I have read that Angela Carter herself described the novel as “a juicy, overblown, exploding Gothic lollipop.” This description seemed to me, at first, a tacky undervaluing of this beautifully woven world. Yet, on deeper thought, I think it is appropriate.
I devoured this book. I had been slowly reading Carter’s Nights at the Circus for months, and (although by no means a bad book) I felt no compulsion to continue reading. Three quarters way through, I lost the book and picked up Heroes and Villains. I started reading it at the doctor’s surgery and was overcome by the abundant pleasure of it. For the next week, opening its pages was like a secret, dirty treat. I was captivated, yet always anxious that I was enjoying some trashy, dystopian teen fiction. I’m still not really sure.
The story starts like a fable about a somewhat unlikeable girl. Carter dedicates much time to intricately weaving a world that has been destroyed so thoroughly by war that it appears as a distant, timeless past. Perhaps the most compelling element of this novel is the complexity of the characters. It seems to be a manifesto against the very idea of “heroes and villains,” portraying humans as messy, unlikeable, beautiful, passionate, violent and sick. These characters and this world are augmented by the confidence of Carter’s writing, describing them in all of their filthy details; the lice, the germs, the blood, the masturbation and the rape. The repulsion is addictive. The confidence even makes Carter’s prose seem clumsy at times, but this clumsiness only confirms the imperfectness of the world and the characters who inhabit it.
I loved this book, although, it is not an oyster in its class, or a crustless sandwich triangle in its perfection. This is a juicy, suckable, un-put-down-able lollipop.
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