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![Inspection: A Novel by [Josh Malerman]](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51gEVuOS3DL._SY346_.jpg)
Inspection: A Novel Kindle Edition
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NOMINATED FOR THE BRAM STOKER AWARD • “Josh Malerman is a master at unsettling you—and keeping you off-balance until the last page is turned.”—Chuck Wendig, New York Times bestselling author of Blackbirds
J is a student at a school deep in a forest far away from the rest of the world.
J is one of only twenty-six students, all of whom think of the school’s enigmatic founder as their father. J’s peers are the only family he has ever had. The students are being trained to be prodigies of art, science, and athletics, and their life at the school is all they know—and all they are allowed to know.
But J suspects that there is something out there, beyond the pines, that the founder does not want him to see, and he’s beginning to ask questions. What is the real purpose of this place? Why can the students never leave? And what secrets is their father hiding from them?
Meanwhile, on the other side of the forest, in a school very much like J’s, a girl named K is asking the same questions. J has never seen a girl, and K has never seen a boy. As K and J work to investigate the secrets of their two strange schools, they come to discover something even more mysterious: each other.
Praise for Inspection
“Creepy. . . a novel whose premise is also claustrophobic and unsettling, but more ambitious than that of Bird Box . . . Inspection is rich with dread and builds to a dramatic climax.”—The Washington Post
“This unlikely cross between 1984 and Lord of the Flies tantalizes.”—Kirkus Reviews
“Malerman builds a striking world. . . . As he did in Bird Box, Malerman’s crafted an irresistible scenario that’s rich in possibility and thematic fruit. . . . Where [Bird Box] confined us behind a blindfold, Inspection rips it off.” —The A. V. Club
“A must read . . . It’s a wonderful thing, digging into a new Josh Malerman novel—no idea what to expect, no clue where his twisted mind is going to take you.”—Cemetery Dance
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherDel Rey
- Publication dateMarch 19, 2019
- File size5566 KB
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“[Inspection] mashes up gender issues with Frankenstein. . . . Taking a cue from the godmother of horror, Mary Shelley, Malerman’s latest, Inspection, appreciates that the scary part is not the lurking, growling monster, but instead exploring the real-world ramifications of such a seemingly fantastical proposition.”—The Oakland Press
“Inspection proves that Josh Malerman is a master magician of narrative form. He’s distilled the zeitgeist of our terrible times into this dazzling chameleon of a story, part Grimm’s fairy tale of innocent youth, part dystopian gender politics and authoritarianism run amok, with a satisfying Tarantino-esque ending.”—Alma Katsu, author of The Hunger
“A twisted fairy tale set in a truly unique world whose secrets should not be spoiled, Josh Malerman’s Inspection reimagines the pillars of childhood in a smart, witty, and compulsively readable story of growth and rebellion. Read it and enjoy the discovery.”—Scott Hawkins, author of The Library at Mount Char
“Engaging and suspenseful! Malerman creates a fiendish fairy tale of a world where boy was never meant to meet girl and of the hell unleashed when they finally do.”—J. D. Barker, internationally bestselling author of The Fourth Monkey and Dracul
“Fast-paced, tension-filled [and] with lots to think about . . . Malerman’s latest has all of the claustrophobic tension his fans crave, but this time the monsters are 100 percent human. . . . Think Shirley Jackson writing Lord of the Flies. Hand to fans of Margaret Atwood or Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro.”—Booklist (starred review)
“Malerman gives a master class in mood-building with this deliciously creepy coming-of-age story. I don’t want to spoil anything because you need to savor every line, but I’d call it Dead Poets Society as directed by Tim Burton. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”—Sylvain Neuvel, author of the Themis Files series
“A disturbing coming-of-age story set in a cruel and unthinkable place. Malerman has built a twisted sanctuary that shows us the horrors of conviction.”—Dathan Auerbach, author of Bad Man and Penpal
“Inspection is Josh Malerman’s best work to date, a riveting, terrifying, and ultimately life-affirming fable. I’d put Inspection on the same tier as other great novels of dictatorial manipulation such as Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale and Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go. An experience not to be missed by an author who is firing on all cylinders.”—Philip Fracassi, author of Behold the Void
"Smart, scary, and utterly compelling. Don't let the parents catch you with it." —Matt Ruff, author of Lovecraft Country
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
No boy had ever failed an Inspection.
