I wanted to reward myself, after several weeks of battling the narrative tributaries of Zia Haider Rahman, with a proper story, properly told. Boy, do I need to be careful what I wish for.
I was reading an online discussion recently about Sarah Waters, in which it was observed that her novels’ resistance of conventional genre boundaries made it impossible to predict how they would end. I had this in mind while navigating the Little Stranger, and I think it’s a pertinent comment. The novel has elements of pure joyful gothicism*, complete with a possible ghost; however, it also encompasses the psychological thriller, as well as the more mundane arena of mid-century drawing-room romance, all with the occasionally-glimpsed feminist undercurrent which has to be expected from Waters.
At its core, the plot is a simple one: observed by the village doctor, a genteel landowning family, fallen on hard times, is gradually driven to madness and despair by the apparent presence of a malignant spirit inhabiting its crumbling mansion. The doctor searches for rational explanations, and the other characters cling to them, but gradually lose faith in his scientific reasoning. I don’t know how she does it exactly, but somehow the author’s genius with recurrent imagery and insinuation manages, by the closing chapters, to make the true explanation chillingly clear without ever actually spelling it out. The final few sentences were so creepy that I had to put Parks and Rec on in order to avoid giving myself nightmares (because I love a good scare, but am sufficiently self-aware to know I’m a total lightweight). This was a terrific book, tense and satisfying and well-written.
My MANY FANS are hereby notified that a new Ben Aaronovitch has been released, which means I will be spending the next little while re-reading at least a few of the Rivers of London books in preparation, so there might not be another Book Report for a bit. Sorry about that. (On the subject, though, if you liked Harry Potter but are a grown-up, read Rivers of London! It’s a corker.)
*I mean joyful for me, not for the characters: who among us doesn’t wish she could read The Woman In White again for the first time?