under the whispering door

I love the idea of cozy fantasy. Like, genuinely love it – after all I am a snuggle-in-bed-with-a-book sort of person in my downtime (or during the summer, a reading-under-an-umbrella-while-sipping-on-seltzer sort of person). Reading books that match the vibe sound objectively wonderful. But. BUT! Sometimes, a book that has been billed as cozy does nothing for me. And unfortunately, that was the case with T.J. Klune's Under the Whispering Door. You may remember Klune as the author of hit fantasy The House in the Cerulean Sea. Or from several of his other books – he’s really hitting the fantasy mainstream these days. Unfortunately, after holding onto this book for three years (!!!) and making a good faith effort, it was a DNF (did not finish). I’m reviewing it anyway at the behest of my friend Huck, who said “Write a review anyway! People need permission to stop reading books!”

 

Welcome to Charon's Crossing.

The tea is hot, the scones are fresh, and the dead are just passing through.

When a reaper comes to collect Wallace from his own funeral, Wallace begins to suspect he might be dead.

And when Hugo, the owner of a peculiar tea shop, promises to help him cross over, Wallace decides he’s definitely dead.

But even in death he’s not ready to abandon the life he barely lived, so when Wallace is given one week to cross over, he sets about living a lifetime in seven days.

Hilarious, haunting, and kind, Under the Whispering Door is an uplifting story about a life spent at the office and a death spent building a home.

Wallace is dead, and whatever he expected of the afterlife, it wasn’t this: a newbie Reaper named Mei picking him up from his own funeral (at which no one cried – the indignity of it all!), a tea shop called Charon’s Crossing that serves as a halfway house for the dead before they move on, and the motley crew of characters inhabiting that place, including Hugo, the ferryman. All Wallace wants is to go back to his job… but obviously the universe, life, and death have other plans for him. 

Klune asks you to take a lot on faith at the start of his books: that the person with the miserable job will find redemption, that the world that has been described only piecemeal and the characters bantering back and forth about nonsense will be comprehensible, or at least charming in retrospect, that the fanciful architecture he describes will not collapse on the characters’ heads, and that protagonists with old man names will be successful love interests. In addition to all of this, in this book Klune is writing about the dead, and so you know the whole thing will feel, at times, either heart-rending or emotionally manipulative (or both!). Listen, I’m not saying I don’t believe everyone who raved about this book and its coziness, but I am saying it took a lot of doing to finally pick it up (three years of “ehhhh… not right now”) and to get past the first six chapters. Another week of waffling and reading an additional chapter or two at a time did not change my feelings, and so I finally put it down.

Let’s talk about what Klune does well first. His writing is objectively masterful. He has a deft way of describing the little indignities and discomforts of life, and interactions that make you want to cringe and close your eyes. It is pretty amazing actually! I’m not sure I’ve ever read characters that I could feel were so clearly miserable as Linus in The House in the Cerulean Sea and Wallace in this book. Relatedly, Klune’s characters have authentic inner voices. Finally, I really appreciate his dedication to writing romantic arcs for queer characters, and for depicting mental health struggles and disability within his stories. Visibility for both groups in art is important! 

Unfortunately, the *charm* of Klune’s previous book did not kick in quickly enough, or at all (I admit to skipping ahead to see if I would enjoy the leadup if the ending was satisfying enough, and it wasn’t). I found myself frustrated at characters talking through or at each other, rather than with each other. I kept thinking that not enough grace was offered between characters, for the sort of book this purported to be. The constant confusion/frustration/anger that Wallace is experiencing as the narrator really comes through – perhaps too well. Also, I have some knotted and complex beliefs about the afterlife in general (thanks, American religious upbringing!). I think I could feel in the three years I waited to pick up this book that it might not be for me for that reason, and it was weird to be proven right. So, it was not for me. 

That said, there were some objectively lovely passages in the book, and this one, from page 81, where Wallace is speaking at the start, stood out to me for its honesty: “‘I can’t grieve for myself.’ Hugo shook his head slowly. ‘Of course you can. We do it all the time, regardless of if we’re alive or not, over the small things and the big things. Everyone is a little bit sad all the time.’” 

In all, Under the Whispering Door attempts poignant, quirky charm in a story about second chances and what happens after death, and it doesn’t stick the landing. If you’re looking for cozy stories about eccentric tea shops, let me direct you to Becky Chambers’ novella A Psalm for the Wild-Built.

Recommended for: T.J. Klune completists, and those interested in contemporary fantasy with queer representation and found families.

the house in the cerulean sea

This reading adventure began, as many do, with recommendations. The startling thing is that I followed through and read the book at all. In my life as an English teacher, I’ve learned that books are many, time is short, and during the school year I will get no reading done (unless forced). TJ Klune’s The House in the Cerulean Sea started popping up all over the place on Instagram first – and not just around its release date, but a swell of love and support over many months. That was fine, and I noticed it, but it didn’t prompt me to take action. Then I showed up to my book club’s Zoom meeting a couple of months ago and it was personally recommended by long-time reading friends. Their arguments were persuasive – I purchased the book then and there! And only 2ish months later, I read it all in one day. The House in the Cerulean Sea delivered on its promised cozy vibes, and reading it was a nice way to slide into summer mode.

