But Adam is being investigated by the local police over the recent brutal slaying of a girl from the village, and there is a mysterious stranger who haunts the woodland path between Starvewood Hall and the local pub. Ashley begins to wonder what kind of story she is actually inhabiting. Is she in a grand romance? A gothic tale? Or has she wandered into something far more sinister and terrifying than she'd ever imagined?
Over thirty years later the events of that horrific week are revisited, along with a diary from that time. What began in a small English village in 1989 reaches its ghostly conclusion in modern-day New York, many Christmas seasons later.
I had resigned myself to not completing my commitment to read five or six Christmas-themed books for the Yuletide Spirit reading challenge. I was okay with it. I read four solid Christmas romances and enjoyed them, even if I never got to the stack of mysteries I bought specifically for the season.
Then, while reorganizing one of the bookcases in my bedroom, I was struck by an epiphany sent by the Icelandic Christmas spirits.
Okay, not really—but I did find my copy of The Christmas Guest, a short novella by Peter Swanson, that I bought the year before, shelved, and promptly forgot about until I stumbled across it during my spontaneous bookcase cleaning on Sunday. This was exactly what I needed to complete the challenge. I may have even done the Snoopy dance, if only in my head. As soon as I finished my chores, I hopped onto my bed and promptly read all ninety-six pages.
I absolutely loved Eight Perfect Murders (another book I’ll now get to write a review of at some point), to the point that it was one of my favorite books of 2020. Normally, when I love a book that much, I tear through the author’s backlist and keep up with their new releases as they’re published. For whatever reason, I never really did that with Peter Swanson. I don’t know if it was because none of the synopses grabbed me, or if his books were competing with others I was more excited about at the time. Either way, I didn’t pick up another one of his books until I bought The Christmas Guest last Christmas season. After reading this, his other books may stay on the back burner a bit longer.
I’m not entirely sure why I didn’t fully connect with the story as it unfolded. It could be as simple as the length not allowing me to become fully invested in Ashley. Most of the story is told through her diary entries from her time in the house, and like most diaries (my own journals included) from the college years, those entries can be annoying, shrill, delusional, angsty, repetitive, and about a dozen other adjectives that would be just as accurate.
It could also be that the twists were a little obvious. After reading two of his stories, I can tell Swanson shares my enjoyment of unreliable narratives, though this novella puts its own spin on that trope. For me, the length worked against it here—there just wasn’t enough room to lay the groundwork in a way that allowed the twists to be more subtle and genuinely surprising. Regardless of the reason, while this was an okay read for me, it isn’t one I see myself returning to.
As I was typing this up on my tablet, I remembered that I’ve heard great things about Nine Lives, so maybe I’ll give that one a try in the coming year. Hopefully, I’ll enjoy it as much as I did Eight Perfect Murders.
Challenges: Yuletide Spirit
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