Spoiler Alert for Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children.
I recently, somewhat accidentally, finished Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. I say ‘somewhat accidentally’ because while I did select and start the book (and then couldn’t put it down), I hadn’t realized it was a YA horror novel. Having an exceedingly overactive imagination, I do not normally read horror novels or watch scary movies. The few I have watched or read made such an indelible impression as to leave me with nightmares more than ten years later!
Part of the premise of the book, however, gave me a pause. The protagonist, Jacob, can see monsters invisible to everyone else. In the book, this turns out to be an enormously helpful gift.
In real life, it made me think of my anxiety issues. I’ve spent years ‘seeing’ monsters such as illness, job loss and unexpected tragedies, trying to dodge them, afraid of their presence in an outsize way, far beyond simply doing the best I can to plan and minimize the impact in real ways – then moving on.
A confluence of circumstances: several tragedies touching friends or acquaintances, some minor testing E is to undergo in the next couple of weeks, an unexpected package that was very much appreciated but bittersweet that arrived in the mail all came together and threw me a bit sideways. I could see the monsters circling the periphery, the place they inevitably dwell around all human lives. I found myself terrified, over and above anything that was warranted, clinging to both Arthur and E, realizing how easy it is to lose those we love. There was nothing I could do to prevent the terrible randomness of life, and I felt it keenly. There is no one who can promise me E will live to old age and be happy. There is no one who can promise me that there won’t be more sadness, more bone-deep disappointment, or more miscarriages. There is no one who can tell me that I won’t have to endure another senseless death of someone I love.
It’s not a gift, that kind of sight. No matter how well you plan or hide, sometimes, the monsters slip through. There’s no preventing it. Seeing them and noting their presence constantly only makes it difficult to live.
In the end, the only thing I know is that I get the privilege of loving and living right now. Today, we’re okay. The monsters can go to h*ll.
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Inconceivable! 
I read this book when it was brand new – also unaware it was a YA horror novel. It’s so true that Jacob is a reminder of what life is like for those of us with anxiety – I hadn’t thought of it like that when I read it. It’s so true – I have OCD and spend my day battling monsters I can see, that most people wouldn’t even consider. Thanks for sharing!
I can’t watch horror movies or read horror novels either. At least not without a lot of prep. I still have nightmares from the opening scenes of 28 weeks later . . . .
I also battle monsters like the ones you describe and they always manifest as a cluster. It can be so hard in those moments as all I want is for them to disappear. Even in cases where I know that confronting them head on is the best course of action.
My your monsters vanish with a “poof,” leaving you in peace.
I think it’s your turn for a run of good luck and peace. Monsters be damned.
Monsters can go to h*ll, exactly! When I came face-to-face with my own mortality, I realised that I couldn’t control any of this, and I realised that worrying about it wasn’t going to change anything (except make me miserable), so I’m now more comfortable with the what-ifs than I previously in my life. That said, I’m still a first-class worrier!
Oh, this post spoke to my heart, especially this line: “afraid of their presence in an outsize way.” As much as I love horror books and movies and games, I see and am terrified of the monsters you speak of in this post.
I love this book, probably because it IS YA Horror… I love reading things that are messed up, things that have situations where I can say, “at least that’s not my life.” Which is kind of sick, I admit. I can relate to seeing monsters everywhere, to seeing the worst case scenario in your mind and playing out all the possibilities for tragedy near and far. It’s hard not to feel that way when things have gone wrong that you didn’t think you’d ever experience, but like you said, it’s not a great way to live. I love your last lines, “In the end, the only thing I know is that I get the privilege of loving and living right now. Today, we’re okay. The monsters can go to h*ll.” I hope you can banish your monsters, your Wights and your Hollows, so that they don’t haunt you and your family any longer. Or you can at least confine them to a tiny box, out of sight and as much out of mind as possible.