For this, J felt no anxiety as the steel door creaked open before him, as the faces of the Parenthood looked out, as the Inspectors stood against the far wall, each with a hand on the magnifying glasses hooked to their belts. J had done this every morning of his life, every morning he could remember, and, despite Q’s theories on likelihoods and probabilities (his idea that eventually someone must fail in order to justify a lifetime of Inspections), J felt no doubt, no dread, no fear.
“Enter, J,” Collins called. Collins, the stuffiest, oldest, burliest Inspector of all. The man smelled of old textbooks. His belly hung so far over his belt D joked he kept an Alphabet Boy hidden in there. That’s where we come from, D had said. But all the Alphabet Boys knew they came from the Orchard, having grown on the Living Trees.
“Come on, then,” Collins said. It was a wonder any words at all made it through the man’s bushy brown mustache.
J knew the Inspector did not speak for himself.
D.A.D. must’ve given the signal it was time to begin.
To the snickers of L, D, and Q behind him, J entered and removed his pajamas, folding them and placing them in a neat pile upon the steel end table by the Check-Up room door. As the door was closing behind J, D called, “Shoulda showered, J!” And J pointed at him, the Alphabet Boys’ gesture that meant, You’re a jerk, brother.
The door locked into place, his clothes nicely piled, J stepped to the pair of rubber footprints on the cold steel floor. Winter was close, arriving perhaps as soon as tomorrow. And while J enjoyed the Effigy Meet as much as his brothers, he liked to keep the cold outside. The Check-Up room was as frigid as any he knew in the Turret.
“Turn,” Inspector Collins said. He and Jeffrey observed from a distance, always the first step of the morning’s Inspection. The dogs breathed heavy behind the glass door beyond the men. J turned to his left. He heard the leather of D.A.D.’s red jacket stretching. The man, as of yet out of sight, must have crossed his arms or sat back in his chair.
Winter outside the Turret could be brutal. Some years were worse than others. J, nearing his thirteenth birthday along with his twenty-three brothers, had experienced twelve winters. And with each one, Professor Gulch warned the boys about depression. The sense of loneliness that came from being stuck inside a ten-story tower, when the Orchard and the Yard froze over, when even the pines looked too cold to survive.
Hysteria, J thought. He shook his head, trying to roll the idea out his ear. It was a word he didn’t like anywhere inside his head. As if the four syllables had the same properties as Rotts and Moldus, Vees and Placasores. The very diseases the Inspectors searched him for now.
“Turn.”
Collins again. His gruff voice part and parcel of the Check-Up room. Like the sound of clacking dishes in the cafeteria. Or the choral voices of his brothers in the Body Hall.
“Cold,” J said, turning his back to the Inspectors, facing now the locked door.
It was often chilly in the Check-Up room; unseen breezes, as if the solid-steel walls were only an illusion, and the distorted reflections unstable drawing on the wind. J imagined a slit somewhere, a crack in those walls, allowing pre-winter inside. It was similar, J thought, to the veterinarian’s office in Lawrence Luxley’s book Dogs and Dog Days. The brilliant leisure writer had described the poor animals’ reactions so well:
Unwelcoming, cold, it was as though Doctor Grand had intentionally made it so, so that the dogs understood the severity of their visits. And still, despite the inhospitable environs, the dogs understood that the room was good for them. That their lives depended on these regular visits. Some of them were even able to suppress their basest instincts . . . the ones that told them to run.
J had memorized all of Lawrence Luxley’s books. Many of the Alphabet Boys had.
“Turn.”
J did as he was told. Always had. The routine of the Inspections was as ingrained in his being as chewing before swallowing.
And with this third turn, he faced D.A.D.
A thrill ran through him, as it always had, twelve years running, to see D.A.D. for the first time in the day.
The bright-red jacket and pants were like a warm fire in the cold Check-Up room. Or the sun coming up. “Did you sleep well, J?”
D.A.D.’s voice. Always direct, always athletic. J wasn’t the only Alphabet Boy who equated the man’s voice with strength. Comfort. Security. Knowledge.
