The gist of this novel is that a true crime writer, one whose shtick is having a strong sense of place for his books, a keen attention to detail, and meticulous research skills, buys and moves in to “devil house”, a building that in the 80’s was the setting of two grisly, unsolved murders. The premise alone sold me, but since it’s a John Darnielle book I should have known to expect something other than a typical haunted house or horror story.

John Darnielle has a very particular style of writing that appeals to me although I could see how it would bore or frustrate someone else. He writes like this, imagine you had a very pleasant old grandfather. Maybe he was an English teacher or a poet or something, and he absolutely loves telling stories. His voice and tone are warm and unique, and he has a gift for turning a phrase. However, your grandfather isn’t particularly concerned with telling a story concisely or with approaching the point, such as it is, in a linear manner. He prefers to hold out the story like a glittering bauble, showing you a glimpse of it before whisking it out of sight and then spending the rest of a lazy Sunday afternoon telling you stories that aren’t actually the story you’re expecting, they’re very loosely connected and tie back to the main tale in the end, but it’s definitely more about the journey rather than the destination.

Like I said, I enjoy this writer’s particular style, though I can see how it may be divisive. All in all, I really liked this book and the journey it took me on. I was expecting a fairly straightforward tale about a haunted house, or possibly a mysterious homicide from the 80’s. But what I got was a thoughtful, poetic tale of the importance of narrative, the indelible mark loss leaves, and a thoughtful meditation on the nature, limits, and pitfalls of true crime writing.