Mister B. Gone - A Horror Meta-Autobiography

 Mister B. Gone

By Clive Barker

Horror, Fictional Autobiography, Meta 

Mister B. Gone is a short meta-autobiographical horror novel written by Clive Barker. The story is about a demon by the name of Jakabok Botch who is trapped inside of the book you are reading and is divided in between sections of Mister Botch regaling his life and how he came to be trapped in the book intercut with him desperately trying to goad the reader into setting the book on fire. 

Narratively, the plot is fairly straightforward. Jakabok describes his life in hell, with an abusive father and distant mother, at the bottom of the Ninth Circle where the final vestiges of demonic pariahs and outcasts live. After being fished out of hell by some humans, Jakabok continues his travels on Earth with a demon and (unrequited?) love interest named Quitoon through the Middle Ages in search of a machine being built which will reveal a great Secret about the world. 

Now, many of you may skim this and think - "Meta? Autobiography? Is this going to break the fourth wall?", so before we begin let me ease your woes. Meta plots are difficult to conduct; usually (at least in my experience),  most meta plot points are performed in a harsh, jarring manner that slaps the reader in the face with cold water, breaks the readers immersion, and most importantly disrupts the flow of the story. Fortunately this book incorporates its meta-qualities well and keeps the reader immersed throughout, trying to sell the reader the idea that there is an actual demon living inside of the book. The book tries to sell the authenticity of this idea through several tricks, such as having the pages of the book printed to appear stained, blotched, and yellow, to reflect the idea that the book has been around for several centuries, and thus is incredibly old. Another detail were the psychological tricks Jakabok deploys and uses when addressing the reader during one of the many sections centered around one-on-one conversations. 

For example, take the line:

I'm Jakabok the Nobody. As far as you're concerned, Jakabok the Invisible. 

But you're wrong. You're wrong. I'm *here*. I'm right here on the page in front of you. 

I'm staring out of the words right now, moving along behind the lines as your eyes follow them.

You see the blur between the words? That's me moving.

You feel the book shake a little? Come on, don't be a coward.

You felt it. Admit it.

Admit it.

An additional example is, as your reading, Jakabok mentions that for every page you read forwards he gets one step closer towards you, the reader, until you reach the end upon which he plans on killing you. This is done where, as you read, you are told with every line, another step is taken, and asked if you can sense him behind your back.

You know, logically, that there is no demon in the book; no matter how much you read, there is nothing unique inhabiting its pages, or dwelling in its spine - yet the words you read evoke a reaction. When I say, "Oh, dear reader, I have been reading and staring at this screen for a very, very long time. I can only imagine by now that both of our eyes must be extraordinarily dry, so excuse this pause while I blink away the itching that covers my poor red eyes." You probably blinked during that sentence, out of subconcious reflex, or at least felt the urge to. I know, when reading this book, I definately twitched, and felt a looming presence over my shoulder as Jakabok describes his gradual, deliberate steps behind me as I turned page over page to the end of the book.

Finally, there are some parts of the book that (whether intentionally or indirectly) make a direct comparison with the reader and Jakabok. Specifically, Jakabok (and presumably all demons) are described with having the innate fixation with knowing suffering, overriding self-preservation. If Jakabok were to hear  the sounds of a crying child from a locked room, and had to choose between seeing what was in there or leaving, he would be on that door faster than the wind. In a sense, you the reader also suffer the same compulsion. Jakabok pleads with you, threatens, tempts you to stop reading the book, and throughout it all you continue without a single regard to the possibility of harm it may bring to either of you. In essence, while not a core, central theme, it was one I thoroughly enjoyed.  

Alright, now that my ramble has ended, what did this book do well, and what did it do poorly?

Well, for one this book has some mild depictions of gore and insinuations of sex, similar to other Clive Barker novels. Not unexpected, but if you are overly squeamish you may wish to avoid. There are also depictions of abuse, torture, and many people dying a horrible nasty death with blood and boils and burns and so forth. Again, if you are nauseous by the mere mention of these, best avoid. 

Narratively, as I said before, the plot and story of Jakabok itself is simple. The words used are easy to understand, and the length of the book means you can breeze through it in one or three busy evenings. Of course because of the simple plot, you are less likely to be reading the book for the actual narration, but to discover WHO Jakabok is as a person. Overall, the best parts of the story were his early years, his unrequited romance with Quitoon (I'm a sucker for romance sometimes, okay?), and of course whenever Jakabok develops as a character and comes to a great realization or "change" within himself. Many times Jakabok will renounce all notions of love and his (relatively weak) humanity, achieving in a revelation what I like to think of as a form of self-actualization (albeit a murderous one). 

One aspect about Jakabok's character is that he is sometimes variant in his morality between scenes. Jakabok is shown as both a character whose faults are complimented with his tragedies and failings. He spends the book failing at everything he sets out to achieved, and lashing out at others when he can; but not every single action is out of internal wickedness and he still shows questionable compassion when he wants. One example is him actively trying to dissuade the murder of a pie baker. However, in other scenes, Jakabok is cruel for the sake of it; he is arrogant, openly malicious, and fails to muster even a speck of selflessness for others. Also he bathes in a literal bloodbath for fun. These scenes take place over the course of centuries and numerous character realizations though, so I cannot really judge Jakabok for not remaining a singular, continuous character over time. 

Overall, my recommendation is 3 bloodbaths out of 15 worldly secrets.