“I actually did not,” J said, his twelve-year-old voice an octave deeper than it was only a year ago. “I dreamt something terrible.”
“Is that right?” D.A.D.’s hazel eyes shone above his black beard, his hair black, too. J had black hair. Just like his D.A.D. “I’m intrigued. Tell me all about it.”
“Turn,” Collins said. And J turned to face the Inspectors and the dogs all over again.
No longer facing D.A.D., the color red like a nosebleed out of the corner of his eye now, J recounted his unconscious struggle. He’d been lost in a Yard four hundred times the size of the one he enjoyed every day. He described the horror of not being able to find his way back to the Turret.
“Lost?” D.A.D. echoed. The obvious interest in his voice was as clear to J as the subtle sound of his leather gloves folding around his pencil.
Yes, J told him, yes, he’d felt lost in the dream. He’d somehow strayed too far from the Turret and the Parenthood within. He couldn’t remember how exactly—the actual pines framing the Yard in were not present in this dream. But he was certainly very anxious to get back. He could hear his floor mates Q, D, and L calling from a distance but could not see the orange bricks of the tower. He couldn’t make out the iron spires that framed the roof’s ledge like a lonely bottom row of teeth. Teeth J and the other Alphabet Boys had looked through many nights, having found the nerve to sneak up to the roof. Nor could he see the tallest of the spires, the single iron tooth that pointed to the sky like a fang. Gone were the finite acres of the Yard, the expanse of green lawn between himself and the Turret. So were the reflections in the many elongated windows of the many floors. In their stead was endless green grass.
And fog.
“Well, winter is upon us,” D.A.D. said. His voice was control. Always. Direction. Solution. Order. “Couldn’t even see the fang, hmm? No sign of the Parenthood at all. No sign of home.”
J thought of the yellow door on the roof, visible all the way from the Yard below. He thought of the solid orange bricks and how, on a summer day, the Turret resembled a sunrise.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, looking to the silent faces of the Inspectors, who quietly fingered the magnifying glasses at their belts. J understood now, as a twelve-year-old boy, something he hadn’t at eleven: The Inspections didn’t begin when the Inspectors used their glasses. It began the second you walked through the door.
“You must have been so scared,” D.A.D. continued. His voice was fatherhood. Administration. Always. “But, tell me, did you eventually find the Turret before waking?”
J was quiet a moment. He scratched at his right elbow with his left hand. He yawned a second time.
Hysteria, he thought again. He actually made fists, as if to knock the thought out of his head. Professor Gulch taught psychology and often stressed the many ways a boy’s mind might turn on itself: mania, attention deficit, persecution, dissociation from reality, depression, and hysteria. For J, it had all sounded like distant impossibilities. Conditions to be studied for the purpose of study alone. Certainly J wasn’t afraid of one day experiencing these states of mind himself. Yet here he was . . . twelve years old . . . and how else could he explain the new, unknown feelings he’d been having of late? What would Gulch call the sense of isolation, of being incomplete, when he looked out across the Yard, toward the entrance to the many rows of the Orchard? To where the Living Trees grew?
The boy recalled his childhood as though through a glass with residue of milk upon it. Unable to answer the simple question: Where do I come from?
Another Lawrence Luxley line. A real zinger, as Q would say.
But no, J thought, there in the Check-Up room. He wasn’t trying to answer that question at all. No boy had ever determined which of the cherry trees in the Orchard were the ones they had grown on. And as far as J knew, they were fine with that.
Weren’t they? --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
Product details
- ASIN : B07FZN5246
- Publisher : Del Rey (March 19, 2019)
- Publication date : March 19, 2019
- Language : English
- File size : 5566 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 383 pages
- Page numbers source ISBN : 1524796999
- Best Sellers Rank: #246,484 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #465 in U.S. Horror Fiction
- #631 in Conspiracy Thrillers (Books)
- #1,848 in Coming of Age Fiction (Kindle Store)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

Josh Malerman is a New York Times best selling author and one of two singer/songwriters for the rock band The High Strung, whose song "The Luck You Got" can be heard as the theme song to the Showtime show "Shameless". His book Bird Box was made into a Netflix film of the same name, starring Sandra Bullock and John Malkovich. He has been nominated for 8 Bram Stoker Awards and has written 36 books, many of those (14) prior to the publication of Bird Box, his debut. Daphne will be his 11th published book. He lives in Michigan with his fiancee, the artist/musician Allison Laakko.
