What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

When Alex Easton, a retired soldier, receives word that their childhood friend Madeline Usher is dying, they race to the ancestral home of the Ushers in the remote countryside of Ruritania.

What they find there is a nightmare of fungal growths and possessed wildlife, surrounding a dark, pulsing lake. Madeline sleepwalks and speaks in strange voices at night, and her brother, Roderick, is consumed by a mysterious malady of the nerves. 

Aided by a redoubtable British mycologist and a baffled American doctor, Alex must unravel the secret of the House of Usher before it consumes them all. 

Apparently, despite my intentions to read more of the bazillion unread stories that have been languishing on my shelves, some for years, I’ve been more inclined to pick up old favorites. Visiting old friends, spending time in their company, has a soothing effect, and with all the chaos engulfing us right now, I need the comfort those old friends can provide.

Alex is one of those characters I can see myself being friends with. I can imagine the two of us in a darkened home library, the fireplace roaring as Alex regales me with tales of their past exploits. There would be a table set with tea, and we would talk late into the night. I just wouldn’t want that library to be in the Ushers’ ancestral home.

What Moves the Dead is a story that burrowed under my skin, flooding my system with its miasmatic spores until I felt as if my lungs were filled with a wiggling fungal infection, one that threatened to turn me into that nightmarish hare on the cover. It’s a story so steeped in mycological nightmares that once I walked through those doors, I felt just as doomed as Madeline and Roderick. Kingfisher’s prose is as enthralling as it is horrific. She weaves a tale I never wanted to end—even if I desperately wanted Alex and their friends out of it.

Nothing But Blackened Teeth by Cassandra Khaw

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

A Heian-era mansion stands abandoned, its foundations resting on the bones of a bride and its walls packed with the remains of the girls sacrificed to keep her company.

It’s the perfect wedding venue for a group of thrill-seeking friends brought back together to celebrate a wedding. 

But a night of food, drinks, and games quickly spirals into a nightmare as secrets getbdrwgged out and relationships are tested. 

But the house has secrets too. Lurking in the shadows is the ghost bride with a black smile and a hungry heart.

And she gets lonely down there in the dirt.

I don’t say this often—or lightly—but Nothing But Blackened Teeth is one of those books you are either going to love with everything in you, or loathe with your entire soul. I’ve seen no middle ground on this one, and sadly, those who hate it seem to be in the majority.

I personally find the hate this book receives to be undeserved. I fall firmly into the camp that absolutely adores this 124-page novella with every fiber of my being. When I decided to give this a reread a few days ago, I went back and looked at the short little review I typed up on Goodreads the first time around. I loved it so much that I said it belonged alongside The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, Hell House by Richard Matheson, and Drawing Blood by Poppy Z. Brite. After this reread, I stand by that.

When I read this for the first time, I experienced an author who truly loves language—the way words feel as you take them in, one after the other, as they lodge themselves into the nooks and crannies of your mind. There is a rhythmic flow to Khaw’s writing as she chooses words and then plays with the way they connect to one another. I think the reason I love this book as much as I do is because this gorgeous writing wraps itself around a group of petty, spiteful, deeply unlikable characters who have no business being friends, let alone gathering together to explore a haunted house and a culture they have no respect for—an experience not all of them will survive. The contrast is so stark that I can’t help but be completely enthralled by it.

While I’m on the subject of language, I want to briefly mention how much I appreciate the seamless way Khaw incorporates Japanese without feeling the need to translate or explain every word outside of the natural context already provided. All too often, those explanations pull me right out of the story, and I’m grateful that never happens here.

I don’t know how often I’ll pull this off the shelf to revisit this beautifully written piece of horror, but I do know that when I do, I’ll embrace the experience and happily lose myself in the ebbs and flows of the prose as I once again walk the halls of that house.

The Christmas Guest by Peter Swanson

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

Ashley Smith, and American art student in London for her junior year, was planning on spending Christmas alon, but a last-minute invitation-only fellow student Emma Chapman brings her to Starvewood Hall, country residence of the Chapman family. The Cotswold manor, festooned with pine boughs and crammed with guests for Christmas week, is a dream come true for Ashley. She is not only mesmerized by the cozy, firelit house, the large family, and the charming village of Clevemoor, but also by Adam Chapman, Emma's aloof and handsome brother. 

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