3.5, rounded up because I was looking for excuses to pick it back up when I wasn't listening to it. I think this is one of those books that was served by listening to it in audio form; I like Xe Sands and found it a very pleasant accompaniment on my walks, whereas if I was reading this visually I suspect I would have found it a slog. This is a slow, sort of "quiet" supernatural horror in an isolated environment. The variables introduced at the beginning of the book are more or less the same variables at hand at the end, which I mention because, unlike many of the lukewarm-feeling goodreads reviewers, I found the ending well telegraphed. I didn't find it too weird; I wanted it to be slightly weirder. That said, I came in expecting this to be a supernatural horror rather than a thriller-style horror, as much of the book itself seemed to be suggesting it was. The fact that it straddled these two subgenres seems understandably to create false expectations.

This book has flaws. The writing style is too descriptive, which contributes significantly to the slow pace and the feeling like nothing is happening. The first few chapters pace the book like a historical: every detail is described in sensory smorgasbord, which is fine in some genres but atypical for horror. Atmosphere is, however, a necessary component of the book, so I understand why this instinct was leaned into; and atmosphere is present in spades. The trouble is the repetition. You get a maximum of two "unbidden"s per book. I wish I'd taken note of what the analogy was, but in one chapter the same analogy occurred four paragraphs apart in order to describe a feeling. In general, the overall impression was that this needed a strong editorial pass to pare down the similes and metaphors. There are other ways to use prose to create atmosphere, and I wish more of them had been implemented that did not use the words "like a".

This book has two timelines, and like many books with two timelines, it struggled with having more events and interest present in one timeline rather than the other. The flashback chapters were very good and kept me compelled to figure out what was going on. The present has problems that can basically be reduced to "spooky quilt": the house is gently lying to our protagonist about the location of everyday objects. This sort of action is necessary to make the present-day chapters more interesting in an alternating-timeline book, and it was necessarily constrained by the isolated setting of the book. The bedroom is an important location, as we discover in flashbacks, so much of the horror must take place in the bedroom, of which the bed is a central feature. It makes sense, but it's not terrifically compelling, particularly because it doesn't have too much impact on the final action. I respect this effort, but if your timelines are imbalanced, your job is to create something equally interesting in the current timeline or restructure.

What compelled me about this book was the content and its exploration of childhood, neglect, love, and monstrousness. The author dedicates this book to anyone who has ever loved a monster, and the book then proceeds to ask, what are some different kinds of monsters and what are their relationships to love? SpoilerThis book is full of monsters: Vera's father Francis, her mother Daphne, the house; and then DuVall, and finally Vera herself. Some of these monsters are characterized by love: Francis was shown to be a kind and empathetic parent, though we know from the beginning he was a serial killer. I'm not about to excuse a serial killer, please don't @ me, but we learn throughout the book that, his thinking warped, the murders were motivated by a desire to do and be good. He protects Vera, goes to prison to that end. He was a monster to the community and its members, but it transpires that Vera's mother, through neglect and disinterest and coldness and even more warped thinking, is a yet bigger monster to Vera.

Meanwhile Vera, lonely, is developing a relationship with The House, which is a monster of filth capable of things like possession and also protection, care, support. Vera does not return to the house for her mother, but for the house, who parented her better than her mother did. Still a monster, though. DuVall, who acts out of greed and glory, is the most human monster in the story, and Vera becomes a monster by unleashing what we learn has always been a killer instinct. In this way, Vera and the House come together to live in their different monstrous forms; Vera is finally reunited with the one being she still feels attached to, a feeling left over from childhood that her parents—be they loving, monstrous, or both—created. All of this created complex pictures of love and monstrosity that I found very compelling, and I think the book handled these themes and metaplots well. Vera could have gotten romantic with the house and that could have been weirder. That is what I expected from this book, so comparatively, what we got was tame!

To enjoy this book, come for themes of love and monstrosity that develop very slowly in a heavily atmospheric environment. Do not expect this book to be heavy on the plot; but the flashback chapters tell a compelling story in themselves. The descriptive writing was overly saturated for me, but it will be perfect for the right reader.