by surprise all over again. The teenagers cut down the Sídhe without mercy in the Grey Lands, which their enemies actively encourage because it's new and interesting, and the dead can always be brought back to life in the Cauldron. Meanwhile, the narration doesn't spare us the pain of the teenagers' own ordeals. One character has his legs pinched off at the joints, and we're made to feel his pain. Another has her head turned inside out. The Sídhe transform their victims into whatever takes their fancy: heads that grow legs like spiders, people altered into doglike or horselike creatures, and sea monsters that literally build their bodies out of human victims.
It's imaginative, deeply unpleasant body horror, and it serves a purpose beyond simply shocking the reader. The Sídhe don't regard human bodies as something deserving of respect. They're toys, experiments, entertainment. The teenagers are fighting for their lives; the Sídhe are having fun.
I'd love to see The Call adapted for television, particularly to see the Grey Lands brought to life. But I suspect the horror would have to be toned down so much that it wouldn't quite be the same story. The sheer inventiveness of the grotesque is part of what makes this world so disturbing.
I particularly enjoyed the way the story draws on Irish mythology. Characters swear by Crom and the Dagda, the Cauldron is an important presence even when it's off stage, and the Book of Conquests is treated as history. These aren't the pretty, twinkly fairies of Victorian stories. The Sídhe are the old Fair Folk: powerful, capricious and frighteningly indifferent to human suffering.
There's also the importance of keeping their word. A promise made by a Sídhe literally binds them to it, and that becomes a crucial part of the final confrontation. Their morality isn't human morality, and their treatment of humans is appalling, but they are bound by rules of their own. Understanding those rules can be the difference between survival and a very unpleasant end.
I did spot one tiny worldbuilding question that I don't think bothered me the first time around. All teenagers attend special Survival Colleges, where they're taught techniques that might, if they're very lucky, save their lives during the Call. The schools are organised by birth date, but I couldn't work out why that would make a difference when the Call can come at any point during the teenage years. This is probably just my editor's brain refusing to take a day off, though. It certainly didn't stop me enjoying the book.
This is a perfect book for autumn, when the nights are drawing in, there's a bite in the wind, and that strange sound you hear outside might not be the wind at all.
I hope the sequel, The Invasion, gets an anniversary rerelease, too, because I'd love to revisit it and find out how much of my memory holds up. I remember it expanding beyond the Survival College to explore how Ireland functions after being cut off from the rest of the world for around thirty years. I'd love to see that wider world again.
RECOMMENDATIONS
Book: Haunted Ireland.
If you want more Irish stories with a taste for the strange and unsettling, Haunted Ireland is worth a look. Its short stories don't always go as far into the gore as The Call, but they capture that sense of fear and weirdness that makes Irish folklore so compelling. Sometimes the things lurking in the dark are much more interesting than anything that sparkles.
TV: The Storyteller.
Jim Henson's The Storyteller is a lovely reminder of what folklore can look like before the fairies are made pretty and well-behaved. These are strange creatures, unsettling bargains and stories in which the rules matter - and in which not understanding those rules can have some very unfortunate consequences. It isn't The Call, but it shares some of that sense that the old stories are stranger, darker and more dangerous than we might expect.
MUSIC PAIRING
“The Host of Seraphim” by Dead Can Dance.
Lisa Gerrard's haunting, wordless vocals sound as though they're coming from another world entirely. Beautiful, unsettling and increasingly overwhelming, it's a perfect match for the Grey Lands, where the Sídhe play with human lives as though suffering were merely another form of entertainment.
VIBE CHECK
Colour: The grey of the Grey Lands.
Soundtrack: A wind that might be carrying something you really don't want to hear.
Season: Autumn. The nights are drawing in, and there's a bite in the wind.
Mood: Fear so strong you can taste it.
Scent: A strong bleach-like smell, mixed with the tang of teenagers who've been put through an intense training session.
Texture: Bare feet on cold ground, goosepimpled skin, and the horrible vulnerability of arriving in the Grey Lands naked.
TAROT CARD PULLED
The Hanged Man.
Nessa is living in a world where people have already decided what her disability means for her future. Her parents seriously consider euthanising her when she's just ten years old, hoping to spare her the horror of the Call. She has to survive not only the threat itself, but the assumptions everyone has made about what she can endure — and whether her life is worth living.
The Hanged Man speaks to being trapped in circumstances you never chose, with other people deciding what your situation means. It also invites us to look at things from a different perspective. What if Nessa isn't simply someone who needs protecting from the Call, but someone who deserves the chance to decide for herself what risks she's willing to face?
Her determination doesn't make her disability irrelevant, or the danger any less real. The horror is that she has to prove herself in a world that has already decided what she can and cannot do. The Hanged Man captures that injustice, as well as the terrible helplessness of being at the mercy of other people's decisions.
✦ THE TRUE QUESTION ✦
Who gets to decide what you're capable of?
Nessa's story challenges the assumptions other people make about her life, her limitations and her chances of survival. It asks whether protecting someone can become another way of taking away their choices - and who has the right to decide what risks another person should be allowed to face.
The Call by Peadar Ó Guilín was originally published in 2016.
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