2023 horror. When her next archaeological dig is postponed
indefinitely, Sam moves in with her mother in grandmother's old house.
But Mom is acting weird, and the place is even creepier than she
remembers…
Once more, as with The Twisted Ones and The Hollow Places,
Kingfisher writes the sort of horror that appeals to me, a reader who
doesn't particular want to be horrified. Rather, I am happy to read
about people who confront a horrifying problem and, to the extent
possible, work out what's going on and overcome it, rather than dying
in descending order of moral turpitude.
And of course it comes from the heart. Kingfisher wrote in Bryony and
Roses about her distaste for roses, especially as part of a show
garden, and they're back here; but there's also the memory of
grandmother, who was complicated. Not entirely good, not entirely
bad, generous at times but with absolutely rigid self-imposed rules
and the unquestioned manners of her early life, in other words
complicated like a real person not a stock villain.
So why has Mom, never previously an enthusiast for racism or
conformity, hung gran's old Confederate wedding painting back on the
wall and painted the walls beige? And why aren't there any insects in
the garden?
It's slow going at first, because Sam is reasonably looking for a
conventional solution (and hoping that it isn't "Mom has developed
dementia"); and there are reasons for Mom not just to tell her. Also
Sam thinks hard about insects (she is an archaeoentomologist, which I
wouldn't have known about had I not previously met a zooarchaeologist
in real life) and loves to frame things in those terms. I can see this
book not sitting well with the impatient, or I suspect with many
horror fans.
But if you don't mind a very slow burn if the writing is enjoyable
enough, and you don't mind some horrifying moments, you may find this
something of a gem, as I did.