Tyler Hayes’ debut novel The Imaginary Corpse is a rare book which genuinely deserves the label of unique, a wildly imaginative story that’s as much about acceptance, honesty and overcoming trauma as it is about a stuffed-toy dinosaur investigating crimes in a technicolour imaginary world. Detective Tippy (a yellow triceratops) lives in the Stillreal, the place where abandoned Ideas too real to fade away can live and thrive, solving crimes and helping his Friends. When a newly-birthed nightmare – The Man in the Coat – starts murdering other Friends (for real, not just temporarily), Tippy has to work through his own deep-rooted issues and find a way to solve – and survive – the deadliest mystery he’s ever faced.
Imagine a cross between Toy Story, The Lego Movie and a Jasper Fforde-esque noir novel, populated by characters bound by weirdly logical rules, traumatised to varying degrees, and trying desperately to carefully, politely – for the most part – coexist. That barely scratches the surface of this richly detailed story, but should give you an idea of what to expect. It’s a world literally built on imagination, which Hayes gleefully explores and explains, packing in a lot of exposition early on that weighs the story down a touch but sets the stage for the characters to develop into. Hayes deliberately juxtaposes noirish narration with a (largely) bright and cartoonish world and characters underpinned by complex emotional currents, and while the noir elements are a little overshadowed by the technicolour world building and thoughtful characters, it all somehow blends together into a satisfying whole.
Most of the locations and characters are shaped by younger minds, from the Sadness Penguins and Miss Mighty to the Freedom Motel and Mr Float’s Rootbeerium, but there’s a satisfying vein of darkness as well. Over time Friends distort their surroundings to more closely match their own nature (whether friendly or otherwise), Hayes gradually introduces more sinister characters like the overbearing Big Business and his fact-finders, and as the story develops we see more of what it means to these characters to have to accept the absence of their creators in their lives. This is very much a modern perspective on a fantasy novel, openly discussing themes of mental health and inclusivity and reflecting the real world with how the Stillreal is shaped by external forces as well as the personalities of its inhabitants.
The characters and the message Hayes is getting at – everyone is damaged, for different reasons, but there’s always room for hope and change – are the heart of this story, so the plot remains tightly focused and linear throughout. While the narrative is as a result a touch lightweight, it’s consistently satisfying to follow Tippy’s progress through the mystery and his own personal journey, and it carries enormous emotional heft; for all the sweet, fantastical surface elements, underneath this is a story which wants its readers to relate these characters and questions to their own lives. The sweetness and relatively prominent sense of morality might not appeal to everyone, but are entirely in keeping with the world Hayes has built, not to mention being a rewarding tonic to the chaos happening in the real world. It’s a book which perhaps isn’t as fun as you might expect, but pulls powerfully on the heartstrings and offers a compelling reminder to look for positives in spite of everything.
Many thanks to Angry Robot and Netgalley for an advance copy of The Imaginary Corpse, in return for this review.
