**Thank you to Random House for providing me with a digital ARC of this novel via NetGalley for the purposes of review**
Alright, let’s first state the obvious: I love David Mitchell. No, really — I don’t think I’ve ever rated any of the novels I’ve read by him under four stars.
Now that that’s out of the way, I’m going to tell you why I loved SLADE HOUSE.
A kind of companion to Mr. Mitchell’s previous release, THE BONE CLOCKS, this significantly shorter story takes us into a story type I had yet to see from Mr. Mitchell: the ghost story.
This isn’t necessarily “horror” per say, though there are plenty of moments to raise the hairs on your arm and have you hoping you’ve left all the lights on. No, this is more of the ghost story that I appreciate: it’s all about atmosphere. Mr. Mitchell accomplishes this through a number of literary tricks, even ones as simple as the utilization of…
See what I did there? Indulge me, I’m trying to write without just purely gushing over this little novel’s brilliance.
I felt as drawn to this book as the poor characters who end up trapped inside the Slade House and, yes, I adored the self-referential element that comes to dominate the final third of the novel. I’m a sucker for inter-novel references, and Mr. Mitchell is a master in that practice. THE BONE CLOCKS weaves its way throughout SLADE HOUSE, but not so much that you couldn’t read this as a standalone piece.
Simply put: this novel is a whole lot of creepy atmosphere in a tiny little package. Definitely not one to miss.