Customer reviews
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Reviewed in the United States on March 29, 2019
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Top reviews from the United States
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The bright side is that, by and large, the author does an excellent job of writing from the perspective of these children. That is no small accomplishment as many authors will tell you that writing children, under the best of circumstances, can be challenging. Writing children with fundamental deficiencies in their knowledge must be even more challenging, and the novel does a good job of delivering (with very few exceptions) a consistently believable vision of the children's perspectives. The internal monologues given to the children seem completely appropriate for intellectually advanced preteens who simply don't know many of the things we all take for granted due to their particular upbringing. The result is a novel that constantly challenges the reader to imagine what it would be like to live under such circumstances, with no knowledge of the opposite sex or the existence of a world beyond the borders of one's own home. That intellectual challenge alone is reason enough to read the book.
However, where the book doesn't quite live up to its aspirations is as a horror novel. Part of the problem, presumably, is that the story is a bit of a slow burn. Ordinarily I appreciate a novel that takes its time, but horror is dependent upon the presence of some threat, and the point of view characters lack any knowledge that there is any threat at all throughout the early chapters. Indeed, they have no concept that their lives are at all out of the ordinary, so the horror experienced by the reader is entirely intellectual and not at all visceral.
I can imagine the intellectual horror gradually morphing into visceral horror as the characters gradually discover the truth of their lives. However, while I can say without spoilers that this does take place to a certain extent, its impact upon the reader is lessened by the novel's pacing issues. In particular, following a slow-burn beginning, and just as the novel's real action is beginning, the novel takes a hard turn in both time and space and introduces the reader to an entirely new set of characters. These characters are equally interesting as the ones in the beginning, but the complete abandonment of one set of characters in favor of another is both jarring and takes all the wind out of the sails of mounting tension in the narrative.
As the novel approaches its climax, the disparate storylines do converge, but the climax itself brings a new set of problems. While in many ways it's the perfect climax for such a story, it suffers from two deficiencies. First, though the details of the climax were quite surprising, the big picture felt a little too predictable. Second, and more importantly, much of the real action of the climax takes place "off screen," so to speak, and is given to the reader in expository or summary format. There's a good narrative reason for this strategy, but it feels a bit like the reader is cheated out of what would otherwise have been a thrilling finish to what had hitherto been a primarily cerebral novel.
The bottom line is, this is a good novel, but it's not a great one. It will certainly hold the reader's interest, and it's definitely worth picking up a copy and giving it a read. However, it will also leave the reader with the feeling that it could have been more than it was.
Some twisted brand of scientific altruism leads a couple to establish a long term project: raising gifted children without awareness of gender or sexuality as a means of unlocking their intellectual potential. The story starts with what seems like a group of boys at a boarding school for gifted children. We slowly learn things are not quite what they seem and this isn’t anything close to a normal school. It’s an isolated tower in the woods where the boys are subjected to rigorous daily inspections (questioning, probing, and for some reason grown adults studying these boys’ naked bodies with magnifying glasses).
We know how these stories go. Things start to rumble and then to shake for real and then to crumble and then to collapse in on itself. It is an interesting process of discovery as a boy learns of another tower that contains other children that look like funny looking dudes--longer hair, deformed pectorals, etc. This starts off a sequence of events that leads to the children taking over the asylum. The conclusion is shockingly violent, but satisfying.
I would have enjoyed the book much more if I had no idea what it was about when I picked it up. But how do you convince someone to pick up a book like this without giving some insight into its content? This is why my friend spoiled it for me and this is why I can’t help but spoil everything here in this review.
The storytelling here is somewhat predictable and moves at a determined pace. Nothing particularly commendable or deficient in the writing. A fine, sometimes boring, sometimes fun, sometimes pretty strange book.
If you read this review, don’t read the book. If you haven’t read this review and are somehow reading this last sentence, then there’s still hope for you: read the book before it gets spoiled.
