Set in the pulsing pit of Melbourne’s inner-north queer scene, screenwriter Thomas Vowles’ debut novel offers an interesting exploration of codependent relationships and insecure attraction with a darkly disturbing twist.  

The story follows Ash, a young gay man who has just moved to the inner suburbs of Melbourne, through a terribly unhealthy relationship with failed-Grindr-date-turned-friend-turned-accomplice-turned-lover, James. 

When I first caught wind of Our New Gods (advertised on a peeling paste-up poster in Brunswick) I was sold by its apparent likeness to The Talented Mr Ripley. As I was promised a parallel to Highsmith’s infamous villain, I was expecting to love Ash (or at least love to hate). When reading Highsmith, one can’t help but admire Tom Ripley. In fact, the reason for that is well-documented: his sheer talent at getting away with the unthinkable. Vowles’ protagonist offers no such morbid proficiency.  

It is nice to see true, unabashed queer representation in a novel. I love older works of fiction, particularly as I despise the featuring of an iPhone in my literature, but that often means trading off LGBTQ+ characters and relationships. There’s a depth of connection and truth that can only be accessed by representations of queer culture, which I felt to be well presented by Vowles. The truth of this novel comes from the messy blurring of platonic and sexual desire. Those who are lost, particularly in their identity, often mistake one for another with dire (in this case, violently catastrophic) consequences. The excitement at finding someone else like you in the wild can cause confusion and insecurity in the boundaries of that relationship. This is a queer hallmark, but not one that I see represented in fiction particularly often. 

However, despite this, I didn’t like anyone in this book. I usually find that to be an interesting challenge in literature, however, because one doesn’t feel particularly attached to any person, you aren’t rooting for them to accomplish anything, especially not to get away with murder.  

Ash’s insecurity permeated his thought patterns and the way he narrated the story in such a way that I was actively rolling my eyes. He seemed to make decisions based purely on emotions (mainly his lust for James). I give credit to the deliberate nature of this characterisation, as it seemed that Vowles sculpted this personality for his protagonist. However, it created a roadblock in my connection with the overall arc of the narrative as I wasn’t sold on the person at its centre. Thus, the development of James and Ash’s relationship into one of ‘partners in crime’ didn’t land for me. I wasn’t gunning for them to be together or to get away with Raf’s murder. 

Listening to Ash drool over James, I was almost yelling at the page. It was like listening to a friend fawn over their rodent-scum boyfriend while you nod your head in judgement and horror. James offers no redeeming or even remarkable characteristics. He is boring, flaky, and careless. For me, this frustration extended to all characters, including Ash and Raf (the antagonist). None of the characters were loveable, or even particularly hateable. I felt nothing for the characters that die, and nothing for the characters that kill them. If the characters’ motivations were more clearly explored, readers could form an opinion on their actions and be propelled through the story by those views. I want to be invested in the outcome of a protagonist’s arc, especially when the stakes remain so high throughout much of the book. 

Vowles’ prose is beautiful, slipping between rippling descriptions of the environment and matter-of-fact outlines of the events of the novel’s scenes. The atmosphere created is one that snaps between dream and reality to emphasise the disconcertion of Ash as he entangles himself further with James. There are times when the reader is not sure what’s real, just as Ash finds himself unsure. This reinforces the extent of his unreliability as a narrator. 

If you like to feel at home in a book, all you inner-Northies are in for a treat. Vowles’ chapters were laden with references to Melbourne establishments from the Fitzroy Pool to Exhibition Gardens, to the Cinema Nova. I must say that seeing the streets you grew up on represented in a novel is exhilarating and I certainly felt like I was part of a secret little club of need-to-knows. It’s also easy to picture the side-characters of the story as they read as biblically accurate Fitzroy natives, adding further familiarity to the novel. 

Ultimately, Our New Gods carefully tiptoed up to the precipice of something shocking and beautifully grotesque before continually pulling back. As a reader, I was left unsatisfied with the choices made at each fork in the road, but I wasn’t left questioning my sensibilities. Vowles gets close, but no cigar.