I am, you guys, so scared. Houses That Kill are one of my favorite genres, and also are THE WORST because I am always reading them in a house and then I start glancing over my shoulder like, What are you up to, wall?
So. It starts of with Colquitt (is that even a name? Is it, like, one of those super-WASPy names, like when grown men are called Duck and Skip and [do I dare? I'mma dare] Mitt?) being all, After all that had happened, we were resolved to warn people about the house even if it ruined us, etc etc etc and I am like, OOOOH, WHAT HAPPENED. And the whole rest of the book is like that, all That was the first truly vicious thing the house did, and That was a sign of the horrors to come, and you and Stephen King both know that I am a sucker for that.
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And then it is a while ago and Colquitt and her lovely husband and all their super WASPy friends are living happy, affluent lives and then this glorious house is built next door (I SEE YOU THERE, BOOK TITLE) and a young couple moves in and horrible things happen to them and they move out and another couple moves in and this repeats itself a couple of times and Colquitt is like, I think something is up with that house, and everyone else is like, Pfffffft, thereby combining my fear of Sentient, Malevolent Houses with my fear of People Not Believing You When You Insist That Something Is Not Right (see also: We Need To Talk About Kevin, a title with with which I fervently disagree because we need to never talk about Kevin again, is what we need to do).
And it is brooding and atmospheric as hell and I spent most of it being like
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because please don't seek out my deepest weaknesses and then exploit them, house. Ok but THEN every so often it's all like, 'Razz and Foster sat at our feet like temple cats, imperious and stiff with their ignoring of the tuna fish. I put dollops of salad on two napkins and put them down on the flagstones, and after a minute or two they arched and stretched and seemed to discover the booty. In great surprised they sniffed, and then began to nibble daintily and with vast ennui at the fish.' And I am like, LOL YES cats are totally like that.
And then I went back to my terrified eating.
Eight caterpillars!
This book R.I.P.s it up. OH BUT WARNING, though, because a puppy dies.
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I'm letting you know because I hate that sort of thing. It's no Patrick Nessian tragedy, it's just a walk-on puppy, and it's not gratuitous. AND THE BOOK IS SO GOOD. But 'ware, all the same.![]()
So. It starts of with Colquitt (is that even a name? Is it, like, one of those super-WASPy names, like when grown men are called Duck and Skip and [do I dare? I'mma dare] Mitt?) being all, After all that had happened, we were resolved to warn people about the house even if it ruined us, etc etc etc and I am like, OOOOH, WHAT HAPPENED. And the whole rest of the book is like that, all That was the first truly vicious thing the house did, and That was a sign of the horrors to come, and you and Stephen King both know that I am a sucker for that.
Foreshadowing, I love your face. Visual puns, you are ok, too.
And then it is a while ago and Colquitt and her lovely husband and all their super WASPy friends are living happy, affluent lives and then this glorious house is built next door (I SEE YOU THERE, BOOK TITLE) and a young couple moves in and horrible things happen to them and they move out and another couple moves in and this repeats itself a couple of times and Colquitt is like, I think something is up with that house, and everyone else is like, Pfffffft, thereby combining my fear of Sentient, Malevolent Houses with my fear of People Not Believing You When You Insist That Something Is Not Right (see also: We Need To Talk About Kevin, a title with with which I fervently disagree because we need to never talk about Kevin again, is what we need to do).
And it is brooding and atmospheric as hell and I spent most of it being like
because please don't seek out my deepest weaknesses and then exploit them, house. Ok but THEN every so often it's all like, 'Razz and Foster sat at our feet like temple cats, imperious and stiff with their ignoring of the tuna fish. I put dollops of salad on two napkins and put them down on the flagstones, and after a minute or two they arched and stretched and seemed to discover the booty. In great surprised they sniffed, and then began to nibble daintily and with vast ennui at the fish.' And I am like, LOL YES cats are totally like that.
And then I went back to my terrified eating.
Eight caterpillars!
This book R.I.P.s it up. OH BUT WARNING, though, because a puppy dies.
I'm letting you know because I hate that sort of thing. It's no Patrick Nessian tragedy, it's just a walk-on puppy, and it's not gratuitous. AND THE BOOK IS SO GOOD. But 'ware, all the same.
