The Final Girl Support Group

A few years ago, if you had asked me what my favorite kinds of horror films and stories were, slashers would probably not even be on the list. I doubt I would have even though of it. But slashers are having a moment right now - one that sociologically was pretty predictable, if you're paying attention - and this past summer when I watched Netflix's Fear Street movies, I found myself reminded of how the paperback slasher-thrillers produced by the likes of R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike were what I used to live for when I was a preteen. Before I ever saw my first horror movie.So now, I'm all in. Between Fear Street and Hell Fest and the new Halloween movies, I'm here for it. And when I saw this book listed, I don't think I even read the synopsis. The title is the concept - and this concept, with this author, is gold.The Final Girl Support Group exists in an alternate universe, one where the surviving victims of mass homicides get first dibs on the rights to their story (this is a surprisingly topical idea actually, as the present interest in true crime has raised the question of who gets to profit from who's story, and the fine line between raising awareness and exploitation). As such, this is the world where the mythos of the final girl came first, before the movies. In Grady Hendrix's world, there are alternate versions of the final girls we know of - Laurie from Halloween, Sid from Scream, Sally from Texas Chainsaw Massacre, even Nancy from A Nightmare on Elm Street (how the supernatural elements of that story are incorporated into a world of knife-wielding spree killers is brilliant!). It would come off as cheap if Hendrix wasn't so damn good. Then there's Lynette Tarkington, the final girl who isn't really a final girl - she didn't kill her monster, she merely survived him. Lynette's life revolves around keeping herself safe - there is not an escape route she hasn't thought of, security measure she hasn't taken, a mode of violence that she isn't aware of. And yet, when someone comes for her and the other final girls she's been in therapy with for years, she's caught off guard. Every precaution she's taken suddenly crumbles to dust, and Lynette begins to realize that in order to save anyone - let alone herself - she has to do more than just survive. The Final Girl Support Group is swift. Like [b:My Best Friend's Exorcism 41015038 My Best Friend's Exorcism Grady Hendrix https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1533059241l/41015038.SY75.jpg 46065002], it is brilliantly paced. Hendrix is freaking surgical with the way he creates his thrills and beats. But even so, I read this book a lot more slowly then I expected. Because while it feels like being in a slasher movie - it's action-packed and thrilling and funny - it is first and foremost about trauma. Most importantly, what happens after trauma. Hendrix had a mission with this book - it was to imagine who these women really were, who they became after the worst day of their life. Which ones used what they were given to make something greater, or those that are barely hanging on. Which ones have scars and disabilities, which ones have partners and book deals. Lynette may be a paranoid shut-in, but she makes a living writing romance novels. Hendrix was intent on giving each of these women texture, and not just the gritty kind that is given to Laurie Strode and Sarah Connor.That's actually something that this book intentionally tries to subvert - the way the bad ass loner trope has infiltrated female representation in media. It wasn't healthy in men, and certainly isn't any healthier in women. Lynette is so intent on protecting herself, that she isolates herself from everyone and everything - and she's not better off for it. And she's not a bad ass. She's scared, she's clumsy, she's a terrible judge of character. Her trauma didn't turn her into a superhero - it turned her into a wrecking ball barreling through life, lucky if she doesn't destroy everything around her in the process. Lynette is a frustrating and terrifying protagonist to follow, and as the story rounded the corner of its final climax, I felt like I was trying to pump the breaks on a car skidding out of control. This book has its tongue-in-cheek moments, the way all of Hendrix's work does, but overall its pretty damn dark and unflinching. Hendrix's humor is less about cheeky irreverence and more about acknowledging the absurdity of our realities. And this book in particular is very unapologetic about what it wants to say. I daresay some may even find it preachy in how overtly it wants to examine our impulse to watch bad things happening to women, not to mention our need for revenge disguised as justice. That's why Hendrix is so overt about the movies he's referencing - he wants you to be thinking about the victims of Michael Myers, Freddy Krueger and Jason Vorhees when you read this. He wants you to be thinking about what you felt when you watched those movies, and how you feel when you see those characters in this different light. And if even with all that, this book is incredibly entertaining. But it is not always an easy read.