B
The idea for "The Inspection" would sound very familiar to the older education systems that segregated sexes into boys only and girls only classes, which believed academic knowledge was all the kids needed (learning social skills and interaction with the other half of the human species being secondary to a well rounded and well developed adult, apparently) and that being around the opposite sex would be an unnecessary distraction. Malerman takes the idea to the extreme of a sociological experiment conducted by unscrupulous people who segregate 2 groups (boys and girls) from infancy and raise them with no knowledge even of the existence of the opposite sex. This obviously requires the strictest control of the subjects, achieved with textbook methods well known to dictatorships and religious cults the world over.
The idea of conducting such a psychologically and emotionally abusive experiment on children is of course deeply disturbing, so be prepared to be disturbed. But then that's what you get with Malerman; if being disturbed is not your idea of fun, then he is not the author for you.
I withheld one star only because the ending didn't fully convince me. It seemed a bit too convenient, and I didn't feel it followed naturally from the rest of the book. But that's just me. I've devoured a staggering number of books since the shelter in place and this has definitely been one of the best. Thank you Mr Malerman for, in some measure, making this craziness a little more bearable to me even just for the few days it took me to finish the book.
Top reviews from other countries

Okay, wo fangen wir an? Die Grundidee ist hanebüchen. Hier sollen also Kinder zu Genies herangezogen werden, indem man ihnen nichts von der Existenz des jeweils anderen Geschlechts erzählt. In Folge dessen muss man sie vollkommen von der Außenwelt abgeschirmt unterbringen und ihnen ein riesiges Lügengespinst über die Welt erzählen, deren Probleme sie irgendwann einmal lösen sollen?
Die Kinder bekommen nicht mal Namen. Seltsamerweise hinterfragen sie aber nicht, warum die Erwachsenen um sie herum Vor- und Nachnamen und offensichtlich eine Vorgeschichte haben. Sie fragen sich nicht, woher die Verbauchsgüter kommen, die sie tagtäglich benutzen. Sie fragen sich nicht, warum es in ihrem Turm eine geheimnisvolle Tür gibt, vor der sie gefälligst Angst haben sollen, obwohl niemand weiß, was genau darin passiert - vermutlich werden da Leute umgebracht, aber interessanterweise haben die Jungs keinerlei Angst vor dem Tod.
Wie aus Menschen, denen man Erfahrungen und Wissen über die Realität vorenthält zu Genies werden sollen, bleibt uns der Autor irgendwie schuldig. Die Idee ergibt rein gar keinen Sinn.
Wie auch immer... Auftritt der schuldbewusste Schriftsteller, der die Lektüre für die Jungs erstellt, die ihnen die Tugenden dieser Anstalt näherbringen sollen. Unendlich lange, langweilige Kapitel folgen wir diesen Typen durch einen Prozess aus Schuld, Angst bis hin zur Subversion, bis man irgendwie den Eindruck bekommt, dass hier der Autor des Romans selbst um Absolution für dieses Machwerk oder seinen Erfolg generell bittet.
Der Schreibstil ist enervierend redundant. Jedes Mal, wenn D.A.D. (kein Witz) über die Jungs nachdenkt, folgt auf ein "...the boys." ein Halbsatz mit "His boys." Keine Ahnung, was genau da ständig betont werden soll. Dass der Typ sich seiner Vaterschaft ständig selbst mit Gewalt bewusst werden muss? Überhaupt besteht der Roman gefühlt zu 50% aus halben Sätzen, die wohl irgendein Stilmittel sind, aber leider so rüberkommen, als würde der Autor seine Leser für komplett abgestumpft und blöde halten. Das hier ist ein Stil für Menschen mit der Aufmerksamkeitsspanne eines Goldfischs.
Und dann die Charaktere. Hat eine von diesen Figuren eine Persönlichkeit? Nicht einmal der Protagonist hat so etwas. Kein Name, kein Innenleben, keine Individualität, nichts was einen irgendwie an ihm interessieren würde.
Das ganze Buch ist eine Qual. In der Mittelstufe bekäme ein Schüler in kreativem Schreiben dafür kaum eine schwarze Note.
Ich habe selten etwas so Langweiliges und Belangloses gelesen.