 

Linus Baker leads a quiet, solitary life. At forty, he lives in a tiny house with a devious cat and his old records. As a Case Worker at the Department in Charge of Magical Youth, he spends his days overseeing the well-being of children in government-sanctioned orphanages.

When Linus is unexpectedly summoned by Extremely Upper Management he's given a curious and highly classified assignment: travel to Marsyas Island Orphanage, where six dangerous children reside: a gnome, a sprite, a wyvern, an unidentifiable green blob, a were-Pomeranian, and the Antichrist. Linus must set aside his fears and determine whether or not they’re likely to bring about the end of days.

But the children aren’t the only secret the island keeps. Their caretaker is the charming and enigmatic Arthur Parnassus, who will do anything to keep his wards safe. As Arthur and Linus grow closer, long-held secrets are exposed, and Linus must make a choice: destroy a home or watch the world burn.

An enchanting story, masterfully told, The House in the Cerulean Sea is about the profound experience of discovering an unlikely family in an unexpected place—and realizing that family is yours.

 

The House in the Cerulean Sea is the story of Linus Baker, a government worker in a fictional (and nominally magical) world who is desperately lonely, but keeps himself too busy fulfilling his job according to the draconian Rules and Regulations to think very deeply about his dissatisfaction with his life. The only bits of happiness he has are the sunflowers in his garden, his cat Calliope, and his record collection. Linus’ internal monologue is immediately hilarious, but his life overall is sad and dreary. This metaphor is extended even further in tragicomic fashion: Linus constantly misses the bus (or it is late), forgets his umbrella on rainy days, and engages in light self-hatred (about his weight), along with holding a seeming life-long goal of blending in with the wall paint. Luckily, the business of the book is to make him happy. Author Klune accomplishes this by delving into the fantasy portion of the novel, when Linus must make an unusual casework visit to a whimsical island and observe the family who live there. Over the course of his visit, Linus (or Mr. Baker, as he goes by at the orphanage he is “investigating”) slowly develops his capacity for happiness, and by the end of the book all’s well that ends well.

 

What I knew going into reading the book: magical house/school, cozy vibes, quiet read, LGBTQ+ characters. What I got in the first several chapters: an absolutely miserable main character in an awful desk job that gave me flashbacks to some of my own worst working experiences. Let’s just say there was some whiplash between expectations and reality. I almost put the book down about 5 times in the first 5 chapters. I kept going because of the promised payoff from the recommendations of others. So, with that off my chest, I can say… this book IS lovely in many ways, as is Linus, but they both require a bit of patience from the reader to uncover their strengths and treasures.

 

Author Klune’s task in this novel is a complex and delicate one: to start with a character that the reader can immediately identify as unhappy, unambitious, and with low self-esteem, and expose them to a combination of plot and character elements that will thoroughly change their outlook on life, actions, and future, all without seeming “out of character.” It is a masterful character study, but it doesn’t feel contrived – it instead is a story suffused with homey, magical details, and I think that is why it is so beloved. 

 

So, that’s the book. I think it was successful on its own merits, and a feat of engineering! And obviously, cozy vibes and quiet reads are nothing to shake a stick at. BUT DID I ENJOY IT??? That is a tough question, and one I’ve been asking myself over and over again in the last 12 hours or so since I finished the book. And I think the answer is, to use one of my favorite words, complex. On one hand: yes. I can appreciate the underpinnings that make this book art, and I appreciate the aura of it all, and of course I love magical stories. But one thing about being in the head of a character with such low self-esteem, and such a dreary outlook on life, is that is hard not to get trapped in the emotional transference. Other people in the book kept telling Linus he was worthy and delightful, and yet… on his side, he couldn’t see it. And thus, in a way, the reader (or at least THIS reader) couldn’t see it. As I said, complex. I feel satisfied that I didn’t waste my time reading the book, but it’s not a favorite, or even a “keep it on my shelf” book. It’ll go live instead in my classroom library at school!

 

I do appreciate LGBTQ+ characters getting to live everyday lives, and being the centers of cozy books. I also appreciated that, while the book is marketed to adults, it will be very popular with younger readers and those who read YA and crossover titles. Because of the novel’s focus on children’s lives and children’s well-being through Linus’ line of work, the feel is quite innocent and light, even when it deals with heavier themes and subject matter like prejudice and child abuse. 

 

In all, a perfectly satisfactory summer read, and one for when you need a dash of whimsy and warmth in your life.

 

Recommended for: fans of Katherine Addison’s books (especially The Angel of the Crows, which I read and also enjoyed in a complex way last summer), those who enjoy quiet fantasy with hints of Diana Wynne Jones and/or Robin McKinley, and anyone who wants to see more LGBTQ+ representation in science fiction and fantasy!