Going into this book I had high expectations. The reviews had built an image I liked, and coming out of a grief-stricken reading slump the length was a significant factor in my belief I could tackle reading fiction again. You might think a horror novel with themes of grief and the lasting effects of loss, and the importance of place and memories would be a terrible starting point, but it is directly because of that context that I found this book touching in a deeper way than I otherwise might have. 

I was not as positive on the first four chapters, and although it could be misplaced expectations, I don’t think they are as strong as the remaining story. I found that each in turn built up towards something I found interesting and then stamped back down. By chapter five it has hooked me, and either it stops doing what I find frustrating, or I’ve found acceptance. 

I don’t know if it is the intrigue of the plot and characters drawing me in, or if I have solidly identified with the internal conflicts and the wider themes of the novel. But it works well, and what begins as a story about a person stubbornly holding on to their convictions develops into a plea from the reader for the protagonist to shed what binds her to this place and flee, save herself, abandon the memories causing as much pain as comfort and move forward with your life. 

I expect that what was happening in my life greatly changed how I experienced this story, but I can’t imagine thinking less of it if I had read it at any other time. 

A note on the writing itself, in particular the dialect and phonetic spelling. This was a key point of comfort for me. I always enjoy this in books, the sense of character is instantly intensified for one, and I appreciate any efforts that can aide the preservation of dialects and phonetics.

The experience of reading the final chapters was slightly tainted for me because I had seen the content warning for forced institutionalisation, which should have been “attempted” or “threats of.” It meant that I was constantly waiting for a CPN to turn up or for the protagonist to be sectioned. I also spent more time questioning if the creature being silent or grey or a bag of slime as being a trick of her mind. I can’t be sure if this is the intention of how it was written, or if I had specific preconceptions I was filtering the story through.

 

 

But the writing is strong enough that it isn’t ruined. Not giving us a gore-fest revenge the audience might crave was so thoroughly true to the core of our protagonist that as she sheds her fears in a way that is earned, I felt a relief I had needed to move forward. This was the right story at the right time for me.

 

 

~ The Final track Sunrise is the aural encapsulation of the final chapter. A sadness and a joy.